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mockerycrow · 11 months

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Emergency Contact (1/2) (Ghost x GN!Reader)

>> emergency contact concept here << PART TWO HERE!!

Summary: Simon is your roommate, and you haven’t seen each other in months, considering Simon’s job. An unfamiliar number pops up on Simon’s phone, and answering it makes his world turn upside down.

A/N: How you two moved in together is very vaguely inspired this ghost fic right here. please give it a read! If you finish the song above, I highly recommend listening to the entire album while reading. i’m not the happiest with this, but i’m happy enough to post!

[WARNINGS: Blood and injury, traumatic events/trauma brought up, gore, little comfort, medical inaccuracies, tbh ooc simon but it’s ok.]

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since he’s been home, since he’s seen you. That’s how long he’s been stuck on base, or thrown into a foreign country to complete some mission, or to gather some intel, or to kill someone, just somewhere, anywhere but with you.

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since you softly asked him to stay as safe as he can, and to come back alive, and to come back with at least eight fingers. It was a running joke between you two, a way to relieve the terrifying reality of his job; as long as Simon came home alive and with majority of his fingers, he could consider it a job well done. You didn’t know much of his job, of course—only that he’s military, and he’s gone a lot. You already guessed it was a lot of classified stuff, probably down top secret government type of things. That did make you scared, though. You didn’t want the day to come, the day where people in fancy uniforms show up at your doorstep like you’re some widow. The thought of someone informing you of Simon’s death makes your stomach twist.

Eight months is admittedly a long time. Simon.. he missed you, but he’s rather die that verbally admit it, but he sure as hell felt it. He missed the way he could hear you walk through the house, the weight of the floorboards creaking up your feet. Simon missed walking by the bathroom and the air vaguely smelled your shampoo and body wash, a clear indicator you had just taken a shower. Simon missed the way you carelessly have your shoes next to the shoe rack, not even on it, and despite his annoyance of your laziness? He misses it every single time he’s away. He never really realizes the difference of living on base versus being home with you, and he’s comfortable in both environments for completely different reasons. Simon is comfortable with you because you’re safe, you aren’t associated with anyone he has to deal with on a near daily basis. You don’t scan the kitchen to see which household items could be potential bombs in the vicinity like he does. On base, Simon finds comfort in the familiarity of being constantly on alert, the need for a gun to be against his hip—it’s not the best, considering he’s in fight mode majority of the time, but it’s comforting. It’s familiar. It’s.. home, in a way.

You and Simon call at least once every three weeks—it’s not more because you’re both busy, you have your life to tend to while he has to do something like protecting an American Embassy, or sneaking into a compound to retrieve some vital information. You two talk about all kinds of things; you complain about the neighbors for the nth time, or you talk about your job, just something that he hasn’t heard about in a while. Simon.. he’s limited on what he can talk about—what he wants to talk about. It’s a bit difficult, keeping details of his job hidden away from you. He also keeps you hidden away from them; his team. Price vaguely is aware of your existence, but all he knows is your name and your phone number—someone to alert when he eventually would pass away.

It surprised Price when he requested access to his own file to make a change. Simon went for years without anyone in that section, leaving it blank—and then suddenly ‘[Name] [Last Name]’ is written down, along with your phone number. Simon doesn’t want to die somewhere and then you sit at home, dreading the fact that you haven’t received a call from him for over six months. Other than that, no one is aware of your existence and he wants to keep it that way. It keeps you safe, and he doesn’t want the one thing he has going in his life to be taken away from him—not like everything else has been.

No, you and Simon aren’t together. You just are the one constant he cannot allow to die. How you and Simon became close was rather funny, really—before you were roommates, you bumped into each other at the local stores, the bank, even several public spaces like parks and such. You didn’t see him too often and you weren’t aware on why, but you didn’t really wonder why either. By this point, you knew each other for a couple of months. He introduced himself as SR—not Ghost or Simon, but as SR. You didn’t bother to question it because this tall, bulky man seemed like he was trying keep himself as anonymous as possible. Without fail, you always saw him wear dark colored clothing that hid any identifiable markings—tattoos and scars, that kind of thing. He usually has his hood up with a black face mask covering his nose down, but you do know one thing—he has to have bright blonde hair. Why else would his beautiful eyelashes and eyebrows be that bright? It would catch your eye every time you’d see them. Sometimes you would see him with a beanie on and the mask, with his hood down. This wasn’t too often, as it exposed some scarring he has on the back of his neck, as well as his forehead. This also silently lead you to believe he has a tough past of some sort, which is confirmed when you run into him somewhere you never expected to—your therapist’s building. You bumped into him right outside, and you apologized profusely before looking and going silent as you made eye contact.

A silent agreement was made between you two that day, one that you could never put into words. Something in that moment that dragged you two closer together. You had been through some shit in your life, shit that had permanent effect on you, shit that you wanted to work through. It was horribly tiring, but you knew you needed to work through it—so you could live a life you felt was worth living. Simon, was on the other side of the spectrum. He didn’t want this. He never wanted to tell anyone about anything, but Price, Price fucking made him. Simon spends his days and nights plagued with nightmares and memories—he’s woken up in the middle of the night enough times to know that he needs help, but he was so adamant about not talking to anyone about it. But seeing you there? Someone who he hasn’t known for long, someone who had always greeted him with a smile on your face, laughter spilling from your beautiful vocal cords, and someone who doesn’t touch him without permission? It made him so angry and hopeless about this world. Not even you, a stranger who he sees as the best human being he’s known in a while—despite not knowing you for long—could escape from the cruel and sharp jaws of the world. You found out you two accidentally scheduled the same days, so it became an unspoken agreement to wait for the other outside of the building so you can both go in. Even when you weren’t sure when his next appointment would be, you’d be right outside of that building, waiting for him. You would always be right there, and that’s something he quickly learned.

You lost your house to a fire, everything went with the burning embers that raged inside of the 4 walls of your previous home, the structure collapsing in on itself. You had gotten out in time, and you numbly watched the fire roar, the crackling burning it’s memory in your ears. The piercing sound of different sirens were approaching, but all you could do is stand there with your phone in your hand, watching the home you worked so hard for burn to the foundation built years ago. You felt a hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t bother to turn to see who it was. Everything was going so slow, almost like a movie scene in the worst way possible. Your nostrils burned from the smell of burning wood, drywall, and installation. The hand squeezed your shoulder and you slowly looked at who it was—and was him. Simon. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes ever so slightly panicked and it was obvious he was asking you something, but you didn’t hear him. All you could focus on was that he was here. You blinked rapidly as your eyes began to burn from the smoke and from that choked feeling going from your chest to your throat. “I..” You croak ever so slightly. You couldn’t hold it back—you quickly grabbed onto Simon desperately, letting out a heart-wrenching sob because you just lost everything you owned, every memory, every piece of furniture, everything.. but he was here. He was the only thing was wasn’t crumbling away from your grasp, the only constant. Once you clung to him, Simon’s senses were flooded with you. Fuck, your touch burned, just like everyone’s else’s but he liked—no, loved how it felt. Despite the image of a burning house in his wake making dread bubble in his gut, your sobs and touch were the only thing he could focus on. Simon hesitates for only a second before pulling you into his personal space, his arms wrapping around you and weighing heavily on your body. Neither of you spoke, he just let you scream into his chest and sob, your fists gently banging against his chest—the anger, the sadness, everything was too much. Simon knew exactly how you were feeling, so he didn’t mind the twinges of pain your hands produced. Simon was the one who helped you while you chatted with the paramedics and the police. He was the one who helped you find your words when you had none left to share, the smell of the smoke imprinted on your clothes.

Without question, Simon took you to his house. He did not have another bed set up, so he had you sleep in his room while he slept on his couch. He hated the hollow look your eyes held, the way you were delayed with your answers, the ways your hands shook. Your everlasting smile had dissipated into a wobbly frown and he.. Simon couldn’t handle it. He grabbed you some of his clothes and helped you into his bathroom, quietly telling you to take a shower. He’ll take care of your clothes. Simon left you alone, and you showered for a long time. He didn’t count, but it was over an hour and a half. Simon didn’t say anything about you possibly racking up his bill, how could he when you had just lost everything? He wanted to.. to help you, and he wasn’t sure why. Even when he found himself scrubbing your smoke and tar covered clothes in his kitchen sink, he couldn’t find an exact reason why he wanted to help you. Maybe it’s because you made him feel human when he needed to be, maybe you were the one thing that kept him coming back to this town, the one thing that kept him from completely pulling away from the civilian world. You had found him in a corner like a dog, lips curled back and snarling—sharp teeth clashing together, and without a word, you gave him reasons to trust you. Although they may not be.. normal reasons to the regular eye, but they were enough for Simon.

You’re enough for Simon. He scrubbed your clothes until his arms burned, and then some.

That’s when he found out that you too, were also someone who could not stay asleep for long. When Simon awoke with his adrenaline pumping from the muffled sound of vomiting, he had to calm himself down because he’s safe, and you’re safe, most of all. Simon isn’t sure when he began to think that way, but it’s one of the many things he’s decided to not question—which also new for him. Simon is man who demands answers, yet with you? it’s like everything naturally falls into place, which is why he doesn’t complain when your stay at his house—which you swore would only be until you gathered enough money for an apartment—turned from a two week stay, to Simon carrying in an IKEA bed frame to put and assemble in one of his empty rooms. Many sleepless nights came and went, and each and every one you spent them with each other, sitting by a windowsill together, other times spending it in the backyard and looking at the sky. Sometimes you would wake up first, sometimes it would be him. You somehow always knew when he had woken up from a nightmare, his heart pounding in his ears—until your hands grab his and squeeze, to ground him. You burn him, and he welcomes the tickle of your ever-glowing flame. A year into this arrangement, Simon finally shows you his face and he appreciates that you don’t look at him any different. He usually hates the searching eyes, trying to memorize every inch of his face—but he’s greedy when you do it. When your eyes roam over every scar and acne scar, when you point out his messily cut hair and half-assed shaven stubble, he doesnt get angry. Simon doesn’t feel suffocated by your glances. He doesn’t wear his mask at home anymore, not when you’re there.

Then Simon gets the notice about his three month leave ending soon; and he knows that you need to know about his job. Or at least, the bare minimum you need to know. In reality, it’s how much he wants you to know, but he doesn’t want to admit that. He sits you down one morning, a cup of tea in his hand and he had a mug of your favorite morning drink on the other side of the table he had bought a few weeks you started staying here. Simon explains that he has a job in the military, that he can’t tell you much, but it means he’s going to be gone for weeks, even months at a time. You’re at a loss at first, because who is going to have an extremely positive reaction to “by the way, I work an extremely dangerous job and I can’t tell you anything and I’ll be gone for a while.. Oh yeah, you likely won’t know if I die!”? Despite your initial reaction, you grow to be okay with this situation. Or, we’ll, as okay as you can be with it. You also find out that he was here for way longer than he originally is, due to his boss demanding him to take a break—AKA, “go to therapy you dafty”.

For a little over two years, you two fell into a good rhythm. A call every three weeks, him coming home and you becoming the safest space he’s ever had in his life.

Which is why when his personal cell phone begins to vibrate in his pocket during some fuck-all meeting, his eyebrows furrow. The number is unfamiliar, but the area code is not. Simon quietly excuses himself from the extended round table, taking his call outside of the meeting room. Price’s eyes follow his figure as he exits, noticing it’s his personal cell phone in his hand. Simon answers the call and presses his phone against his masked ear, muttering a low, “Hello?”

A high-pitched, soft yet serious voice filters through the speaker, a woman. “Hi, is this Mr. Riley?”

Simon pauses, and so does his heart. “Who’s asking?”

He honestly regrets asking that in the moment—one part of him genuinely wishes he never answered this call, and the other part of him is glad he did. “I’m a nurse from Northern Manchester Community Hospital, you’re written down as [Name]’s emergency contact. They’ve been a victim of a hit and run situation, sir. They’re alive, but they’re in the ICU.” The nausea that suddenly bubbles inside of his guys, the stomach acid mixed with whatever he had eaten previously, threatening to travel up his esophagus, burn every inch and then exit with a horrific sound. Simon’s head began to spin—he’s your emergency contact? A hit and run, you were fucking hit?? By what, a car? A pick-up? A semi? God, Simon has seen the most horrible, gruesome, fucked up shit you would ever see in his entire life, yet he isn’t sure if he can handle the image of you spread out in a hospital bed, with one too many tubes circulating around you. His mind plagues him with intrusive images, ones he never wants to actually see played out. Fuck, his head hurts. It feels like someone is physically shoving a knife into his chest and twisting it, like God is laughing at him and playing with Simon’s pain for his own gain. How could he not think that, especially with everything that has happened to him? His friends, his family? His old CO? The fucking abuse he endured??

It’s like Simon lost his hearing for a moment, because he cannot bare fucking losing you, too. There’s a vague ringing in his ears, almost like there was an explosion and he stood too close. And then suddenly every sound comes rushing back to his eardrums, and everything suddenly everything is so fucking overwhelming. “Mr. Riley?” The nurse calls over the phone, her tone laced with worry. He clears his throat and when he speaks, he sounds wrecked, which he fucking hates. “I.. I’ll come as soon as I can.” Simon hangs up, not giving the nurse a moment to speak. He drops his phone and if he doesn’t sit down, he’s going to fall over like a tree that’s been cut down. Simon lets out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the way his stomach is screaming and twisting as he puts a hand on the wall, and he crouches down. It’s the first time he doesn’t look around to see if anyone is watching his sudden display of emotion. When he’s suddenly rocked with the feeling of home at work, especially with the news that you’re fucking injured—he’s overwhelmed and twisted all over the place. Simon finds himself stumbling back to his barracks.

Price finds his way to him after Simon never returns to the meeting. He knocks on the door, but his knuckles pause before they can knock against the door for the third time as he discovers the door is open—which is very, very, odd. He slowly opens the door while calling for Ghost, and is met with the sight of Simon shoving some of his clothes and belongings into a duffle bag, as well as his military travel documents. “Ghost?” Price questions, who stopped in his doorway to watch Simon lose his mind while packing. Simon doesn’t respond as he practically rips his phone charger out of the wall and stuffs it into the bag, zipping it up. He slings it over his shoulder and he turns around, pausing when he sees Price. Simon’s eyes tell everything he’s feeling—that something’s happened, something bad, and he needs to leave. Price bites his lip and quietly exhales, his fingers rubbing at his chin. “I’ll approve your leave. Just shoot me a text of how long it needs to be, yeah?”

Simon makes sure to note to send Price a thank you of some sort, because within the next two hours, Simon is boarding a plane, heading for Manchester, wearing some black clothing, a jacket, a black face mask, gloves, and his beanie. The entire time, he could not stop thinking about you—and how you could possibly die before he got there to send off his final goodbyes. Is that something he would actually want to do, though? See you in the hospital, knowing it’ll be the last place you’d ever be alive in? Go home, see how you left the house exactly as you left it? A house, but without his home in it? Simon stares out the airplane window blankly, his hands curled into fists, and his nails would be digging into his palms if he didn’t have gloves on.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

The next part for Simon, it’s a blur again. Got off the plane, got his luggage, provided documentation, blah blah blah—he didn’t give a fuck about any of it. His focus was you. He didn’t bother to stop home to drop his stuff off, he took an Uber straight to the hospital from the airport. It was a fairly expensive Uber too, but he could worry about the costs of everything later. It took another half hour to get there.

His heart began to hammer in his chest as the sight of the hospital’s signs began to pop up on the road, the anxiety taking hold in his stomach and his head begins to hurt again. Simon quietly thanks the driver, tips them, and exits the car with a swiftness once they pull up. Simon walks through the main entrance’s sliding doors, going up to the desk. A woman behind the counter hangs up the phone, murmuring a goodbye, and then she looks at Simon with her pretty blue eyes. “How can I help you, sir?” She murmurs sweetly, noting how anxious he is. She can see the sweat on his brow line. Simon clears his throat, his voice rumbling in his chest when he speaks. It takes everything in him to not yell at this innocent woman and get thrown out. “My.. My name is Mr. Riley, I was called ‘cause my friend is here,” Simon manages to push out. “[Name] [Last Name].” The woman turns to her computer and clicks the couple of buttons and types a couple of words and holy fuck, Simon just wants to go to your wing already—“Ah, yes, I see you’re listed as their emergency contact,” The woman grabs a sticky note and writes with a pink pen your room number and elevator floor, handing it to Simon. He barely gets a “thank you” out before he nearly jogs to the nearby elevator. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283—it’s the longest minute long elevator ride in his entire fucking life.

Simon changes face masks whilst facing the wall, and then he finds your room number—and his heart is beating out of his chest. There’s cops standing outside of your room who stop him from entering. Simon’s anger flares up so quickly, he nearly makes a scene until a doctor exits your room. She’s wearing her usual blue scrubs, her coat, and she’s dawning a N95 and some sterile gloves. She’s holding a clipboard. “Mr. Riley?” She questions, holding the clipboard close to her chest. Simon nods without hesitation, and she responds, “I’m sorry, but due to the nature of this case, you’ll have to provide some identification for me and these officers.”

Usually, Simon would hesitate—he gives anyone outside of his team the bare minimum, hell, he only introduced himself as SR until he knew you for a while. This time, he takes out his military ID and shows it to the officers. He ignores their looks of surprise, and ignores the murmurs that come from them. Simon puts his ID away and he holds back the urge to shove them out of the way as he glares down at the doctor on accident. “Come in,” The doctor opens the sliding door and steps into the hospital ICU room with him. Simon follows behind her and he immediately smells the sickening smell only the ICU gives off. There’s a small wall blocking his view from you that he hasn’t past, and he can already hear the machines working. A heart monitor, a ventilator, combined with other machines he doesn’t know too well. The doctor flips through the papers pinned to her clipboard. “They were hit by a vehicle of some sort, the scene suggested they were walking home from the local corner store. [Name] has multiple broken bones and fractures, a punctured lung, a fractured jaw and internal bleeding. They lost a lot of blood at the scene.” Simon doesn’t respond as he slowly walks forward, and he finally lays his eyes on you. It’s.. traumatizing, to say the least. You were never supposed to be in a hospital bed like this, hooked up to machines he can’t even name. He slowly walks over to you, dropping his duffel bag somewhere on the floor. He doesn’t care to look where. Simon barely pays attention to what the doctor is saying—his hands tremble as he stands by your side, his heart thumping harshly in his chest. Fuck.

He drags over one of the chairs next to your bed. Simon takes off one of his gloves slowly, and then he tears the other one off in a frenzy. He feels so unlike himself, so.. different.. human. He reaches over to your hand and his fingers grab your wrist, so gentle as if you’re glass. Simon presses his fingers against your pulse point, counting your heartbeats despite the monitor. The thumping under your skin makes it more.. real. Feeling you, your heartbeat, your warmth and your skin—it’s comforting. Simon clears his throat and fights the urge to vomit once a gain, watching your chest rise and fall, produced by the ventilator.

He moves his hand to intertwine with your fingers and he uses his other hand to feel your pulse. Simon closes his eyes, muttering the beats per minute under his breath.

At least you’re alive—you’re here, you’re alive, and you’re with him. And that’s all he asks for.

tags;; @alwaystired--neversleeping @handsomeunderwear-art @indefenseofkara @kaysav608 @1-is-loneliest-number @rosee-sensuelle @kitty-satan1 @k4marina @rahmown @royalty-purple @bowtruckleninja — if you are not tagged, it’s not allowing me :-)

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lovelettersfromluna · 7 months

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After Dark

Summary: It’s a universal rule that every ghost face at a Halloween party is hot underneath. Let’s test that theory, shall we?

an: AHHH OKAY! Lemme explain. I made a post about participating in kinktober, and while a lot of you wanted me to, I feel like it’s too late for me to properly participate. HOWEVER, I still want to give you something to kick off the weekend! Something spooky AND smutty for all my ghouls out there. I hope you’re all having a good Halloweekend! Pls stay safe and have lots of fun, I’m sure you all have the cutest costumes planned! Also, I took a different approach to reader, so let me know how you guys like her!! 🖤🖤 p.s I was drunk when I wrote this :p

Warnings: SMUT!!! 18+, MDNI, porn with no plot, strap-on sex, mentions of the word “cock”, mask kink, alcohol usage, mentions of latex, riding, cliche house party trope, slight sugar mommy!ellie if you squint??, lmk if I missed anything!

Out of all of three hundred and sixty five days of the year, today was your favorite.

Today was the one day within the year that there weren’t really any rules. You could wear anything, be whoever you wanted, and it was socially acceptable to get drunk while doing so, and there was no way in hell you would ever pass up on that.

No matter the circumstances, you were invited to a Halloween party. Whether it was some cheesy bash that was being thrown at a friend of a friends house, or a more upscale party, you were going out.

And you always looked damn good doing so.

You were always praised on your costumes, every year it was expected of you to top what you did the last, so there was no doubt in the fact that you were putting in maximum effort year after year.

This year? You stuck with one of the classics of course. The devil.

You were dripping in skin tight latex, the black corset you wore that pushed your boobs out perfectly, your soft skin nearly spilling out of the tight top, the tight booty shorts that hugged the globes of your ass, your cheeks peeking out, the gloves that hugged your arms, and the thigh high socks that shined under the moonlight, everything you wore was that delicious shiny material that made you look almost unreal.

And underneath it all? You had painted your entire body red, paired with fake red horns peeking out of your pretty hair.

So yeah, you were almost always crowned as the queen of Halloween.

This year was no different, halloweekend had been kicked off with quite the everything shower, making sure your body was in perfect condition for everything you’d be attending. You had gotten ready with your friends at your apartment, getting a few shots in before making it to the biggest party of the year. Everyone looked forward to it, putting together their best costumes for the party at the house that almost everyone died to get into.

Walking down the streets of the city on Halloween was like Christmas, various characters from movies and cartoons cheering, dancing, all social barriers that were put up every other day of the year were down, the veil being lifted for one night that allowed anything to be game.

The amount of whistles you and your friends received on your way there was almost appalling, not to mention the amount of people who told you they’d let you torture them any day. You thought that was cute.

Soon enough, the sounds of the party were near, and you could see the red lights spilling out of the big house in the middle of the block, and you knew it was time.

Eyes were on you immediately, and it made you giggle as you scoped out the food group that was there tonight. Of course you knew they’d stare, drool over you with their mouths open, begging for just a moment of your time.

But you were a very picky girl.

Ignoring their advances was like second nature, all you had to do, was shake your ass, drink some free liquor, and wait for the perfect person to take up your time for the night.

And as always, that never took long for you.

Your hips swayed to the music, eyes closed as you enjoyed one of the best parts of parties. The alcohol you drank made your body warm up in the best way, made every touch on your body feel so much more intense, all while numbing out everything else. It made you feel alive, it made you raise your arms above your head and simply let the music move you.

It was only a moment, your eyes drifting open to make sure your friend was still in front of you, and you’re sure if you hadn’t, you would’ve missed it.

Across the room, stood a tall figure. She wore a loose black t shirt, baggy black jeans, black boots….

And a ghost face mask.

The figure was turned towards you, leaning against the wall with a red solo cup clasped between a hand, a pretty tattoo bleeding into it. Anyone else would have seen it, and thought that whoever it was, was extremely fucking creepy. Everyone knew that ghost face was one of the creepiest people you could choose to be for Halloween ever.

But it just so happened, that you’ve always had a thing for masked killers.

Although you couldn’t see the eyes of the person behind the mask, you could feel them, and it made you burn from the inside. You bit your bottom lip softly, throwing back the rest of the alcohol in your cup before you turned your body more towards them, giving them a good view of your body. You began dancing, putting on a show for them, your glove glad hands running up and down your body, your neck, your boobs, your waist, practically having sex on the dance floor with yourself, all for this stranger who was most definitely watching you.

You feel like you have x-ray vision, because although you can’t see her face, you can see the way she grips her cup tighter whenever you sway your hips, turning around to give her a nice view of your ass. You see the way she shifts her weight onto her other foot whenever your hand runs over the curve of your tits. When you really know you’ve got her, is when you rest your hands on your friends hips, and pull her into your crotch, your eyes never leaving the ghost face mask. You know you’ve got her because she sets her cup down, raises her long, skinny fingers, and silently calls you over before she makes her way down one of the hallways in the house.

And suddenly, a game of cat and mouse begins.

You almost never chase anyone at a party, you’re always the one that’s being chased. However, there’s something about this ghost face. There’s an aura radiating off of her, one that’s dripping of lust, screaming at you, telling you she’s got exactly what you need, exactly what you’re looking for during these stupid Halloween parties.

So you break your little streak, and as soon as she calls you, you’re following her.

The house is lit up with all different colors, the kitchen was purple, the living room was pink, everywhere you turned was another tinted space that fit the Halloween vibe perfectly.

As you look around for your ghost face, you can’t help but huff softly. It almost feels as if she’s disappeared into thin air, as if the alcohol in your system made you hallucinate the entire thing. You begin to question yourself, a soft pout on your lips as you make your way down the final place to look for her.

But of course, you finally find her leaned up against one of the hallways, and of course it’s completely lit up red.

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth as you smile, making you way towards her. Once you’re standing in front of her, you expect her to take off the mask, show her who it is that’s hiding behind that silly mask.

But she doesn’t

You giggle softly, your hand toying with the hem of her shirt as you stare up at her with big doe eyes.

“You gonna show me the pretty face you’re hiding under that mask?” You purr out, and the ghost face simply shakes her head. It makes you pout, tugging at her shirt gently as you lean into her a bit, but still keeping your body a ways away from hers.

“But…how am I supposed to talk to you if I can’t see you” you whine, hoping that this little pouty act will get you what you want. It usually does, but this ghost face seems far too stubborn for that. She simply cocks her head to the side, as if clicking her tongue and mocking your pout.

It makes your pussy flutter with need.

She hasn’t even said anything to you, but you’re already squeezing your legs together, eager for some kind of friction to soothe the ache between your legs, your lips rubbing together with the arousal that grew with each passing second.

You hum softly, your latex clad fingers running down her arm, reaching her tattoo and tracing the pattern gently.

Hm…you don’t recall that one.

She gives you her arm with ease, allowing you to see her tattoo, that makes you smile softly.

“This is pretty…” you hum before you look back up at her, biting your plush bottom lip softly. “Are there anymore for me to find?” You question, giving her a playful smile. This one gets her, because you can hear the way her breath shudders, see the way her chest rises and falls for a moment.

She’s right where you want her.

You hum softly, your hand slowly coming up to the mask, eyeing her closely as you gently begin pushing it up, eager to see her face. You flinch when she grabs your wrist, stopping you from lifting it up any further. You pout again, it’s genuine this time, not like before. A soft huff leaves your lips before you open your mouth to complain, tell the girl that if she doesn’t want to show you her face, you’ll leave to find someone else who will.

But before you can, you’re being tugged into a random bedroom.

Upon entering, you can see why this place is the spot was so popular for parties. The rooms are clean, and the host went as far as to decorate them accordingly, the same red lights from the hallway lighting up the place. If you weren’t so hellbent on getting fucked by the ghost face, you’d most certainly be gushing over what a wonderful party host this was.

Your thoughts are completely cut off by strong arms wrapping around your waist, and pulling you into an even stronger chest. It makes you moan softly, your head falling back against her chest. You feel her strong hands running up and down your latex clad body, squeezing your hips, your boobs, running along your thighs. You can hear her breathing behind you, and you can almost hear the sweet tone of her voice through it.

You let out a small whine, one of your hands coming down to lay over hers, keeping her close to you. “Wanna play with you…” you hum softly, it makes your ghost face groan, her hands squeezing your plush body before she turns you around, and pushes you onto the soft bed.

It makes you giggle softly, your hands running along the soft sheets as you watch her. She looks like a god above you, standing so tall, the ghostly mask almost haunting as she eats you up with her eyes, head cocked to the side as you lazily smile up at her.

You move to prop yourself up onto your hands, palms pressing into the bed, your legs spreading for her. “So…you’re leaving the mask on, huh? Does that make me the helpless victim?” You pout out, holding back a giggle as you recite the lines from the movie the mask came from. It earns a slow nod from your ghost face, and you have to hold back a moan.

“Well…please play with me ghost face…I wanna be yours tonight” you purr out, your body sitting up as you reach forward, your fingers snagging around the belt loop of her jeans and pulling her closer.

You hear a soft sigh from behind the mask, and it almost sounds like she’s suffering, like she’s torturing herself just as much as she’s torturing you by not touching you yet. Her strong hand slowly comes up, cupping your chin gently and angling your head up, her thumb dragging across your bottom lip. You moan softly, kissing her finger gently, it makes her groan again.

She slowly moves down, bending down until her hands are pushed against the bed, caging you in. It makes you crawl backwards, a soft whimper leaving your lips. When she’s this close, backing you up onto the bed, you can catch a glimmer of her eyes beneath the mesh material of the eyes of the ghost. You can see her long lashes, and big green eyes. It makes your pussy throb desperately.

Because fuck, you’ve never seen eyes that pretty before.

You almost done catch her hands reaching down between you, pushing into the tight material of your latex shorts, fingers pressing against your soaked core. You’re so desperate for her, that the small act makes you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as you grind your hips against her fingers. You can tell she’s skilled just by the way she fingers your clit and rubs you slowly, the right fabric of your shorts making it an even tighter fit.

“Fuck…” you hear softly from behind the mask, and it’s the first time you’ve properly heard her voice, it makes you feel like you can cum right then and there.

You blink softly as you stare into her eyes, watching her as she slowly toys with your pussy, making you whine and moan for her from the small motions of her fingers.

“Mmpph…feels…fuck…your fingers…” you moan softly, feeling yourself growing close just from the way she rubbed your throbbing clit. Your hand goes down to her tattooed arm, grabbing it as she begins to speed up. You whine loudly, your back arching as you grind in tow with her movements, and fuck…you’re so close, you feel like you’re going to explode just from a stranger finger fucking you.

And suddenly, her fingers are gone.

“W-what? Why’d you…why’d you stop” you whimper softly while trying to catch your breath, watching as your ghost face began to tug your shorts off. You whine softly with embarrassment, watching as she silently tugged your shorts off, a string of your arousal connecting you to your shorts. You can’t remember the last time you were this wet.

Your ghost face groans softly, mumbling something under her breath that you don’t quite catch. You open your mouth to say something, but you’re quickly being tugged up into her arms as she lays down on the bed.

Now you’re straddling her lap, your bare core dragging along her jeans as her strong hands massage your thighs. You whine softly, because you can feel the prominent bulge pressing against you through her pants. Her hands go to your hips, forcing you to grind your soaking wet pussy against her crotch, your arousal staining her black jeans, making you burn from the inside out.

You moan loudly, your hands pressing against her lower stomach as you watch the way she slowly grinds you down on her as she pleases. You’re eager, so you’re already undoing her belt and unbuttoning her jeans. You almost expect her to stop you, but she doesn’t, and you’re pulling out her pink strap, the length of it making your mouth water.

If you weren’t so fucking horny, the color would’ve made you giggle, but there’s no time for that. You tug her jeans down a bit more, to which she lifts her hips up to help you, and you begin to crawl up her body slightly until you’re hovering over her length, her hand grabbing the shaft as she runs it along your lips, getting it wet with your arousal before she helps you sink down on it.

The moan you both let out is past pornography, the weight of you pushing down her strap rubs against her clit perfectly, and she’s sure she’s never experienced someone riding her so fucking well. The sound of her pretty voice makes you want to cry, because she’s been teasing you so much that you’ll take just about anything she gives you. You begin to bounce on her length slowly, adjusting to her size, your hands pressed against her chest to act as leverage.

“Oh my…fucking god….mmmhhh…a-ah!” You moan out, eyes fluttering shut as you ride her, back arching as your hands go up into your hair, tugging on it, needing somewhat of an outlet to release the pleasure you were feeling. Your senses were on overload, and you weren’t sure if it was the build up of not knowing who the hell you were fucking, or if it was truly that good, but you’re sure you’ve never had a fuck this good in your entire life.

“Fuck…that’s a good fucking girl…bouncing on my cock so well…yeah…that’s it” the voice makes you moan loudly, your eyes opening immediately. She sounds perfect, her voice low and smooth, strong hands gripping your thighs for a moment before they come down on your ass, spanking you hard and making you moan even louder.

You can practically hear the smirk in her voice when she speaks, her voice dripping with lust as you fuck your self down onto her cock. “Haven’t even seen my face and you’re doing all of this for me…treating me special, pretty girl?” She hums out before moaning loudly with you. You can’t help but nod, slowly feeling yourself becoming dumb on her cock.

“S’good…feels so good…I’ll do anything for you” you moan out almost incoherently, saying just about anything that comes to mind in that moment.

As you continue bouncing on her cock, the motions of it all makes her mask come up a bit, and you catch a glimpse of her plush pink lips tugged beneath her pretty teeth. It makes you whine softly, and you realize you can’t fucking do this anymore.

You reach forward, your hand going to the edge of the mask, and you tug it off of her head.

You feel like you’ll lose your breath, keel over and die at that very moment when you see her, because she’s so fucking pretty. Her brown hair is so messy, soft fringe splayed across her face, prettiest freckles littering her red cheeks, those same green eyes staring into yours, pretty lips tugging into a smirk when she sees the way your eyebrows furrow with pleasure, knowing that it was her face that made you feel that way.

“Just couldn’t wait, could you?” She smirks softly, her words followed by a soft groan, hands traveling up your body and gripping your boobs that were nearly completely spilled out of your top.

“Want you to cum for me, princess…can you do that? Cum all over my cock?” She urges on, her words cut off by various moans as you continue fucking yourself down on her. You want to speak, but you can’t, so all you do is nod eagerly and give her a loud moan, feeling the familiar warmth building up in the pit of your stomach, electricity traveling through your body.

Ellie moans with you, her eyes never leaving yours as she gives you an encouraging nod. “That’s it baby…such a pretty fucking girl…been watching you all night…knew I needed to…fuck…have you…come on baby…cum for me” she commands, and you feel like you’ll turn into jelly just from the way she tells you to do it, so stern, your legs felt like they could no longer hold you up, shaking as your back arched almost painfully, and your orgasm raked through your body.

It was electrifying, the feeling of her cock sliding so deep into you, your walls fluttering around it as you came, her hands gripping your hips tightly as she pushed even deeper into you, her own orgasm visibly washing over her as she pushed her head further into the bed, eyes squeezing shut, curse words flying from her pretty lips.

You both sat there for a moment, Ellie sitting up and pressing her face against your chest as she held you close, hands rubbing against your thighs, soft kisses against your boobs, giving both you and herself a moment to collect yourselves after the intense session you’d just had.

After a few moments passed, you pouted softly as you looked down at the bed and noticed some of the red body paint had smeared onto the bed.

“Fuck…you don’t think the host will be mad about that…do you?” You mumbled softly, trying to avoid the embarrassment you felt at the fact that your fucking costume had ended up screwing you over.

Ellie chuckled softly as she looked down at the bed, humming softly as she pressed another kiss to your chest before she pulled you down to lay down with her, having every intention of keeping you there until enough people left, and you could both go for a shower.

“Nah…I don’t mind” she smirked softly, knowing she’d most definitely be making sure the sheets were changed for you both in the morning.

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us #ellie x you

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burstinn · 5 days

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THE EVERY GAY MANS DREAM READER

TALL, BUFF, BIG BOOBS AND ASS everything

Can't find no good pic for this so..

This post includes:Ghost, Graves, Price, Soap, Nikto, Riptide, Krueger, Konig, Alejandro, Rudy, Gaz, Horangi, Makarov, Velikan, Keegan, Roach. In that order

Yes I wrote all those, yes because I haven't written in a while

Notes:

- NSFW and SFW (Bottom male and top male reader mentioned)

-since y'all like the big buff n' tall male reader, made him bigger and taller basically mixed everything I wrote about male reader, tall, big buff, big cake, big boobs it's like a package in one this will probably be the last of this type of reader since running out ideas. It was hard making original headcanons 💔💔.

-Omg I haven't written in a while so like this might get idk boring?

- Yes again headcanons,you're favs

- strictly MALE READER not Gn rn

- readers age is ambiguous but if you can't think and want an age for reader my thinking is somewhere near late 30s or early 40s

- Some of the HCS have where y'all ain't in a relationship some HCS have y'all r in a relationship

- these headcanons definitely are mischaracterized but let me pretend for a bit 💔💔

- Tiktok got to me now I have brainrot language, so Trigger warning wooohh braiinroot

- can't believe this post was long enough to make my phone lag just a lil bit

- When he first saw you of course he was 😦😧😮

GHOST

- Like okay overkill, like you're taller, buffer and probably have a huger cock??? (Something he can investigate.. For purposes..)

Like you also got smoobs?? A plumpy ass??

Like save some for the rest Jesus 😒😒

- Nonstop staring secretly ofc, You be like in a room then you feel someone staring just to see Ghost somewhere in the corner of the room. You can't tell if he's staring or not but being that you are in an empty room.. Yknow it's kind of obv--

- BUT if you are not in an empty room you will not shake off the staring I mean holy shit look at you like 😨😨🍑✋

- You can literally hear him breathing heavily under his mask like how can he control himself when HE a person who is supposed to be looked up to literally and figuratively now has to look up at YOU?? do you know what does to a person??

-That's right it makes them freaky..

-Probably jerks off to you too

- I mean who doesn't want to get railed by a 7 ft tall man? Especially ESPECIALLY when you've been the supposed dominant person your whole life??

- OMG immediately Cumming to the thought

- I mean he won't mind topping you it also drives his own ego seeing a dominant man get absolutely wrecked, imagine the begging and whining

- plus he won't mind being the person who feels protected not always doing the protecting like 💔💔 he wants to feel protected too 😞

GRAVES

- Immediate gay awakening

- thinks making his western accent more prominent would make you think he sounds more hot

- Will dress up as a cowboy and will will ask (beg) you to do it as well

- because you know.. Hat thing.. Riding.. Graves grabs your hat puts it on his head or Graves grabs his hat puts it on your head, either way one of you is riding something and it ain't a horse

- because of the amazing quote on who ever came up w/ that is "save a horse ride a cowboy"

- Graves is obviously the type of guy to look at your ass and whistle maybe slap it, nah definitely slap it

PRICE

- He thinks of you like a bear

- like You're soo- big and cuddly? Definitely intimidating

- I mean you're near the same age bracket so it's not bad to have some.. Thoughts right?

- You're definitely hairy underneath or not but pls be he wants pubes to tickle his nose

- if you don't have a beard for reader then he would KILL to see have a beard like aughh perfect bear look, if you have a beard immediately cumming(/j) or (not /j)

- Like imagine you and price who are basically like bears like parent bears and and you the other 141 boys are like your children 🥺🥺

SOAP

- DEFINITELY became more gayer

- errrmmm.. Like his eyes are BASICALLY near like chest height

- bumping into you and his face touches your chest like omgg.. Such an accident 💔💔

- Obviously flirting about going to pound town

- like imagine You and Him? In a relationship? Having the most feral sex??? Like it's obv jokes (it's not)

- He would also do anything to see a big man whimper like a little bicth slut, who wouldn't want to see a demon of a man roll his eyes back and whine like a wheoeororoe❤, I mean if he tops I'd imagine him saying "cmon you're a big boy ain't cha'? You can handle a few more inches". While you are also getting the malevolent backshots.

- He would also want a big strong arm to man handle him as he takes the most vigorous backshots known to man

- Have you ever thought or seen a very tall wall like 10 or 11 ft high and you being you, Soap asks (demands) for you to carry him on your shoulder because he wants to see what's over the wall

NIKTO

- intimidating guy and intimidating guy typa relationship but your not in a relationship.. Yet.

- watch him watch you

- shows off his knife collection to you, yes I think he has a knife collection and he will show it to people that he wants to impress (he wants to get freaky with you)

- I like to think if he strips off the gear he gives the most desperate kind of touchy hug, to those he feels close with of course which is you

- lucky you

RIPTIDE

- Offers to teach you how to swim yknow just in case

- there is none, he wants to see you wet

- tells you to wear a white shirt and shorts because its Essential for training, it's a lie he wants to see the water wet your clothes making it stick to your body.. Yknow the white shirt showing whats underneath and the shorts outlining what package you've been hiding even though you weren't really hiding it

- He gets too distracted, the others are too, he forgets how to teach you

KRUEGER

- indefinite eye contact while your doing it

- likes staring into them, if you get shy and look away he will grab your jaw and make you have eye contact with him

- angry fierce ahh eyes

- he's an emotional grumpy guy, rip off his mask and aggressively kiss his face

- He wants the after sex laying on the chest while the other is rubbing their head, goes both ways.

- trace his tattoos and compliment them the bedroom will be locked the whole day, trust 🙏

KÖNIG

- The same as Ghosts

- Imagine being the one to get carried instead of the one carrying

- König would definitely come up to you and ask to be carried while you kiss his face multiple times❤❤

- Imagine how hard he gets because you have to look down at him to talk like HNGRHRRGGGRGRRR

- Definitely likes giving you homemade arts and crafts gear because you know.. The headcanon where König makes his own gear and what if he does it for other people too as gifts💔

- likes seeing you wear his mask it makes him imagine what people see when they see König definitely a change of perspective. He can see how intimidating you are and he gets hard.

ALEJANDRO

- will definitely compliment you in Spanish when talking about you with other people even when you're in front or behind him.

- I mean you don't understand Spanish right?

- if you don't, you're oblivious and only just watch curiously on what he's talking about. Buuut but but if you do understand you don't tell him you undeestrand this thing literally feeds your ego like Alejandro thinks of you this way? 🥺🥺

- Thigh riding type of guy idc who thigh riding

RUDY

- everytime I look at him he looks like a soft vanilla type

- I know he's a strong guy but look at him

- He wants soft sex 😞😞

- He also likes being complimented if you whisper a praise to him when he's doing ANYTHING. Imagine the babies you'd both have together.

- He likes toddlers and babies and if you do too a plus for him,makes him fall even more 💯💯

GAZ

- One time he Got injured and was sitting on the floor and then He saw you running towards him he simultaneously screamed in fear and how hard he got

- Likes to style your clothes, If he was off the military right now he really really likes fashion and if he sees you.. You can't fashion and he sees you wearing.. That, He's appalled, horrified, mortified I'm over exaggerating. But he is now in charge of your fashion now, But if you do know how to style you both will share tips with eachother. You can share different tips too ❤❤

- drags you in his barracks and strips you of your clothes except shorts.. And he's telling you this because he wants to "style" you.

- We both know damn well that's an excuse to get the boombayah freaky on.. He's just to shy to tell you upfront or he thinks it's fun to tease you like that before you get freaky

HORANGI

- gets freaky..

- Like he understands the women who get all giggly and nervous when they see a big man who can destroy them (ignore König 💔)

- is definitely not above thigh crushing, boob crushing, face sitting he'd do all at as long as it's you

- Like one time he pretended he broke his leg and won't let anyone else carry him until you came, acting all princessy and shit as you carry him bridal style to the medics

- He felt like a prince omg

- will definitely get on you and treat your real life size anime men boobs as a squishy toy

- How long is it and will he be able to take it??? Who knows he will find out!! Basically searched how long can someone's cock be if they are built like a god and is 7ft tall in Google

- someone gotta tell me Horangi's height and basic Google searching ain't doing it for me I'm too lazy to search for one line of a spicy headcanon line mb

MAKAROV

- You're basically ascary dog he owns

- You're tall and intimidating

- You can get information out of people quickly

- And he's not above telling you to torture anyone with a strength and body like yours

- most of the time you get the info done and folded

- Makarov uses you for intimidation and strength buuttt if you ever THINK of betraying him he already has a plan to get rid of someone like you

- Can and will turn you into one of those supersoldiers

- Will make you murder people right in front of him for entertainment and will rewward you!

- you know what reward it will be, Because when he asked what reward you wanted you got a bit to freaky you thought you be dead rn but nah he agreed actually he seems to enjoy it more than you do..

VELIKAN

- He's the dog in this one have you heard his voice?? Rough as hell imagine hearing him grunt

- Sounds cocky as hieeeellll too

- Would definitely like showing off to you since he wants to look cool in front of you

- Like you seen velikans skins?? Definitely wears the best ones to show you he can not only be a trained assassin But can also dress cool as hell

- If you compliment him it like makes his day, will not stop thinking about it

- Like a cool person complimenting a cool person like him? Ego boost (It's him feeling gay)

- This guys definitely a smoker (headcanon!!) Because voice sounds like he smoked 100 packs in 1 day and doesn't drink an ounce of water /jk I love him he's so hot.

- So if you want a smoke he purposely hides the lighter saying.. 'Oh no I asked someone elses lighter.. I don't have mine right now' or like 'my lighter ran out of fuel ohh

- So you have to put the cigarette in your mouth as you touch it with his cigarette to light ur own that type of trope 💫💫

- If you're not a smoker he will try his best to not smoke in front of you will use fresh mints to hide his breath of smoke

- after sex he will want a smoke, outside he goes or you both share the one cigarette

KEEGAN

- is it wrong to want to be choked by a big buff meaty arm?

- yknow the tiktok thing where girls put a ribbon on their boyfriends arm and the girls just put their face in the middle as their faces get squished??

- Yeah he wants that but gay

- will try to compare dick sizes even though yours is OBVIOUSLY the superior one!!

- Heads or tails on who's bottoming tonight

- Would like to be wrapped around your arms if you are hugging or sleeping keeps him warm

- Especially when it's snowing will force you to hug with him. ESPECIALLY when your in a mission and your in the tents he will definitely force you to hug it out with him

ROACH

- remember the other tall HC where the reader wasn't taller than König

- yes roach does the same thing here.. He's crawling on you like a tree

- If he wants a kiss instead of asking he crawls up to you and kisses you

- definitely likes to sit on your shoulders as you walk around, he feels tall like that

- this is like a distance relationship 💔💔

- Likes it when you bend over to talk to him also when you bend over when youre doing sum since it's slappable opportunity

- because bent over = double D cake will be slapped

- How will it fit? By the power of friendship of course!!

- probably more of say gex desperation but you get it

- Obviously switch switch

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kisses4reid · 1 month

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big change | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - cutting spencer’s hair results in more than just a ‘big change’ appearance wise.

genre - fluff!!!!! cutesy yearning

warnings - idk u scared of haircuts?? scissors??? kissing?? (barely edited btw)

a/n - sometimes i black out and write a fanfic and then find it later on and then i’m like shit this kinda fire and then i edit it and then i post it and then-

You roll your chair over to Spencer’s desk after much staring, and rest an elbow on a low stack of manila folders. Your sneakers squeak as you slow yourself, causing a visible flinch from the long haired boy.

His brunet hair was flicked up at the ends which touched his shoulders, the front pieces tucked behind his ears. As he lifted his gaze, hard expression softening immediately, you whispered, “I know your secret.”

His smile jolted, heart beat quickening. You had a cheeky smile on, hair twirling between your fingers, talking so low. You couldn’t possibly know his secret.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” He asked, placing his pen down and turning to give you his full attention.

“You don’t know how to cut your hair.” His long hair suited him, you thought he looked as handsome as he did on your first day of work how many years ago. The day Spencer fell in love.

Dumbfounded, Spencer replied with a pout, “I know how to cut my hair.”

You raised an eyebrow, and suddenly he was aware of the jagged lines and length of his hair, and how he was now bringing hair ties with him everywhere. Which was actually convenient for all female members of the team. He had to admit, it was inconvenient at times, and it wasn’t his favourite to deal with or to look at. He looked back into your sparkling expecting eyes, smiled softly, and continued, “You should cut it for me.”

You lifted your head from your palm and raised your eyebrows, a pink flush ghosting your cheeks. The offer was innocent, it was a favour, but something about it felt so domestic in your head that you couldn’t help but smile hard, cheeks pressing, “Yeah, of course.”

You pushed off his desk and returned to yours, though his gaze never left your sunny appearance.

The next day, you were knocking on a familiar apartment door, rocking on your sneaker heels, eyes wandering anywhere but where you thought Spencer would be when he opened the door. But even when he did open his door, after a thud and small ‘ow’, you couldn’t help but look at him and savour the last moments with his long hair.

He had a navy blue sweater over a white t-shirt, some sweatpants that looked more formal from afar, and mis-match socks on. You gulped and stepped into his apartment, taking everything in as if you hadn’t been there before.

You took off your light purple scarf and placed it on the kitchen counter, along side the small hair cutting kit you had gotten a few years ago (you couldn’t afford a hair cut before your first day at the BAU, it was a diy emergency).

The apartment was dark and cosy, cabinets a rich wood tone, countertops squeaky clean, couches plush and thrifted. You two often talked about the best thrift stores to visit, you had even planned to go to one together one day. As Spencer pulled a wooden bar stool into the kitchen to sit on, you tied your own hair up, reminding yourself of why you were here.

He smelt amazing, like a new book and burnt marshmallow, and as he gazed into your eyes waiting for you to speak, a cat caught your tongue. You were alone in this warm apartment, only the soft music of Spencer’s old playlist in the background, and a heart beating that you weren’t sure was yours or his.

“Um- Okay. Do you have a reference photo or?”

“Yeah,” he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and showed you a reference photo. It was like he wanted to be a boy band member, and as you imagined him with it, you couldn’t be happier.

He got nervous watching your reaction, it was a very drastic change. You placed his phone on the counter top next to your hair kit, his eyes following your every move like if he blinked you would dissipate. And when a small smile ghosted your face, he felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

"I like it."

"Good."

You leaned close to Spencer, your heat radiating onto him, to pull a lever on his chair to lower him to your eye level. A spray bottle appeared in your hand while the other covered Spencer's brown eyes. Suddenly, cold sprits of water caused Spencer to flinch every time he heard the trigger fire, causing you to giggle lightly. "It's just water." "I didn't get any warning though." He replied sheepishly. He couldn't hear much over his heartbeat, or see much other than you.

The next 15 minutes was spent in radio music and being surrounded by your sweet perfume, trying not to grab you or touch you as much as he wanted to. You were stood in front of him now, eyes focused on his bangs and the hair around his ears, scissors and comb in hand, and he couldn't stop gazing into your eyes like a little boy looking at the stars.

You were utterly gorgeous, beautiful, unreal. Spencer often wondered, especially at the start of your relationship, how nobody else had tried to date you in the team, or in general. But as the two of you grew closer, he realised you were telling everyone no. You were waiting for someone, and it made his heart break everytime he remembered your words.

If only he knew. Your hands jittered slightly, feeling insecure at his hard gaze that you simply couldn't ignore. You hoped in the dim lighting he couldn't see your red cheeks or steep breaths, or that he could. You hoped you never finished cutting his hair, and you thought of other ways you could stay this close. He was tall, warm, comfortable. He was smart, caring, clean. He was Spencer, who wouldn't want to stay with him? A gulp escaped you, and he ripped his eyes off of yours, looking down to avoid your eyes and to see the damage.

There was piles of hair beneath your feet now, and he smiled at the sight.

"Spencer, stop moving your head. I couldv'e cut off your eyebrows." Your laugh filled the apartment, and he looked back up at you.

He hadn't realised how far you had gotten, your eyes scanning his hair for any improvements before a small smile of approval appeared on your cheeks. A breath escaped him. You turned to close your kit. He stood up and placed a hand on the front of your neck, turning your head, and planting his lips on yours.

You squeaked in surprise, quickly kissing back as his hands traveled to your cheeks, holding onto you like you were the only girl in the world. Your fingertips splayed on his chest, you pulled away only to be followed for another kiss, only broken up by a millisecond of a breath.

You opened your eyes and pushed him softly away, noticing the lipstick now stained on his lips and around them. The dim kitchen was spinning, your chest was heaving, and your heart was racing a million beats per minute. You even got a little light-headed before Spencer took his hands from your face and rest them on your waist.

He was much taller now that he wasn't sat, and he looked even more handsome with the haircut you had given him. For a second you thought you were hallucinating. Spencers eyes played between your lips and your eyes, before meeting you in the middle once again. He lifted you slightly, kissing you with movements full of yearning and passion, slowly with multiple breaths in the middle to give you time to reject him (which he expected), but you never did.

You put one hand on his cheek as he pulled away. He smiled widely at you, taking the enthusiasm back as a good sign. He didn't totally fuck up. You whispered, "You kiss your barbers often?" He replied with a cheeky smile, "Only you."

taglist: @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #cm #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader

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seonghwaddict · 5 months

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ateez and their top 3 kinks — masterlist

genre. hc, smut...? rating. mature. warnings. sexual content mdni, yn wears a dress in one part, kinks and stuff, marking, rough-ish, mentions of toys, somnophilia, size kinks, praise, degradation, bdsm themes, public/semi-public sex, breath play, it’s like a lot of kinks. wc. 1.1k.

[ lilo’s notes . . . ] uh yeah i wrote this at 2 in the morning i have no fucking idea why i decided to do this but anyways- enjoy :3

hongjoong

marking. he’d mark you and fucking love to have you mark him… he’s literally so possessive and would never pass the opportunity to physically show people you’re his and he’s yours. hickeys literally everywhere and so many of them you’ll have a hard time covering them up—neck, chest, thighs, back, anywhere.

orgasm control. he’s a natural leader, what he says goes. so, of course, he’d want to be the one to control when you finish. which leads me to my next point.

overstimulation. he personally doesn’t like to be overstimulated but god does he love doing it to you. he loves the whines and twitches as he continue pressing a vibrator against your clit because, let’s be fr, he’d definitely be using plenty of toys (as well as himself).

seonghwa

shibari. i’ve said it once and i’ll say it again and again and again. this man loves nothing more than to tie you up in the most intricate and borderline artistic ways for his own (and your) pleasure.

sensory deprivation. he absolutely loves the trust and vulnerability that comes with this. specifically, he likes to blindfold you and run his hands all over you as lightly as he can, barely brushing over all the spots he knows make you feel good, soft plushy lips ghosting over your skin. and no matter how light it is, you’ll always feel everything ten times more intensely, having nothing else to focus on but his voice and his touch. also, ice cubes.

praise. this is something he’ll incorporate into your everyday lives outside of bedroom a activities. he’ll make sure to tell you you’re doing well while your working on something. gentle head pats and approving nods.

yunho

size kink. this is so obvious but like literally look at him, he makes everyone seem so tiny compared to him. he likes to stare as he pushes his huge dick into you, jaw practically dropping as his huge hands pin your hips to the mattress. speaking of hands…

fingers in mouth…(?) i have no idea if this is an actual kink, but i just know this is so yunho. he’s the type of guy to have you suck your own release off him after he fingers you, getting off on the way your lips wrap around his digits. he would definitely have two fingers or his thumb stuffed in your mouth as he fucks you.

breath play. is it obvious i really like his hands? anyways, i will not be elaborating on this for the sake of my sanity.

yeosang

body worship. is this a seonghwaddict post without body worship being involved in some way? that’s right, no. he’s more into giving the body worship, but when he’s receiving it he becomes the ultimate softie (in my head, he’d be leaning towards being a hard dom tho)

edging. oh he would absolutely love your subtle frustrated huffs every time he stops whatever he’s doing, thinking you look so so cute when you’re desperate and practically begging. and then he’d finally let you finish, giving you the best orgasms you’ve ever experienced.

wax play. usually yeosang is a pretty calm guy outside of the bedroom and he likes to maintain that when it comes to foreplay, building up the anticipation. he specifically likes those candles that melt the wax into massage oil.

san

bondage. i think shibari would also be suitable for san, but he would do it with the usual ropes unlikes seonghwa. additionally, san is totally into marking. bondage/shibari would include exactly that—bruises and rope burns.

locations. ok so i didn’t exactly know what to call this, but he would not give a single shit about where and when he fucks you. backstage during an intermission? you’ll be dragged into a dressing room so he can give you some quick head before going back on stage, someone pounding on the door but he ignores them. at a dinner with some friends, you looking as ravishing as ever? he’ll either discreetly slip his hands up the skirt of your dress to finger you, drag you to a bathroom when no one’s looking, or drag you into the backseat of his car and rip that dress of you. this man has no patience and would rather not wait until you’re in the private confines of your home.

manhandling. he has all those muscles for a reason.

mingi

size kink. the twin towers have very obvious size kinks. like, how could they not? they’re fucking huge.

praise. giving and receiving. mingi likes being told how well he’s doing as much as he likes to be the one telling his partner. he needs the reassurance to make sure what he’s doing feels good for you, he’d hate to hurt you.

somnophilia. ok idk if this counts as it, but he thinks it’s so cute when he fucks you to sleep. his touches and his words and the way he fills you up so gentle soothing it’s like you’re being lulled to sleep. like he’s literally such a softie, okay? he knows his dick game’s good.

wooyoung

humiliation/degradation. giving and receiving. come on guys he basically admitted this already. he would be such a menace in bed, he would coo at you and mock you as he fucks you stupid.

biting. is this even a surprise? he loves to sink his teeth into you as a form of affection, listening to your whimpers and feeling you writhe beneath him as he… multitasks.

dry humping. he doesn’t care that it makes him seem like an inexperienced high schooler making out with his partner. he loves the friction he gets when he slowly grinds against you through your layers of clothing (and he knows you love it too). idk and like he would get desperate at some point, almost there but not quite there yet because it’s not quite enough, and yeah i just like the idea of that.

jongho

sir. he would love to be called sir. or daddy, but i think sir is just so jdjsjhcjsnc like i’m literally pacing in my room as i write this. JUST IMAGINE IT FOR A SECOND PLEASEEE- “please” “please what” “please, sir” “good. very good, darling” AHHHHHHHH

location. couldn’t care less about where he fucks you pt 2. kitchen counter, living room couch, dressing room in a clothing store, in the shower, bathroom stall, up against a wall, the list could literally go on forever.

eye contact. whether it’s forced or not, he thinks eye contact is one of the hottest things. he likes missionary for that exact reason—so he can look you in the eyes, look at you in your fucked out state, as he makes you feel things you know no one else can make you feel.

ot8 (aka things i wanted to give to all of them, with no explanation)

thigh riding.

i want them so bad.

　　[ networks ... ] @cromernet @blankjournal

　　[ perm taglist — open ... ] @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb

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matrixbearer2024 · 4 months

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Get Off My Screen!

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: I'm doing this cuz someone wanted to see my shitposty idea hahaha, I hope it's not too OOC but oh well- I hope someone could write a proper fic with this since I don't trust my writing much HAHAHAHA

A/N: I'll also be doing this from the reader's POV for now. Just message me or request if you wanna see Vox's POV since it might be too long if I include his thingy in this post XD

College life is fun, do doubt about that; from the parties to the friends you make- it truly was unforgettable.

Even if you did study a lot, wanting to get high marks- you had time to indulge every once in a while and goof off with friends.

It made you a star student on paper- but nearly bordering troublesome with your chaotic behavior.

You were lucky to never have been caught with their shenanigans.

But of course your friends just had to push it.

A new ghost hunting hype trend surfaced online and they were convinced that they had to get into it.

You said it was a bad idea, getting into stuff you didn't know.

Your friends brushed you off and all piled into the attic of your parents' home.

Of course, your parents were more than happy to explain some things before leaving your group to their devices.

They've been messing with the... "paranormal" for most of their lives.

You just chose not to believe it.

It wasn't like there was proof aside from heresay anyways.

Your friends proceed to mess with the ouija board they found, among other probably possessed things.

You found it all way too creepy to be honest.

Especially that old CRT TV that was just sitting in the corner.

It was an old thing you remembered using, but it always glitched and stuttered when you were a kid.

Even if there wasn't actually anything wrong with it according to the technicians that tried to fix it over the years.

Your friends started screaming before you could really reminisce.

"WHO'S MOVING IT?!"

"I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING-"

"IT'S MOVINNGGGGGGG-"

The fact the ouija board was actually reacting slightly freaked you out.

You managed to calm your friends from bombarding the thing with questions before asking what actually mattered.

"What's your name?"

V... O... X...

That didn't sound like a demon name you were even vaguely familiar with, at least off the top of your head.

Then of course that creepy TV from your childhood turned on by itself.

Your friends were screaming bloody murder at this point.

You didn't even realize the fuss until you saw the darn thing was unplugged.

You freaked out too, bolting down the attic stairs with your friends quickly in tow.

It was smooth sailing afterwards, your parents assuring you that nothing would happen.

Your friends stayed for dinner until they had to go.

You were about to retire for the night as well until you realized you couldn't find your phone.

Everywhere you looked, it wasn't there.

That left one place.

The attic.

By the time you gathered the courage to return, everything seemed just fine.

The TV was finally turned off, how and why- you didn't bother enough to know.

So you picked up your phone off the floor and just headed to your room.

Only to practically get jumpscared when you opened your phone.

WHO PUT A FRIGGIN WEIRD GLITCHY SMILEY ON YOUR WALLPAPER?!

Annoyed, you switched it back before plugging it into the charger.

Come morning, you had a bone to pick with your lot of friends.

Because not only was your phone stuck with the wallpaper problem, soon were all your devices.

You tried everything, restarting your stuff, running an antivirus, even getting it professionally checked.

Nothing.

And the problem continued to persist.

Now at your wits' end, you figured whatever entity was messing with your gadgets could at least converse with you through said gadgets.

So you opened a blank notepad on your laptop, nearly glaring at the screen while waiting for something to happen.

Five minutes passed and nothing happened.

"OH YOU CRAPPY PIECE OF TECH JUST DO SOMETHING!"

Even more waiting and still nothing.

Eventually you just decided to type something up on the notepad in impatience.

"I know you're in there. Stop messing with me."

And to your surprise, something finally replied.

"Oh I know, you're just fun to mess with doll."

What. The. Fuck.

And that was how you met him.

Vox, the tech overlord demon, months ago.

When he infected your phone, then consequently the rest of your electronics too.

Since then he's been an annoying thorn in your side.

Well... or even a welcome distraction.

Maaaaybe even an odd Omegle Buddy?

Who even still does those?

Either way, you never had to use spellcheck again whenever doing your work.

Nor did you consult Google as often either.

As rude and annoying as he was, Vox was quite helpful when it came to paperwork.

Not that you didn't know much about him, on some days you would both just chat using the notepad.

He hated some radio guy named "Alastor"?

You would laugh if you weren't so tired.

Depending on Vox's mood, he was either tolerable or a downright prick.

Fighting over control of the cursor was also pretty common occurrence.

Vox practically living in your gadgets forced you to learn at least basic software care and programming.

The guy also ended up sorting your files!

You'd be more thankful if he wasn't so bitchy about your file arrangement anyway.

It wasn't that bad.

You want to call him your virtual friend- but he's more like an annoying virus that throws hissy fits from time to time.

Even if said hissy fits were either excessive amounts of lag or mostly obstructive visual glitches and pop ups.

The little shit was also constantly messing with you during class.

Not that he cared enough even if you told him you were, he'd still be messing with your notes or even your files every now and then.

You stopped trying to change wallpapers after you realized he kept switching them back to his grinning face.

Let's not even mention his multitude of custom emojis stuck in your device.

How that got there, you didn't care enough to figure out.

What a weirdo.

Though him constantly interacting with your software gave you an idea.

You saw your friend fawning over a thing called a "desktop pet" just a little ago in class.

They chose to get a virtual slime.

It piqued your interest after you saw it was interactive too.

And knowing that Vox liked to mess with your operating systems a lot, you decided to try and get one to see what he'd do.

You got the basic one, just a random anime "chibi" or so it was labeled on the website.

It walked around and did some emotes before a notepad opened up with a message.

"What the fuck is that."

"My new desktop companion, do you like it?"

You didn't get a reply so you just left to grab a snack.

You weren't even surprised with what you came back to.

Vox was already using the cursor to bully the desktop pet you downloaded.

Either throwing it around or just repeatedly spam clicking it so it fell over.

The sonova bitch-

You kind of expected it, just leaving Vox to do his thing while you went to take a nap.

Only, you didn't realize you would be coming back to a new custom desktop pet and an open note.

"You're welcome~"

If that was what Vox looked like, you couldn't deny it was cute.

Or at least the small desktop pet made it seem so.

It was a striking design for sure-

Did he have a monitor for a head??

Oh that explains the face on your screen wallpapers.

You didn't realize until too late that Vox could interact with you using the desktop pet either.

Sometimes the things he did were cute with it, like the emotes that were installed on the thing.

Or he was just a little shit closing your windows or dragging them off screen before you could notice and stop him.

He was an annoying bastard-

But you kept him around anyways.

A/N: I really had fun writing this thing, it hasn't gone romantic since I didn't know if I wanted it to go that route so this is more of a friendly thing? Either way I might write Vox's POV sooner or later this was a really fun idea HAHAHAHA

A/N: Vox's POV is here!! :3

#vox x reader #vox x you #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox #x reader #Get Off My Screen Series

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pinkchrissysposts · 1 month

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°•*TIPS AND ADVICE FOR LOA AND VOID*•°

Guys i have come to decide that my time have come to an end in this amazing app tumblr I feel honoured to be a part of this beautiful community but before I go I would like to give some tips to everyone who.are still in their void/manifestation/shifting journey.

So as we know this is your journey to seize your power no one is gonna be there to help you except yourself. If you have been in this journey for a long time the only thing you are lacking is trust with yourself. Start building trust with yourself,it will become easier to persist. Consistency and persistence is needed of course but also trust within yourself.

I was also someone who struggled alot as a beginner for years but I slowly learned different things that are key to manifest/enter void/shift. Now don't ask what is the key because it has been mentioned in almost every loa post you read.

Follow your own style of manifesting,if you feel frustrated over methods then choose one which resonates with you,what matters is you feeling satisfied at the end.

Now this is for my a+ p girlies, I know I said it multiple times but don't affirm to get in 3D,affirm to make it your dominant thought,your goal should be making the affirmation your dominant thought that's it. It becomes thousand times easier because you also start to detach from the old story,your attention will be more on believing in that affirmation rather then seeing it in the 3D. Like this😤🤌

When we hear about horror stories,we don't see the ghost but we still believe it exist right? We start reaffirming unconscious like there is ghost in the kitchen stuff like that. (That was one shitty example ☠️💀)

I get a LOTS of ask about robotic affirming and saturation,guys it's simple they both quite similar. Well in robotic affirming you just have to chant it without really focusing on it as it saturate you and it's mostly helps with mental diet.

But during saturation try to be more focus on the affirmation,it like focus affirming.

Moving on to void,I will really recommend using the distraction method or zone out method they both are same nothing different. Also just read the masterlist from my old account @graychrissy it had mostly void post with my documented void journey. Also read rotten's shifting guide then use the gateway tape it is available in spotify too,it can be instant to reach the focus 10,but some may need practice but it's easy nothing overcomplicated just a hemi sync (Turing off left side of the brain).

Top method I recommend is affirming,SATS,FOCUS 10,DISTRACTION METHOD, LUCID DREAMING and THE BASIC WAY

NEVER BE AFRAID OF YOUR EMOTIONS,seriously it's something everyone dm me about it's really not important,your emotions are also 3D,it won't mess up your manifestation so just calm down.

Also since the link in master list aren't working I will make a new one,I will be changing the whole lay out of my blog then you guys can use it. Goodbye~~~~~~~;)

#affirmations #law of assumption #desired reality #void state #law of manifestation #loassumption #lucid dreaming #shifting #robotic affirmation #manifesting affirm and persist #a+p girlies #affirm + persist #desire reality #shiftblr #loablr #3d #4d reality #void post

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andreas-river · 8 months

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➷ Kinktober 2023

Day V: Gangbang || Task Force 141

Cross-posted on Ao3.

It was supposed to be wrong, to feel so good at the point where your body had a mind of its own, to have goosebumps running down your skin as waves of pleasure collided against you, one after the other, like the hands that caressed you so gently, in contrast to the way your Captain drove into you with firm thrusts.

You didn't realize they had that in mind as you were the only ones in the base's private bar, the last mission still too fresh in your tired mind. From talking about some rookie on the base who was causing trouble, to discussing who had to take you first. Definitely normal, and the thought of being the only woman on the team made you almost self-conscious, their words full of lust that made your cheeks blush furiously and your blood boil, but not only from embarrassment.

Ghost was the one holding your wrists, preventing you from controlling your own pleasure—unfortunately, you were the type of woman who needed more than just something pounding inside your pussy to make you come, almost regretting saying it out loud when everyone was undressing—except Ghost of course, who only took off his jacket and unzipped his pants, but at least he didn't have his usual gloves.

Lying down on the wooden coffee table, Price finished with a grunt, pulling out and painting your lower abdomen with his white cum, the room filled with ragged breaths and your whimpers. He fixed himself under your unfocused gaze while the others stared at you with hungrier eyes.

He smiled, sitting on the couch as he lit his cigar. "She's all yours, boys," he takes a drag, everyone staring at your body ravenously. "I'm just going to enjoy this for now."

Gaz exhales, his face adorned with the widest of his grins. "You all heard him—she's ours."

Soon you were manhandled, standing for a brief second before Gaz took your place, encouraging you to straddle him, your thighs trembling at being so open as they helped you down onto his cock, a trail of pre-cum along his entire shaft feeling like natural lubricant.

Not that you needed it, and for a moment you actually denied the thought from your mind as you finally sat on top of him, every vein of him pulsing inside you, but you gasped as something cold made contact with your asshole, your voice silenced by Ghost who made sure you had your lips sealed to his hard cock, your moans and whimpers falling on deaf ears as Soap's finger nudged gently against it, the muscles inside wrapping around his finger so tightly you heard him hiss for a moment.

He opened your hole with another finger, your body naturally trying to escape, but from Simon's big cock resting on your tongue, making you drool on him, coating the hot skin with your saliva, while the shallow thrusts Gaz gave from below, the position perfect for hitting something so deep inside you that you'd never felt so full in your life—it didn't take much, of course, for Soap to start pressing the tip against your hole, the tight ring of muscles trying so hard to accommodate him inside.

You felt dizzy when he was fully inside you, jolts of pain mixing with arousal. You had to close your eyes, overwhelmed by the amount of sensations your body was being subjected to. For a moment your ears were ringing, but the hands on your body helped you back to reality, murmuring praise and caressing your soft skin. Soap began to move slowly and all three men cursed, and you couldn't help but moan at their words, how they praised every part of you and at the same time made your guts twist, setting your nerves on fire and making you a complete mess.

Both Gaz and Soap were merciless, pounding the pleasure out of you as they moved in sync while tears formed in your eyes from Ghost's cock using your throat like a hole to fuck at his own pace—they were the ones who decided where they wanted you, when you would cum, making you feel so helpless yet powerful at how you made them feel, their cock aching only for you. Each of them was so close you could feel Gaz underneath you holding your hips tighter, Soap's thrusting becoming more erratic and Ghost holding your head tighter, the lack of oxygen making you feel like you were under the effect of some drug.

But when something pinched your clit—two fingers right on top of it, rubbing that little bundle of nerves that hadn't received any attention from the start—that was the end, your eyes rolling in your skull as you came, thighs trembling as you almost screamed but your voice still muffled by the cock in your mouth. Your body went completely limp, mind still awake but consciousness elsewhere—definitely on cloud nine.

Even though you didn't realize it, the three men came after you, Ghost being the only one who pulled out to prevent you from choking, while Price was the one who held most of your weight after he decided to rejoin, just to make you cum instantly without any effort at all.

When you opened your eyes again, someone was holding your head and holding a glass of water to your lips, encouraging you to drink it. The fresh liquid felt so good on your sore throat, your body shivered slightly from the adrenaline that was finally wearing off, but they all noticed and placed a blanket on top of you—where they got it, was a mystery.

"Did you have fun?" with your eyes finally open, you finally see Soap holding the glass, Price sitting on the coffee table behind him, Gaz leaning close to your legs and a pair of hands caressing your hair, recognizing Ghost's touch on you, all of them never taking their eyes off you.

You nod in response, too tired to form words. Before you know it, you fall asleep again under their gentle hands, wondering from the back of your mind if it would happen again. Surely you wouldn't mind.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #john price #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 smut #141 x reader

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 1 month

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Catstarion

Sorry for the slow uploads, been going out with friends and working for a bit but here's the next one, inspired by @bg-brainrot's post here. Thank you for the idea!

As you set your cup down, ready for another round of wine, you sense something, no, someone staring intently at you. Turning around, you find Astarion standing at the stairs leading up to the rooms, ruby red eyes piercing into your very soul as he stares, arms resting on the banister.

You’ve known him long enough to know what this means so with a sigh, you thank the bartender for his hospitality, excuse yourself from your increasingly drunk group of companions and head over to the stairs.

The vampire grins when he sees you approaching, gently pulling you to one side by your arm.

“Already turning in for the night, my sweet?” His fingers trail up your arm, lips whispering in your ear. The tips of your ears burn, feeling his words ghost over them.

“So it seems,” you reply. “Care to join me?”

The corners of his lips curve upwards, a sparkle in his eyes as he takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers and gently takes the lead, thumb running over the back of your palm. His wordless answer brings a small smile to your face and you let him guide you, annoyance left at the bar counter.

He turns the corner and opens the door to his room, ushering you in before closing the door behind him. He remains standing at the door as you make your way to the bed, getting comfortable before patting the spot next to you but he doesn’t move.

Raising an eyebrow, you tuck yourself under the covers before patting the pillow next to yours and yet he refuses to budge. Well, third time’s the charm, right? You open your arms and he immediately shoots over, burying himself in your embrace. Amused, you chuckle, which sends reverberations through him. He happily hums in response, shifting so that you have easy access to the entirety of his hair and grabs one of your hands, dropping it on the top his head.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten,” you snort as you begin to run your fingers through his soft white curls. He lets out a sigh of contentment, basking in the familiar rhythm of your fingers combing his locks, massaging his scalp along the way. The gentle movements start to lull him into a trance and he feels his eyes begin to close, his grip on your clothes loosening but then you do the unthinkable.

You shift.

Immediately his eyes snap open and he turns to glower up at you. You raise your hands in surrender, eyeing him warily as he scowls.

“My love, please do not interrupt my trance again.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.”

“It better not.”

With a huff, he turns, stretching out across your legs like a cat before curling back up, feeling your fingers continue their movements through his hair. He loves it when you do this, when you let him trance whilst resting on you without making a single fuss even though you have little to no intention of going to sleep yourself. He loves how you don’t mind carving out time for him amidst your busy schedule, you could always ignore him until you were done drinking but you always responded to his call, putting aside your own needs and wants for him. He knew he could ask anything of you and you would do it, without crossing the boundaries the both of you had set at the start of your relationship of course.

To him, you always had something better to do than attend to his petty whining but to you, he always came first and he still couldn’t fathom why. Maybe one day he would, perhaps if he sat you down and talked to you about it, he would understand, but that would be after The Absolute was defeated and the worms were removed. He was becoming more positive about the party’s prospects in a fight against The Absolute, although he preferred hiding such feelings.

As your fingers continue to work their magic in his hair, his thoughts drift to the many ways you’ve upended his life. You’ve shown him what it means to love, what it means to be genuine, what it means to care about others. You’ve added to his life, and changed things that were already in his life. You’d made it your whole mission to help him associate actions that once caused him pain and misery with something more pleasant, the only reason why he could slip into a trance whilst you ran your fingers through his hair. Back then, such an action always came with —

Cough.

Astarion groans, reaching up to poke your cheek, “I’m trying to trance here, love. A little peace and quiet would be nice.”

“Sorry,” you pout, giving him the puppy dog eyes he can never resist and he lets the matter slide, returning back to his thoughts and attempt to trance.

You’re always careful to not pull his hair, with knots always being gently untied either with your fingers or a comb should one be nearby. You’re also the only one he trusts to take care of his hair, whether it be washing or helping to maintain it.

He feels you rest your free hand on his waist, the warmth from your palm spreading through his cold undead body and feels the urge to slip into a trance wash over him once more. Knowing he is safe in your arms, for nothing will be able to hurt him when you’re around, he lets the urge take hold, readying himself for whatever nightmares could plague his rest.

That is if you didn’t sneeze right there and then.

Astarion clicks his tongue, refusing to even open his eyes and exclaims, “Gods, how am I supposed to trance in these conditions?”

He buries his face into your thighs, putting up a dramatic show of angrily muttering under his breath while you apologise, struggling to hold in your laughter.

“Come on Astarion. If you want to trance properly, you should’ve just told me to go to sleep!”

“But then you wouldn’t be able to do…this!” He gestures vaguely in the direction of your hand which is still buried beneath his white curls, letting out yet another huff.

“You’ll have to choose one then, Star. I can’t seem to do both.” There’s mirth in your voice and for a moment Astarion wonders if you’re just toying with him but then the look in your eyes reassures him and he lets out a sigh of resignation, sitting up so that you can get into a comfortable position to sleep.

“Fine. Sleep next to me, my love.” He wraps you in a cocoon made from his arms, nuzzling into your neck and feels his fangs press against your skin — the only barrier between him and your blood. Yet you don’t flinch, trusting that he will only bite after asking you for permission and snuggle against him under the covers.

“Stop spending so much time with them,” you hear him mumble. So that was why he was acting so weirdly all night.

“You have me all to yourself every night, don’t you worry.” You press a peck to the top of his head, tucking him tighter against your body.

“And you’ll have me for all eternity too.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #durgestarion #bg3 fluff #bg3 fic

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evermoreal · 5 months

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it always leads to you ࿐

pairing: simon riley x reader

genre: dad’s best friend au, fluff, smut, a touch of angst

cw: smut - this is 18+ minors dni, age gap (ghost is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s), fem!reader, reader is implied to be shorter than ghost, unprotected sex (bad idea!!!!!), praise kink (excessive use of ‘good girl’), oral (m & f receiving), face-fucking (he’s gentle abt it), ummmm a man that is Not ghost makes unwanted sexual advances, small mention of blood (someone gets a cut on their forehead). please lmk if i missed anything !!!!!!

summary: coming home for the holidays is both a blessing and a curse — cheesy music, bittersweet nostalgia, and simon riley, your father’s best friend and the man you’ve had a stupidly big crush on for years.

author’s note: hiii!! um a Few things . firstly, i seldom write smut & when i do i never post it. i have put off posting this for so long bc i was so nervous — it was originally meant to be a christmas gift to u guys 😭😭 n e ways we Prevail. also i despite being Obsessed w him i’ve never written for ghost !!!! i want to do soo much more for him & the other cod men, so if u have any reqs/ideas, my asks are always open !!! love u guys soooooo much i hope i enjoy ! 💋💋

word count: 11k (sorry 😭)

credits: title is from tis the damn season by taylor swift, and the beauuuutifullll render/edit of ghost is by user dwisesz on twitter!

before you met him, you’d heard endless stories. for as long as you could remember, your father recounted tales of his friend ‘ghost’ from the army. every time he came back from deployment, there’d be something new — ghost’s snipe from 2,700 meters away, ghost making your dad laugh so hard beer came out of his nose, ghost making a new recruit cry simply by staring at them.

there were others, of course, too; gaz, who your father had quite the soft spot for; john, who quickly became your favourite when you met him a few years ago and he snuck you a sip of wine at dinner; soap, who was new to the team but had enough passion to carry an entire army on his back.

ghost, though — he was your dad’s favourite. though he claimed to be too honourable for favourites, the way your father spoke about him made it clear. a simultaneous respect and affection woven through every recounted story.

it was a shock you didn’t meet him until your freshman year of college. your father and ghost’s leave fell around the same time, and your father had invited him to stay with your family. your father never revealed much about ghost’s history, but you knew it was dark and splattered with blood. he was alone now, and though he claimed he preferred it that way, he’d accepted your father’s invitation.

from your bedroom, you’d heard the front door creak open, and without so much as a breath you were bounding down the stairs, bare feet smacking against the hardwood. your father was in the midst of putting down his bags when you threw your arms around him. “dad!”

he reciprocated immediately, pulling you tightly against him. “hi, honey. i missed you.”

as you pulled back, he patted your head, and you spotted a shadow along the floor. following it toward the still-open door, you found a broad, menacing figure, blocking most of the sunlight. he was nearly as wide as the doorway, and the top of his head just barely made it under the threshold. over his face was hidden by a black balaclava with the faint impression of a skull along the front, faded with age and use. despite the endless stories, you were immediately intimidated, and stepped closer to your father.

your dad squeezed your arm, chuckling. “lieutenant, this is my daughter.”

looking between the two of you, simon took a slow step forward, and extended his hand. his movements were careful, like you were a wild animal he didn’t want to spook.

hesitating briefly, you slipped your hand into his. the warmth of ghost’s hand bled through the gloves he wore as he squeezed yours once. “nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“it’s nice to meet you, um, mr ghost.” you had to crane your neck to look him in the eye.

a low, raspy chuckle rumbled from his chest, and beneath the balaclava, his eyes creased into tiny half-moons. “just simon is fine, love.”

and, really, he didn’t even give you a chance. there was no warning, no preamble. in an instant, fear ignited into something far more dangerous — attraction.

with a warm stomach, you smiled, and tried your hardest to keep it from growing too wide. “right. um. simon. yes.” you bit your cheek. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”

finally releasing your hand, he murmured, “terrible things, i assume.” his wink was quick and cheeky and certainly wasn’t meant to release a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, and yet . . .

“mostly,” you joked, and beside you, your father laughed. it was a rude awakening — ice water splashed over your silly little daydream. this man was only a few years younger than your father — in no universe would he give you a chance, and in no world should you want him to.

as quickly and as unassumingly as you could, you excused yourself, claiming you were in the middle of packing — which was mostly true. you were due on campus in less than two weeks, and if you didn’t start now, you’d leave it until the night before and end up forgetting something.

initially, you’d dreaded spending two weeks under the same roof as simon. it was a surefire plan to end up embarrassing yourself, because you’d never really been able to act normally around a crush, especially one in the shape of a 6-foot-whatever behemoth. yet, as the days went on, that dread steadily began to lift. despite your school girl crush, simon was easy to talk to. a lot of the time he was quiet, but his eyes never wavered from you, listening intently and humming where it mattered. he was fun, too — he recommended good movies, took you shopping while your father ran errands, taught you the best places to hit a man if one attacked you.

(a picture of simon, dramatically curled up in pain after you’d accidentally kicked him in the balls during a lesson now sits in your phone’s ‘favourites’ folder).

two weeks went by far too quickly, and before you knew it, your dad and simon were lugging your belongings up and into your dorm. not a single bag was left for you — you were tasked with the important duty of telling them what went where. when all was said and done, simon handed you a tiny piece of paper with a ten-digit number scrawled messily across it.

“in case you ever need me,” he explained, warm brown eyes peering at you beneath terribly long lashes. “i know your dad’s always there, but — just in case.”

then, he’d patted your head and squeezed your shoulder, murmuring a, “good luck, kid.”

and, though he was lovely to look at and talk with and exist around, you knew it would never be anything more. no matter how desperately a silly little part of you wished it. he spent time with you because he didn’t have anyone else. never had a daughter or a niece to spoil or playfight with. it was endearing, the way he interacted with you. wholesome and innocent and if that was all you’d ever get, you’d be happy.

— ∘♡༉∘ —

college was a lot. it was simultaneously the best and worst time of your life, passing by at both a snail’s and bullet’s pace. somehow, you ended up halfway through your final year. the holidays had rolled around, leaving you on a train, weaving over the tracks as you made your way back home.

in the years you’d been away, you’d kept in contact with simon. he joined your family for every holiday, and beyond that, you texted him often. sent him photos of your proudest grades, spirit days, or yummy meals. he’d even occasionally text you first, asking how your classes were going, if it was raining there like it was here, if you got home safe on the nights he knew you went out.

the landlord he’d rented his shitty apartment from ended up selling the place and simon had to relocate, finding a place only a few minutes from your dad’s. they loved to bug you, now — sending selfies and videos. to occupy themselves on their offtime, they’d opened a car repair shop together, and it only got worse.

you weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow, but you were feeling homesick and your bags were already packed. before long, you were stepping out of a taxi, bags in hand, and ambling up to the shop.

the reception area was tiny, sweetly decorated for the holidays and playing some generic christmas station. leaning against the desk was soap, slyly flirting with the blushing woman behind it.

his eyes lit up upon seeing you. “the fuck’re you doin’ ‘ere, lass?” he questioned far too loudly. immediately, you shushed him, and he caught on. “ooh, i love surprises. they’re back in the garage, workin’ away. y’want me t’film it?”

giggling, you shook your head, accepting the quick side hug he gave you. when you slipped through the garage door — opening it bit by bit, never too quickly lest it creak, soap returned to the customer.

the garage was stocked with cars in disrepair and various parts you couldn’t name if your life depended on it. the stench of motor oil, cigar smoke, and antifreeze stung your nose as you made your way over, where simon was wheeled beneath a car, thick thighs flexed inside oil-stained jeans. your father was turned away from you, bent over a shoddy metal table table and observing an array of papers. an ancient radio sat next to them, croaking out a rock song from your childhood.

“one of these days, i’m gonna teach you to use spotify,” you called, voice bouncing off the cement walls and ceiling.

a bang proceeded your words, and in the same instant, your father turned around, exclaiming your name and wrapping you in the world’s tightest bear-hug.

“we were supposed to pick you up tomorrow!” he said, voice muffled to your ears beneath the suffocating squeeze of his arms.

“figured i’d surprise you,” you supplied, stepping back from his grasp once it loosened. immediately after, you were enveloped by simon, who stunk of grease, cheap cologne, and tobacco. you inhaled; it was lovely.

“my favourite college student,” he murmured into the top of your head. “how y’been, trouble?”

when you pulled away, a dark splotch caught your eye. a small but growing patch of blood stained the top of his balaclava, turning the black fabric a murky shade of brown.

“shit! you’re bleeding!” you yelped, stepping away from him and searching your surroundings — there wasn’t much for medical supplies in a garage.

beside you, your dad was laughing; a deep, wheezy sound. “did y’hit your head?”

simon grunted, shooting you a playful glare. “if college doesn’t work out, kid, y’ve got an easy spot on the one-four-one. you’re quiet as a mouse. scared the shit outta me.”

despite yourself, you snorted. “i’ll keep that in mind. d’you guys have any bandaids?”

“there’s some in the office. bottom drawer of my desk,” your father replied, voice tinged with amusement.

“thank you, dad. simon, come. i took a first-aid course in high school.”

obediently, simon followed, keeping just a step behind as you moved through the garage. from his table, your father called, “we’re going out for dinner tonight, don’t make plans!”

“sir yes sir!”

simon and your father’s office was a small room just off the garage. carpeted, with off-white walls and dusty blinds letting in yellowish rays of sunlight. dusty photos hung from the wall; a few of you and your father; the 141; a german shepherd simon adored.

moving to the desk, you bent over and dug through the mountain of junk in the bottom drawer. the box of bandaids was shoved into the corner, bent and creased. simon copied your movements, rounding the desk and sitting on the worn desk chair.

“d’you know if you have anything to clean it with? hydrogen peroxide, saline, any kind of antiseptic?” you questioned, opening the drawer above it, which contained only invoices and a chequebook.

humming, simon stood, moving to the cabinet and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. at the roll of your eyes, he chuckled. “it works, doesn’t it?”

“i suppose it does,” you replied, collecting the fast food napkins you’d spotted while searching for the bandaids. then, after he’d sat once more, you softy placed your fingers at the bottom of simon’s balaclava. “may i?”

whenever simon’s eyes met yours, your breath hitched. every single time. whether it was because of that stupid crush that never went away or because his gaze were simply so intense, like an entire world existed within small pools of deep brown. pulling you in, drowning you. it was impossible to look away.

again, he hummed, granting you permission. gently, you rolled the fabric up, revealing his face inch by inch. this wouldn’t be the first time you’d seen his face — he spent far too much time around you to hide it. he still wore it more often than not, though, and every time he bothered to tug it off, it was like seeing it for the first time. roman nose, full lips, the scar across his brow, the prickly dusting of facial hair along his jaw. it was a shame he hated photographs — you’d frame it if you had any less sanity.

in your distraction, the tension had grown thick, humming in the silence of the room. clearing your throat, you took the whiskey from him, turning it over in your hands. “this stuff is shit.”

his face twisted. “how the hell d’you know what whiskey tastes like?”

snorting, you uncapped the bottle, and began to soak the corner of a napkin. “y’know, riley, i’ve been legal for a while now.”

his lip twitched, forming a crooked smile. “i know. it’s hard not to. y’keep growing. every time i see you, you’re . . .”

he trailed off. placing a gentle hand on his forehead, you tilted his head backward, and began to gently wipe at the cut. “i’m what?”

imperceptibly, he shook his head, careful not to jostle you. “more of a woman.”

you barked a laugh at that, and his smile grew. “more of a woman? what does that mean? i had tits when i met you, simon.”

simon rolled his eyes. “that’s not — what i meant. you’re . . . not a kid. you’re meaner now, for one.”

resuming the cleaning of his wound, you pouted. “mean? you wound me. maybe i’m just not scared of you anymore.”

“no, you’re not mean. always been a sweetheart.” his eyes fluttered shut beneath your ministrations. “you were scared of me?”

you giggled, and placed the bloodied napkin in the trash. then, you dug out a bandaid. “no, not really. nervous, maybe. intimidated.”

“is my handsome face really so daunting?”

this time, your laugh was lacklustre — he’d hit the nail straight on the head. “you’re bigfoot in a skull mask. before you spoke, i was a bit nervous.”

“but you’re not? now?”

peeling the parchment from the back of the bandaid, you met his gaze. “no. why would i be?”

this time, it was simon that looked away. you delicately placed the band-aid over the cut, before he said, “thank you, angel.”

you smiled, and, like you were drunk of the proximity of him, placed a quick, daring kiss to the band-aid. “if i wasn’t such a generous nurse, i’d say you owe me. you’re lucky.”

simon breathed laugh, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the tops of his cheeks were pink. clenching and unclenching his jaw, he murmured, “lucky indeed.”

— ∘♡༉∘ —

in hindsight, believing your high school friends were capable of growing up was one of your less intelligent ideas. call it boredom or stupidity, but when a few of your old friends invited you out to the bar, you were compelled to accept.

it, unsurprisingly, went dreadfully. the first half of the night was fine — the first round of shots was purchased by one of the sweeter ones. you caught up over murky-coloured cocktails, swapping stories about your new lives and reminiscing over your old ones. the alcohol warmed your skin and loosened your limbs. the night went on and the amount of patrons doubled; you recognized a lot of them from old classes or bus rides or kindergarten friendships.

a boy from high school, one that hadn’t said a single nice thing to you in the entire four years, approached you with something that was supposed to be a smirk. you were polite at first, nodding along to his slurred words, exhaling when he attempted a joke. he dragged a hand over your thigh, and when you shifted away he easily followed. you excused yourself, muttering something about using the restroom, and he took it as an invitation.

“y’like it public, huh? never took you as the type,” he garbled, sliding off the barstool and following your movements. “i like whatever you like, baby.”

“no, i — actually need to pee,” you stated, glancing around the bar for your lost friends. he stared at you for a long minute, eyes narrowing.

“mm, fine. i’ll — i’ll pull up my car, we can head back to my place.”

“no, i—” you began, eyeing his sleazy grin and glazed-over leer. “i don’t want to go home with you. i’m not interested. i’m sorry.”

it takes a few moments for him to wrap his head around your words; each one spelled out across his face as it’s processed. finally, his expression twisted into a sneer.

“should’ve fuckin’ known not to waste my time with you,” he barked, unfocused eyes glaring daggers at you. “once a whore always a whore, huh?”

the most embarrassing part of this was the tears. you didn’t let him see them — too prideful to let them fall before you muttered a “fuck you,” and escaped out the side door.

the night air was freezing, twinged with the sharp bite of early winter. without a jacket or alcohol — you’d sobered up as soon as his hand touched your leg — to warm you, you were left hugging yourself, digging your phone out of your purse.

you could have sobbed when a red battery symbol lights up the screen, before flickering back off, dead. you just might have had you not spotted a pay-phone a few meters away.

there were only a few coins in your purse. had it not been kept for just-in-case situations like these, there would be none at all. shoving a few into the coin slot, you dial the number you’d had memorized from childhood.

it rang several times, wind whistling in your other ear, before your father’s voice stated, “sorry, can’t reach the phone. leave a message.”

a choked sound left your throat. what the hell were you supposed to do? most of your friends had split off into tiny sub-groups, and you were too ashamed to ask any of them for a ride. there was the option of asking a bartender to call a cab, though the idea of that was, for no real reason, profusely embarrassing. then, you remembered the one other phone number you’d memorized.

you don’t really know why — there was no reason for you to remember it, especially over any other phone number. yet, when he’d handed you that crumbled sheet of paper, your eyes had traced over the shapes of the numbers, and for some reason committed them to memory with no further effort.

whatever the reason was, you didn’t feel like questioning it. you were merely thankful you did. with cold fingertips, you pressed the digits into the payphone.

he picked up on the fourth ring. “who’s this?” was the greeting.

“it’s me,” you replied, and you barely were able to finish saying your name before he was cutting you off.

”what’s wrong? are you alright?”

huffing a quiet laugh, you said, “‘m fine, simon. i just—” you sighed, clutching the phone tighter in your hand. “i went out with my friends, an’ i—i’m just not having a good time. i tried to call my dad, but it’s past ten, so he’s passed out. i’m sorry—”

“where are you?” he asked, and there was a rustling in the background.

there were only a few bars in town—he knew immediately where this one was. “i’m on my way, i’ll be there in ten. are you in a safe spot, sweetheart?”

“i’m in a telephone booth. my phone died.”

“of course it did. would you be willing to go in an’ ask the bartender to use the phone?”

“no.”

“alright. okay. just stay on the line with me then, okay? d’you have any extra change, in case y’run outta minutes?”

”yeah. i should be good. i’m—listen, si, i’m really sorry—”

“if i hear that word come outta y’r mouth again we’re gonna have issues,” he said, and you laughed despite yourself. “‘m glad you called. now i’ll get t’see your pretty face.”

a girlish giggle sounded from your chest, and if it weren’t so damn cold, you might’ve been embarrassed. “i hate bars.”

“y’go to the wrong ones,” he replied. “one day i’ll take you out to one of my favourites. show you a decent drink.”

“my drinks are decent,” you argued. there was a whooshing sound on the line, and you panicked. “you’re not driving your motorcycle, are you?”

“didn’t have anything else with me,” he said. “y’got a problem with my harley, trouble?”

“your harley is a death machine.”

simon chuckled. “i’ll drive slow with you.”

“you should be driving slow now.”

another laugh. “i’ll be there in three.”

“simon!” you admonished. “you said ten!”

“that was four minutes ago.”

shaking your head, you said, “your lack of self-preservation should be studied.”

in the few seconds he took to reply, your teeth clacked together, and simon swiftly asked, “are you chattering?”

your lack of response served as one on its own, and he continued, “doll, what’re you wearing in this telephone booth?”

“um,” you started, chewing your bottom lip. “a skirt.”

“and a jacket?”

“uh.”

“christ,” he swore. “your lack of self-preservation should be studied. it’s not even 5° out.”

“jackets are a lot of work to carry around in a bar,” you argued, though you knew it was fruitless. “and i wasn’t really planning on spending any time in a telephone booth.”

“y’should always prepare for the worst,” he stated. “what if i hadn’t picked up, hm?”

“you always pick up.”

for a short moment, the other line was quiet, with only the quiet whoosh of the wind brushing past the speakers. then, “yeah, i do.”

the way he said it — so tenderly, like an admission — had any response dying on your tongue. your heart felt oddly warm, and didn’t quite know what to do with yourself, curling and uncurling the phone cord around your fingers.

“‘m here, trouble,” simon said, saving you from further awkward silence. a headlight glared against the glass of the phone booth, hallowing fingerprints and rain stains. squeaking out an, “okay,” you hung up the phone with a click and stepped out.

he was off his motorcycle already, immediately tugging off his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders before pulling you against him.

“god, you’re a fuckin’ ice cube, sweetheart,” he said. he held you like that for a while, arms wrapped so tightly around your frame that you worried you’d morph into him. not that you minded — he was warm.

afterwards, simon cupped your cheeks, tilting your head upward as he examined you, as if you were ill or injured. furrowing his brow, he asked, “were you crying?”

you attempted to look away, ashamed, but in his grip it proved futile. “not much.”

“what happened?” he asked, and there was something in his voice, laced in the low rumble of it, that sounded threatening. it wasn’t meant for you, that was clear — he’d never direct anything hostile toward you. before he had even the barest idea of who or what made you cry, he was already furious at it.

“it’s nothing.”

“tell me,” he demanded. then, softer, “please. i just — need to know.”

moving your gaze from a far-off shape in the night towards his, you were unable to keep it from him. “i—this guy. i went to high school with him.”

a spark lit his gaze. “what’d he do?”

for a few breaths, you were quiet, trying to sort the words into something only mildly wrath-inducing. “he wanted, um, to take me home. i didn’t want to. he got upset.”

the spark caught, lighting his gaze into a furious blaze. even beneath the balaclava, you could see his jaw clench. he stepped away from you and set on a warpath toward the bar.

“simon—no,” you yelped, hurrying to catch up with him. it was a difficult task—your shoes weren’t comfortable and his long legs moved swiftly. finally, you caught his leather sleeve in your grasp. “don’t. please, don’t.”

at the sound of your voice, soft and warbled, he stopped, turning to face you once more, and whatever he saw on your face had his eyes softening.

“i don’t want to deal with him any more than i already have,” you said, staring up at him. “i just—i just want to leave. can we go to your house, please? i don’t want to be alone. i don’t want to think.”

the neon bar lights cast strange shadows across your frames, illuminating you in various bright colours as you stood, gazes caught in one another. simon seemed to fight with himself for a moment, fury and something far more tender battling for authority. the latter won out; he exhaled a long breath, hand cupping the back of your head and pulling you into him once more.

“let’s go, yeah?”

you nodded, following with your arm wrapped around his as he led you to the bike. attached to the back was an extra helmet, which he placed atop your head, adjusting it with a heady stare you couldn’t meet. the helmet smelled like pine and tobacco and vanilla and simon — it was everywhere, and you blissfully drowned in it.

when it was to his satisfaction, he tugged his gloves off and pulled them over your fingers. they were large and loose on you, and they were still warm from his skin. afterward, he pulled his own helmet back on, and held a hand out, helping you onto the back of the machine. large hands adjusted your hips, manhandling you into the right position, and it took everything in you not to make some sort of embarrassing squeak.

“okay,” he murmured, bent over your shoulder. “i’m gonna sit on the front here. you’ll have your arms wrapped around my torso, okay? and you’re not gonna let go, at all. yeah?”

you nodded. “mmhmm.”

“i need to hear your words, love.”

meeting his gaze for the briefest second, you repeated, “i won’t let go.”

“good. i won’t too fast with you, but if y’need me to pullover, just let me know, yeah?”

another nod, and this time he gave you a pointed look. “i’ll let you know,” you stated, lips just barely twitching.

with a gloved hand, simon pat your helmet and mounted the bike. after the briefest moment of hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his middle. even through the leather, he was warm; you couldn’t help but burrow a bit further into him. with merely a glance at simon, it was obvious he was built — far more than any other man you knew. to feel it beneath you, though, was an entirely separate thing. he was solid and unyielding but not harsh; a thin layer of fat kept him just soft enough.

“good girl,” he praised, patting the hands you’d entwined in front of his belly. you pressed your eager grin between his shoulders.

the motorcycle rumbled beneath you, and, slowly, he eased the gas, weaving through the tightly-crammed parking lot. just as he was about to exit the lot, he asked, above the exhaust, “you alright?”

“mmhmm,” you hummed, cheek pressed against leather. then, “yes.”

with that, he accelerated onto the road, joining the late-night traffic. the wind whistled in your ears and bit at your exposed legs; you pressed yourself further against him, and his back vibrated with the sound he made in acknowledgment. above, yellowish streetlights warmed the pavement and passing cars. gas stations and markets and various homes passed by in a colourful blur.

at a red light, while you sat still, simon’s hand came down, brushing over your knuckles in slow circles. the movement was featherlight and you wondered if it was unconscious — as soon as it flicked back to green, he moved the hand back to the handles without any acknowledgment.

the ride to his place was closer than it would have been to yours. simon lived in a small, red brick townhouse, far enough from downtown to be quiet, and close enough to access it without any hassle. he could afford better, though he opted for this because ‘it was all he needed.’ a stove to cook on, quiet neighbours, and a bed to sleep in — these were his only requirements.

steering the motorcycle beside the curb, he parked it there, and leaned backward into you. “how was that?” he asked. the world seemed strangely quiet without the hum of the engine.

“fast,” you said lamely, honestly. “not as bad as i thought, but i still prefer cars. they have walls. and heat.”

simon laughed, shaking his head. the sound echoed through his shoulders, which you were still pressed against. “when i get you a jacket i’ll make sure it’s heated.”

the idea of simon purchasing you a leather jacket to ride with him more often — it made your face heat up and your cheeks ache with a restrained grin. you were barely able to get yourself under control before he was sliding off the bike and offering a hand to you. even with his help, maneuvering your way off with mostly-numb legs was a difficult task. you just barely were able to land steady-footed on the pavement. as if simon knew this, he kept a hand on the small of your back as you walked up the steps to his home.

inside, it smelled like simon. pine, english breakfast tea, and something unique to him. the only thing missing was the stench of a cigarette; you knew he refused to smoke inside.

the decorations were minimal yet cozy; it was surprisingly neat. besides the pair he’d just kicked off, the shoes were lined up along the wall. you’d been inside very few times, and never long enough to observe. in the living room, the lamp was still on, bathing the room in warmth. there was a cup of tea on the coffee table, only a few sips left. beside it was a novel you didn’t recognize, dog-eared halfway through.

every detail felt important, like a glimpse into him. had the bar not left you feeling sticky and unkempt, you could have stayed here observing for hours. yet, your shirt felt suffocating across your chest, and the nape of your neck felt sweaty despite the earlier chill.

“um,” you began ungracefully. “do you mind if i use your shower? i feel . . . icky.”

his lips twitched at your choice of words, and he nodded. “yeah. lemme show you the bathroom, sweets.”

following him up the stairs, he directed you to the bathroom, pulling two towels out of his linen-closet. then, he said, “shower’s fuckin’ complicated. too fancy. lemme get it started for you.”

you watched as he ducked in, fiddling with buttons and knobs until steam danced over the glass doors. afterward, he looked back at you, peering at your figure. “that’s not very comfortable.”

you followed his gaze, glancing over your outfit. “well, no.”

he huffed. “i’ll get y’something of mine,” he stated, and made his way toward the door. “i’ll leave it on my bed, yeah? just down the hall. if y’need anything, sweetheart, just shout. i’ll be downstairs.”

giving a soft smile, you nodded and said, “okay. thank you, simon. really.”

“no need. i’d let y’live here if it meant never going to that fuckin’ shitehole again.”

“it wasn’t that bad of a bar.”

he gave you a dead-pan stare. “shite. hole.”

amused, you rolled your eyes, and pushed the door shut. on the other side, you heard a chuckle — the smile that bloomed on your face at the sound was unbidden.

it’d be a lie to say it didn’t feel strange to strip in simon’s house. the fact that only a few walls stood between you sent a strange thrill through you. it was in your best interest to ignore it — your heart and body had incredibly inappropriate reactions to the man, and tonight they seemed to be at an all time high.

he was being kind, nothing else.

once your clothes were peeled off and discarded on the tiled floor, you stepped into the shower. immediately, the warmth enveloped you, melting the tension out of your muscles and washing it away.

simon didn’t have much of a selection when it came to soaps. you were thankful he had a decent face wash, though — at least there were no three-in-ones.

the body wash smelled lovely — that dizzying, woodsy scent native to simon danced alongside the steam in the bathroom as you lathered it across your skin. though it was tempting to stay for longer, you didn’t want to waste too much of his water. you stepped out, and wrapped a shockingly soft towel around your abdomen.

the house was quiet when you stepped out of the restroom, clothes collected in your hands as you padded toward simon’s bedroom. this was the one room you hadn’t yet seen, though you could have predicted quite a bit of it. neat, minimal decorations. a king-sized bed because anything smaller wouldn’t fit him. folded atop were joggers and a sweatshirt.

it wasn’t a surprise you had to roll up the pant legs until they were ridiculously cuffed at the bottom. the sight of yourself in the mirror made you snort; you were drowning in simon’s clothes. butterflies swarmed your tummy, too—you were in his clothes, like you belonged to him. the train of thought was dangerous, you quickly looked away.

exiting his bedroom, you heard a quiet, continuous popping sound. padding down the stairs, you followed it into the kitchen where simon stood, collecting a bit of butter and a salt shaker.

though your steps were quiet, simon’s eyes were on you before you even stepped inside the room. his gaze swept your figure, dwarfed in his clothes, lingering just long enough for you to catch it before he was shifting it away, jaw twitching beneath his balaclava.

after a moment too long, he said, “hey, trouble.” his voice was low. “making popcorn. there’s tea.” he gestured with his chin to the counter where two mugs sat, one of which you’d gifted to him nearly three years ago now. a black cat was painted on the front, a grumpy expression wrinkling it’s little face (“it reminds me of you,” you’d said). in a significantly less interesting mug was your tea, several shades lighter than his black.

“thank you,” you murmured against the lip of the glass, wincing slightly when a sip burned your tongue.

“do you—” he began, taking the popcorn out of the microwave and pouring it into a bowl. “how’s a movie sound?”

you grinned. “it sounds lovely.”

“there’re dvds in the cupboard out there,” he explained, sifting the butter and salt through the popcorn. “take your pick.”

a snort. “why am i not surprised you still use dvds?”

simon raised a brow. “i spend half my life in barracks. netflix is a scam, love.”

“sure,” you said, grinning impishly. “grandpa.”

despite your teasing, his movie collection was vast. a lot of them you hadn’t heard of, though you picked out a familiar one, presenting him with your choice when he joined you in the living room.

“diehard, hm?” he gave a crooked smile. “tis the season, i suppose. you have good taste, sweetheart.”

“i know,” you stated proudly. “but you should keep complimenting me.”

simon huffed a laugh, and placed the disc in the dvd player. “i already feed your ego too much.”

making yourself comfortable on his couch, you agreed, “you really do.” then, when he procured a blanket and draped it across your lap, you snorted. “this isn’t helping.”

placing the popcorn between you, simon tugged off his balaclava and shoved a few pieces in his mouth, saying, “sorry, sweets. can’t help it.” his smile was lopsided and boyish, charming. the tv flickered on, basking the room in a blueish glow, before simon clicked ‘play’ on the movie.

together, you watched the opening scenes of the movie. a few jokes were muttered back and forth, but, other than that and the sounds of the film, it was quiet. the popcorn was delicious, lathered in an unhealthy amount of butter and salt, you shovelled it into your mouth.

the tea, too, was lovely. warm and sweet, and, combined with the comfort of simon’s presence, you were sleepily lulling back into the plush couch. with low eyelids, you tried to make yourself comfortable, manoeuvring your body this way and that. huffing, you stared down at the couch, searching for a decent position, when you spotted simon’s lap.

all muscled and soft, he’d make the perfect pillow. would he mind? you sincerely doubted he would. it was innocent, after all. you simply wanted to relax. the only one it might be awkward for was you, and if you could get past your stupid crush for a single hour, it’d be perfect.

after one more moment of doubt, you stretched yourself out and hesitantly laid your head on simon’s lap. beneath you, he tensed for a moment, and you just about thought you’d fucked everything up before he relaxed back into the couch. a large hand made a home on your back, running soothingly up and down your spine.

laying against simon like this — it was so peaceful. your mind hushed to a low hum as you nestled further into him, eyes trained on the screen. his fingers trailed upward, tracing a pattern on the nape of your neck and returning south.

the movie was entertaining, though you felt yourself slipping into sleep. occasionally, simon’s fingers would slip over a ticklish slip of skin, and you’d shiver, causing him to exhale a chuckle.

slowly, as your mind quieted, so did the sound of the film, until it was an unintelligible mumble. the world started and ended with simon’s thighs beneath your cheek, and his hand against your shoulders.

against your eyelids, the screen was bright, lighting them up uncomfortably. huffing sleepily, you pressed your face into simon’s lap, burrowing further in an attempt to make yourself comfortable. beneath you, something firm prodded against your cheek, and at once you were very awake.

simon, suddenly, stiffened. the hand on your back halted, fingers hovering over your skin before dropping away completely. “oh, fuck—christ, sweetheart, i’m so sorry. i’ll drive you home, okay? or—i’ll call a cab, if you’d rather that—”

“simon.” the word was firm enough to catch his attention, quieting him if only for a moment. your mind swam—a mess of confusion, lust, excitement, and need. when it proved too difficult to sift through, too impossible to cohere, you voiced the one word you could manage:

“please.”

despite the long-forgotten movie being your only source of light, the reaction simon had was the clearest you’d ever seen. his breath hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly. his gaze, so dilated it was almost entirely black, narrowed on your face. it darted between your features, like he was searching for some sort of hidden meaning in your words, like he didn’t quite believe you.

in retaliation, your hand, trembling only slightly, came up and grazed the too-large tent in his trousers. immediately simon’s hand gripped your wrist, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling sharply.

“kid—” he said then, and the word was wrapped in molten heat. it was gravelly in a way you’d never heard before, a rumble in his chest. goosebumps broke out along your skin. “don’t start something you’ll regret.”

“i’m not,” you stated bravely, daringly. you adjusted your position, only to face him better, and he did not let go of your wrist. you hoped he couldn’t feel the rapid thrum of your pulse beneath his thumb. “please, simon. i want this. i’ve wanted this.”

that snagged on something in his brain; caught his attention and held it. he stared at you, intense as ever. behind his gaze was a dilemma; a war you could only see traces of. after a few suffocatingly long moments spent beneath heavy tension, something won out, and the grip on your wrist loosened.

immediately, with years of want behind your touch, you grazed your hand over his clothed length once more. the breath in your chest stuttered when you grasped it, feeling just how big he was beneath your fingers.

a sound rumbled in simon’s chest; a groan of sorts. exploratorily, you tilted your head down, holding his burning gaze as you brushed your lips over his trousers.

“fuck,” simon cursed, hand grasping the back of your skull. he didn’t push or move you at all; he simply held it there, like he couldn’t bare to not be touching you himself.

the button of his trousers was difficult to undo with shaking hands, but you managed, pulling down his fly barely seconds after. with uneven breaths, you delved beneath the band of his briefs, pulling him up and out of the fabric.

the sight of simon’s cock was enough to get you off on it’s own; too thick for one of your hands to wrap around it, long enough that it bobbed against his shirt as you stared, too entranced for embarrassment. he was uncut, and there was a mound of curly, dirty-blond hair at the base, trimmed just enough to stay out of the way. you exhaled, breath ghosting along his length. the grip simon had on you tightened

again, you looked up at him. simon’s gaze was unwavering, as if looking away was some sin he was too pious to commit. it was then, as he gazed down at you with a burning gaze, that he seemed to read something in your expression. a pleading, a search for guidance. whatever it was, it had him speaking. “go ahead, sweet girl. get y’mouth on me.”

like his words triggered some sort of instinctual response in your body, your mouth was immediately moving. you licked a long, languid stripe from base to tip, revelling in the warm, salty taste. then, your lips wrapped around the head, suckling slightly before descending another inch.

“fuck,” he cursed again, hand moving in soothing circles against the back of your skull. “good fuckin’ girl. such a good listener, aren’t you?“

the words pulled a whimper from your throat. you released his dick for the briefest moment, a string of saliva connecting you, before wrapping your lips around him again, hollowed cheeks taking as much as you could manage. the fact that it was only half was disappointing.

“christ, angel. y’mouth is — heaven. fuck.” the choked sound of his voice only emphasized his point. when you made another noise, something between a whimper and a whine, he chuckled, and said, “like me talking to you like that? telling you how good you are? fuck, y’re so sweet. my sweet girl.”

moaning against him, you attempted to take more. betrayed by your gag reflex, you pulled back, choking, eyes glistening with tears.

simon cooed, hands cupping your jaw and thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping away a tear that’d escaped. “oh, angel, y’don’t need to take so much so fast. you’re doing so well. lemme show you. is that okay? can i help you?”

swallowing the excess drool in your mouth, you nodded, and his eyes crinkled with a smile as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“words, love.” though his voice was soft, it was a command. “thought i taught you this already.”

“please,” you whispered. “show me how,” his face was close enough to see the thin wrinkles around his eyes, the soft dusting of a five o’clock shadow over his jaw. “wanna make you feel good.”

simon’s lips curved before they pressed against yours, all gentle and soft like you’d break if he were any rougher. it was inebriating to be treated so reverently, hands holding your jaw like you were something precious. simon made you feel like you were.

his lips moved languidly. he took control of it easily, guiding your lips with his own. he didn’t escalate it, didn’t shove his tongue into your mouth like so many other boys had. he kissed like he found pleasure in this alone.

arms tangling around his neck, you gently ran your nails over the nape of his neck, where fabric met skin. simon groaned, softly nipping at your bottom lip. you giggled.

as much as you adored this — you’d kiss simon for hours if he’d let you — you were getting impatient. you’d gotten a taste for him, and you were quickly becoming addicted.

when you pulled away, he let you, stare darting between your kiss-swollen lips and glazed-over eyes. he watched your gaze trail back down to his crotch, and chuckled quietly.

“eager thing, aren’t you?” he questioned, leaning in to press one last kiss to the corner of your mouth. “go ahead, trouble.”

you didn’t need to be told twice — keeping your head on his lap, you laid out on your belly, across the couch. his hand found your head again, and this time, he gently guided you forward, allowing your lips to find his cock once more.

“that’s it, love,” he murmured. he had you stay like that for a while, suckling contentedly on the head and lapping your tongue over his slit.

“if y’need to come up for air, tap my thigh, alright?” he instructed. you nodded, before correcting yourself, allowing him to slip from your mouth only to voice, “okay.”

simon exhaled, the sound shaking towards the end as your long laved the underside of the head. “good fuckin’ girl.”

though you’d blown guys before, this — simon — was different. something about him, his scent or the sound of his voice or simply his presence, created a haze that had your mind going cloudy. with your lips wrapped tightly around his cock, your world started and ended with simon riley.

little by little, he inched you down his cock. never too quick and never too much. in that moment, he seemed to know your body better than you. always stopping just before your gag reflex was triggered, just before your limit was reached.

“look at you, breathing outta your nose. you’re a natural.”

your breathy moan vibrated against simon’s cock; his thighs tensed, though he didn’t buck his hips or push you down. he continued his languid pace, inching you down only when you could handle it.

“so good,” he muttered. at this point you’d taken more than half of of him. breathing steadily out of your nose, you used a spare hand to grip the remaining length, pumping it in time with your mouth. “fuck. ah, angel, ‘m gonna cum if you keep tha’ up.”

spurred on, you hollowed your cheeks and took another inch, blinking away tears. his pelvis barely a few centimeters from your nose, now, and with one last deep breath, you swallowed back the rest of his cock.

“fucking christ—!” simon swore, pulling you off of him as gently as he could manage. you sputtered, coughing and sniffling as tears ran freely from your eyes.

“oh, none of that now, love,” he cooed, big hands cradling your jaw as he kissed away your tears.

“did i do something wrong?” you asked. your voice was raw.

“no, no. of course not, love. you could never do anything wrong,” he stated, pressing a lingering kiss to your hairline. then, he chuckled, warm breath ghosting along your skin. “‘m not as young as i used to be, pretty girl. ‘n if i’m finishing tonight, i want it to be in this sweet cunt.” to make his point, he cupped you over your panties, which had become embarrassingly wet over the last bit. sensitive, you whimpered, curling further into him and grinding down. “how’s that sound, hm? y’gonna let me fill y’up?”

vehemently, you nod, gripping the wrist that’d snuck up your skirt for support. “please. yeah, yeah. i want that, si.”

with shaking hands, you gripped the bottom of your top in an attempt to yank it off. swiftly, simon stopped you, one hand large enough to catch the both of yours. “mm-mm. if ‘m gonna fuck you, ‘m gonna do it proper. y’deserve better than a shitty couch, dove.”

in the next breath, you were swept up into simon’s arms, legs wrapped tightly around his torso. a high-pitched squeak escaped you and tapered into a laugh as he carried you up the stairs, towards his bedroom.

“such a gentleman,” you joked, toying with the collar of his shirt.

“i try’,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your palm when it cupped his jaw.

after closing the door behind him, simon gently dropped you on the bed. you giggled as you bounced, bracing yourself on your elbows and looking up at him. for a moment, simon stood, gaze locked on your frame, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“fucking hell,” he cursed, finally. “you’re a dream.”

“a dream?” you echoed, grin simpering into a smirk. “y’been dreamin’ about me, riley?”

in a single, fluid motion, simon tugged his shirt off. he was a mass of muscle, age just barely softening his edges. tattoos ran up his arms and across most of his chest, where hair the same shade as his happy trail grew.

“‘course i have,” he answered, like it was obvious. then, he kicked off his slippers and fit himself between your legs, arms bracing himself just inches above you. “making me act like a fucking teenager again, wakin’ up to wet boxers.”

the thought of simon having wet dreams about you made your head spin. dumbly, you blinked up at him, and found yourself unimpressed with the balaclava still covering the upper-half of his face.

“can i?” you asked, voice quiet enough you wondered if he’d even be able to hear it. his small smile, though, gave him away. he nodded.

little by little, you rolled the offending material upward, revealing every mesmerizing inch of his face. tossing it to the side, you took a long moment to admire him: the long blond lashes, the sloping scars, the light spattering of freckles, his crooked nose.

“y’so pretty,” you stated, honestly. rose blossomed across his cheeks and nose, leaving you with a wide grin. simon pressed a kiss behind your ear, though you had a sneaking suspicion it was to hide his face.

“think that’s supposed t’be my line, love,” simon replied, gently nipping your throat. as you giggled, he continued downward, kisses growing sloppier as they reached your collarbones. then, he pulled back, fingers slipping over the hem of your shirt. he met your gaze for a brief second, searching for the permission you’d always give him, and tugged it off.

left in only the lacy scrap the lingerie shop deemed a bra, simon stated openly at you. this time, it was your turn to squirm, hands instinctively reaching to hide your face. easily, he caught your wrists.

“no. no. i wanna see you,” he said, squeezing your arms once. “cover your face and i stop, alright?”

huffing, you kept your hands at your side, and he twitched his lips. afterward, he smoothed large hands across your skin, over your stomach and ribs, cupping your chest. “so gorgeous.” he squeezed. “fuckin’ hate the idea of you going out in somethin’ like this when i’m not with you. no more. if y’wearin’ this, it’s for me, yeah? no one else.”

biting your lip, you nodded, not trusting your voice enough to speak. simon disagreed with your decision, seeing as he pinched your side. “no one else,” you affirmed.

“good girl.” he drew out the words, eyes trained on your chest, before he was reaching behind and unclamping your bra with his fingers. sliding it off, he tossed it haphazardly into the growing pile of clothes on his floor.

simon wasted no time in resuming his assault on your skin, leaving a kiss here and a bite there. he swirled his tongue over your tits, paying special attention to your nipples, playing with one while he had his mouth on the other. little marks littered your saliva-soaked skin when he reached the top of your skirt.

one more glance at you and he was tugging it down, along with the flimsy nylons you’d worn. swiftly, he pressed an open-mouthed kissed to your cloth-covered cunt, easily keeping your hips down when they tried to buck.

the air was cold against your soaked cunt when he peeled back the fabric, pulling it over your ankles and discarding it on the floor. as had become his habit, simon took a moment to admire you. eyes blazing and turning the skin beneath it warm. your hands fisted the blankets as you resisted the urge to cover up.

“so pretty,” he said, moving backward down the bed and climbing off it. then, he tugged you with him, earning a tiny yelp, before kneeling at the end of it. “wanted t’taste you for fucking ever. y’gonna let me, sweetheart? hm? you gonna let me taste your sweet cunt?”

nodding, you squeezed your eyes shut and breathed, “please, simon.”

his fingers, warm and steady, trailed up your thighs, pulling a shiver from you. “spread your legs a little wider for me, baby. there y’go. good.” then, slowly, they inched towards your centre, spreading you open. you didn’t have to look to know he was staring.

all at once, his tongue was on you, licking a long stripe up your folds and over your clit. you moaned embarrassingly loudly, trailing off into a long whine when he didn’t let up. your fingers knitted themselves in his blond waves, tugging as gently as you could manage. he groaned in approval, the sound vibrating through your cunt and sending your back arching.

“fuck! simon,” you yelped. his hands held your legs apart when they attempted to close, overwhelmed by pleasure.

he slipped away from your heat only to say, “keep sayin’ my name.”

whining, you pushed his head back into you, and he chuckled, resuming his ministrations on your cunt. simon was talented with his tongue — something jealous burned you at the thought of how he got so good. the thought was quickly scrubbed from your brain, though, when he flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit, circling it once, twice, before descending again.

“please,” you whined, though you didn’t know what you were asking for. his pace had slowed, now, sloppily making out with your cunt like it was something he could worship. “simon . . . ”

the pleasure was inescapable; your body was torn between grinding down on his mouth and trying to wriggle away from it. it didn’t help that he was doing it so leisurely; tongue moving languidly through your folds and over your clit like it was for his pleasure instead of yours. that thought got you off all the more.

your legs trembled, winding around simon’s head and damn near suffocating him — not that he cared. when you glanced down, he was watching you, nose shiny as it brushed against your clit. simon smirked — you could feel the movement against you.

had you been in any other state, the sound you made as you tumbled over the edge might have embarrassed you. as it was, though, you didn’t have the mind for anything other than pleasure as your back bowed off the bed and your legs tightened around simon’s skull.

he was saying something — you only understood bits of it, but it sounded like a mindless litany of praise. “there you are, there we go. so good, so fucking good.”

he paired each praise with a kiss to your cunt until you were trembling from overstimulation, just pushing past the edge of too much. simon climbed up the bed and pressed wet kisses across your face; when he licked into your mouth and you tasted yourself, you moaned.

“you’re a fuckin’ vision, sweetheart. never knew you’d cum so pretty. y’gonna let me see it again? hm? y’gonna let me fuck you, baby?”

you were nodding before the words were even out of his mouth, snaking your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. without breaking it for longer than a few seconds, simon moved the two of you further up the bed until your head rested against his surprisingly soft pillows.

simon groaned appreciatively when your nails scraped against his skull. you grinned, and breathed, “you like pain just as much as me.”

simon chuckled, biting your chin. “maybe. when it’s you.”

“what was that you said earlier? something ‘bout feeding my ego?”

another laugh, and he joked, “i’m too far gone, now, i think. i’m just here to serve.”

“prove it.” your lips curved into a lust-drunk smile. “fuck me.”

with one last peck against your lips, simon smirked, and said, “yes ma’am.”

he leaned over you, then, tugging open the creaky drawer to his bedside table and fishing around. “shit.”

“hm?” you hummed, following his gaze to the foil packet between his fingers.

“‘s fuckin’ expired.” simon’s brow furrowed, and he brought the packet closer, squinting. you grabbed it from him, tossing it on the floor.

“i don’t care,” you said, probably stupidly, but the thought of not fucking simon right now had something foul twisting in your belly. “want you.”

running broad hands over your legs, simon gazed down at you, like your expression would say otherwise. you rolled your eyes. “i’m clean. i’m assuming you’re clean, if your condoms are expired.” simon pinched your side, and you giggled. ”please? want you to fuck me, simon.”

simon exhaled, and shook his head, smirking. “yeah?” he asked, fingers trailing over your belly. “y’want me to fuck you? cum in this little cunt?”

“yeah, yeah. please. want that.”

his lips press against yours again, hands continuing their journey downward until he was exploring your sensitive folds. you whimpered, quietly, but simon caught the sound and tutted. “i know, sweets. but i’ve gotta stretch you. don’t wanna hurt you, right? not tonight.”

lubing his fingers up with your slick, he started with his middle, circling your hole before slowly pushing inward. your earlier orgasm had relaxed you already, and he was able to add a second in no time. he explored for a moment, pumping his fingers in and out, curling them upward until he found that spongy spot that had your head rolling back in pleasure.

“there it is,” he said, and though your eyes were squeezed shut, you felt his smirk against your skin; heard it in his voice. “that feel good, pretty?”

the answering nod you gave was shaky and sudden, hands gripping onto his forearm for dear life. “fuck me, si. please—want your cock.”

“i know, i know. one more finger, how about that? then we can give you what you need.”

with a groan, you nodded, and sent him a short glare. he snorted, and muttered, “so impatient.”

“been waiting for fucking years,” you argued, though your point might’ve been lost in the quiver of your voice. “‘m allowed to be a little impatient.”

“years, hm?” his third finger prodded at your entrance. “guess i should hurry, then. poor thing.”

the way you dug your nails into his skin was both in pleasure and retaliation. three thick fingers pumped slowly in and out of you, curling in a way that had your thighs shaking.

finally, he slipped the fingers from you, the whine you gave turning into a moan when he plunged them into his mouth instead, savouring every bit of you. “so fuckin’ sweet.”

when simon’s fat tip ran through your folds, you tensed, and questioned if three fingers would really be enough. “simon . . . ”

though his voice was strained, he stopped, glancing up at you. “yeah, sweetheart?”

“i don’t—” his tip ran over your clit ”—fuck, i don’t know if you’ll fit.”

simon tsked, the hand not controlling his cock coming up to brush the hair out of your face. “don’t gimme that, sweets. you can take it, i know you can.” he kissed your jaw. “i’ll make it fit, yeah? how’s that?”

shakily, you exhaled, meeting his gaze. truly, you didn’t know if it’d wavered from your face all night. his eyes were so sure — you could do nothing but believe him. it’d fit. you nodded.

“yeah, yeah. there’s my girl.” again, his lips were on yours, tongue licking into your mouth. minty toothpaste, tea, and cigarettes overwhelmed your senses as his thick tip pushed inside, swallowing every moan you gave.

when he’d made it a few inches, simon pulled back. “how’s that?” he questioned. “y’okay, lovey? want me to keep going?”

you couldn’t nod fast enough. there was a bit of pain, but the pleasure of the stretch won out easily. tangling your hands in his hair, you yanked simon back down for a long, messy kiss. really, it was more so a clash of teeth and tongue and heavy breathing than a kiss, but you digress.

by the time simon was fully sheathed inside you, it felt like he was in your fucking lungs. he gave you as much time as you needed to adjust, though the way his fists clenched and unclenched beside your head proved how greatly he wanted to move. digging one of the legs wrapped around him further into his skin, you urged him to.

“fucking christ,” he groaned. simon dropped his head for a moment, hot breath fanning over your neck as he slowly rocked in and out. “y’so fucking tight.”

“m’not tight, you’re just huge,” you argued, a furrow in your brow. simon bit the juncture between your throat and shoulder—you giggled, the sound delirious.

propping himself up on his forearms once more, simon slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip inside of you, before swiftly thrusting back in, setting a harsh, steady pace.

little high-pitched sounds came from your chest with every thrust, cock abusing that spongy spot inside you that lit fireworks behind your eyelids. with the way you were clawing at his back, you’d be surprised if simon didn’t look like he was mauled by a wildcat tomorrow.

“so good. gripping me like a fuckin’ vice. swear it was like you were made for me,” he breathed, teeth grazing over your ear.

sense had long since left you — you only nodded, murmuring back, “for you, f’you.”

maybe the way his cock kissed your cervix would have you cursing tomorrow, maybe the way your back bowed with pleasured tension would have you hunching over in the morning — you didn’t care. right now, your world consisted of simon’s searing brown eyes and the toe-curling pleasure he supplied.

“feels so good.” your words were breathy, punctuated with a tug to his hair.

“yeah?” he questioned, smiling lopsidedly. “good. gonna fucking ruin you. you’ll never be able to take another cock without thinking of me—thinking of how good i made you feel.”

shaking your head, you whines, “no. no one else. only you.”

simon growled, thrusting especially hard as he licked and sucked at your throat. “yeah. you’re mine, aren’t you? my girl.”

“yours,” you nodded. “‘m yours, f’rever.”

simon groaned out a slew of curses, cock twitching inside of you. one hand reached down toy with your clit, making quick, slippery circles. “want you to cum again, baby. ‘m not gonna last much longer and — fuck — i need t’see it again.”

you’d already been dancing along the edge — his thick fingers and raspy words were a harsh push, leaving you dangling by one hand.

your eyes rolled back into your head, and his other hand was swiftly gripping your chin, gently shaking you. “on me, love, keep y’r eyes on me.”

with great effort, you kept your hazy gaze on his face, which was twisted in the effort to stave off his orgasm. you whimpered, and murmured, “say it again. say i’m yours. please.”

“oh, sweetheart,” he groaned, head dipping into the crook of your neck for a moment before finding your eyes again. “you’re mine, ain’t ya? my sweet girl. yeah. an’ i’m yours — always will be.”

the second the words left his mouth, you tumbled over the edge. your entire body shook, curving inward and wrapping itself around simon like it was trying to burrow inside him. in the haze of it, you heard simon shout, before warmth was spilling inside your cunt, filling you up to the fucking brim. if simon wasn’t simon, you were sure the grip you had on him would’ve broken something by now.

when you came back to, the world was quiet — soft breathing echoed through your ears, his and yours indistinguishable from each other. simon’s head was buried in your neck, the weight of him just bridging the edge of uncomfortable. it was bliss.

eventually, he rolled over, cock pulling out with an equally disgusting and enticing squelch. his spend leaked out of you, dirtying his sheets. neither of you minded, it seemed — he easily pulled you across his chest, pressing his lips to your warm forehead.

“y’with me, lovie?” his voice was barely more than a murmur.

you hummed, hand moving upward to trace over his sweat-soaked chest. “i think so.”

a quiet laugh vibrated in his chest, breath dancing across your face. you smiled in turn, crooking your neck to gaze at him. keeping in theme with the rest of the night, simon was already staring at you — his eyes seemed to shine when they found yours, and his lips curled up in a rare smile. you were met with the embarrassing urge to take a picture.

“you’re a mess,” he stated, chuckling quietly as his eyes darted across your face and body.

narrowing your eyes, you pinched his pec, and his chuckle became a laugh. “a beautiful mess, sweetheart. ‘s the prettiest you’ve ever looked, i promise.”

you rolled your eyes, and argued, “‘s your fault.” then, attempted to sit up — though his strong grip on your shoulder kept you down. simon frowned. “where d’you think you’re going?”

“i need to pee,” you stated, and he let you up with a huff. “then i need to fucking shower, again.”

simon made a sound. “how ‘bout i run you a bath, hm? lemme do the work.”

smiling softly, you glanced back at him. he took your hand that lingered on his chest and brought it to his mouth, pressing kisses over your knuckles. “that’d be lovely.”

simon stood, and when you looked over him, you smiled. hair mussed, lips swollen, skin glazed in sweat — he was just as much of a mess as you. in a single movement, simon swept you into his arms. with a yelp, you clung to him, and he carried you, bridal-style, into the bathroom.

placing you on the lip of the bathtub, simon left for only a moment to dig through his linen closet, and returned with a wash cloth. after running it under warm water in the sink, he helped you up once more and gently ran it between your legs.

afterward, while you used the restroom, simon ran the bath, using that intoxicating body-wash as bubble bath. spotting his back, which was covered in bright-red scratches, you giggled, feeling only a little bad.

“i’d say sorry for y’back, but really i look no better,” you stated. hickies and bite-marks littered your skin, decorating your neck, chest, and thighs.

snorting, simon moved to look in the mirror, eyes tracing the pinkish abrasions trailing from shoulders to spine. “i’ll wear ‘em with pride.”

once the tub had filled, steam dancing around the mound of bubbles, simon, again, helped you up. his skin was warm, and if the bath wasn’t so enticing, you’d be tempted to stay here, pressed against him.

easily, he lifted you up and into the bath, following you not long afterward. it was a shock he could fit all of his limbs in the tub, even moreso when you could fit between his legs. it was a bit squishy, but you couldn’t have traded it for anything — laying against his chest while his hands ran up and down your body. thighs, stomach, chest, arms — he touched you softly, reverently, lips pressing behind your ear.

“did you mean it?” you asked. the quiet hum of your voice seemed loud in the silence of the room.

“mean what, love?”

swallowing, you played with his fingers, and supplied, “that ‘m yours. that you’re mine.”

simon exhaled, and you could feel the small curve of his lips against the back of your neck. “i meant it.”

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empresskylo · 1 year

Text

[part 1] part 2 of touch-starved where Ghost and you have been distant ever since that night. you do not have to read part 1 in order to understand this part btw

a/n: you guys, i am down so incredibly bad. my entire pinterest and tiktok is covered with this stupid mask-wearing man. and i don’t even play the game so it has everyone around me like 🤨 also super annoyed that part 1 glitched or sumn because it posted my unedited version. edited version is on my ao3. anyways, enjoy the smut <3

masterlist

cw: ptsd, smut, p in v, reader described as small and referred to as a woman and blushes once

simon “ghost” riley x afab!reader

wc: 3.3k

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓

It was late in the compound, the silent night echoing through the hallways. Ghost and you had, in fact, been awkward the moment you released one another from your embrace. You had shuffled uncomfortably beside him as you both stood up. Ghost cleared his throat and his eyes danced across your face, his eyes unreadable. He shied away and motioned you to follow as you continued heading to base.

It was weeks after that mission and you hadn’t really seen all that much of Ghost since. You had come up to train with Soap while Ghost was in the room. He swiftly exited, grumbling in annoyance as he left. Soap had raised his brows, noticing the (extra) grumpiness in Simon.

You tossed and turned in your small room, a tiny bed and a chest of your things filling the space. You usually shared the room with another woman on your team but she was offsite at the moment.

You grumbled, shoving your boots on as you got up in the dark. You decided you needed to walk it off. Maybe then you could sleep.

In just a tank top and tight black leggings, you left your room.

You immediately collided with a large, firm object. You tripped, off balance from your boots not being tied, and fell backward. Two strong arms caught you, making you finally look up and coming face to face with Ghost. “Oh. LT,” you said embarrassed.

Ghost set you upright then removed his hands from around your arms, leaving a lingering warmth in their absence. Ghost was busy making his rounds as usual when your small frame came bustling into him. Always so clumsy.

Ghost’s blue eyes scanned your face. He was about to walk away and continue what he was doing, but halted. “Have you been cryin’?”

You felt your face warm. Why did he always have to be so blunt?

You shifted uncomfortably between your feet. He tried to get a glimpse of your face but you had shied away, staring at your boots. He could see the dark circles around your eyes from exhaustion. The same that he saw in his own reflection every morning. “Oh, uhm…” You rubbed the back of your neck.

“You still thinkin’ ‘bout that night?” You looked up at him and gave a meek nod. Of course, Ghost was referring to the close call a week ago where you almost got Gaz killed. You all had made mistakes that night, but Ghost had watched as your hand slipped from Gaz’s grip because you had failed to properly secure the rope holding you up. He had seen the horror spread across your face.

Honestly, you were surprised Ghost hadn’t kicked you off his team yet. Soap and Gaz had reassured you that you were a crucial part of the team and any one of them could have made that mistake.

But they didn’t. You did.

You watched as Ghost rolled his eyes and gripped his gun on his hip tighter before pushing you back into your room and closing the door.

He sat on your roommate's bed and pointed at yours. “Sit,” he commanded.

You did as you were told and closed your eyes. Here it was, the big moment where your Lieutenant finally ripped you a new asshole for being such a fuck up.

Ghost’s husky voice filled the already cramped space, threatening to overfill it. “I lost one of my best men back in the beginning.” Your eyes opened. You could see him in the faint glow of your room’s light. His eyes were heavy, surrounded in black, as he looked at you. “It was because of me.” Ghost felt his fist squeeze harder. You stared at him, realizing he was trying to make you feel better. To tell you how he had done something similar in the past. Though, he wasn’t great with words. You smiled at Ghost’s first kind words to you. “What?” His voice boomed with annoyance.

“Nothing.” Your smile sank as you thought of Gaz and you felt tears begin to well in your eyes again. “I’m not used to all this,” you said, gesturing around you.

“The military?”

“Being alone.” Your voice was quiet. You had always had your family. Friends. And for all of it to be taken from you destroyed you. You felt a strange sense of relief finding family with these men. They filled the void that you tried to stuff with whatever you could. But there was always that one part that never quite filled.

Your knees brushed against Ghost’s. He reached out without thinking and grabbed your hand. No. You weren’t alone. They were your family now. This was your home.

Ghost was solely wearing his balaclava mask without his usual hard skull addition, which felt more intimate. You could see the instant regret in Ghost’s eyes when he realized what he was doing. As he retracted his hand, you reached out and stopped him. Just like before, your name left his mouth in a faint whisper. You slowly stood, still gripping Ghost’s gloved hand, and pushed him back onto the cot. Maybe it was the way you now knew perfectly well that Ghost was feeling the same absence you were. Or maybe it was the darkroom that gave you confidence. You slowly crawled up beside him, your heart pounding in your ears. You moved dramatically slow, like you were attempting not to spook a feral cat—and in a weird way, you were.

Ghost’s eyes were burning a hole through you as he just let you touch him like this. He had half a mind to push you away, but his body knew how alone he felt as well. He craved this.

You rested a hand on his chest and Ghost felt your touch burn him through his clothes. He gently moved his shoulders so he was sliding his tactical gear off. Your small fingers helped, throwing his vest onto the floor. In one swift motion, Ghost decided what he wanted and he pulled you on top of him, your body flat against his. A small yelp had escaped your lips. You were afraid Ghost could feel your heart racing. His arms tightened their grip around you, suddenly overflowing with the need to connect with another human. To have your delicate hands caress him. To feel the warmth of your body against his.

He slipped his gloves off and he placed his calloused hands on your exposed arms. You held in a tight breath as he gently touched you.

You felt his chest move as he let out a painful breath. You peered up at him finally, faintly making his eyes and mask out in the dim light. Ghost looked down at you as he felt your eyes lock onto him. You gulped, unsure of what your next moves would bring.

You trailed your hands up, making Ghost’s own slip from your arms and rest on your waist. You propped yourself up slightly as you reached out to Ghost’s mask. He flinched backwards before stilling. Taking that as consent, your fingers pulled the bottom of his mask up from its spot under his black shirt. Ghost was breathing loudly through his nose as you edged the hem of it up slowly. You finally pushed it up, just enough to expose his jaw and the tip of his nose. You stopped there to much of Ghost’s relief. If you had tried to remove his mask any further, he would have likely thrown you off of him.

“I get it,” he said softly.

“Hm?” Your eyes traced his lips as he spoke, his thick accent pooling from his mouth that you could finally see. He had quite a bit of stubble coming in. “Being alone,” he finished.

“And do you like it, LT?” Your eyes darted up to his, almost challenging him. Did he like being alone? He had told himself yes for years. Every void he felt didn’t matter. He filled it with violence and bloodshed from striking down his enemies.

But now, having your warm body flesh against his own, your tiny fingers brushing against his jaw as you pried his mask up, he wasn't so sure. He wanted you. Desperately.

Ghost’s silence was deafening as he contemplated. Finally, he pulled you up into him, a small “Wha—“ leaving your lips before they were locked with his. Ghost didn’t begin to move until you reciprocated. Then, he deepened the kiss. His mouth attacked yours fervently. Your hand slid up to his chest to hold yourself steady. One of Ghost’s hands tightened on your hip, the other moving into your hair. He pulled you closer, his tongue sliding against your lips. His fingers clenched your hair, a feeling he hadn’t felt in so long.

As fast as it began, it ended. Ghost pulled back, both of you breathless. His hand didn’t leave its spot behind your head as he spoke. “No. I don’t fucking like it.”

Your eyes widened in reaction to something you couldn’t quite explain. Your body tingled as he stared at you. You moved your fingers to the hem of his t-shirt, edging it up. You wondered if you were going too far. Before you could finish your thought, Ghost pushed you back onto his thighs and tore his shirt off, careful to not catch his mask in the process. At this angle, you could make out the details of his partially exposed face. You saw old, faded scars that trickled across his face. One slid down his neck to his shoulder.

You pulled your tank top off, your breasts exposed, though he could hardly see in this lighting. You tentatively leaned forward, your chests colliding. You hugged him as close as you could, your body flat against his once again, but without the fabric. Ghost’s arms came up to wrap around you, pulling you into him. You felt a sigh of relief escape his mouth as you held each other, your fingers tracing smooth circles on his side.

You could hear his heartbeat. You smiled lazily. How much you had missed having someone you trust this close.

You turned to him and leaned up to kiss again. You could see his hesitation, but he concluded his thoughts by softly kissing your lips. You felt a chill run down your spine. This was the man who could scare a grown man with just a look. The man who gave you orders. The man who couldn’t be killed. A man filled with such rage that it came out in bursts of humor here and there. A man who hadn’t shown anyone his face is God knows how long.

And then here he was, pressed against you, kissing you so delicately like you might break. His rough fingers ran along your back, the heat from your body making him sweat.

He should be worried about what this meant for the two of you. How wrong this was since he was your lieutenant. But Ghost’s mind was so preoccupied, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to think about anything other than the way you were consuming him in this moment.

He felt your fingers fiddle with his belt. A wave of heat ran to his crotch. He pushed you back and you pouted, suddenly embarrassed. You had gone too far. Of course, Ghost wouldn’t want to—

You were cut off when you saw Ghost lifting his hips to push his pants down. You gulped, a blush spreading across your chest.

He reached out for you. He knew how pathetic he was acting, but he didn’t care. He was drunk off your touch and fuck, did he need more. He wouldn’t let himself ruin this.

His fingers played with the hem of your leggings and he tried to pull them down. You stood up and tore them off before settling yourself on his thighs once again. Your hands rested on his strong shoulders, looking into his eyes shyly. He was breathing deeply as he stared at you. Both of you were shocked at what you were doing.

“We can stop if…” he started, but you reached out and dragged your fingers along his scruffy jaw, making his words get trapped in his throat. Your finger pads tickled him as they slid down his slightly hairy chest and traced over his faded scars.

“Do they still hurt?” You asked timidly, afraid you were really pushing things now. Maybe all he wanted was the feeling of a woman in his bed after not having one for so long. You bringing up his battle scars was sure to kill the mood.

“Not physically.” You felt goosebumps rise on your skin, his voice far deeper than you’ve ever heard him before. You leaned down and placed a kiss against them. Peppering him with your soft lips. Ghost felt his eyes shut as he focused on the way your lips felt against him. Your wandering hands tracing his side and thigh.

You looked back up at him and his hands immediately went to you. His hand slowly skimmed your thigh, edging closer to your throbbing core. He hesitated before stroking his knuckle against your underwear, making you bite your lip. He was so slow with his movements, wanting to be gentle with you. Shit. Had it really been this long since he got laid?

He watched as your eyes squeezed shut, your nails digging into his shoulder as he continued to drag his knuckles against you.

Ghost had reached his breaking point when he saw your face drowning in pleasure. He grabbed your hips and flipped you around so you laid sprawled beneath him. You let out a tiny yelp, your eyes wide open now as you stared at a hovering Ghost above you. His hands gripped your panties and slid them down your legs and threw them on the floor. He looked down at you, his mouth all but watering. You tried to squeeze your thighs together feeling flustered at his gaze. He pried your legs apart and settled himself between them so you couldn’t close them again. “Don’t get shy on me now, pet.”

You took in a sharp breath at the name he just called you. Unsure if you liked it or not, Ghost halted movement before you were prying at his waistband. His husky chuckle vibrated through his chest.

He pushed his underwear down just enough to free himself and he rubbed himself against you. You gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders again. You wanted to look down and see if he was as big as you thought but it was too dark in your room to tell. You’d find out soon enough.

Ghost’s pupils were blown as he pressed against your soaking entrance. He crashed down on top of you and held himself up with his elbow, his chest pressing against yours, his other hand lining himself up. As he began to push himself into you, his hand came up, getting lost in your hair.

You both groaned as he stretched you out, slowly filling you. He really was big.

After a few painfully long moments, he bottomed out, his breath hot on your neck as he panted against you. His hands continued to wander across your body, grabbing the fat around your thigh and hips every so often. Then moving up to caress the swell of your breast. Ghost pulled out and then pushed himself back in rather roughly. “Simon,” you gasped. His name in your voice had his eyes honing in on yours. He sounded gruff as he spoke, “Am I hurting you?”

You shook your head, desperate for him to slam into you again. You bucked your hips against him and he got the message.

Simon began at a steady pace, growling each time his cock hit your cervix. You dug your nails into his back, Simon painfully stretching you out.

Simon’s face sank into the crook of your neck, leaving little kisses against your skin as he rutted into you. He smelled of mint and gunsmoke. His hand slid along your body and up into your hair, giving it a slight pull. You mewled, your eyes fluttering. “Like all the lil’ noises you make,” he grumbled between grunts.

Your walls clenched against him and he swore under his breath, his hands gripping you tighter. His body laid flat against yours, your nipples pressing against him. You were completely engulfed by this large man; you never felt so safe.

You began muttering incoherent words as he filled you up, completely drunk off him. Ghost pulled away and looked down at you. Your eyes met his. Your face was glowing with sweat as the two of your bodies intertwined in the small quarters.

Ghost gripped your thighs and pushed them towards you so he could get a better angle, all while never breaking eye contact.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned. Your hands clenched the bedsheets, your walls tightening in on him. You both were dangerously close.

One of his fingers began to rub circles on your clit. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you repeated his name again and again. “Look at me,” Simon demanded. Your eyes flew open and locked back with his as you came, your walls clenching Ghost’s cock painfully tight. He moaned as he watched you gasp in ecstasy.

“Fuck. Simon,” you mewled. That was enough to push him over the edge. He pulled out of you before stroking himself and coming against your lower belly, leaving ropes of his come dripping down you.

You both struggled to catch your breath. Simon rubbed his cock against your slit, riding out both of your highs.

Your orgasm floated away as you came down from your high, relaxing into the pillow. The dark makeup around Ghost’s eyes were smudging from the heat, but it just made his eyes even more captivating.

Before you could speak, Simon leaned over and grabbed his t-shirt, wiping his mess off your belly.

Ghost’s eyes analyzed your face, trying to read your expression. He pulled his mask back down and silently got dressed. You did the same.

You looked up at him as he towered over you, he seemed a lot shorter when you were both horizontal. He had everything on except his shirt, which he held in his hand. You’d be lying if you said the sight of Ghost’s exposed chest wasn’t sending a rush of warmth between your thighs again.

He stood there, lost for words. You shifted between your feet as he intently watched you.

“I, uhm. If you want, you can…well. You can lay here with me. For a bit. If you wanted.”

Your face was red hot as you babbled like an idiot. But you desperately wanted Simon to lay down and hold you as you fell asleep, so you didn’t care about acting like a fool at this very moment.

Simon pushed off his tactical gear instantly as if he was just waiting for the invite. He loomed over you before pulling you down with him into your tiny bed. Ghost took up most of the mattress so you were forced to lay flat against him, his arm gripping you close like he never wanted to let go. Your back pressed into his chest and your eyes felt heavy at the rise and fall of his breath.

You felt him reach up and take his mask off, clutching it in his hand as he held you, his mouth next to your ear as he shared your pillow. You fell asleep to his warm breath and nose nuzzling you. You’d worry about the awkwardness tomorrow, especially when you realized Ghost would have to somehow exit your room without getting caught.

Ghost’s hand clutched you against him the entire time he slept. He hadn’t slept this well in years.

#ghost #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #ghost cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #fluff #angst #ghost angst #cod mw2

3K notes · View notes

spacesquidlings · 8 months

Text

Hold Me, Carry Me Slowly; My Sunlight

Description: With the warmth of the afterglow fading, Tav manages to coax Astarion into a bath, to show him all the ways she loves him and to hold him close until the water grows cold.

Warnings: Suggestive content, implied sex, mentions of blood, mentions of other bodily fluids

Notes: Hello!!! This is my very first attempt at writing Astarion. Saw him once, fell in love, went insane, now i'm writing fic about him and I cannot stop. I want to just squish his cheeks and tell him how lovely he is. This is set post-everything that happens in game, and he's unascended

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Heavy curtains drawn across the windows stifled any hope of light sneaking in between the threads. It did not even bleed through the leaden fabric, staining the room in a strange glow the way wispy, gossamer curtains often did. But she did not need the curtains drawn to know that night had descended. The hazy burn of dusk across the sky had long since faded, a chill hanging in the air that bit at her bare skin that could only belong to the fathomless night.

Pulling blankets tighter around herself did little to stave off the sting of the air, siphoning away the last of the heat from her skin. And nestling closer to the body beside her was not the improvement she’d been looking for, the press of her skin against his bringing discomfort from everything that had spilled onto her skin into stark awareness.

There was blood; her blood, dried and caked on the inside of her thighs and her throat from where she’d let his fangs sink into her flesh. There was sweat of course, still drying on her skin, making her feel itchy, like a second, ill-fitting skin had been plastered across her. And she could feel where his release leaked out of her, where it had been smeared on the inside of her thighs, where it was congealing on the sheets beneath her.

So not only was she cold, but she felt very gross. And very much in need of a bath.

But she was wrapped up in her lover’s arms, and he seemed intent on holding her close, his soft breaths ghosting across her collarbone.

“Astarion,” she whispered, running a hand through his hair. It was softer than silk, and still cool to the touch despite how she had run her fingers through it, twisted them into his curls at every chance she got. He sighed against her, his lashes fluttering as he shifted.

“Astarion.” She slid her hand down to the nape of his neck, playing with the wispy baby hairs that curled there. “I know you’re awake.”

“So what if I am?” His response was muffled, rumbling through her bones from where he pressed his face against her bare chest.

She traced her finger over the curve of his ear, biting the inside of her cheek as he shivered. “I want to take a bath.”

His only response was a groan, clutching her tighter.

“I feel sticky.”

“I’m far too comfortable to move, love.”

She huffed, resting her cheek on the top of his head. “I’m covered in dried blood! And other things.”

Now he did lift his head, his crimson eyes bright in the shadows of the room. She caught the glimmer of his teeth as he smiled, his canines looking especially deadly in the dark. “You could know I could help if there’s something you’d like inside of you.”

A few hours ago his words might have made her blush, might have made her flustered enough to try and look away before he inevitably caught her to tease her some more. But his voice was heavy with sleep, his words more of a quiet murmur than anything seductive. It just sounded a little silly, and she snorted, a smile spreading across her lips.

“You could help by letting me go and letting me bathe.”

Now he was the one huffing, shifting until they were eye-to-eye, his arms never leaving her sides. “And why would I want to do that when I’m so comfortable right here?”

“Because you love me?” She cupped his face in her hands, squishing his cheeks just the tiniest bit. He was always giving her odd looks when she did it, squishing his face or showering his head in kisses or hugging him as tight as she dared. But even if one brow was arched in question, he always smiled softly, his eyes warm with contentment. As if perhaps he liked the sudden onslaught of affection, even if it seemed a little strange.

He chuckled, idly stroking her side. “I do love you. More than anything.”

She leaned closer, until their noses practically bumped together. “So you’ll come bathe with me?”

His brows rose, one arm releasing her as he trailed his hand up her arm. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’d rather be doing?”

She didn’t bother to respond with words this time, simply whining, putting on her best pout and hoping it would be enough to sway him.

A snort. “Nice try, darling. But I like having you here in my arms.”

Not nice enough, clearly. She whined again, louder this time, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Please, my love?” She went so far as to whimper, peeking up at him through her lashes, fingers still toying with his hair. “Please? You could come with me and then it would be so much nicer.”

He hummed, smirking as she wiggled closer, ignoring the stickiness between her thighs and the dull ache radiating through her nerves.

“Please?”

His eyes closed, and she knew she had won before he even started to sigh. But he did sigh, long and dramatic and very drawn out.

“Fine,” he finally conceded, fixing a glare on her that was entirely undercut by the smile still playing at his lips. “If you must. But you had better make sure to use those new oils I bought us. I don’t want to be smelling like cheap bar soap you found at a farmer’s market.”

“That’s not fair! It had smelled so pretty when I’d bought it.” She frowned, ducking her head. “I don’t know what happened that made it so plain.”

He tucked her hair back behind her ear, slowly dragging his knuckles down the side of her neck, his eyes softening. “It was probably enchanted to smell that way until it had been purchased. Or perhaps they simply tricked you and only the display one was perfumed.” He smirked. “Which is why you need me to help select the best perfumes and soaps.”

Rolling her eyes, she nuzzled her nose against his neck. “What would I do without you, my love?”

“You would be lost.”

“And I’d smell bad.” She smiled as he laughed, warmth blooming like a new flower in the spring.

“Thank goodness you do have me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And you’ll have me forever.”

If not for the chill in the air and the discomfort clinging to her skin, she probably could have stayed there for an eternity. He’d teased her mercilessly for how much she’d loved to curl up in his arms, but he’d always seemed just as keen to cuddle with her, his arms fitting perfectly around her, his breath tangling in her hair or tickling her neck, his hands stroking her sides or her back.

But she was cold, and she was uncomfortable, and as perfect as his arms and his body were, she felt desperate enough to peel her skin off if she did not bathe soon.

It was with a pathetic whine that she coaxed him from the bed, hands clasping his as she dragged him from the bedroom. He grumbled wordlessly, even as he let himself get tugged into the bathroom, eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the darkness.

She could hardly see in the dark, and it was only with Astarion’s help that she was able to light the candles that lined the counter in the bathroom, illuminating everything in a soft glow.

It was an effort to keep her eyes averted, to pretend like she didn’t think he looked beautiful, the edges of his body blurred by the candlelight, his face softened by the golden glow. He looked a little like his namesake, like a star given form, blessing her with his light.

Although if she told him that she would certainly never hear the end of it. Even now she could feel his eyes burning into her back as she filled the tub, tracking the steam as it curled towards the ceiling and melted out of sight.

“My love.” She felt his hand at her hip, soft as a whisper. She knew this game, knew he wanted her to turn around, to focus her attention on him. She could hear it in the lilt of his voice, the laughter she could hear in it though neither of them had made a joke. “Why won’t you look at me?”

“What do you mean?” She was careful to avoid meeting his gaze, gently brushing her hand over his. “I’m getting the bath ready. Alone, might I add.”

“Well, I’m here for moral support. And you’re doing such a good job I’d hate to get in your way.”

Against her better judgement she turned to glare at him over her shoulder. It earned her a bout of warm laughter that seeped into her veins like sun-warmed honey, heat blossoming in her belly. It was immediately followed by his hands taking her face, his lips stretching into a wide smile, the knife-sharp points of his canines glinting in the candlelight.

“That’s better.” He tipped his head to the side, his eyes softening. “I was worried you had grown tired of looking at me.”

She covered his hands with hers. “I’ll never grow tired of you for as long as I live.”

Lines appeared on his forehead as his brows drew together. So she stood on her toes, gently pressing her lips to each line until they were smoothed away and she could feel his smile against her skin. His hands slid away from her face, but she kept her fingers tangled with his, not wanting to let go just yet.

“My love…” He trailed off, humming as he lowered his head, the coolness of his teeth scraping over her skin making her shiver. “Wasn’t there something else you were doing?”

“You distracted me.” His answering laughter tickled her neck as he hovered above the marks leftover from where he had bitten her.

“You were preparing a bath, I believe?”

She took hold of his face this time as she rocked back on her heels, pulling his head back just enough to meet his eyes, to see the mischief shining in them. “You know, I think this is the exact opposite of getting in my way.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He was awfully good at feigning innocence; his eyes were wide and sorrowful, a small pout pulling at his lips. Had she not known him she would have fallen for it entirely, believing him utterly innocent of any wrong-doing.

But she did know him, and she knew exactly how not innocent he could be.

She clicked her tongue. “Nice try. Maybe I’ll just bathe on my own.”

She spun around quickly, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing as he began to whine, trying to get her attention all over again.”

“My love.”

She went searching for his precious oils, finding them lined up in the corner of the small cabinet above the counter. They seemed to shimmer as she held them up to the light, as she uncorked them to smell them each and make sure she was grabbing the right ones. He was so particular about such things and she wanted to make sure she got it right.

“My darling.” His voice pitched up, cracking a bit as she began adding the oils to the bath. “I thought you wanted me to come with you!”

Much as she wanted to pretend she had a strong resolve, it crumbled to dust with just the slightest of provocation from him. How she was supposed to ignore his desperate whining, even when she knew it was a trap, was beyond her. So when he reached for her hand, drawing her closer, she didn’t resist, instead letting herself be gathered against his chest, his smug smirk illuminated in the glow of the candles.

“Well? Do you truly still plan to leave me and bathe all on your own?” One of his hands slipped down her side, leaving gooseflesh in the wake of his featherlight touch. “I could be of help, you know. I’ve become quite intimate with your body, I’m sure I could help in some way.”

She frowned. “Don’t get any funny ideas.”

His answering laughter was bright, like summertime sunshine was bathing them in its golden light. It made her smile, giggles bubbling up in her throat as he laughed, pale cheeks flushing with just a hint of colour, the same pink that promised the coming dawn and the warmth that would follow.

His expression was soft again as his laughter passed, as he waited for her own bout of giggles to melt away, that soft colour still clinging to his skin. It took her a moment to identify the look in his eyes, the gentleness with which he held her gaze, with how he rested his hands at her sides. And when the realization hit her, she felt like her breath was stolen away, yanked from her lungs with a gasp.

He looked happy. He looked so genuinely happy that her eyes began to burn, her heart aching from how it pressed against the cage of her ribs.

Lines appeared on his brow once more, the corners of his lips turning down. “What’s wrong? My darling, why are you crying?”

She shook her head, wiping her eyes quickly. “I’m not.”

“Just because I can’t go out into the sun doesn’t mean I’m blind, you know.” He huffed, mouth curling into a half-smile, something like sadness hanging at the edges. “Have I done something wrong?”

She sniffed, shaking her head furiously. “No! No, not at all. I just have something caught in my eye, that’s all.”

Nothing in his expression said he believed her, but he didn’t push the issue. “Well then, should we get in before the water gets cold?” He leaned close, his voice dipping to a sultry tenor. “Or is there something else you would rather do?”

She didn’t even have to respond before he was laughing again, grinning broadly as he drew back. “My darling, you make this far too easy. Your face is all flushed and I’ve hardly done a thing.”

He’d actually done quite a lot of things today, but her tongue was suddenly too heavy to properly articulate anything sharp and witty she could say in response. And she didn’t have anything sharp and witty to say in response either, a pleasant fog settling over her mind as fatigue tugged at her.

Instead she just climbed into the tub, sinking as far beneath the water as she could, only her nose and eyes still above water as he followed behind, still looking far too pleased with himself.

He reached for the little shelf of bottles that lined the wall next to the tub, the soft light of the flickering candles casting a golden glow around the room. If she hadn’t known him she would have thought he was an angel with how the light gilded his features, twined with the strands of his hair and made it glow. Even that infuriating, devilish smile looked soft in the light, still clinging to his lips as he tilted one of the bottles up to the light.

Her eyes were burning again, her chest aching, too small for her heart, for all of the emotion tearing it apart at the seams. Had there ever been such a beautiful smile? Had there ever been such a precious person ever before?

No, she was certain that there had not been.

He was watching her, and she realized it with a start, her breath catching as she met his eyes.

“What’s the matter, pet? You look like you’ve had a spell cast over you.”

She bit down on her tongue hard enough to taste blood, although the fuzzy feeling around her mind and the warmth in her chest did not dissipate against the sharp pain. She had drunk no wine and yet she felt a little drunk all the same, a little like she was hovering just beyond her body, her edges blurry, everything warm.

He moved closer, taking her hand. “What’s on your mind?”

She opened her mouth, closed it again, like a fish gasping for breath on dry land. She really could not say, not unless she wanted to be teased mercilessly, caught gawking at him like a child with a crush.

“Well?” He tipped his head to the side, reminding her of a predator.

Her voice would not come to her, and so she decided that she would express how she felt in a different way, her heart wishing terribly to be able to keep his heart warm, to keep that smile bright on his lips, to keep his eyes soft but never sorrowful again.

“What are you doing?” He blinked at her as she plucked the small bottle of shampoo from his hand, the sensual countenance falling away.

“Let me help you clean up,” she said, rolling the bottle between her palms. “I can wash your hair for you.”

He continued to blink, his brow creasing. Her heart constricted, fear sluicing through her veins, making her fear she had overstepped, that this was something unwanted. She’d already coaxed him from sleep, perhaps she was pushing against his boundaries.

“Only if you want to,” she amended. “If you’re comfortable with it. I don’t want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

When he tipped his head to the side it was less predatory this time, reminding her more of the curious head tilt small animals often did when you were speaking to them with a cadence they liked. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You just can’t keep your hands off me, can you, darling?”

She muttered under her breath about how much of a menace he was, even as she squeezed out the shampoo into her palm. He was smirking, watching her intently.

“You have to turn around,” she instructed, earning nothing but a rebellious smirk.

“Now why would I do that when it means I can’t see your adorable face?” He twirled a hand in the air, gesturing to her face. “I wouldn’t want to miss out on the pretty flush on your cheeks.”

She tried spinning him around, water sloshing over the lip of the tub. “Turn around! How else am I supposed to wash your hair?!”

“Just like this, darling.” He cupped her face, water sluicing down his arms, falling back into the tub with a quiet plinking.

“I feel like you’re trying to embarrass me.”

He clicked his tongue. “I would never dare.”

“I think you would dare.” She couldn’t bring herself to push his arms away, deciding she would have to yield. “I think you would just to see me squirm.”

“Well…” Unable to come up with an appropriate excuse, he merely shrugged. “I like that colour on your cheeks.”

“I didn’t realize you were an artist,” she deadpanned, lathering the shampoo between her palms. “And that you had such a nuanced appreciation of colours.”

“Only when it comes to you, love.”

She sighed, no clever rejoinder coming to mind. She liked getting the last word in, but Astarion so rarely gave her such an opportunity. He always had something else to say, something sharp and clever if not something that would make her blush so fiercely she thought she would burst into flame.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “But you have to lower your head for me.”

He had no smart comment for that, instead quietly acquiescing, ducking his head enough so that she could run her fingers through his hair, dragging the shampoo through the silken strands.

She hummed, smiling as the gentle, moonlit ivory waves were smushed beneath the shampoo. She might have gathered it all up into a point, making him look a little silly while he trusted her to wash his hair. But he was always trying to make himself look perfect, and she didn’t mind when he looked less than perfect, when he looked silly or disheveled. He didn’t have to pretend with her, and she didn’t want him to.

“You’re doing something ridiculous to my hair, aren’t you?” He seemed to read her thoughts, peeking up at her from beneath his ivory lashes.

“Nooo.” She shook her head, massaging his scalp. “I would never dare.”

“So you are.”

She huffed, pouting as she ran her fingers down the back of his scalp, pressing gently against the back of his neck, making sure to catch the soft baby hairs that curled there.

“I trust it won’t look like that forever?” The corners of his lips quirked up, his voice dipping to a dangerous octave. “Right?”

She didn’t respond, fixing her gaze elsewhere, trying to ignore the way his eyes bored into her skin.

Another click of his tongue. She nearly leapt out of her skin when she felt his hand on her face, the pad of his thumb running across her bottom lip. “Why are you pouting? I thought this is what you wanted.”

“And I thought you were too tired to tease me like this.”

He tapped his thumb against her lip in time with her heartbeat. “I never said that.”

“I kind of assumed.”

“My love, I’m never too tired to tease you.” His hand fell back into the water with a quiet splash. “But please continue.”

“I’m just about done with your hair,” she admitted, dunking her hands into the water. “You’ll have to lean forward more or tilt your head back so I can rinse it.”

He straightened, shifting awkwardly so he could tip his head back, the sharp points of his ears grazing the surface of the water, sending out little ripples.

She scooted to the side, careful to keep the water from spilling into his eyes as she began scooping it up and pouring handfuls of water into his hair. “You know this would have been easier if you’d just turned around.”

He splashed her, rolling his eyes. “I have my reasons.”

“Would you care to divulge them?” She splashed him right back, not bothering to show the same care this time as water and suds sluiced over his face.

He sputtered, wiping his eyes. “Well not anymore, you wicked thing.”

“I think I’m quite nice.”

He flicked water at her as he sat up. “You’re not being particularly nice right now.”

She splashed him again, harder this time. Water rolled over the lip of the tub like ocean waves, puddling across the floor. “I am SO nice! I’m the nicest! I let you pick out the shampoos and soaps we use! I let you pick out the curtains! I let you be the little spoon!”

The more reasons she was, theoretically, “nice,” the more she laughed. Small giggles at first, bubbling into a laughter that gripped her lungs, shook her body until she was snorting with every breath. Her hands trembled as she tried to cover her face in a vain effort to staunch the flow, but it was of no avail. She felt like a fool, she felt dizzy, almost drunk although she’d had no alcohol.

Astarion snorted alongside her, eyes crinkling in bemusement. “I can let you be the little spoon if you want, my love. I had no idea you were sacrificing so much for my comfort.” Another snort, another flick of the water, sending her into another fit of hysterics. His lips stretched wide, a crescent moon smile that made her heart glow. “I didn’t realize falling asleep in my arms was something of such importance. Although I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Backing up until her back hit the edge of the tub, she covered her face, shoulder shuddering with laughter. “It’s not even that funny, I don’t know why I’m laughing.”

“I’m not sure either.” He moved closer, just enough to find her hand and run his thumb across her knuckles. “But I like the sound.”

“I was snorting!”

“But they were such cute snorts.” He was tracing the lines of her palm now, watching her with such warmth in his eyes she thought she would melt into the water and turn to suds and foam.

“You can’t possibly mean that.”

His bottom lip popped out; an adorable, impossible to resist pout that could make her to cave to almost anything he asked. To stay in bed for a little while longer, to buy him that pretty shirt they’d seen at a night market, to wear the glittering circlet he had mysteriously procured because it matched one that he owned.

“Don’t you trust me?” His eyes were wide as a doe’s, his voice soft as feather down. She was lost to him already, to that sorrowful, beseeching look. Lost to that quiet, almost whiny tone.

She knew she was being played, but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

It was with gritted teeth that she managed a quiet. “I trust you.”

His expression morphed almost immediately, his eyes bright once more, his teeth bared from the brightness of his smile. “Marvelous! I’m glad we’re in agreement that you’re adorable.”

“You’re awful.”

He kissed the back of her hand, his laughter rumbling into her bones. “And I’m all yours, my darling.”

Gentle warmth spread from her heart, beating steadily, spurred on by the sudden sweetness of his words. Her arms grew warm next, her belly, her fingertips, everything tingling as if she were caught in a warm haze. He was all hers, he was hers to love and care for and cherish. To hold close when they slept, to share the quiet moments with, to share the loud moments with too. Of course. There would always be loud moments with him, the unexpected always rearing its head as they searched for a cure for him, a way for him to stand free in the sunlight.

“You are,” she agreed. He was hers, and he had given his heart to her willingly. It had been his choice, and she would make sure to treasure it, to treasure him, for as long as she drew breath. And as long as her heart beat, it beat for him. “And I’m yours.”

A strange look came upon his face then, something between sadness and elation, something she could not name. It was gone far too quickly for her to dissect it, his lips brushing against her hand once more before he drew away, a smile plastered on his face once more.

“You most certainly are, my darling.” He gave her hand one final squeeze before letting it go, twirling a hand through the air as he gestured to his hair. “Now about whatever you’ve done here.”

“Will you turn around now?” Whatever had snagged her attention briefly flitted away. Suds were streaking down the sides of his face, his hair half matted, pure ivory with the shampoo still caked into his scalp.

It was only with a long, petulant sigh that he turned around, laying back so his head was nearly in her lap so she could finish rinsing his hair.

“Now was that so hard?” She teased, supporting his head with one hand while she used the other to pour palmfuls of water onto his hair.

“It was torturous. I couldn’t see you for a whole minute.”

“Oh please.” She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to comb out the rest of the shampoo. “You’re such a baby.”

His brow furrowed. “I am not! I’ll have you know I’m over two hundred years old-”

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she cut him off. “Yes yes, you’re an over two hundred year old vampire, you’re terrifying and powerful and someone to be feared. But you’re still a baby.”

His eyes narrowed, his mouth opening as if to retort.

“And you’re my baby,” she finished, cutting him off once again.

She swore colour flared in his cheeks, at the tips of his ears. He looked away quickly, whatever sharp comment he’d been about to make dying before it made it to his lips. “I suppose it’s acceptable when you say it like that.”

Curling forward she brushed her lips to his brow, listening as he sighed.

He started to lift his head as she drew away, chasing after her in search of another kiss, but she gently coaxed him back down, cradling the back of his head once more. “Just relax, love.”

At first he did not relax, his eyes flickering to her face and along the shadowed ceiling of the room. But after a while she felt as he settled himself more comfortably against her. His upper back was cushioned atop her legs, his head cradled in her palm, just above her thighs, his legs drawn up so his knees cut through the water like mountains on the other side of an ocean.

“Let me know if anything is uncomfortable, okay?” She ran her hand around the sides of his ears, making sure she caught the last of the suds, making sure to rinse his hair fully so that when it dried it would be fluffy and soft just as it always was. She combed her fingers across his scalp, massaging gently, smiling as he gave a quiet hum of assent. The lines in his brow were smoothed away, his face softened in the light. He looked peaceful, serene as she rinsed the last of the shampoo away.

She could have told him to move then, that she was done and he had to sit up, but she found she did not want to, could not bring herself to be pried from this position. His weight against her was a comfort, the tranquil look on his face a balm to her heart, his even breaths lulling her into her own state of peace.

He looked calm, he looked happy, and she was loath to end the moment, for that gentle stillness to melt into the suds and bathwater.

So instead she reached for his preferred soaps, lathering it between her palms and running her hands over his shoulders, massaging the soap into his skin.

He shifted, a brow arching. “What are you doing now, my love?”

“Cleaning you up,” she said, pausing as worry flitted through her mind. “I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

His eyes opened, and where she had expected accusation she saw only the softness that accompanied a flower just beginning to bloom, petals not yet the brilliant crimson of blood. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s nice.” He sighed, eyes falling closed once more. “And I trust you.”

She was thankful to be sitting, because she was certain her legs would have given out on her from hearing such words from his lips.

She carried on, moving her hands over his arms and hands, sliding them back up to wash his chest, his torso. Eventually she did have to ask him to sit up, water sluicing down his back as she fetched a cloth to wash his back, careful to ensure her touch was light as she ran it over the lines of his scar. Her stomach still roiled when she saw it, remembering the sharp pain in his voice when he’d told her of its history, and when she remembered the scarlet light that he had been bathed in, that had set the scar aglow.

She bit down on her tongue until she tasted blood, forcing herself back into the present. That was behind them, it was behind him, and he would never have to fear his old vampire master agait. There was no more ritual, no more control, no more sacrifice. The scars would never glow again, they would never be anything more than scars. Fading reminders of a shadowed life and misery she would do everything she could to make sure he never felt ever again.

Suds spilled down his back, and she brought cupped hands of water to the nape of his neck, letting the water spill down his back as she began wiping up the suds. “Let me know if you feel uncomfortable at all, okay?” She scooped up more water and watched as it spilled down his back, washing away the last of the suds.

He gave a quiet hum of assent, seeming content to let her do as she wished for the moment. He was turned away from her, but she imagined the peaceful expression that must have been on his face. The dreamy smile, the pale pink of his cheeks, the same expression he often had when he first awoke, serene and blissful like he were caught in a beautiful dream.”

“I love you.” She murmured the words as she brought her lips to the back of his neck. “I love you so much.”

The quietness of the moment should have concerned her, but she’d written it off as him still being sleepy as she continued. She alternated between washing him up and scattering stray kisses along his skin. His shoulders, his sides, his arms. She made sure to catch all the little crooks of his body, fingers tangling together with his for half a heartbeat as she trailed soap and suds over his arms again before she rinsed him off.

“Alright.” She’d only just dunked the cloth back into the sudsy water, eying the lineup of pretty, colourful bottles along the shelf next to the tub, trying to figure out which ones were his favourites. They were unlabelled, but she knew what scents he liked best. “Don’t tell me which one is your favourite, okay? I think I know.”

She rested her cheek against his shoulder as she reached for the closest one, the one she was pretty sure smelled of bergamot. It was only then, as her fingers closed around the little bottle, did she notice the slight tremble of his shoulders, the soft sniffling sound that was quickly drowned out by the splash of water.

She drew back at once, the bottle slipping from her fingers and plunging into the water. For such a dramatic moment, as her breath caught in her lungs, she would have thought it would have made a louder sound as it crashed from her hand. But no, the bottle made little more than a quiet plink as it slipped beneath the surface of the water, the silence hanging in the air heavy, deafening in comparison.

“Astarion?” Her heart constricted, her lungs shuddering as they tried and failed to draw in breath. She hesitated before settling her hands on his shoulders, not knowing what else to do. “My love? Is something the matter?”

A beat. It was little more than half a moment but it could have been a century for how the time stretched between her question and his response.

“Nothing, darling.” His voice was much softer than usual, so soft she would have missed the tremor in it had she not been so close, had she not felt as it vibrated through him, resonating between them in the place where she had laid her palms.

“It’s not nothing.” She wanted to see his face, wanted to see what he was hiding. But when she leaned forward he turned his head away, nothing but his damp curls filling her sight.

“Astarion.” She settled one hand on his arm, the other brushing his hair back from his ear. “My love, why won’t you look at me?”

He cleared his throat, one hand coming up to rub at the side of his face. “It’s nothing. I think there’s some soap in my eye.”

“Let me see,” she insisted, reaching for his face. She cupped the cheek furthest from her, gently drawing his face towards her. “If there’s soap in your eye let me help get it out.”

He did not put up any resistance, although when he finally faced her fully he did not meet her eyes. Instead he just stared down into the water, his hands awkwardly clenched together in his lap. Red rimmed his eyes, his cheeks a splotchy red that spoke of tears, not the gentle flush of contentment or love. His face was wet, although that was most certainly from the bath as much as it was from his quiet tears.

Her hand slipped from his cheek along the curve of his neck, pausing only to rest on his chest, feeling its steady rise and fall as he took slow, measured breaths. “Oh my love, why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

His hand covered hers, an empty smile shuddering at the edges of his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling. I just got something stuck in my eye, probably from being distracted by your hands.” His voice dropped an octave, was sweet as syrup, warm as the buzz of alcohol when she’d drank too much wine. “I was thinking about all of the other things they could do.”

The smile at his lips grew wider, the sharp points of his canines peaking out. He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, but they fell just as quickly, no smile in them.

“Is it me?” Her voice trembled as she spoke, drawing her hand from him and pressing it against her own chest. She slid backwards, worry an oily creature squeezing her belly until she thought she might retch. “Have I done something wrong? Something to hurt you?”

Ruby eyes flared wide, the water moving like ocean waves, spilling over the lip of the tub as he closed the small amount of distance between them. He cupped her face with such tenderness she thought she would be the one to cry now.

His voice was a dry rasp, his brow lined. “You have done nothing wrong, I swear. I promise, you are…” His eyes softened. “You are perfect.”

Some of the tightness in her belly eased. She wanted to reach out to him, but she held back, still fearing that perhaps her touch had been too much. Perhaps she had pushed him beyond the bounds of his comfort. She sounded small, like a child, when she finally asked “then what’s wrong? Why will you not tell me what’s wrong?”

A long sigh fell from his lips, his hands finding hers in the water, fingers threading together. He seemed to hesitate, his eyes scanning her face for a long moment, his brow drawn.

“It’s not that something is wrong…” He tipped his head to the side, a humourless laugh ringing hollowly in the air.

She chewed on the corner of her lip, unsure whether to press him for details or to give him space to speak. Maybe he just needed to think through what he was going to say.

The corner of his lip twitched. “Don’t bite your lip like that, my sweet. I can smell the blood from here.”

She froze, frowning. “I haven’t even bit it that hard-” The coppery taste of blood spread across her tongue and she frowned even more, watching as his smile grew wider. “Hey! Don’t change the subject.”

“I can’t help it when all I can think about is sinking my teeth into your lips.”

He seemed quite proud of that line, and she wasted no time in splashing his face, washing it away. He sputtered, wiping his face, his smug little grin replaced by a pout.

“My eyes are up here,” she motioned to her face, earning the return of a small smirk. “Astarion, please. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but if there’s something I did wrong, or something I could do to help.”

It was another beat before he responded, his eyes creasing at the corners. “You haven’t done anything wrong, my love. And I’m not upset, I promise.”

She elected to remain quiet this time, fluttering her fingers along the surface of the water as opposed to worrying her bottom lip with her teeth lest she distract him yet again.

The tenor of his voice softened, warm and low, reaching into her mind and easing away the last of her anxieties. “It’s quite the opposite, actually. It’s just…” He trailed off, holding her gaze steady as he searched for the right words. When finally they came to him, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, soft as feather down, as morning sunshine in the air. “You were being so gentle. You weren’t trying to seduce me, or manipulate me. You just…”

Again he trailed off. He reached for the hand still skimming across the top of the water, holding it tight. “I didn’t want to say anything because it felt absurd to be crying over such a thing. I know you love me. And yet.” He shrugged. “I was overwhelmed. I felt so loved.”

His words hung, suspended in the air between them like spider’s silk. Delicate and gauzy, shimmering with the silver of moonlight as it was spun. She wasn’t thinking as she reached out to him, as she crawled into his lap with her hands on either side of his face. Her fingers slid into his hair, tangling in the wet curls.

“My love,” she breathed. She could not find her voice, her words little more than a flutter of gossamer wings, butterflies caught in a storm, a lone songbird taking flight in morning mists. Her heart was aching, her ribs cracking, splintering beneath it, the power of her voice stolen as the feeling drowned her veins.

His brows lifted, confusion and yearning twined together in his eyes. “Yes?”

“I love you.” It was all she could think of to say, the only words that would form in her mind for the longest of times. She ought to be better with her words, but in this moment, her fingers wrinkled and the water tepid, there was nothing else. “I love you entirely.”

“And I love you, darling,” he chuckled, his hands falling to her hips.

She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I love you.” She pressed her lips to his cheek, saying the words over and over again like a prayer. “I love you. I adore you. My chest aches from how much I love you.”

A breathy laugh escaped him as she passed her lips over his, as she scattered kisses across his cheeks and brow and the sharp tips of his ears. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“I want you to feel loved everyday, always.” A kiss to the side of his neck, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I love you, I’ll always love you.”

His arms came around her sides, hands resting on her back. “My love…”

She couldn’t stop now, smiling as his eyes flicked skyward in an eye-roll. “I love you!”

He held her tighter, drawing her in closer. “I love you too.”

“I love you with all my heart.” A brush of her lips against the bridge of his nose, the space between his brows, the hollow of his throat. His hands tightened, fingers pressing into her skin. “I’ll find a way to live forever so I can love you forever.”

A garbled sound escaped from his lips and she froze, her grip loosening in his hair. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been gripping it until she loosed her hold, her hands aching.

“No,” he said, his voice rough as sandpaper. “No, don’t stop.”

Silver pooled in the corners of his eyes when she pulled away, lines tracking down his cheeks and gathering at the edges of his jaw. Little droplets tumbled silently down, little ripples spreading across the surface of the water.

“Are you sure?”

A small nod, one hand sliding up her back, resting at the nape of her neck. “I am sure. Don’t stop.” He offered her a small smile, even as tears streaked down his face. “Please?”

She brushed the tears away with the pads of her thumbs, cupping his face as she brought her lips to his again. She grinned as he sighed, his lips parting against hers. It was so incredibly gentle, so tender and soft that she almost burst into tears too, feeling like she might melt into a puddle and be washed away with the soap and the suds.

“I love you,” she murmured as she broke away, breathless even as she drew breath. Shadows clung to the walls, stretched out from the corners and puddled along the floor, the flickering candlelight never quite reaching fully into the cracks and corners of the room. Yet for all that shadow everything seemed to burn bright, everything awash in technicolour. It was like an artist had come in and painted over a sketch done in grey, bringing it to life with colours she could not even name, made of crushed gemstones and sunlight and sugar.

Another sob bubbled to the surface, but it was chased by a soft laugh. The hand at her neck twisted into her hair, his free hand stroking her side gently, reverently. He looked away from her, lips pressed into a thin line as if he were embarrassed from the sound.

“You’re safe, you know,” she promised, stroking his cheek. “It’s okay to cry.”

He snorted, chuckling softly as he slowly looked back at her. “For being told I’m loved?”

She brushed away another tear. “Yes, exactly.”

He looked incredulous. “Really.” It wasn’t a question so much as a comment, one brow quirking up. “You don’t mind?”

“I’m just glad you trust me.” She traced the line of his jaw. “That you feel safe with me.”

He looked on the verge of saying something smart, so she kissed him quickly, fighting against her smile as he let out a choked sound, all that remained of whatever his snarky little comment would have been.

“That was unfair,” he whined, trying and failing to glower at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She kissed the corner of one eye, then the other, the shudder that wracked through him echoing in the hollows of her bones. “I just love you, I couldn’t help it.”

He chuckled again, running his fingers through her hair now. “Well if you’re that determined to shower me with affection, I suppose I shouldn’t stop you.”

She frowned. “Unless you want me to stop.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t want you to stop.”

“Even if it makes you cry?”

His pale brows rose higher, the corner of his lip twitching. “Only if you promise to kiss them away.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, nestling as close as she could to the coolness of his body. Tepid water sloshed around her hips, but she did not care, did not even notice as the bath grew colder. It could have been made of ice and snow and still she would have felt nothing but the warmth of her heart, burning as hot as a star set to explode and spread fire and stardust through her veins. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, feel it beat in time with her own, a harmony only they could create.

“I promise,” she murmured, lips against the curve of his jaw, trailing kisses up his face, tasting salt on her tongue.

“Then I definitely don’t want you to stop.”

She could have said something smart then. About how he was ridiculous, how he was being awfully needy and demanding. But in truth she didn’t have it in her to say something sharp, to come up with some witty rejoinder. Any smart comments she made were like training swords to the sharp-edged daggers he could create with only his tongue anyways. But more than that, she just didn’t want to. Why would she cut through the delicate gossamer of this moment? Why would she tear apart the diaphanous veil that clung to them?

All she wanted to do most days was hold him to her chest and press her face into his hair as she breathed in the rosemary and bergamot that he was so fond of. She wanted to cup his cheeks and kiss his face until he blushed, until he laughed, until he was so full of love he would never doubt his worth again. To run her hands down his back, to tangle her fingers in his hair and comb them through his curls, to soothe him so he felt safe as he slept.

She was not about to pass up an opportunity to do exactly that, and she was not about to tease him when she was nearly fracturing from the effort it took to keep everything she felt contained in her veins and her bones.

She had been struck dumb with love, but she had never been happier, never been so glad to sit in a cold bath with wrinkled fingers. There were not even any words to describe it, so she repeated the same words over and over. That she loved him, oh how she loved him, her precious Astarion.

Eventually his tears began to slow, his quiet sobs no longer echoing through the room. She didn’t pull away, at least not right away, wanting to stay tangled with him for just a little while longer. She murmured one more “I love you,” pressed one more kiss to the corner of his lips, before she pulled away.

Astarion’s eyes were filled with stars when she found them, the smile on his lips adoring. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” She brushed a damp curl behind his ear. “But you’re not crying any longer.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to stop, darling.” He sighed, mischief in his eyes once more. “And just when I was enjoying it, too.”

She splashed water at him, snickering as he shouted. “Come on! The water is getting cold!”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, their chests pressing together, holding her fast. “I’m not the one who started kissing me, darling.”

“I was trying to make you feel loved,” she whined, wiggling in his grasp but finding she was unable to escape.

“And you very much succeeded.” He spoke languidly, drawing out each word slowly, the sharp points of his teeth catching the buttery light. “I’ve never felt so loved before, in all my long, depraved existence.”

She looped her arms around his neck once more, running her fingers through his hair. “Well I’m very glad for that.”

He inclined his head, an approving smile on his lips. “But that doesn’t mean I want to let go of you just yet.”

“Astarion,” she hissed. “I wanted to take a bath.”

He was all wickedness now, tilting his head back, holding her fast with his eyes as much as with his arms. “And I wanted to stay curled up in my lover’s arms.”

A shiver ran down her spine, her body momentarily out of her control as she shook. She pressed closer against her better judgement, searching for the scraps of warmth his body offered.

He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, reminding her of a lazy cat from the way he watched her with half-lidded eyes. “So doesn’t this seem like an answer to what we both want?”

“We’re not exactly doing any bathing.” She shivered again, gooseflesh rushing across her arms.

The way he smirked made it seem like he had won a prize, all satisfaction and smug delight. “It looks to me like you’d be better off staying in my arms, darling. If you don’t, you might catch a chill.”

Frowning, she planned to push away from him and crawl out of the bath, but she was shivering again, harder this time, her teeth clacking together. For all the warmth stored within the cage of her ribs, beating endlessly in time with his heart, clearly it was not enough to keep the chills away when she was waist-deep in a cold bath.

Astarion grimaced, taking note of the gooseflesh prickling her skin, the way her teeth clattered together, the unending shivers she could not seem to control. He pried one hand from his hair, inspecting her palm, before sighing dramatically. “Why didn’t you tell me you were this cold?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, looking away at the line of candles, watching as wax pooled at their bases.

A click of his tongue drew her attention back, although she wished she had not looked back as she was met with a look of reproach, his mouth a thin line, the corners of his eyes creased as they narrowed.

It was so bizarre, so utterly absurd to see such an expression on his face, when usually there was mirth or mischief or plain wickedness, that she couldn’t help but giggle.

He cocked his head to the side, the gesture of a predator having cornered its prey. “I’m not really sure what you find so funny,” he said leaning close. “But please, do enlighten me.”

“Nothing!” She shook her head quickly as she squeaked out her response. “There’s nothing that’s funny.”

“Hmm,” was his only response, although he looked like he didn’t believe her for even a second.

She tried to draw her hand away, to press it safely to her chest, but he held it tightly, his eyes boring into hers for a long, long while.

“I’m only a little cold,” she said, finally conceding. “I hardly noticed it.”

He sighed, loosening his hold. “Well I think it probably is a good idea to get out of the bath.”

She was not afforded a moment to consider his words as he stood, capturing her in his arms as he stepped from the tub.

“Hey! I haven’t washed up yet.” She wriggled in his arms, trying to get free.

“Relax.” He smirked, setting her down. “You’re not bathing in freezing water.”

“It wasn’t freezing.” She pretended she didn’t see the way his eyes flicked to the goosebumps still crawling across her arms and her legs now, too. Or the way she shivered again.

He sighed. “It’s a good thing I don’t love you for your intelligence.”

“Excuse me?!”

His hands hovered on either side of her face, his nose bumping against hers as he kissed her lightly. “I adore you, my dear.”

She glared at him as he drew back. “That is not what you said.”

“Isn’t it?” He shrugged, moving away to begin draining the bath. “I adore you, and I will always love you, no matter what silly things you say.”

“I’m going to pretend you’re not implying I’m dumb.”

He held a hand to his chest, looking stricken. “On my honour! I would never say such a thing.”

She considered turning around and stomping back to bed. But there had been a reason she had wanted to bathe, beyond lavishing Astarion in love, and she still itched to wash her body of the sweat and blood and other things that still clung to her.

“Don’t look at me like that, darling.” He looked on the verge of pouting again, reaching for her hands. “You’ll have some cuddles again in just a few minutes.”

“What are you plotting?”

“Don’t look so suspicious, I’m only drawing you a new bath.” He huffed, making a grand show of refilling the tub with steaming water.

Warmth like a newly kindled fire bloomed in her chest, velvet softness wrapping itself around her heart. It was a small gesture, and yet it set her alight, made her feel as though she were glowing a little from gratefulness, from the love that had her in its thrall.

Still, she had to argue, curious why he would do such a thing when he’d only wanted to stay snug in bed in the first place. “I can do it, it’s okay. I know you’d only wanted to remain in bed.”

Another click of his tongue as he reached for some of his oils, sniffing them delicately before sprinkling them across the water. “I never said that.”

She groaned. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Oh yes, I know.” He set the bottles to the side, offering her his hand, a teasing smile on his lips. “It’s allowed me to get away with much in the past. I’m hoping it will let me get away with much more in our future.”

She took his hand, letting him draw her back into the now steaming water. The heat of the bath seeped into her bones, relaxing her muscles as she sank into the fragrant water, tipping her head back so her hair streamed out behind her.

“How’s that?” Astarion asked, settling into the tub once more. He drew her legs into his lap, running his hands over them beneath the surface of the water. “Better, right?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Yes, you’re right, it is much better.”

He flicked water her way, smug. “Now where were we?”

“Well I think I was almost done washing you,” she said, her memory hazy. Most of what she remembered was kissing his face, the desire to do so once more like a creature curling in the spaces between her cells, coiled tight, willing to wrap herself in his arms once more if he bid her to.

“That’s right,” he breathed. Something softened in his gaze, his countenance turning gentle, almost reverent. “But you’ve made me feel so loved. I’d like to do the same for you.”

A flush creeped across her face, reaching down her neck and across her chest as he took her hand. “You don’t have, I didn’t do it because I wanted you to reciprocate. I just-”

He kissed her hand, cutting her off, and for a moment he could have been an angel, the soft light gilding his features, his ivory hair glowing like moonlight.

“I know,” he murmured against her skin, eyes opening to find hers. “But I’d like to do it all the same. If you’ll allow me.”

There was nothing hidden in his voice, no double meaning to his words. Nor was his smile sly, or his eyes sharp as daggers. Nothing but earnestness lay in his countenance, a determined sincerity that had her caving at once.

How could ever say no to such a display? Even now that his enslavement was behind him and his sire long dead, he was still guarded. Less so with her, but guarded all the same. It would take many years to coax him fully from his habits, from his attempts to shield himself and his true emotions. But he was not shielding himself now, he was not hiding anything. So how could she ever say no when his heart had unfurled like a flower in bloom, unveiling how he truly felt?

She leaned forward to cup his cheek with her free hand, unable to pry herself away from touching him gently, from stroking his face with light fingers. “Nothing would make me happier, love.”

He leaned into her touch, a sigh feathering across her skin as his eyes closed. “Are you sure there is nothing that has ever made you happier?”

“Astarion.”

He lifted both hands, palms out in surrender. His eyes fluttered open, his lashes tickling the tips of her fingers. “I was only teasing, love. Although.” His voice turned smooth as warmed butter. “I hope that everything I do makes you happy.”

“You make me happiest,” she breathed.

He sighed again, one hand circling around her wrist, his shoulders sagging. He looked like he was on the verge of melting, of falling apart and slumping into her arms. But he straightened, pressing a kiss to her palm before pulling away. “Then let me show you how much I love you.”

True to his word he did his best to wash her in kind, and the feeling of the warm water and the soap and his scattered kisses were so heavenly she nearly cried, too. They stayed together until the water grew cold once more, and then they wrapped themselves in soft towels, water puddling beneath their feet as they returned to their bedroom, as they perched on the bed while she carefully toweled off his hair, biting back a grin at how it stood up at funny angles.

And when water no longer beaded on their skin they curled up in bed once more, tangled together beneath the layers of blankets. Astarion’s head was pillowed against her chest, and she idly ran her fingers through his still-damp curls, listening to the even tempo of his breaths, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beating in his chest.

“I love you,” she murmured into his hair, stifling a yawn as she rested her cheek against the top of his head.

He mumbled something she couldn’t quite hear, a sleepy response that she felt in her bones more than heard quivering in the air. It made her smile, her arms tightening around him as she tried to hold him closer. She was happy, happier than she’d ever thought was possible, and she would do her best to make sure he was happy every day too, until the end of her days.

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