#the ghost part doesn’t want to be trapped

[tanglepelt]

Having two different forms is difficult. Especially when they don’t agree.

[tojisun]

“ghost,” price’s voice rumbles in his ear, the faint static almost breaking through his focus. there’s a familiar cadence in his captain’s voice, one that drags against simon’s body in miasmic waves—it is, after all, nothing short of a warning. still, none of it matters, and simon continues to march on.

“the mission–”

“stopped being my priority,” simon replies, cutting him off.

there was nothing but a crackle. a quiet whirring. then, “you know this is not what they would want.”

he grunts. “good thing they’re not here then.”

simon slinks into the shadows, ducking underneath the balcony, his eyes frantic as he scans the parameters. it’s safe. quiet. too quiet, in fact.

“location?”

“south of the chapel,” gaz replies with no hesitation. simon hums to himself—price must’ve shifted his directives too, then.

“roger.”

he moves, his boots crunching against the gravel and filling up the dead passage way with just enough noise. there’s still a whole lot of suspicious inactivity, one that makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise up, but he doesn’t get to dwell on the thought anymore. not when a loud bang rips through the silence.

his breath stutters, mind racing—that sound came from the shed.

his legs tense, muscles rippling.

“shots fired!” he reports before he leaps, devouring the vast space between himself and the sounds of scuffling. prayers form on the tip of his tongue, racing down his throat like scalding water.

he’s not even a religious man, but dear gods–

simon passes around the chapel, eyes cataloguing the lit rooms inside what he was told to be a desolate building, before tearing through the wooded shed. he knows he should’ve searched the area for any threat, should’ve probably waited for backup, but simon’s been running on overdrive, his emotions piling. spilling.

he tears the door open, guns poised for easy aim. only–

simon’s body buckles, throat constricting with the words he wishes he can say. but there is nothing else to be said. nothing but thank you’s.

because there, standing in the middle of the chaos, bloody and wounded and banged up to hell, is you. you weren’t even taken for that long but look how much they did to you. they hurt you.

your feet are soaked with blood, your boots and socks having been stripped off of you as though a part of their attempts at making you incapable of leaving. your face is swollen. marked up. cuts trace from the angle of your jaw to the side of your temple, leaving blood to trickle down to your neck, staining your tee. the gash doesn’t look deep, but maybe that’s all the blood covering the actual extents.

simon forces himself to breathe. to stay still.

(everyone has their own triggers, that’s what they were first told when laswell brought you to them.

“remember theirs and be careful,” she said before a pleased smile tugged at her lips. “mommy’s bringing home a new littermate. aren’t you all glad?”

the meeting ended there, just as johnny opened his mouth to complain. price passed around your file and simon memorized every line that night—your tell, your preferred gun, your morning beat.

somehow, he thinks that maybe that night was when his devotion to you started.)

simon watches—he’s always been watching you since the day that you arrived—as you compose yourself. the m9 is still gripped so tightly in your trembling fist, the metal quietly creaking at the pressure. it fills up the space in tandem with your ragged breaths, and he knows you’re still there, trapped in the depths of your mind.

alone. angry. scared.

“status?” price asks.

simon licks his lips. “unstable.”

he hears the faint crackle of johnny cursing from the other end of the line, and simon gets him. he really does. but he thinks they also just don’t understand.

you’re here. alone. alive.

your spiral is just proof of that. proof that even in your loneliness, amidst the pain, you clawed your way to survival.

simon hopes you two were back home—the barracks have been home for years now—so he can reward you. sweetly. fully. you deserve all that and more. deserve to be devoted on. to be adored. to be revered.

you were always beautiful, of course, but there is something sacred in seeing you like this: bloodied, angered, victorious.

he prays that your wounds will turn to scars, if only to give him a map of where to press his kisses from now on.

“ghost?” you finally mutter, and it tears simon from his thoughts. your voice is a weak rasp, like you’ve been parched for eons, and despite that, it spills the tension from simon’s body, his muscles loosening up at finally seeing you return to the topside.

he wants to say your name. he wants to sound it out—aren’t names made to be chanted like prayers, anyway?—but he reels himself in and mutters your callsign instead. the name tumbles from his mouth with the desperation and the worry smothered under the guise of grace.

your lips twitch up in an attempt at a smile. they don’t really get to make it much because of the gash running down the corner of your mouth. still, it makes simon stumble over his feet until he is rushing past corpses and sliding into your space.

“can i–”

he doesn’t even get to finish asking before you’re falling into his arms, tucking in your bruised face carefully on the crook of his neck. he takes your bulk in his embrace, folding you to himself, before he rests his chin on the top of your head.

you fist at his vest, your other hand still tight on the m9, and simon can’t really blame you. even he still feels exposed to any danger from in and out of this shed even when you’ve taken out all of the enemies. so he holds you close and holds you tight, knowing every second is sacred.

he breathes you in, taking in the scent of the leather, gun powder, and iron. it all feels familiar to him; it all smells like you.

simon nuzzles the smooth part of his mask over your temple. then, “let’s go home?”

you shift until you’re peering up at him, and simon takes this as the chance to catalogue the extent of your wounds. his lips purse at finally seeing the gash; you would probably need stitches.

“okay,” you finally reply. your eyes wrinkle as you attempt to smile. “thanks for comin’ back f’r me.”

“always,” simon murmurs, feeling choked up as his exhaustion finally catches up on him. “y’know that, right?”

you hum, nodding, and that was that.

[lewdmommie]

One night stand

Summary: y/n is forced to do some after hours training with König

🎀Warning🎀: 18+NSFW, Oral sex, raw sex, breeding, rough sex, fluff, slight angst,praise/degradation kink, size kink etc…

ClingyKönigxreader💗

Part 2.

Part 3

Word count: 4.k

“That was good but you’re leaving yourself open.” A gloved hand takes hold of your wrist. He lifts both arms, protecting your face. Your eyes dart up catching a brief moment of eye contact before he quickly looks away. Green. His eyes were green, you hadn’t noticed till now. König was sweet but he made sure to keep his distance from people—the fact that you were this close to him at all was a shock. Sgt. Ghost didn’t take kindly to your recent mistake on the last mission. He doubled your workload and put you on probation, because most of the Barracks were close friends of yours, he assigned you the quietest person on the team. Now you and König spend three hours a day training after hours. While your peers train together, you're mopping floors and cleaning toilets. Ghost doesn’t let you train during work hours in case your colleagues distract you. This was a punishment and he made that clear. “I’m sorry you have to do this with me everyday. This is my punishment, you shouldn’t have to suffer on my behalf.” He shakes his head at your apology.

“I don’t mind…I know how Ghost gets.” He places both hands on your hips, rotating your body. The truth is he really didn’t mind, most days he looked forward to seeing you. “Keep your core strong.” He instructs. His fingers travel up the curves of your body as he repositions you. His large hands warm up your waist as ungodly thoughts intrude your mind. The mask made it impossible for you to read his emotions, any expression came from his eyes (which he often hides). The only change you could see was the way his breath hitched as his finger accidentally grazes your breast. He was always so respectful when touching you, the last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. Once your body is angled correctly he lets go, taking a few steps back. It almost seemed like he was avoiding the closeness. “Now attack me and defend.” He orders. You lunge forward —jabbing left, right,left,right. He blocks every punch effortlessly, guarding his face. He dodges, dipping low and charging at you. His arms wrap around your thighs hoisting you up. Your fingers interlock beating down on his back, trying to break his iron grip. He stumbles, arms loosening just enough to break free. Your feet hit the ground, König grunts as your fist connects clean with his jaw. “Uhn that one actually hurt…good job.” He waves a hand of surrender while rubbing his cheek through the mask. You run over to help. “Are you alright I’m so sorry-“ his hand shoots out, snatching your arm, spinning you. His solid arm tightens around your neck trapping you in a chokehold. His breathing is shallow, body tensing as your ass presses against him. You reach up and caress his forearm. He hadn’t realized just how small you were compared to him till now, his body engulfed the entirety of your frame. He notes how perfectly you fit in his arms and how easy it’d be to break you. Your head rests just below his pecs, the smell of your hair product wafts up his mask, he inhales the sweet scent. His bicep flexes, tightening his grip, your eyes flutter and a quiet moan falls from your lips. You loved that light headed airy feeling of being choked.

“N-never let your guard down.” He let’s go, gently pushing you away, putting a giant gap between the two of you. “Even if you think someone is done, be prepared to attack…” he trails off getting distracted by how sexy you look after an intense workout. How fast your breathing is, how your hair is messy with sweat, how your lips part as you catch your breath. He wanted to be the one to work you out.

“Oh whatever you cheated .” You laugh squatting down as you catch your breath. König crouches, grabbing his flask from the ground. His large, veiny hands twist the top off in one swipe. Unconsciously, he lifts the bottom of his mask to drink, showing you a glimpse of the lower half of his face. His jaw tenses, a trickle of water spills down his chin as he swallows. His adams apple bobs with each gulp. You gawk at the scene in front of you, thinking it has to be a daydream.

“Water?” He holds the flask to you.

“S-sure.” You ease to a sitting position on your knees reaching for the bottle. You stare at the rim that just grazed his lips. Does this count as an indirect kiss? You think. He watches you place your lips in the exact spot he’d drank from, flushed with excitement. He wonders if your lips were as soft as he imagined they’d be. How they’d feel melding with his…how they’d feel wrapped around his dick. He doesn’t dwell on it too long, knowing that would never happen and that you didn’t see him that way.

“Have you eaten?” He asks, looking at you with big green eyes.

“Sergeant told the cafeteria to only feed me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, so I haven’t eaten anything of value.” Your stomach grumbles on que.

“You must have really gotten on his bad side huh?” He offers you a hand,helping you to your feet.

“Unfortunately.” You dust off your pants and begin collecting your belongings.

“Since we wrapped up a bit early, how about I take you somewhere you can get real food.” He offers, packing his duffle bag.

“You know how tight ghost keeps the kitchen locked up…” you say with an annoyed tone.

“Who said anything about the kitchen?” His voice sounds mischievous.

“You don’t mean-?” You shake your head, stuffing your hat and jacket in the bag.

“Come on, he’ll never know I’ve worked with him long enough to know his blind spots.” He tilts his head expressively.

“Fine but if we get caught, you ordered me to go.” You hike your bag onto your shoulder, walking past him. He smiles behind you.

~

“Puedo pedir dos margaritas?(may I have two margaritas) Sí…un bistec nacho y un burrito de pollo(one steak nacho and one chicken burrito)Eso es todo, gracias(that's all thank you).” He says expertly, the waiter nods thanking you before going to pin the order up.

“Wow I’ve been deployed here longer than you and my Spanish is still choppy.” You toy with some lime slices on the table to keep yourself busy. König watches you closely, an amused look in his eye.

“I can speak a few languages but I’m not good at them all.” He looks you up and down, the lights from the club area illuminates your skin. Your hair is pulled in a now messy bun. Cute strands stick out from your training session. He is especially drawn to your lips, the way you lick and nibble your bottom lip when you’re nervous. His eyes dart away when you feel his gaze lingering and look up.

“What other languages do you speak?” You stare out into the dance floor, watching the locals swing and jump to the music. They looked carefree and happy, it’d been so long since you’ve felt good or even had a good time. Ghost saw a lot of potential in you so he stayed on your ass 24/7. Tough love is what he liked to call it.

“German is my first language.” He reveals.

“German? That’s so cool , say something in German.” He chuckles at your excitement.

“Ich möchte dich über diesen Tisch beugen und dich dazu bringen, mich ganz zu nehmen (I want to bend you over this table and make you take all of me)” he leans forward, green eyes boring into you as he says this,making sure you can hear him over the music. You had no idea what he just said but it made your thighs clench under the table.

“W-what does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you one day.” He shrugs. You toss a lime, it smacks his vest with a small thud.

“I thought friends don’t keep things from eachother.” You tease. The server brings out two large glasses with salted rims, there was no way you could finish this entire thing. He places the margaritas on either side of the table along with straws. König tears open his straw taking a long pull from his drink.

“Whoa it’s strong.” The fruity syrup barely covered the 3 shots of liquor . You indulge, sucking a mouth full of the frozen drink. It tastes strongly of strawberry slushie and tequila, the salted rim balances all the flavors with a sour finish. The alcohol must have been hitting him pretty fast because all he could imagine is him being that straw. How good the inside of your mouth must taste and feel.

“You’re right…I see why everyone is having such a good time.” You joke, taking another sip. A hearty laugh rumbles in his chest, he loved the way you always spoke your mind. It’s one of the qualities that always got you in trouble with ghost. Nothing made him laugh more than watching you stress ghost out with your witty personality.

“I guess we’d better join the party.” He raises his glass for a toast before chugging half.

The server brings out hot plates of food, everything looked and smelled amazing. Your stomach growls at the sight of real food, the liquor (coupled with only eating sandwiches for a week) takes effect making you absolutely demolish your burrito. König shyly slips a few chips under his mask, he never ate around people since it usually required the mask to come off.

“This is soooo good.” You say having another bite.

“I love this place. I come here often.” He slides in another chip.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to leave base unauthorized or maybe that’s just me.” Ghost had a tendency of giving you extra rules for your troublesome rap sheet.

“We aren’t but if you don’t get caught, did it ever happen?” He laughs, taking the final sip of his drink.

“And they call me the troublemaker.” You say glancing at the dance floor again.

“Do you want to?” He asks.

“Want to what? Dance?…no I don’t uh I don’t dance.” You dismiss quickly.

“ I’ve seen you knock grown men out y/n, dancing can’t be much harder than that.”

“You know you’re much more social than usual.” You observe.

“Only when I’m with you.” He grabs your hand leading you to the crowd.

The music thumps with bass, shaking the ground beneath your feet. A sexy song plays through the huge speakers near the DJ station. People couple up, swaying their bodies to the beat. König slips an arm around your lower back pulling you close. You struggle to find the tempo, moving left to right awkwardly. He takes your hand, spinning you around. His eyes trace the line of your body before pulling you back into his chest. You giggle at how ridiculous you look compared to his smooth rhythm. Your foot slams down on his toe as you try to find the beat “I’m so sorry! I’m so bad at this maybe I should sit-“

“Let’s try this instead.” His knee forces your legs apart, giving him control of your movements. The feeling of his thigh pressed firmly against your heat makes your head spin.

“Follow my lead.” He commands.

His waist sways back and fourth, rocking your bodies in unison. You copy his actions, grinding your hips together, the grip on your waist tightens. The fabric of your pants rub creating friction between your legs, his cock reacts to the closeness, beating as if it was dancing along with them. finding the rhythm, your body starts to move on its own.

“Scheisse (Shit)” he groans as you turn around and twirl your ass on him. His head falls back as you start to swirl your hips down and back up slowly. His big hand slides over your stomach holding you as close as possible, his rock hard member strains through his thick camo pants. Your eyes close as you grind into him, his finger grazes the exposed skin peeking from under your shirt. He trails that same finger up your torso, between your breast and up your neck. His hand rests at the base of your throat keeping hold of you as your bodies whirl around the dance floor. He spins you back around to face him, for once he demands eye contact and you’re the one shying away. You stare at the floor, giant hands cup your face pulling you to meet his feverish gaze.

“Don’t look away from me.” König’s voice sounds different, More rugged. His shoulders hunch as he leans down to your height as he speaks. “Bitte komm mit mir nach Hause” he whispers in your ear.

“What’s that?”

“Please come home with me.” He breathes.

~

“How the hell did you convince Ghost to let you room by yourself ?” You ask, stepping past the threshold.

“ My social skills and big personality helped with that.” He jokes sarcastically. König wasn’t required to room with anyone thanks to his close connection to the sergeant, leaving the two of you completely alone in his quarters.

“Well I guess if you don’t talk much there isn’t much you could say to get in trouble.” You ponder.

“Yeah you should try it.” He chuckles at your shocked expression.

“Try what exactly?” You ask appalled , holding your chest dramatically.

“Not talking. That mouth of yours is dangerous.”

“Give me one example where I said something worth getting punished for.” Your arms cross.

“If I recall correctly you said and I quote ‘why would I listen to a dude named Simon?’ ” he says in a high pitch voice mimicking yours.

“First of all he wasn’t supposed to hear that, wrong place at the wrong time on his part and secondly Simon is a funny name, the jokes practically write themselves.” He pauses for a second before doubling over with laughter.

His keys clatter on the kitchen counter as he wipes his tears of laughter away. You set your bags near the couch and sway on your heels nervously, unsure whether to sit or stand. Strong hands settle on your shoulders working away the tension you’ve been holding for god knows how long. Your head rolls back into his touch, he kneads your muscles like dough relieving any and all stress. “That feels so good, König.” You groan, closing your eyes.

“Come with me.” He grasps your hand leading you down a hall , stopping at a closed door. He twists the knob revealing a very plain bedroom, a queen sized bed with black sheets, a desk, and stacks of paperwork are all that decorate the space. There are two extra doors, one leading to the closet and the other to the bathroom. You laugh at his clumsiness. He’s clearly tipsy as he staggers to the door.

He slips his gloves off and opens the cabinet below the sink, rummaging around and pulling things out onto the bathroom floor. Finally, he emerges with a pink topped bottle. “Baby oil” the label reads.

“Strip.” He says, unbuckling his bulletproof vest and laying it on the desk chair.

“S-strip?”

“Yes, so I can massage you. That is what you want isn’t it?” He removes his thick camouflage jacket revealing the snug black material of his undershirt.

His muscles bulge veiny and tight, stretching the fabric. It was true, you did want his hands all over you. Ever since you two started training together, you found yourself fantasizing about being split by that monster of a man. Your hands fumble with the buckle of your pants as you kick your boots off. He advances, towering a wapping 6'6”. You shift with anticipation, looking up at him with gleaming eyes. The tips of his fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, swiping it over your head. Your scrunchie is taken along with it, freeing your hair (for my fellow natural haired girlies let’s just say you have braids or a wig). If you’d known you’d be stripping for someone tonight, you would have picked sexier underwear. He’s silent as he takes in how perfect you look in your plain gray and white bra/pantie combo.

“Lay on the bed.” He instructs unscrewing the baby oil top.

You listen, climbing up into the comfy cotton sheets, using your arms as pillows. He’s flustered at how obedient you are, since that wasn’t a side of you he’d seen before. The military couldn’t break you…but he would. He stands at the side of the bed admiring every dip and curve of your figure. Flipping the bottle upside down, Slick cool oil slides down your back. His thumbs rub circles along your spine, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. His long fingers slip under your bra strap, he huffs in frustration.

“In the way-“ he unclasps it skillfully. Your face is burning with embarrassment, there was no way you were laying in Königs bed half naked. A shiver runs down your leg as he slides down the elastic waist of your panties. He begins working and kneading your lower back, squeezing the plush skin of your ass. The crotch of your panties were soaked, leaving a huge wet spot on the gray fabric. He inhales, your arousal was palatable, his dick pulsates at the scent of your glistening womanhood. Your panties glide down over your ankles as he slides them off, tossing them into the corner.

“Flip over.” He grunts, tossing you around.

Your breast fall from the unclamped bra, hard nipples on full display. König doesn’t hesitate yanking and pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“On your knees.” His voice is breathy and low.

your eyes stay on him as you shift onto your knees, hands holding your chest shyly. Gently he pulls them away, slipping the straps down and off your arms. Because of his height, you’re at perfect eye level with his throbbing erection. His breath hitches as your elegant fingers undo the zipper of his pants, his earthy green eyes flutter. His big hand cradles your cheek as he watches you work to release him from the shackles of those annoying pants. His cock burst free, slapping his lower stomach. Although you couldn’t see his face, the state of his arousal was evident. Veins root from base to tip, beating rhythmically along the upward curve of his sex. His tip is blushed and oozing with pre-cum, his breathing accelerates with need. You run your tongue up the length of his rock hard shaft, he grunts head lolling back. Your lips wrap around the tip, tongue swirling and teasing him before opening nice and wide.

“Scheiße (Fuck)” he pants, caressing your cheek pulling your warm wet mouth down on his cock. It was even better than he’s imagined, his hand sets the pace rocking your head back and forth. Tears prick your eyes as he begins moving faster, fucking your throat. Each thrust deeper than the last, his hand moves to the base of your neck feeling how deep you can swallow him.

“You look so fucking pretty sucking my cock.” He wipes a stray tear with his thumb.

You gag as he pushes further, your throat muscles contract around him before he pulls back.

“Oh naughty naughty girl. You almost made me cum.” He teases, lightly pushing you back onto the bed. The mattress creaks from his massive size as he climbs between your legs, peering down at you. Your hand reaches under the mask, he firmly grips your wrist forcing it to the bed.

“Ask nicely.” He orders.

“Can I touch you…please.” You beg.

He releases your hand, it finds the bottom of the mask, sliding underneath to find the stubble of a 5 o'clock shadow and soft lips. Your finger strokes his lower lip, it is plump and warm.suddenly, his mouth opens nipping and sucking the skin of your curious finger. “Ah what are you-“ you moan arching your back. Pushing your hand away once more, he leans down, capturing your parted lips. Your lips dance in perfect harmony, melting into one another. He moans into your mouth, his jaw tenses as your tongue pushes through savoring the flavor that is König. The head of his dick pokes at your slippery slit begging for entry, you can feel how hot he is all over causing your temperature to rise.

“Open up for me, I’m gonna give you everything I have.” He groans, plunging inside with a flick of his hips. Your hands claw at the smooth skin of his back as you stretch around him, his girth almost too much to handle. You cry out as he thrust deeper “Just alittle more baby, you’re taking me so well…s’good s’fucking good.” He pants filling you to the brim. He stays still for a moment letting you adjust to his large size, the pressure in your pussy nearly makes you cum right then and there.

“I feel you twitching around me princess, you can’t cum yet, I’m not done breaking you.” He pulls back before slamming back in, hitting the back of your cervix with each thrust. There is a delicious ache in your belly as he impales you, the curve of his dick reaches places you didn’t even know existed.

“Ah ah s’to big I-I can’t I can’t.” You cry biting the skin of his chest to hold back your screams.

“You’re gonna take what…I…give…you.” He pounds with each word. He sits up pushing your knees to your chest forcing even deeper inside your velvety walls. This position gives him access to your stiff wet bud. With two fingers he spreads your creamy folds watching his dick pump in and out of you. Every thrust his cock emerges more coated than the last.

“Your pussy is so fucking gorgeous , look at that needy little clit.” He flicks your bud, rutting into you with all his strength. His long fingers grab your throat, your tongue lols out as he chokes you. He alternates the pressure taking you up and gently bringing you back down. “That pretty mouth isn’t so dangerous now.” Your quivering walls clench around him threatening to overflow.

“P-please I’m gonna…ah!” He pulls out, gripping your waist as he throws you around, roughly raising your ass to him. Before you can register the change he splits you apart once again, slapping your plush ass, leaving hot hand prints on your skin. Those giant hands push and pull you back on his cock, using your pussy to make himself cum.

“You have such a cute tummy.” He reaches around pressing on your lower belly feeling how full it is with his cock.

“You would make such a pretty mommy.” He praises fucking you faster and harder. That throws you over the edge, your body convulses and clamps down icing his dick with your sweetness.

His teeth clench with an inhuman growl as his rod twitches and throbs before shooting your insides with his hot seed.

~

“Late again huh, rookie? That’s an extra week.” You jump, turning around. Ghost stands over you. It was true last night’s events made it impossible to wake up at 5 am with the other soldiers. You ended up sneaking out of Königs bed in the middle of the night, hoping you could sneak back into your barracks undetected. The mission was success. You slipped into your bed at 2 a.m before anyone could realize you were gone. Unfortunately, that means you overslept, waking up three hours late.

“I was…sick.” You lie scrubbing the bathroom tiles diligently.

“Sick? You were fine yesterday.” He says with a flat tone.

“Must have eaten something bad, all those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches must have taken a toll.” You grunt, rubbing your stomach.

“Next time you’re sick. You report it to me in advance.” He orders.

“How can I predict when I’m gonna be sick?-“

“Don’t question me.” He spins on his heels walking out the bathroom.

“Okay Simon.” You mock.

“What was that rookie?” He calls back.

“Nothing Sargeant!” You exclaim.

He walks away finally, leaving you with the smell of bleach and toilet water. Your arms ache from scrubbing. throwing the sponge in the bucket of cleaning solution, you sit back against the wall thinking about last night. All morning you avoided seeing König, ducking and dodging him in the halls. Every time you thought of him, your face burned with embarrassment, there is no way you could look him in the eye after that. For now your plan is to just lay low in hopes he was too drunk to remember anything. It was nothing. Just a drunken one night stand.

“There you are.” He charges forward looking down at you.

“H-here I am whats up König…do you need a copy of that report-“

“Why did you sneak out last night.” He interrupts.

“Psh me? Sneak out I didn’t sneak out. I just went for a walk…and ended up in my bed.” You reach into the bucket with gloved hands wringing the sponge out.

“Why couldn’t we sleep together?” He asks.

You fly to your feet in a panic “Shhh! What if someone hears you?”

“So what?” He tilts his head in confusion.

“Superior and subordinate relationships are strictly prohibited!” You whisper/yell.

“Right…hm, okay in here then.” He takes your hand leading you into the stall furthest from the door, The lock clicks behind you.

“Can’t this wait till after hours.” You say with an annoyed tone.

“I want an explanation.” His arm rests on the wall above your head.

“This. This is why I snuck off, to avoid whatever this is. Now I’m stuck in a bathroom stall talking about…feelings.” You hold your stomach making a pained face.

“This isn’t funny.” His voice is low.

“You’re right it isn’t but it is complicated .”

“Y/n? You in here?” A voice calls.

You mouth shit, covering what you assumed was his mouth through the mask.

“Yeah! I was just cleaning!” You call back.

“Who were you talking too?” She asks her foot steps advancing.

“No one! Here I come!” You let him go squinting your eyes.

“This isn’t over.” He whispers sharply, moving to the side.

“I can see that.” You grumble walking out the stall to greet your friend.

…to be continued?

[marcsburnerphone]

Wish I never came

Captain john price x f!reader

Summary: being johns wife has been full of security and safety and you never thought he’d be the one to taint that.

Warnings: angst(why doesn’t anyone write about how scary price can be when hes angry peepaw is cra), hurt/comfort, 141 task force loves you, price is fucking scary.

Part 2 out now!

—-------------------

Every first friday of the month you bring the boys and your husband a homemade meal to base. It’s been tradition for almost two years now since the first time you did it on a whim, John begged you for a good roast so you surprised him with some and since there was so much you’d brought the rest for his task.

Today you've perfected the dish gaz asked for, they decided rotations on requests now because it became unfair when soap requested meals only he liked 4 months in a row.

You packed all 4 meals in airtight thermal containers and put them in the car before heading towards base about 2 hours away. The military police men greeted you by first name when you arrived and buzzed you in.

“I've never been happier to see someone in my life.” soap rushes you and traps you in a hug while gaz takes the two bags from your hands.

“Good afternoon, wheres simon and john?” you greet both of them with smiles something that was relieving to see in a place like this. The common area was empty during this time of day so it was clear they weren't here.

Before they could answer simon came in, eyes looking more exhausted than usual. He gives a weak attempt at an ‘hello love’ a common and yet sweet name they’d picked up for you.

“I honestly wouldn't go into his office right now hes a little um on edge i’d say.” he grabs his thermal bowl from the bag its always the black one, this way they dont fight over which bowl has more.

“Nonsense simon he’s my husband, im just going to bring him this and be on my way.” simon shook his head turning a satisfied groan at the taste of real food in his mouth to a disapproving one at your persistence.

“love maybe listen he’s under a lot of pressure right now, its really not the time.” gaz interrupts simons beginning of a sentence.

Without another word you just grab his bowl and a fork setting off torwars his office which at this point you could get to blind.

“Are we just going to let her do that.” gaz looks to the two men.

“We warned and she’s right thats her husband i mean worst he’ll do is ignore her, loves her too much to hurt her.” ghost grumbles.

—

The air is tense on your way down the hall but you approach his door regardless as the familiar scent of a lit cigar fills your senses. You give two knocks before walking in.

“Hey just brought you some lunch.” you say quietly as you walk in observing the splay of files on the floor and desk.

He grunts and doesn't even spare you a look which yeah it stings but it was expected.

“Okay then can I leave it right here?” you point at a spot on a coffee table thats somewhat clear.

“Do whatever you want with it, mm not hungry.” he says lowly while taking another drag from his cigar letting the ash fall freely.

“So should i just leave it in the kitchen, i can just-.” you didn't know why you were rambling or nervous even john had only ever made you feel safe. 

“I fuckin said do what you please with it, I’m busy.” the tone made you shiver, and yes maybe you should've just left it and talked to him later but this wasn't a behavior from him you've ever experienced.

“John I-” 

“Jesus fucking christ take the food, leave the food I dont fucking care but get the fuck out of here as soon as you can thankyou!” His voice makes you flinch as he throws a stack of papers on the floor with an unneeded force, he yelled at you for the first time ever and you couldn't even process it. Was time bending or had the air become thin, you didn't know but you took a few weary steps back towards the door and left the food by the entrance on the floor finally closing it, once you were back in the hallway air found it’s way to your lungs as you took a deep breath.

“Hey its okay come on.” gaz was there gently caressing your arm along with the two others catching up behind him in the distance.

They never thought hed talk to you like that but right when they heard that deep threatening drawl boom from the common area gaz was the first one up and out. He was always overly protective of you.

You weren't crying, no but you wanted to. You just closed your eyes for what felt like ages and whispered an ‘I’m okay’ and left without another word.

Once you reached the comfort of your own car your heart caught up with the speed of your brain and tears poured, the last time you’d cried like this had been in childhood. Without another second you sped around the lot and out of the exiting gates wishing you'd never entered them in the first place.

You got a call not so long into your way home, maybe five minutes if you estimated correctly and you almost gagged at the picture of you and john that popped up as he rang you.

The boys were the ones to call next but you just dazed out on the long road ahead, disassociated from the outside world around you. You stopped at a cafe you particularly enjoyed in a town near your home needing to clear your thoughts. 

Price had waited and even started counting seconds to see if you'd pop up on the ring camera he installed to keep an eye on you, it brought him comfort especially when you'd make cute gestures at it or talk to him through it as you brought groceries inside. But now you should've been home an hour ago at most and still no sign of you.

He had not comprehended how loud he could get and he really only snapped out of it when soap appeared in his office with a very disapproving look. Then he finally noticed the look of fear in your eyes or how the sweet smile you always wore was a frown and then his gaze made it to the container he’d grown so familiar with by the door.

“FUCK!” he could cry grown man tears, he spoke to you how he sometimes speaks to his soldiers and the strings in his heart felt like they were on the verge of combusting.

“You fucked up captain.” soap added to the fuel before leaving his office.

—----------------

Anyone feel that chest pain.

Re-blogs and feedback are appreciated 🫶

[desos-records]

The part I appreciate the most in the Lockwood and Co show is how it handles depression and suicidal thoughts in teenagers. As a theme, it’s not often (ever) done well. Lockwood and Co is the only story I can think of that depicts it in a nuanced, realistic, non-romanticized way

but first, before I get into it: [if you’re in crisis or need someone to talk to and don’t want to/can’t use your national hotline, highly recommend Samaritans, genuinely saved my life] okay, let’s go

Lockwood is the most obvious, with his general disregard for his own life and admitted suicidal ideation. Lucy struggles with her self-worth and the intensity of the emotions she’s subjected to. George worries that he doesn’t belong, that there’s something useless or wrong about him. The show depicts these thoughts and feelings in a way that isn’t overblown or dramatized, it’s all but casual. Which is how it happens. Depression or suicidal thoughts don’t crash into you all at once, they creep into your life without you noticing

But more importantly (and again, something I’ve never seen anywhere else), the show also offers counterpoints to those thoughts and feelings. It shows that there is a way out, even though you may feel trapped and hopeless. This is crucial for the show’s target demographic. Bad media depictions of depression or suicide get internalized, contribute to the stigma, and make it harder for people to ask for help. This show doesn’t do that. This show tells its audience that, yes, things are scary and painful and it fucking sucks, but it’s not hopeless. And it says it so well

In the second episode, when Lucy wants to quit, she admits something that I’m almost certain she’s never told anyone

“sometimes I just think I’d be better off dead”

And when I watched this the first time, I expected Lockwood to react the way I’ve seen people react in my own life; with silence or panic or downright dismissal. But he didn’t. He stays calm and he says something that is so so important to hear when you’re struggling under the weight of feelings like this

“I understand that”

Saying this tells someone several things: that you’re on their side, they aren’t strange or monstrous for feeling like this, and that you’re not going to attack or abandon them because of it. And you can see the impact it has on Lucy, the way her face clears. She went from struggling to breathe and near tears to calm and steady. It’s no mistake that in this moment we hear his and Lucy’s theme for the first time (those simple, beautiful guitar strings)

The next thing he says is also important

“and it’s not true”

Simple, to the point, directly addressing her feelings, and (the most common mistake) doesn’t make it about him. Telling someone that you love them or that they’d be upset to lose you might sound nice, and it can be later on in the conversation, but in a moment like this, it’s infinitely more helpful to confront the thought itself

A similar moment in the first book stuck with me too, when they’re underneath Combe Carey Hall and Lucy almost steps into the well. What she’s hearing in her head (and the general phenomenon of malaise that ghosts produce) is very similar to depressive or suicidal thoughts. Before she can fall, Lockwood pulls her back

“no, Lucy, that’s not the way it’s going to be”

Depressive and suicidal thoughts deal in absolutes, so sometimes it takes an absolute to counter it

In the last episode, George has that heart-breaking moment where he says all the awful things he thinks about himself, partly because of the influence of the boneglass and Bickerstaff, but it’s also been building up, there in the background. Increasingly, it’s Lockwood and Lucy working together and George working on his own, which picks at old wounds (engineer, engineer, engineer, weirdo). He bonds with Joplin because he feels like she understands him in a way the others don’t

“it’s nice to have someone to show off to”

But Lucy pushes back against all that because she sees herself in all the ugly things George is saying, because she’s felt that way too. She understands that. She’s so surprised and horrified to hear him saying those things, resigning himself to dying down there, she’s not going to let him go on believing them

“you’re not a third wheel or an oddball or whatever it is that you think you are”

“you’re the best of us”

“we are not losing you, Georgie”

Flo called him that earlier too, but Lucy wasn’t there for that and coming unprompted from her it sounds so much like something you might call your slightly annoying younger brother. She’s so absolute about it all, with no opening for doubt, and you can see something like surprise on George’s face (but also pain because now Lucy’s in danger too)

For all Lucy knows, the boneglass will kill her. I don’t think for a second she genuinely believes her talent will protect her; she told Joplin that to protect George. It’s unclear when exactly she came up with the plan to use the skull, but she was willing to risk it anyway. And she knows, she knows, George will blame himself for this (because she would too, if it were the other way around), but even then, she’s very clear

“this isn’t your fault”

Their whole scene down in the catacombs is two kids trying to keep each other alive, physically obviously, but on the inside as well. And, oh god, George almost crashing down next to Lucy after he’s knocked over the boneglass, trying to wake her up. His voice

“Lucy, Lucy, it’s me, it’s me, say something, speak to me”

I think it’s down in those catacombs that George and Lucy really understand each other for the first time. In their own ways, they’re both curious and suspicious about the Problem and what causes it, trying to learn more about it (and stressing Lockwood out in the process). They both left their families; they both struggle with feeling strange and different than everyone around them. That connection pulls them both back from the edge

Lockwood, for all his confidence, is practically in crisis or was fairly recently (I suspect living with George helped). It’s fairly common, actually, for someone suicidal to overcompensate with an exterior shell to hide it, which can manifest in different ways depending on the person (they may not even realize they’re doing it, I didn’t)

And I love how the show handles it. He’s not made into this dark, tragic figure. He’s so full of life it hurts. He jokes around with George and Flo, fights with Kipps, admires Fairfax. He has dreams (plans) for the future. He’s struggling with trauma, they all are, but he’s not Broken™ in the way similar leading characters are often made out to be, in the way we often fear we are

And, of course, there’s Lucy, a wreaking ball through the precarious balance of Lockwood’s life. It’s not so much that she gives him a reason to live (although she definitely helps), but she holds him accountable in a way no one else does. This is the difficult part of recovery that no one talks about. Having people care for you (George) and sympathize with you (Flo) is great and necessary, especially early on. But at some point, you have to take responsibility for yourself and the noise in your head (you have to open your door on the landing)

What that looks like is complicated and messy and different for every person, but seeing it played out in a story is remarkable. I’ve never seen anything like it. This is a difficult thing for anyone to learn (many adults never even try)

That shot of George, Lucy, Lockwood (and Kipps) rising up on the catafalque sums it all up for me. Each of them fell into darkness alone and rose out of it together. They inspired each other to fight and win their individual battles, even when they couldn’t be there to help

[help-itrappedmyself]

Summoning Game Show Part 4

Masterpost

Look. I don't know how to write a sword fight and if I tried this part wouldn't be coming out for a month. So here's this and if I ever do write the sword fight I'll shove it in as part 4.5 or something.

~~~~~

Turns out that Fright Knight bleeds green. Weird. It had taken a moment, both of the fighters taking the time to get to know their opponent before truly engaging in the fight. But after the fight had well and truly started, it hadn’t lasted long. Damian had quickly taken advantage of his speed and the fact that Fright Knight was clearly not used to being limited by gravity.

“So the puzzle currently stands with four letters showing.” Danny gestured as the screen reappeared.

“For winning against Fright Knight, what letter would you like to guess?” Danny asks Damian, who has returned his borrowed sword and is now standing back on the stage.

“I choose the letter O.” Damian’s quick with his answer.

“An amazing choice, Robin. There is an O!”Danny waves his hand and the screen changes.

“The next game is a race! You can pick how you want to race from: bike race, flying race... Can any of you fly?” Danny’s face scrunches slightly as they all answer no. “Apologies, your options are bike race or swim race!”

“Nobody is swimming in radioactive substances!” Nightwing interjects.

“Bike race it is!” Danny agrees cheerfully. “Who will our biker be?”

Tim and Jason turn to look at each other. “Look, if it’s between the two of us to do the brain puzzle at the end, I think we all want that to be you.” Jason states. “Let me take this one.”

Tim nods and Jason stands up. “I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful! You’ll be racing Johnny.” Danny says. “Skulker will be playing defense.”

They are approached by a blond man wearing driving gloves.

“Wait, defense on a race?” Jason asks.

“Yeah, his goal will be to try and let no one win!” Danny is getting very excited. “He makes his own weapons, so I asked him to make some traps and things for this, he was excited to be able to participate.”

Danny jumps off the podium, but floats gently down until he’s next to Johnny, but now his forn doesn’t have any feet, just a wispy tail. Then waves for Jason to join them. As Jason is walking over someone with flames for hair wearing a lot of metal floated past through a door that said 3. Danny noticed Jason’s eye tracking him.

“That was Skulker. He’s going to set up the racetrack. Now we need to go to the garage so you can pick out your bike!” Danny starts walking over to yet another door. “Johnny will be on his usual bike, but you can pick whichever you want out of these.” Danny opened the door and flung it open for Jason, who stood still in the doorway.

“These are all motorcycles.” Jason muttered. 

“Well, yeah.”

“Is that a problem?” Johnny asks.

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “I had thought bicycles when I heard bike race, but this works out great.”

Jason goes and looks around at all the bikes, they had a large selection.

“Johnny, remember to keep Shadow in line. I know he’ll want to ride with you because it’ll be fun and everything, but he is not to interfere with the race.”

Johnny nods. “You got it. I’ll make he sure he doesn’t do anything.”

“Good! When Jason is done grabbing his bike, get yours too and I’ll meet you outside room 3!”

Johnny starts walking over to help Jason pick out a bike and Danny heads back into the main room. He floats up to the stands to talk to a few people, then floats back down to the podium and lands on it with two feet again.

“We’ll be watching from here.” Danny tells the boys, who had huddled together sometime while he was gone. 

Skulker comes back out of room 3 and heads over to Danny. “Got everything set up.”

“Nothing lethal? You remember that one of them is mostly human, not ghost. He will actually be hurt if you go too far.”

“Mostly?” Tim mouths at Dick. Dick shrugs.

“Got it covered. Non-lethal weaponry, and set up some road hazards.”

Danny nods and Skulker heads back through door number 3, as Johnny and Jason leave the garage, both pushing bikes next to them. 

Danny heads over to lead them to the track and get them set up at the starting line.

The room is large, with what looks like three separate zones and the track looks like it’s made of glass, reflecting as green as almost everything else in the Infinite Realms. The  first zone looks like a mountain, with the track starting on ground level and going up in winding circular trails up and around the mountain before heading back down. Then there’s a quick jump in it, a ramp leading to a gap in the track, which separates the zones. Zone Two  looks like a series of mounds, or small hills like a dirt racing track, some grassy, some muddy, some sandy, all sure to make driving difficult. Another jump leads into Zone Three which looks like a cityscape. There are many different paths you can take through it but you have to go around buildings and what looks like fake traffic.

Johnny and Hood get the bikes set up at the starting line while Danny starts explaining.

“You have to go through all three zones, but the actual paths you take are pretty optional so long as you go through all of them in order. The first zone really only has one path, but the second one has some splits and the third is almost a maze, so you wont get penalized or anything for going down different streets or anything. Main points are you make it up and down the mountain, through the hills, and across the city. If you crash or skid, or Skulker gets you, you are free to keep going so long as you are uninjured.”

Danny then goes back to the podium and gets the screen up and ready to begin.

[ectospacecadet]

My new Dan redesign post AGIT. - I wanted to give him eyes more similar to Vlad’s colour just to make it more apparent he was part Danny part Vlad, but since Vlad’s ghost’s drive is obtaining more power so that nobody leaves, there was nobody that Dan cared about enough to have that purpose anymore. So that’s why Vlad’s ghost half’s consciousness basically doesn’t exist anymore, Danny just absorbed his power and his purpose. Making Dan. - His hair is longer and more scruffy, Danny had a mullet in his human half, so I like to think Dan grew it out because he took on the traits of both Danny and Vlad. I also gave him a hair stripe like Vlad’s too. In the beginning he has bags under his eyes due to his weakened state, but over time those will go away. - The green arm and boot rings are designed after chain cuffs, I like to think Dan feels trapped in this new displaced state and is struggling to adjust into this timeline without feeling out of place. Eventually he comes to like the rings and thinks they’re cool, they remind him of an old video game movie.

-

There is a corrupt form I plan on designing where he takes on more traits of his previous timeline’s appearance and further, that only happens when he gets enraged or if he starts to slowly lose himself. Ghosts become less human or, as a halfa, start to lose their powers if they start to lose their purpose. Dan has no purpose after the end of AGIT, he’s gonna need one or he could end up very weak like Danny in the novel, or potentially become more ‘feral’ like the other Ghost creatures as he’s technically… Both? So I feel that at first he’ll be weak, but when he’s in a moment of absolute desperation he’ll just full on blitz out and tear everything apart. Be more malevolent etc until calmed or the threat is removed.

[gardenofnoah]

baby was born all wrong

remember this drabble?? yeah....

wc: 2.7k

tags: MDNI, smut, brat tamer bkg, gn reader, afab body parts named, pet names (“baby”, “sweetheart”), oral (reader receiving), fingering, toy use, dubcon just to be safe (but not really)

you don’t know why you’re like this. truly, you’d be better if you could.

most days you are. with a little thought behind it, you can be sweet. tender, even. receptive to love and care and able to give it right back.

but there are some days when you wake up and you just… can’t. there’s a synapse that’s short-circuited, or something, and all you know how to do is bare your teeth and snap them at every soft touch that comes too close. you try to squash the feeling down and it makes it worse. you just want to hurt. you want to destroy. you want to get it back threefold.

today is one of those days.

you’re sure katsuki can tell. it’s not like you’re hiding it, with the way you snap at him when he comes up behind you in the kitchen as you’re making tea.

“get off of me,” you grumble, not turning to look at him. you swear you feel the ghost of a smile on his lips against your shoulder before he retreats without a response. you feel the anger fizzle in your gut and try to return to the task at hand.

the day goes on similarly—snapping at him for every wrong movement, and getting more irritated when his only reaction is a small, knowing smile. it’s infuriating—you don’t understand why the ever-feared and perpetually combative Dynamight is tolerating the way you’re acting.

“what is wrong with you?” you ask through your exasperation, throwing your hands up. he only raises an eyebrow at you from his spot on the couch. the anger creeps farther up your neck and you feel its burn. “why aren’t you saying anything?”

that irritating smile is back on his face. “because you want me to.”

you scowl at him, feeling your rage mix with something like shame. at once you understand—he only considers you to be a nuisance. something that can be ignored.

it only spurs you on.

“oh, i apologize. i should not have assumed that my partner was man enough to stand up for himself.”

the smirk on his face tells you that he’s amused—and unwilling to take the bait. it makes you feel fucking crazy—you just want him to get in your face and scream like you know he can. it would feel so much better than whatever this is—this one sided battle that you’ve created and are trying so hard to win.

you stomp into the kitchen, grumbling to yourself, making sure it’s loud enough for him to hear. you get so wrapped up in slamming the cupboards that you don’t hear him approach until his full weight is pressed against your back. he reaches for the countertop with both hands, effectively trapping you against it.

“you’re gonna piss off the neighbors with all your noise.”

“get the fuck off me, katsuki,” you snap, thrashing against his hold. he doesn’t budge. your teeth grind together painfully. he hums, light and amused.

“why? my baby clearly wants attention.”

“i don’t want anything from you—”

he only chuckles, pressing you further into the counter. you feel him now—rock hard against your backside. your lips curl back into a snarl.

“sure ya do,” he says, voice low in your ear, “you’ve been beggin’ for it all day. that’s what this is, right? why you’ve been mouthin’ off to me like you are? just tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

you feel like an animal caught in a trap. your eyes dart around for a space you can squeeze out of, but his massive frame is everywhere around you. you try to squeeze under his arm to get away from him, but his hips press you forward again, pushing until you’re bent over the counter. you try to stand up, but you feel the heat of his palm wrap around the nape of your neck, keeping you still with your chest pressed to the wood.

at his display of strength, your resolve falters—you feel your edges start to dull and soften and you want to relax in his hold—but you fight to keep up your petulance, even if it’s only for show now.

“i don’t fuck pathetic men,” you spit, only it’s not nearly as harsh as you want it to sound.

katsuki snorts behind you. you feel the weight of him across your back when he leans over you.

“that’s fine,” you can hear the grin on his lips as they brush the space under your ear, “i don’t fuck mouthy little brats.”

he keeps his hand around your neck as he stands again, keeping you pinned as his other hand roams down your body. you feel it slip under the waist band of your pants, and then under the hem of your underwear.

“i just fucking told you—“

“weird,” he cuts you off, his tone nothing but smug, “you’re soaking wet.”

you can feel the way your body betrays you as he plays with you—his fingertips slip through your folds freely and you press your forehead into the counter, mentally willing yourself not to react. you feel him spread you open with his first and third finger, and the calloused tip of his middle brushes over your clit softly, sending hot bolts of electricity up your spine. he draws lazy circles over the aching bud with barely there pressure and you can’t stop the whine that rumbles through you.

“i think you’re a liar,” his voice is deep and dangerous in your ear and you shudder underneath him. you can practically hear how it strokes his ego, but you find yourself caring less and less with every passing second. “i think you do this because you want me t’be rough with you.”

he doesn’t let you respond—he just presses down a little harder and adds another finger as he strokes you, letting your clit glide snugly between his first and middle fingers with every pass. you bite down on your forearm to keep from moaning. you can feel yourself soaking his hand and ruining your underwear. the knowledge of that has your hips kicking up into his palm, searching for more pressure, more friction. he clicks his tongue at you, pulling his hand out of your pants.

you squeeze your eyes shut, biting down on the plea that threatens to shatter the last bit of your facade. the only part of you that still feels the need to keep it up is your pride.

“i would’ve ruined you if you’d asked me to,” he murmurs, voice laced with something pitying and a little mean, “but this ain’t the way you ask.”

his still soiled fingers reach to cup your sex through your pants, and you feel filthy in a way that has you panting, breath leaving condensation on the cool wood top. he tightens his grip around your neck for only a fleeting, delicious second and then everything stops. he pulls away from you, and you feel too cold and boneless, still bent over the counter.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he asks, all patronizing as he watches behind you, “thought you didn’t fuck pathetic men.”

your eyes burn. all of your anger is gone—replaced with white hot embarrassment and an all encompassing need.

“katsuki,” you sniffle, squeezing your eyes shut tight, “please, i need you—“

“now you need me?” he asks softly, closer now. you feel his fingertips ghost up your spine and you shudder. “thought you didn’t want anything from me.”

the way he’s too gentle feels violent somehow. tears well up in your eyes and you shake your head as best you can.

“i’m sorry,” you say, breath quickening with equal parts lust, shame, and a little panic at the thought that he may really not touch you, “didn’t mean it, kat, m’sorry—”

“shh,” his finger brush over the nape of your neck to tangle in your hair, scratching lightly at the base of your scalp. you shake like a leaf underneath him. “i know baby. y’just don’t know how to ask, hm?”

you can only whine, leaning into his touch. if the counter wasn’t bearing half your weight, you think you would’ve sunk to the floor by now. your pride has left you completely, and in such a short time—you feel such whiplash at the way katsuki holds so much power over you when you were sure you possessed all of it only a minute ago.

you know you have already given all of it to him to keep safe. even when you don’t want him to.

“tell me what you want, baby,” he mumurs, leaning down to press gentle kisses to the back of your neck.

“want you to hurt me,” you sniffle. you know you have to look pitiful. katsuki chuckles behind you.

“that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

you bite down on a retort, choosing to remain pliant.

“can’t have you mouthing off to me though,” he says, lips brushing your skin, “so m’not doing that.”

you immediately protest, twisting underneath him to look at him. his hand tightens in your hair, immobilizing you.

“you’re not goin’ anywhere,” he warns. “you’re gonna be good and take what i give you.”

dread seeps across your nerves but you stay still when he releases your hair. he presses gentle kisses down the length of your spine through your shirt. you feel them like they’re bruises sucked into the skin.

his fingers hook into your waistband and tug down, taking your pants and underwear with them. you shiver at the exposure, but comply when he prompts you to spread your legs wider.

“pretty little thing,” he murmurs, brushing the back of a knuckle over your soaked folds. “s’a shame that mouth is so mean.”

“m’sorry kat,” you babble, tears burning your eyes again at his teasing and your shame, “m’ sorry, m’sorry—”

you nearly come out of your skin when he sinks to his knees and you feel the wet heat of his tongue slide over your sex. it’s too soft and he knows it—his hands reach up to hold your hips from bucking backwards as he suckles on your clit.

you know better than to ask for anything more. you drop your forehead to your arms and let the tears flow as he explores to his content. you whimper when you feel the prod of his tongue inside you.

he lets out a groan as you squeeze around him. you feel the tip of the muscle explore the wet softness of your walls and fight to keep yourself from sinking down and taking it deeper.

he leaves you empty and aching as his tongue drags back up to your clit. he teases it with alternating, soft kitten licks and gentle, pulsating sucks until it’s swollen and twitching in time with the rapid flutter of your heart.

“my poor baby,” he coos in between sloppy kisses to the aching nub, “looks like it hurts.”

you let out a broken sob as he pulls it between his lips again, flicking his tongue over the tip. you nearly scream when you feel him tease your swollen heat with the tip of his finger.

he sinks in to the first knuckle, letting out a curse at the way you suck him in. he pulls away from your clit to watch your body swallow what he gives it.

“p-please” you gasp, half out of your mind with need, “your mouth, baby, please—“

“no,” he breathes through a grin, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh, “brats don’t get to cum.”

you sob out another string of apologies as he sinks inside you to the hilt. his thick finger fills you up but not enough.

“that’s it,” he groans when you clamp down on him, “keep suckin’ me back in.”

he doesn’t fuck you with any particular rhythm or force, and it leaves you a slurring, crying mess at his mercy, draped over the counter top. you feel your slick roll down your thighs in beaded drops. if he only fucked you a little harder, and just a little faster—

he pulls his finger from you, and you immediately protest, legs nearly buckling as you turn to him.

“shh,” he whispers again, gathering you in his arms and bending down to kiss the corner of your mouth, “you’re okay baby.”

his hands cradle your face and he brushes your tears from your cheeks with both thumbs, smiling at you softly. it brings them back immediately.

“katsuki,” you croak, grabbing at his shirt with both hands, “please.”

he hums softly, bringing you into his chest. “you gonna be good for me?”

you nod emphatically, making him chuckle.

“good. want you to make yourself cum.”

your eyes go wide and you look up at him, already shaking your head. you need him—you need—

“hey,” he calls to you gently, redirecting your spiral, “you make yourself cum now and i’ll be as rough as y’want me to be tomorrow. anythin’ you need.”

you shiver in his arms, already anticipating his promise. after a moment, you shakily agree, albeit with a little trepidation.

“there ya go,” he coos, pressing a warm kiss to your temple. “go pick a toy and get in bed.”

less than 5 minutes later you find yourself under the scrutiny of his gaze, legs spread wide as you lay on your belly with your favorite suction toy pulsing away on your clit. you feel the bed dip as he crawls over you, hovering on all fours in the spaces left by your own limbs. he bends down to nip at the junction between your shoulder and neck. you let out a whimper when his tongue laves over the bite.

you grind your hips down into the mattress, pushing the toy harder into your clit. you feel a little drop of arousal roll from your sloppy little hole to where the toy is, making it slick.

you reach back to sink your own fingers inside you, but you can’t reach deep enough for it to feel good with the toy in the way. you whine in frustration, pressing down harder onto the source of the pulsating pressure.

“what’s the matter baby?” katsuki coos, smoothing a warm palm over the curve of your ass, “can’t reach?”

you sniff, shaking your head pitifully against the sheets. “can’t do it kat.”

he tuts at you, rubbing the inside of your thigh soothingly. “guess i can help ya a little.”

your mouth drops open when you feel two thick fingers slip slowly inside you. he fills you to the hilt and you whine when he doesn’t move.

“you gotta do the rest, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

you whine in protest but do what he says, snapping your hips in a strange and disjointed semi circle to chase the dual simulation. he murmurs soft praises as you fuck yourself on his fingers, squeezing him tightly with every pulse around your sensitive clit.

“that’s it baby,” he praises, “you’re right there, huh? can feel you squeezin’ me.”

“please, please—” you babble, trembling all over, just out of reach of your release, “m’gonna cum, i promise—“

“such a sweet little thing. s’all you needed, hm? just needed to fuck the brat outta ya?”

you nod pitifully, so so close.

“go ahead then, baby. be good a cum all over my fingers.”

you sink down on them at an angle that sends his fingertips right where you need them and it sends you over the edge. you press your face into the pillow, crying out as you tremble with every wave of release that washes over you. he keeps you plugged up with his fingers, letting out a low curse as you clamp down on him. the suction of the toy prolongs your high, fluttering against your clit until it hurts. you whine and reach down to switch off the toy.

katsuki reaches up to smooth his palm over the small of your back, pulling his fingers from you slowly and making you shiver. he grabs the toy from underneath you and leans over to set it on the nightstand. crawling back up to you, he lays on his side and pulls you into his chest.

“i’m sorry i was mean,” you whisper, feeling more vulnerable now. the shame settles over you like a thick blanket and it feels suffocating.

his hand smooths over your hair, cradling the back of your head. you feel the chuckle rumble in his chest.

“did y’wake up wrong or what?”

you press your face further into his chest. “think so.”

he leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “s’alright baby. i like you mean.”

[azulsluver]

haunted house au??!! Is that a new event coming up? Will it relate to the last chapter 👀👀

Originally, bunch of ghouls who haunted this old house/apartment or whatever. I wasn't paying a lot of attention to that au but realizing the Halloween event was perfect for starters. For those who read the event then it would make sense of how the characters came to be in the world MC lives in.

Here are the basics of how they accustomed to their new life.

tw: yandere, ghost!twst, mentions of attempted suicide, obsessive/possessive behavior, mentions of gore-ish fantasies and acts, nudity (non-sexual), they watch you sleep every night.

Your apartment is small. With them all inside as ghosts they can physically interact with each other so it gets pretty cramped. They’re attached to you, literally, they aren’t able to leave the place they’re in unless you track down Crowley or COUGH COUGH the man who owned the store. Also moving places since it is “haunted house”, will lead to them following along.

-What did he do to deserve this? To be transferred into a world with no magic, and to be a ghost again! He can't physically touch you or use any sort of magic to collar you, it's a nightmare for Riddle when you break some of the (unknown) rules.

-To keep it short, Riddle is a noxious ghost to have around. He practically breaths down your neck for everything you do. You'll mostly see Riddle inside your bedroom, along with many others who are trying to get comfortable. Besides the bedroom, Riddle is one of the many ghosts who will volunteer to go along with you for your errands. That is if people like Ace or Floyd who always wanna tag with you.

-The second person to be leaning over your shoulder is Trey, he’s more than curious of your everyday life. What type of shampoo you wear, lotion or perfume that reminds him of you. He’s not a nauseous but you’d wish he’d leave you alone as well. The veil covering his face burns into your mind of the people he tore so easily, no matter how much he smiles sweetly at you.

-Like clingy dogs, Deuce is nearly always on you. Be it a hug, hand holding, or trapping you in his arms, he can’t stand the thought of separation now that you’re here and alive. Second clingy dog; Cater. He’s so fascinated by everything and you, often times teasing Deuce to not hoard you all for himself. Cater does bother you as much as Deuce does, his odd fixation on you is unknown and sometimes freaks even Ace out. But Cater thinks it’s adorable, funny even.

-Nobody really eats anything. They don’t have the stomach in your world to actually enjoy cuisines like you.

-Ruggie and Ace are always pulling pranks on you, inside your safe haven has been stripped from you completely. Where privacy privileges are nonexistent as the ghosts free roaming in your home. You’re always on edge with these psychopaths who have no problem using your fear to their advantage.

-None aren’t as kind as Silver however, but he doesn’t bring you much comfort. When everyone feels no guilt of killing the innocent, Silver is nothing but human to you as he shared a deep meaningful conversation with you during the late night. Times where you couldn’t sleep and he just so happens to be awake there for you.

-Speaking of clingy, Leona, Rook, Jack, Kalim, Floyd, AND Malleus are there to make your mental sanity DROP. With their weird confessions and obsession of wanting to cut you open and eat you is bad enough. Their touches burn like hell. Oh will somebody solve the problem of these big mean demons….

-The shop is your solution. With the shop owner spewing nonsense into your ear, hope drains when you catch upon the fact ghosts like them will stay until your time has been served.

-Like death themselves, until you can no longer breath will you be free, not unless one of them manages to snag your soul into their realm.

-However, there is a part-time solution if you wish to have peace and quiet. A sacred scroll that mostly works like a phone seeing how it needs to recharge energy to work; as it is unbreakable, it’s used to ward off evil spirits for a whole week before falling into a deep recharge for a month.

-Was it a scam, maybe, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

-Now there are some who aren’t as obnoxious as the rest, that being Vil, Jamil, Trey, Azul, Jade, Lilia, and Silver. With your space being respected if asked, they’re more curious about your world. Not being obnoxious doesn’t mean they aren’t playful, often making comments on how you’re gonna die. What position, what days, places, all the scenarios that feeds into your brain like scratching chalkboards.

-What should be dreaded most is sleeping hours. The touches are faint and almost weak, something that had to do with your current situation and mood. As your drowsy figure stumbles into bed, somehow they too become more docile and quiet. That sounds good but it’s the fact they don’t sleep. Instead now that you’re state is dreaming off they can’t really interact with anything else. Other than watching you in a single room. Their touch is haunting.

-No one can see them, other than you and Grim. With you and your fat little feline friend have to deal with losers like these. Sadly, Grim can’t do much as no physical contact works, much to Idia’s pleasure.

-Absolutely no one likes any of your friends coming over. Surprisingly even Sebek is possessive over you. They’d glare so hard it makes you pass out from fear they might cause actual harm. As they can’t be seen doesn’t mean the force of their wrath will.

-Having friends over is not a good idea. But leaving home doesn’t get rid of their pissy attitudes. As spirits have strong emotions and auras; leaving you feeling sick and lightheaded by their constant bickering.

-Settling for agreements are tough, people like Azul and Vil have no problem with that. In fact they were one of the many to ask before doing things. You recognize Azul as the one who attempted to drown you, as Floyd dose nothing but babble about how much he cried and how he whines it hurts. Azul and Vil someone….respect you in a way? You certainly aren’t seen as equal but from everything that’s happened to you? A pat on the back is all you’re given.

-Get use to nudity. They sure are but they’ll still be dicks about it: Ace, Sebek, Jamil, Leona, Lilia, Floyd.

-More about their physical touches. It can cause a lot of harm to your body. Leaving marks and evidence of their abuse. Depending on your circumstances it can hurt as bad as getting your nails ripped out, they aren’t able to dig their fingers into your flesh to the point of slicing limb to limb.

-That has something to do with life and deaths they aren’t allowed to kill you ad your are bounded to the book. Serving the years of unknown disasters (murder, accidents, etc…but any attempt of self harm brings agony until you are waking up with their faces hovering above you.) or old age

-Rook makes most of your situations worse somehow. He’s always teasing the others for stupid reason. He wants to sit with you when Leona has a arm slumped over your shoulder on the couch. Invading your personal space in from of Malleus when engaging (not so willingly) conversations. Asking stupid questions like; do you prefer waking up to me or blah blah when you awake from your slumber.

-“Neither.”

-They don’t seem very useful other than bothering you whenever you come back home. The problem is how small room there is, and they complain about it a lot as well.

-Luckily for you they aren’t completely useless nor do their powers; it’s still pretty weak and does little. Malleus is ancient, his power weakens him if used, but he’ll use it for your advantage. Good luck.

-That’s the power, yep. Only key holders contain powerful magic as they did back in their world.

-Technically Malleus has the power to bring good and bad luck. Depends on how silly he’s feeling. Cue the blackish grey skies with green thunder causing crashes outside.

-Riddle’s power does more harm to others however, like his usual unique magic, and the reason why you don’t bring anyone over/ victims are forced to experience a choking hazard, one that’s not visible to touch or see.

-Leona can bring you golds and jewels, those are rare times if he ever thinks you deserve it. As I say when you have a whole drawer of them.

-Azul’s power allows him to create illusions, they are weak yet powerful on your still traumatized soul. When angered he’s petty enough to bring the faces or place of the events that happened in the book.

-Kalim is like a drug, his power is anything including smoke. Smoke that can make you sleep, intoxicate you, feel hunger or smell something like childhood.

-Vil is draining and giving. Having the ability to give or take your fatigues, when used more it can cause you to bleed from the nose and lead to hallucinations. It’s best to be on his good side if you ever feel the need for more enthusiasm energy.

-Idia can create skeletons to the living world. They don’t last long but are able to sedate and hold you. He doesn’t use them much as it quickly drains him. (Skeletons won’t be seen by others btw)

[milkteahood]

not a good man 2

Simon Riley x fem!reader, part 1

Summary: Simon crawls back to apologise

You have asked and I have delivered. I might or might not make an alternative ending where reader doesn’t take back Simon and starts dating König instead

Warning: light smut (just a paragraph, oral f receiving), still mdni

The next weeks were spent by Simon drowning in alcohol, refusing to admit it’s because of you. He didn’t call or text at all after that last fight, but you didn’t either.

You on the other hand, spent the first week falling asleep crying next to your phone. You hoped that, for once, it would be him who fights for you. But he never called, which only worked to break your heart further.

“Silly me I guess” you’d tell yourself.

On the base he was more distracted than usual, but not enough for anyone to notice. Well, not enough for someone that wasn’t close to him. His captain, John Price, noticed. So one day, while he was having lunch, Price took a seat across the table.

“Captain” Ghost nodded his head.

“Ghost. What’s on your mind?” John’s eyes softened slightly. Simon was very dear to him.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re distracted”

Those words cut through him like a knife. Distracted? Him?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he responded, tone more cold now.

“I think you do”

John wasn’t one to back down and Simon knew that. And John also wasn’t someone Simon could intimidate. He was trapped.

“Just a fight”

“Your girl or something?”

Simon didn’t respond and John knew silence was an answer too.

“Have you tried to apologize?”

“What makes you think it’s my fault?” he raised his voice ever so slightly. As much as Price annoyed him in this moment, he wasn’t going to be disrespectful to his captain.

Price only gave him an amused look.

“Look Riley, a word of advice. Not from a superior, but from a comrade”

Simon looked at him straight in the eyes, waiting for him to continue.

John smiled “just because she loves the monster you are, it doesn’t make you less of one. You cannot be Ghost where you should be Simon” and with that, John stood up with his cup of coffee and departed, leaving Simon alone with his thoughts.

And that is how Simon found himself in front of your apartment door. He stood there for at least 20 mins before he knocked.

You were on the couch, nose deep into one of your books. The past weeks have been rough, finding yourself unable to focus on much else.

The soft knocks on your door made you snap back to reality. They were so quiet you almost missed it. You stood up from the couch and made your way to the door.

Your heart jumped in your throat when you looked through the peephole and saw him. His hood was up, and he was looking down.

For a while you contemplated ignoring him, but part of you, the big part of you, the one that still loved him, won. So you opened the door.

“Simon” you said, coldly.

“Dove—“ he looked up and paused. Your eyes were red, you have been crying for god knows how long. He looked back down. In that moment he wanted to punch himself into another dimension.

“‘M sorry” he mumbled.

“What?”

“‘M sorry” he said again, still looking down.

“Is that all? Really?” you were getting angry.

“You know what? Forget it” you said, starting to close to door, which he promptly stopped with his hand.

“N-no. Wait. Look. I know. I’ve been nothing but a cunt to you since the moment we started dating… and— I’m sorry, ok?” he sounded almost desperate.

You let go of the door and stepped aside, which he took as an invitation and walked in after you, closing the door behind.

“You’re soaking wet” you remarked.

“I— I waited for 30 minutes in front of your apartment complex. Then 20 more in front of your door..” he was still not looking at you.

“So it took you about an hour to debate whether or not I was worth an apology?” your voice was cold and full of venom.

“No. It’s not like that” he looked up, his eyes almost pleading for you to stop. Just accept his apology. But of course you weren’t going to and he knew that.

“Look Y/N. I can’t be what you need me to be. I don’t know how to do love you. Not in the way you want me to”

“But are you willing to try?”

“What?”

You left a crack to your heart for him to use. It was up to him to make the effort to squeeze through it.

“I asked—“

“Yes” he cut you off. “Yes I will try. Please love”.

He took a few steps towards you, but this time, you stood where you were. You extended your hands to cup his face and he instinctively leaned into your touch.

“Don’t ever—“

“I won’t” he didn’t let you finish.

“Okay” you said, gently stroking his face with your thumbs “you will have to prove that to me”.

He only nodded, leaning more into your touch.

“I’m sorry love” he said again.

“Good. You should be” you said before standing on your toes and kissing the corner of his mouth.

His eyes widened “I thought you’re mad at me” he blinked a few times, not yet daring to touch you.

“I am. Incredibly so. But— I also love you” you said before kissing him back, not letting him get another word in. In a way, you were scared to wait, scared he wouldn’t say it back.

He didn’t wait too long before kissing you again, one of his big hands holding the back on your head, deepening the kiss. His other hand squeezed your lower back, closing any space between you.

“Seems like you can’t stay away for long little one” he smirked once you pulled away from the kiss.

“Look who’s talking. Last I checked, you’re the one that crawled back”

He gave you a quick look before pulling you into another kiss and picking you up. You wrapped your legs around him until he made it to the bedroom, dropping you on the bed and taking off his wet hoodie before climbing on top of you.

As much as he wanted to fuck you silly, he knew that wouldn’t build him a strong enough case. He didn’t want to make you feel like he was just here for a quick fix. He heard you sob about that enough in the past.

“You’re worth crawling back to” he said, kissing you again before you had a chance to answer.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.

Once he pulled from the kiss, he latched onto your neck, sucking on all the spots he knew were sensitive. His hand traveled down your abdomen, running circles over your wet, needy clit.

Your moans were suddenly making his jeans feel too tight, causing him to grind against the mattress.

“Si— let me help you”

“No” he said, standing up on his knees and pulling your underwear down “for once let’s not make it about me dove”. And with that, his face was between your legs, pushing his tongue inside of you.

“Oh fuck—“ you moaned, arching your back.

He kept eating you out like you were his last meal before death. One hand held you firmly in place and the other was completely abusing your clit.

“Si— fuck— just like that, oh fuck” it felt so good you didn’t even realize you were tearing up.

“I’m gonna—“

“That’s right babe, come for me” he said, while his cock was still throbbing in his pants.

You didn’t need more encouragement before coming, your body twitching as Simon refused to let go of you, licking every drop.

You were panting, your eyes were glossy as you watched him climb on top of you again, kiss your forehead and then lay down next to you.

“What about you?” you asked, rolling on your side to face him.

He caressed your face with the back on his hand. It was rough, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. “I came here to apologize dove”

“But—“

“No buts little one”

He pulled you to him, nuzzling your hair. The room was dark, and the rain was still strong. How you take him back over and over, he couldn’t wrap his head around. He didn’t deserve you, that was for sure. His own ray of sunshine into the void his life was. He would never feel good enough for you, but for what it’s worth, you’re stuck with him. And he promised he would do better.

He didn’t remember just for how long he held you, but it must’ve been a while, for you started to snore.

This made him smile to himself, and he wrapped a blanket around you.

“…. I love you too” he said, but you were already asleep.

tag list: @blackhawkfanatic @milavk13 @thychuvaluswife @darkravenqueen98 @fruitymoonbeams-blog @coooookie15 @fictionallifestuff

if I missed anyone I apologize

[charliemwrites]

Hello, hello! Per ceilidh's request - a Soap x Reader ficlet from the prompt thingy.

#11 "You tricked me."

I was heavily inspired by that tiktok sound (iykyk)

Rating: M CW/TW: brief/vague torture, threat of SA (doesn't happen), manipulation, dark!Soap

Being a medium in the military isn’t that much different from being a medium anywhere else.

The rules are roughly the same. Don’t talk to ghosts in living company. Don’t join idiotic 2am summoning circles. Try to help the ones you can; try not to lose sleep over the ones you can’t.

Oddly, there aren’t as many ghosts on a base as any given suburban house. Depends on the base, of course, but a reassuring number of former-military souls continue to their final rest. Even if their bodies (or parts of it) don’t make it back, tags and a symbolic burial usually suffice.

The 141’s main base only has a handful. A few you’ve already gotten closure for, sent off into the beyond. The others you’re working on, or already know they’re a lost cause. Most of them are even friendly!

There’s a corporal that haunts the mess and laments mashed potatoes. A captain appears in Price’s office occasionally, his residual energy glaring down at reports and rustling at phantom papers. On the range, you sometimes speak to the ghost of a prostitute murdered by some piece of shite back in ye olde times. She doesn’t talk back – can’t with a crushed windpipe – but she smiles when you have the privacy to acknowledge her.

Your favorite, though, is Johnny. He’s a comparatively new spirit, by your estimate. Lots of energy, still coherent. You can’t tell how he died by looking at him, but that’s not unusual. It could have been internal bleeding, or a stroke despite his youth. He won’t tell you his last name despite all your asking, always just laughs.

“Yer no’ gettin’ rid o’ me tha easily!”

He always lays the Scottish accent on in a thick velvet blanket. You want to wrap yourself up in it.

Yes, the rules for being a medium are the same, even on a military base. The main one: don’t get haunted by feelings.

That was never a concern, never even a thought, until Johnny. Until you caught his eye around Price’s shoulder during your introductory tour. He followed you for hours, interjecting little asides that put your selective hearing to the test. Always orbited just close enough to send chills down your spine and goosebumps up your arm.

You confronted him when you’d finally been dismissed back to your barrack, whirling around as he popped his mohawked head through the door. Despite yourself, you made quick friends with him.

He’s an unusual ghost. Doesn’t seem tied to a particular place or thing on base. Isn’t trapped along the same paths he walked in life. He’s always solid or near solid, doesn’t waver at certain times of day. You’re utterly charmed by his unorthodoxy, by his miraculous non-existence. And by the fact that, while he knows your secret – as all spirits do – he seems more intrigued than solicitous.

It's not that you blame other ghosts – the coherent ones – for wanting help. It’s torturous to toe that line, not alive but not at peace. Stuck and dwindling little by little. You can’t imagine what it feels like, but you can sense from some that it’s frightening, and cold. No, you’re not bothered that they ask for help. Or with the ones that are just angry; they have every reason to be.

Johnny, though… he’s special. You don’t feel so alone with him, even if the room looks like it to an outsider.

“Oh, aye, that’s pure dead brilliant. You know they’re sending you to Russia?”

You flick Johnny a glance. He’s leaning over Price’s shoulder, peering at the briefing docket that’s actively being explained. You don’t mind the extra or early info. Saved your ass a couple times before.

Your lack of response ruffles his feathers though. He stalks through the table to Gaz, flicks his pen right off the surface. You snort softly as he curses under his breath and ducks to retrieve it, trying not to interrupt Price. You make eye contact with Johnny, blink and minutely shake your head. He can see the twitching at the corners of your mouth anyway.

He smirks and wades through solid objects back to you. His presence looms behind your shoulder, an uneasy flicker at the edge of your consciousness. Like this he seems bigger, inhuman beyond ghostliness. Rougher and darker in the corner of your vision. You’ve done a double-take and gotten teased for skittishness enough times by now to quell the urge to check. It’s always just Johnny.

You’re paired with your lieutenant, Ghost. He’ll be watching with his sniper while you’re on infil. Usually, you’re paired with Gaz, but he and Roach will be at the other end of the compound taking out a target.

When the team is dismissed, Ghost only pauses long enough to give you a nod before skulking off. Not unusual for him; you take no offense. Johnny, however, is scowling something fierce after him.

For whatever reason, he’s never been a fan of your LT. The one time you asked, the lights started flickering and Johnny dismissed the question with a sharp “just don’t like him.”

You suspect that it’s because Ghost was your mentor when you joined the 141. The two of you spent the majority of your time together, training you up to run with the rest of the squad. Due to his constant proximity, your ability to respond to Johnny was greatly hindered.

Still is with how observant Ghost is. Have almost blown your cover several times and had to really watch yourself, and your reactions. You think Johnny might resent him for that.

Back in your barrack, though, Johnny happily chatters while you gear up for the mission. Base gossip and bits of intel he shouldn’t know and shouldn’t tell you. It’s standard ritual for you two; he likes to talk, and you’re accustomed to listening. You hum in the right places, storing tidbits away for your own amusement later.

A playful tug to your bitch-strap makes you yelp, then laugh when you catch Johnny’s grin. He does it again, loosening one of the buckles on your thigh. You swat him uselessly, retightening it only for him to pluck at your bootlaces while you’re occupied. He’s got so much energy, for a ghost. So adept at interacting with the physical world.

“Quit it!” you giggle, trying to dodge his darting hands.

“Why should I?” he chuckles. You curse as he gets a finger in your harness and jerks, misaligning it with the rest of your gear.

“I’ll banish you,” you lie, wriggling various straps back into place.

“Oh, sweet girl, it would take a lot more than you’ve got to get rid of me now.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase for him, but it’s the tone that draws your gaze. There’s an unfamiliar, inky darkness in his voice that pools in the pit of your stomach. You frown, open your mouth to ask what he means. But just like that, his electric smile is back, eyebrows arching as he nods to your bedside clock.

“You’re gonna be late.”

“Shit!” You snatch up your backpack and fling it across your shoulders. “I’m gonna kill you, Johnny!”

“Can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” he cackles as you sweep out the door.

You make it the transport just short of reprimand, though that doesn’t stop Ghost from narrowing his eyes as you duck into your seat. Gaz has already started a lively conversation with Roach, and Price is staying back this time.

You miss Johnny already. He may not be trapped in any particular part of the base, but he can’t come with you on missions or leave. The spaces where he’s absent feel colder and quieter. Everything seems just a bit… off. A song missing an instrument, a rainbow lacking one color.

You’re not sure when that started happening, when Johnny became such a vital part of how you perceive the rest of the world. When did longing for him become a chronic illness?

“Focus up!” Ghost barks in your ear.

You blink, shake your head, and take stock bewildered. Gone is the transport and the rest of your team. It’s just you now, hidden behind a generator, presumably about to infiltrate the target.

How?

When you try to recall, you have vague recollections of exiting the transport. Hiking to the compound. Splitting off with a few parting words amongst the lot of you. It feels watery at the edges, more of a vivid dream than a waking memory.

“Yessir.” It jumps instinctively from your tongue while you flex your cold fingers, trying to coax the nerves back to life.

You take a deep breath – lungs aching like you’ve held your breath too long – and continue with the mission. There’s no room for error now, or idle daydreams of noncorporeal men with wicked smiles.

The building is only three stories and you’re not meant to clear it. Just get to the server room, collect the information, and slip away with minimal enemy contact.

Maybe that’s why you don’t realize that something is wrong at first. You’re supposed to be avoiding guards, so you don’t notice the lack of them. Things do go right, sometimes, the intel can be good.

But it’s the quiet the finally prickles at your awareness. You may be more attuned to the dead, but you have a sense for the living as well. Always made you the worst to play hide and seek with. Now, you can feel that this building is vacant, deprived of any souls.

“LT, something is wrong,” you whisper, frozen mid-step.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s too quiet.”

To his credit, he doesn’t dismiss you immediately. “How?”

“I think the building is empty. Have you seen anyone?”

“Negative.” A pause as he considers, maybe scans the other windows for signs of occupation. “Sit tight, I’ll update Price.”

There’s barely a heartbeat before you hear distant gunfire. Too much and too soon for the plan. Roach and Gaz weren’t supposed to neutralize the target until you were collecting intel.

“Fuck,” Ghost snarls. “Get out of there!”

You’re already sprinting for the stairwell. Nearly pop your ankles leaping down, boot treads catching on the edge of steps. No one is chasing you, but your team needs help. Gaz is shouting in your ear, the channels reconnected for ease of communication. The situation is devolving quickly and violently.

“Almost there,” you report.

Your foot hits the last landing before the ground floor when the building explodes.

---

It takes three tries to get your vision focused. There’s not much to see once you do. A concrete room tinted by bare yellow halogen. There’s a drain in the floor just in front of you and old blood dried in the corners. It smells like rust, infection, and despair. Your head pounds; your entire body aches. Being tied to a metal chair doesn’t help the post-explosion soreness.

You’ve been stripped down to your fatigues, no boots. There isn’t a door in any of the three walls you can see, so it must be positioned behind you.

Confirmation comes about a minute later. Three sets of boots entering your little box. Only one of them walks into your line of sight; a mean-looking man with face tattoos and a gold tooth. He asks if you speak Russian, and though you do, you spew a string of English profanities and threats at him. The backhand you get in return says he understood you.

The questions start as soon as he switches to English. They want information; they always do. What you had been sent to collect and why. Who Roach and Gaz were sent for and why. You don’t speak a word. Even when the pain starts, and then doesn’t stop. You lose track of time, the head injury floating you on the edge of consciousness within the first thirty minutes.

Hours – days? – later, the man takes a step back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, “I like taking my time, and we have plenty. Your friends think you are dead.”

That, you think through the haze, is probably true. You thought you were dead too.

“Perhaps next time we try something… else,” he muses, running a finger down your neck. “You are not as pretty now, but… prettier than you will be later, da?”

Ice forms in the pit of your stomach and climbs up your spine. It was always on the table, you know that, but facing it is something else.

Whatever expression you’re making seems to satisfy him, because he laughs heartily and finally leaves you alone.

Alone, with the promise of his next visit looming.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a dripping sound nearby that you realize, vaguely, is your own blood. Maybe you’ll bleed out before he comes back. You time your breaths with it, using it as a count to get your wild and unsteady heart under control.

Reality washes over you in waves. There is no escape. Your team thinks you’re dead. Eventually, you will break and/or die. You might even become a ghost, join the collective that darkens the edges of this very room, a thing of pain and fear and rage without any coherency or singular will.

You didn’t even give Johnny a proper goodbye.

That somehow hurts the worst. Johnny, hearing second-hand that you’ll never make it back. No one to mourn with him, to offer any comfort. He’ll be alone with grief and then beyond, no one to tell his jokes or stories to.

You miss him more fiercely than you ever have. Part of you is glad he isn’t here. You know him, know he’d be too stubborn to leave you. He’d stay and watch, helpless, as you were tortured and killed. It would tear you apart to do that to him even though it wouldn’t be your own choice.

But… an awful, selfish part of you longs for him. Even just being able to see or hear him would soften the pain and fear. Would make this hell on earth almost bearable. You want to leave this world with Johnny whispering in your ear, maybe even join him when your body finally goes cold.

Given the choice, you would want him here.

You want Johnny. No, you need him. Regret ever leaving him behind, even though he couldn’t come with you. You’d do anything to change that now; anything to be with him again.

Anything?

It’s an unbidden thought, almost intrusive. Doesn’t even feel like yourself asking.

“Anything,” you whisper aloud, just to hear something other than your own despair. “Johnny…”

“You called?”

You jolt, head snapping up so fast it makes you dizzy. The world spins but he’s there, right there, crouching in front of you, arms balanced on his knees.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

Were you closer to the brink than you thought? Is this some sort of final hallucination as you slip into death?

“In the flesh.” He tilts his head, snorts. “Well, in a manner.”

“How…?” you ask, eyes already stinging.

“Told ya, you called. I’d never – hey, now, hey. No need for all that,” he soothes. He wipes the tears from your face. You can feel the warmth in his fingers. “This is a happy occasion.”

You huff in watery amusement, shaking your head. “Did you lose your glasses when you died? I wouldn’t call this celebration-worthy.”

His eyes scan over you, flicker dark. “It will be, don’t you worry.”

You blink, try to focus. Exhaustion and injury and chemical rush are making it difficult, but you know things are off. He shouldn’t be here, least of all because you called. And… something else too. Something in the way he’s holding his shoulders and the twitching around his expression. 

“Johnny, really,” you say, “why are you here?”

“You offered me anything, and I’m here to collect.”

Between one blink and the next, his eyes are black. Pitch black, from corner to corner. You suck in a breath, try to jerk back but there’s nowhere to go.

His grin is sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he sighs.

He leans in, lips parting. His tongue rolls out, long and split at the tip. Licks a luxurious, burning trail from your chin to your temple. You make a sound borne of confused pleasure and fear, high in the back of your throat.

He shushes you, plants a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth. “My brave little lass, finally offering herself to the demon she’s been courting.”

The word bounces against the walls of your cell and burrows into your brain. Demon, demon, demon.

Johnny is…

“You tricked me,” you sob.

He cocks his head, onyx eyes soft with avarice. “Tricked you? No, angel, I’m saving you.”

His hands pet over the cruel ties around your ankles. The itch of them digging into your skin falls away. Gentle thumbs rub circles over the imprints the left behind. Hope and relief pounds hard in your chest.

“I’m only taking what you so willingly and enthusiastically offered,” he explains in hushed awe. Like you’ve given him such a wonderful gift, the greatest gift. Suppose you have.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he croons. His arms wrap around you, almost like a hug. His fingertips trace down your bruised arms to the cuffs biting your wrists. Those too fall away, and you find yourself reaching for him so quickly, folding into his chest, free of that wretched chair.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, a hand curling into blood and sweat soaked tangles.

“It… it is you, right?” you ask. “You’re my Johnny?”

“Always, angel,” he replies, “it’s always been me. I will always be yours. All you have to do is say yes.”

You tilt your head back, catch the wicked curve of fangs as he speaks. He smells like heat and woodsmoke.

“Yes to what?” you ask.

“To everything,” he answers, deep and rough. “You offered anything, and I want all of you.”

You should say no, you should throw yourself away from him.

There is not an inch of your mind or body that wants to leave the safety of his arms. This is Johnny, your Johnny, hellfire and all.

“And… in return,” you venture, “I get… you?”

“Eternally.”

Then it really doesn’t need much more thought.

“Yes. Please.”

“Good girl.”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 18

Part 1 Part 17

Will runs to the voice before Steve can stop him, falling on his knees on the carpet next to a bookcase full of the odds and ends that always seem to accumulate in everyone else’s houses. Will reaches out, like he’s begging a ghost to hold him. Where he touches, light explodes, just like it had on the ceiling, but now, now Will is touching it.

Steve takes two quick steps toward the kid before the voice comes again. “Okay,” it says. “Good, good, good. Where are—”

The voice sounds like it’s choking on emotion. It sounds like Mrs. Byers from the grocery store on a bad day. It sounds like Will’s Mom. But what if it’s a trick? What if the Demogorgon is going to burst from the light any moment and rend his little body in two?

“I’m here, Mom,” Will says, still holding his hands up into the light. “I’m—”

“Blink once for yes, and twice for no,” she pleads. “Can you do that for me sweetie?”

Will’s eyes are shining in the light until he pulls his hands back and the light goes out.

“What is that?” Eddie murmurs to him, leaning into his space like he always is.

“A lamp?” Steve asks just as Will puts his hand back up, blinking once for yes.

Eddie looks it him like he’s surprised, but it makes sense. Light is light is light, what else could it be?

“She can clearly see it on the other side,” Eddie says.

They’re both talking quietly, but they still shut up when Mrs. Byers starts talking again. “Good boy, good boy,” their only link to the living world says.

“Baby, I need to know, are you alive?”

Will chokes at that, tears pouring out of his eyes, as he curls in on himself, wounded at the thought of his Mom thinking he was dead.

Eddie nudges further into his space, sides pressed together as Steve wonders if his own Mom has even noticed he’s gone.

Will blinks the lights once, and Joyce Byers cries. “Are you safe?” she asks.

Will turns to them now, seemingly remembering they’re there. He’s got snot dripping out of his nose and onto his upper lip. It’s disgusting. Steve wants to bundle the kid in a warm blanket and get him the fuck out of here. Beside him, Eddie slowly shakes his head.

Will hiccups, turning back to where the light will be. He raises his arms once. Twice. Not safe. He’s trapped in a hell world with two fuckups that can’t keep themselves safe, much less him.

Joyce Byers starts sobbing, and Steve Harrington feels like dirt. “I need to know where to find you, honey,” she says, words tripping over each other. “Where— where are you? Can you tell me where you are?”

Will sinks into himself, arms wrapping around his knees. His hands are glowing. Steve wants to die.

“Can you please, baby? I need to find you. Tell me what to do.” Will cries harder, his whole body sinking into itself, toward the ghost of his mother until his whole body is glowing.

“I’m here, Mom,” Will cries.

Eddie reaches out and squeezes Steve’s hand. Steve squeezes back and holds on as the family reunion plays out in front of them.

“Talk to me, baby.”

The lights start to go crazy, like Mrs. Byers’ desperation is reaching through the veil between their worlds and bathing him in light. The whole room is lit now. It’s bright. Blinding. Beautiful. Steve gasps, mesmerized by it as the floating lights flicker in and out, faster and faster until they’re drilling a hole into his head.

Then he hears it: the sound of claws rending a door.

“Will, run,” Steve says, but it comes out as a whisper. It doesn’t matter, Will is already looking at the door, eyes wide and colorless in the blinding light.

“Go,” Steve shouts, just as the Demogorgon begins its clicking call. He pulls Eddie hard, yanking him toward Will.

“Mom,” Will shouts, “Mom, run!”

Eddie yanks the kid up, shoving him forward. “Your Mom will be fine,” he says. “It’s here, not there. Move!”

But that’s not true, is it? The Demogorgon went to the real world to drag Will here in his shed. It dragged him and Eddie in through the fucking swimming pool. It could get Mrs. Byers. Steve wouldn’t let it.

Will rushes through the house, hopefully toward an exit – a back door, a window. Eddie’s hot on his heels, but Steve stops in the doorway, picks up the shotgun and waits.

It doesn’t take long for Munson to rush back. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses, just as the Demogorgon stalks into view.

“Meet back at your trailer, okay?” Steve says, keeping the gun up, eyes trained.

“Harrington,” Eddie whispers, harsh enough to come out as a hiss.

“Keep the kid safe, okay?”

“Come with us,” Eddie says, sounding like he’s crying. Steve doesn’t look his way. “Now.”

The Demogorgon doesn’t walk toward them. It stalks toward the wall where Mrs. Byers had been and swipes its claws. The gaudy wallpaper rends just the same as the wall. It reaches its monstrous claw into somewhere new.

“Keep the kid safe,” Steve repeats. He should be scared, but he’s not. He should be screaming, or crying, or running. But he’s not. His feet are planted, his finger is on the trigger, and the scope is trained right on this thing’s head. He’s so in his body that he’s out of it. “I’ll see you at home.”

He takes a shot just as Eddie turns to run , just as Mrs. Byers starts screaming, If he has to go out, this feels like the perfect place for one last stand, protecting two people at his back, stopping this thing from rending a family apart.

A window shatters further into the house. They’re out. Fuck, they made it out.

The Demogorgon turns toward him, opening it’s face and screeching loud enough that the house shakes, loud enough to drown out Mrs. Byers’ screaming.

He shoots it again, straight in its mouth. It staggers back. The rift in the wall is still there. Steve can just barely see the top of Mrs. Byers head.

“Come get me, you fucker.”

Steve Harrington runs.

Part 19

[kittycatkennedy]

BACKSEAT

CONTENT/WARNINGS: smut 18+, fem!reader, exhibitionism (I suppose (it's in a car)), ← car sex, thigh riding, pet names, leon being teasy, imagine whichever version of Leon u want but I wrote with ID in mind

Leon thinks he’s subtle. He’s really not. Beneath the guise of a drive-in movie, where a Valentine’s Day-themed slasher plays on the big screen, ten minutes ago he’d reached over the center console to place his hand on your bare knee. Inconspicuous. Seven minutes ago, his hand slid up towards your thigh, thumb stroking your skin.

And, one minute ago, he’d slid it further north beneath the hem of your shorts to trace the band of your underwear. You entertain it, only because he’s surely not going to try to do anything where anyone who looks for more than a second can tell what you’re doing.

“What are you doing?” you ask once his finger dips beneath the band of your underwear.

He turns away from the movie and shrugs. “What does it look like?”

“Like you’re trying to get us charged with public indecency.”

“Uh-huh. That’s my goal, obviously.”

You scoff and he leans over to kiss you, handsome features lit red by an unfortunate pickaxe stuck through someone’s face onscreen. Undeterred, he withdraws his hand and opts to push it down the waistband of your bottoms instead, thumb finding your clit over the thin fabric of your underwear.

“This gets you going?” you ask, incredulous, and jab a finger towards the murder scene playing out on the big screen once he’s kissed you breathless.

He gives you an unamused look as though the answer is clear-as-day obvious. It’s getting harder and harder to pretend you’re unaffected, unbothered by this.

“You get me going. And I think the feeling is mutual,” he turns in his seat to place his other hand on the small of your back. “Pretty sure you wore these shorts just for me. Not suitable for February weather. They’re really short, baby, you must be cold, aren’t you?”

Caught. God, he knows you too well. Not that you were hoping on getting some action in the car; you’d thought he’d be able to keep his dick in his pants until you got home. Decidedly wrong. But now that it’s started, it’s not gonna stop, so he pulls his naughty hand out of your shorts and ushers you into the backseat with a swat to your ass.

Once you’re situated in the middle seat, he drags you into his lap and takes your cheeks in his hands to kiss you long and hard. Almost as if on instinct, your hips grind against his thigh, and he breaks it to look at you.

He pulls away from the kiss, clearly, what you’d done hadn’t gone unnoticed. “You’re desperate tonight, aren’t you? That’s fine. C’mon, then.”

He slaps your ass again and takes you by the waist, encouraging the drag of your clothed cunt against his thigh. And it feels good. Better than you’d expected, which is why your brows furrow and your lips part in protest, because you shouldn’t be doing this in public.

“Leon,” you huff, words smothered and dying as his lips press against yours again.

Not a whine of protest, no, one that says more more more, please, and he’s got you right where he wants you. Trapped in his web. Impossibly warm against you, forehead pressed against yours, so this is what he’s been after all night. All the lingering touches too high, a ghost of breath against your ear.

Thank god for his dark window tint, because just one glance from a passerby in the wrong direction would land you both in boiling water. Never mind that. He squeezes your waist tight, pulling you back and forth against the denim of his jeans.

“This is what you wanted, huh? Dressing in these shorts?” he grunts.

“Yeah,” is your breathless response, choked on air.

“Yeah? Aw,” he coos, mocking. “I never knew you were so naughty.”

If he’s trying to get you wetter than you already are, it’s working. The seat of your underwear is soaked through, uncomfortable and sticking to your skin. He doesn’t care. Still doesn’t when you grind your hips down hard, and still doesn’t when there’s a noticeable wet patch formed on his jeans. He’s far too engrossed in you, watching your eyes screw shut and your chest heave with every breath you take.

Too much, not enough. He sets your pace. So much that it leaves your head dropped against his shoulder and renders you dizzy, not enough to make you cum. Until it is enough, and your orgasm overtakes you and has you gasping atop his lap. He strokes down your waist, to your hips, and clears his throat and watches lovestruck as your thighs shake.

Once you’ve regained a semblance of decency, righted your clothes from where they were pushed up and aside and away, and he swims back into your hazy vision, you’re able to slide off his lap and into the seat beside him. Only then do you notice the wet patch on the crotch of his jeans, a mark you know isn’t from you.

You’re just about to speak, to call him out, when he beats you to it.

“You really shouldn’t wear such… small clothes during the winter,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’d hate for you to catch a cold.”

“Good thing I have you to keep me warm, then.”

He laughs nervously, hands shifting to cover the damp patch on his jeans. “Good thing.”

[bigguyenthusiast]

Could you please make one about Ghost X reader

Ghost treated reader badly as trying to prove she doesn't get his attention , like ignore her in front of others when she asks about work related stuff nothing personal..

And over time she genuinely starts hating him ... And once she hates someone she never goes back and completely ignore them and forget about them .. and this pisses Ghost and makes him angry ...

Okay, part 2 will be released soon, promise, this is a bit different, but part 2 will be make better sense smooches you on the forehead

CW: SMUT, Simon being an asshole, fingering, breeding, simon having a humiliation kink, simon refusing to admit he likes you, just simon.

You never liked begging someone for their attention—too prideful, too confident in yourself to be asking, fuck, or downright begging someone to give you a bit of their time.

But your pride seems to tarnish the moment you had a chance to sleep with the man that you’ve been shamelessly flirting with for months now.

You looked up at his brown eyes, glaring down at you. His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling as he has your hands trapped in one of his, pinned against the wall.

“This is what you want, wanted?” Ghost muttered out, roughly smushing your cheeks to force you to look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed, not even knowing what he’s referring to.

“You like throwing yourself at everyone, don’t you? Hm?” He began, the hand that pinned your hands to the wall now forcing you to be thrown into his bed. You couldn’t even get the chance to think before his large, muscular arms were holding you down on his bed, the sound of springs bending under your weights, your breath becoming shallow and quick.

His rough hand feeling up your side, fingers pressing into every dip on your figure, his free hand coming up to his face, lifting his mask to show a scarred lower part of his face, his strong jaw lettered with some blonde hairs, his messy, sharp teeth shining as he pulled his lips into a smirk, but it wasn’t a mischievous smirk or a funny one; this one felt... hungry? That was the only way you could describe it, paired with that look in his eyes.

This man was ready to devour you whole, and you wanted him to more than anything else. Your brain is now filled with thoughts of what he’ll do to you right now, completely forgetting the previous question you had.

“Strip, get on all fours, sergeant,” your lieutenant demanded. All you could do was nod and follow his orders; he doesn’t seem to change, just standing there, towering over you as his gaze stays stuck on your now-bare skin.

As you take the final piece off, your underwear, you get interrupted.

“Hand those over,” he said as he let his large palm out, beckoning you to put the now damp piece of clothing in his hand. You were reluctant, not elbowing what he’s going to do. This man is the true meaning of the word enigma.

After placing the pair in his hand, his fingers played with the fabric as he bit his lower lip, his eyes never leaving your figure as you lay on the bed, ass up with your pretty head in the pillows. You hated this habit, but you loved smelling his scent, whether it’s when he’s sparring with you, ‘helping’ you with paper work—he’s just bullying you—or on the first day when he wrapped his muscular arms around you to help you learn how to shoot a gun—like you didn’t know already.

And his sheets—oh, his sheets—were filled with his scent. At first, it was disgusting, but with how stupidly attracted to this man you are, the smell of sweat, gun powder, and cum

Ugh, this man is disgusting, and you’re letting him put his dirty hands all over you, his palm holding your neck steady as he reaches and shoves your pants in your mouth, his hand now in your hair, forcing you to look up at him, eyes widened with muffled moans with every rough movement he produced.

“God, if only you could see how pathetic you look right now,” he chuckled before giving your cheek a couple of rough pats and moving down to your ass.

You could hear the zipper of his pants unzipping. You closed your eyes as you tried to even out your breathing, but your body shook as you felt his finger slide between your folds. Your moans were muffled by the fabric shoved in your mouth.

His finger slid in and out of you, starting off slowly before speeding up. His other hand came down to play with your clitoral area. Your eyes rolled back as you felt him insert another finger. His thick fingers filled you up better than any dick you’ve had. Your body was shaking as you felt your orgasm creeping up on you already.

But seconds before you could feel that release you’ve been dying for, his fingers popped out, leaving your poor pussycat clenching around nothing and his now wet hand coming back down to slap your puffy pussycat, making you cry out.

“I didn’t give you permission to cum; better be on your best behavior if you want to,” his deep voice rang, making you nod your head, your hair pressed against his sheets, now stranding and sticking to your sweaty face.

You felt his dick slide in between your slick fold, rubbing his aching hard cock, refusing to put it. Your hand reached back to where it was, trying to put it in you, but your efforts failed. Simon’s hand grabbed both of yours and pressed them against the middle of your back.

“I said be on your best behavior.” His voice sounded deeper, angrier. He was losing what little patience he had with you.

Without any warning, his duck rammed into your hole, and your head snapped as you cried out into the crumbled cloth.

"Aww, what’s wrong, Lovie? I thought this was what you wanted, hm?” His voice was condensed and humiliating.

You couldn’t do anything but sit there and take what he forcefully gave you.

Each thrust making you see heaven, one hand holding your hands back, and another grasping the roots of your hair, the pain and the pleasure mixing in so well, every second felt so long, trying so hard to cum all over his girthy dick as it plunged in and out of your now-abused hole.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You spat out the now wet cloth out of your mouth, crying out for him to let you

“Please, please Simon, I can't—seriously, I can’t take it anymore. Please, please let me—fuck!—let me cum, please, sir.”

God, you sounded pathetic, but you know that’s how he wanted you to be—all pathetic and drooling all over, just for him, all for him.

He chuckled. You only whined out, thinking he was going to torture you even more, but his hand that was holding your arms reached to your neck, bringing your body up to be pressed against his front, feeling the rough fabric of his uniform, the straps, and random shit he had in his vest pockets pressed against your flushed skin.

You cranked your neck slightly to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed, mouth pulled into a frown with your flushed cheeks made him almost cum, and the eye contact you were giving him almost made him cum, fuck.

He grabbed your cheeks, making you face the front of his bed, watching the wall, the empty white walls, feeling his breath against your neck, goosebumps appearing when his sharp teeth grazed your skin.

“Cum for me, love, be a good girl, and show me how much you love this dick,” he whispered before biting a spot at the crook of your neck, his movements going in a fast motion, his heavy balls slapping your clitoral area with every few thrusts.

You moaned out, no cloth to muffle your cries now, from the pain caused by his teeth and the unbelieving pleasure of finally cuddling.

“Ngh, oh god! Simon! A-aah!” You cried out, unable to keep it in anymore.

But his name falling from your lips made him cum immediately after you, his thrusts slowing down before he let your body fall back on the bed. He pumped his cum deep inside you, pulling out, seeing his cum dripping out, his thick fingers coming back down to your sensitive pussy, fingering you to keep his cum deep inside you.

“Better not waste a drop,” he chuckled before slapping your ass a few times before getting off the bed and stretching his back.

He fetched a towel, throwing it at you. The microfiber fabric landed on your face, making you take it off immediately as you glared at him.

You cleaned yourself up as he grabbed your clothes and put them next to you, his dick back in his pants, now zippered with his mask fully on.

“Put your clothes on and get going, soldier,” he commented. You looked up at him as you cleaned up some of the cum dripping from your used hole. The air felt so awkward. and weirdly, you tried to lighten the mood.

“Damn, you must do this a lot. Got another date coming?” You chuckled as you grabbed your cargo.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly the most satisfying for me, so better get going,” he replied, making you stop midway. You looked up at him; maybe his eyes would be squinting, indicating a smile. But no, nothing but dead eyes spared you less than a second before he moved to his desk.

Embarrassed, you put your clothes on immediately and grabbed your pants before opening the door to his room and slamming it behind you. You furiously walked to your barracks, which were only a couple of doors away.

How fucking dare he? Who did he think he was? Coming inside you, then having the audacity to say that?

You walked into your room, ridding yourself of your sweaty clothes, grabbing a towel and some change of clothes as you rushed to the female bathrooms, you needed a shower, immediately, to calm you and rid you of that gross feeling of being… used

[ceilidho]

prompt: pretty little witch who lives in a cottage in the forest who sometimes eats wayward travellers but Ghost has some kind of magic repulsion aura that doesn’t allow her to use her powers on him (part 2) (read part 1 here)

-

The masked man staring back at you tilts his head, the skin under his eyes crinkling with a smile that you cannot see. Suddenly eldritch, blood-curdling. 

“Now, what are you?” he asks with a rumbling voice, rough from disuse, and takes a step towards you.

You trip over your feet scrambling back. Branches from a nearby tree scoop towards you, catching you before you tumble down into the soft dirt. He advances quickly on you, big hand finding now the hatchet strapped to his side and pulling it out, the thing dwarfed in his massive paw. 

“Stay back—stay back—” you hiss, the branches listening to your fear and dragging you away from the man. “Leave—I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” he asks, taunting. Just a twinge of it, as if he can’t help that he has a predilection to mock.

He catches up to you fast enough, the strides of his long legs enough to eat up the distance. When you whip the branches towards him, they stop mere inches from him, giving him ample time to bat them away. The ones that get close enough meet his hatchet, a single cleave enough to sever them from the tree. You don’t feel the tree’s pain, but where his blade meets your magic—a thin coating along the branches, like extended, ghost limbs of your own—it stings. 

“Stay back!” you shriek, heart pumping away ferociously. Your voice comes out like a caterwaul. He’s too close now though, towering over you, the bitter smell of old sweat and musk. Up close, he does not smell like anything you know. He smells sun bleached, the rust of old blood like the blades in your shed after a long season’s hunt. 

“What sort of girl—” he starts, hand fisting in your hair and wrenching your head back, “—ambushes strange men in forests? Do you have a death wish?”

To have him touch you is singularly terrifying. You haven’t been touched in a hundred years, certainly not by a human. His touch sends you skittering back, but he has you trapped in place. Your shoes dig into the dirt when you try to push yourself away, hands pressed against his chest much to your distress. 

“Men can’t kill me,” you hiss, fingers clawing at the hand holding you in place, scratching at him with the little nails that you never bothered to grow out. 

You can’t see the whole of his face, but his expression is undoubtedly unimpressed. “I could kill you easily, girl.”

“I’m not a girl—I’m a witch.”

“A witch is a girl.”

“I eat girls,” you snap, so angry now that spittle drips from your mouth. You shrink back when he wipes it away with a gloved hand. “I eat men like you too. If you are a man.” 

You say that because the way your magic curls away from him has you on edge. Humans may not scare you, but eldritch, ancient monsters do and they hunt little witches like you. Usually not in your own woods, but stranger things have happened. 

“‘Course I’m a man. Look at me.”

He presses the whole length of his body against yours, dragging you so close to him by your hair that you almost rise up onto your toes. He’s solid all the way through, only a bit of give around his middle. There’s something distinctly hard pressing against your low belly. It leaves you flustered, hot under your collar. An unfamiliar heat in your core, legs clenching on nothing. You give in to the instinctive urge to look down, but pressed so close to him, there’s little to see beyond the wideness of his chest, covered by a brown tunic laced up the front. 

“Means nothing. Plenty of things look like other things. I look like a girl but I am not,” you stutter. 

“Were you trying to eat me then, witch girl?” he breathes, amused. You yelp when he gives you a little shake by the hair. 

You flash your teeth at that, hoping he takes that as a threat. You have chewed off flesh far tougher than his. “Still might, human. If you don’t let me go.” 

He stares down at you, eyes giving nothing away. “It’s not every day that a little girl threatens to eat me. Not very nice, you know. I’ve cut down men twice your size for less.”

“You like bloodshed?”

“I trade in bounties; it’s part of the job. But, yes, girl. I like bloodshed.”

It’s not reassuring to hear that when his hands are fast on you. You wish now you hadn’t dreamed of this strange man immune to your magic and left him to his wandering. There are bears in these woods that could have dealt with him for you. 

“I’m—I’m not going to anymore,” you say, quieter now, hands falling back to his chest, trying to shove yourself just the slightest bit away. You don’t move an inch. “I’ll…I can find something else to eat. Just let me go.”

The man widens his stance, feet bracketing yours. In two hundred years, you haven’t felt small. You’ve felt tremendous, expansive, big as the whole forest; monstrous some days even. The most ferocious predator in the woods, the haunting lurching her way through the trees, belly hungry for iron blood and the ripe taste of fear. 

You feel that fear now in your mouth for the first time, sour.

He smiles behind the mask again. “Maybe later. Need to teach you a lesson.”

“A lesson?” Maybe the fear hasn’t sunk in all the way because you ask that when he lets go of his hold on your hair and drops his hands to your waist, getting a tight hold there. Twisting you around while he walks you back. 

“You all alone in the forest?” he asks instead of answering you. “Is there a house that I missed? Been here for months and haven’t seen one.”

“Of course, I—I live here.” You don’t want to say more than though, lest you reveal too much about yourself. You’re still wondering whether surviving this ordeal will be as simple as getting away. There’s something savage in his gaze now, the mealy taste in your mouth translating that look like the hunted looking upon the hunter. 

There’s a tree stump that he guides you to, shaded under the canopy. When he tips you over the stump, the breath rushes out of you. The edge is rough against your stomach. You don’t even notice him pulling up the back of your dress until a few seconds later. 

“Wait, hold on—that’s my indoor dress!” you cry out, the front of your dress scraping against the stump and sure to tear. “Let me go—stop it!”

Your drawers are next, slid down your hips while you squirm and wail, feet kicking out behind you. 

“Behave.” It’s punctuated by the sudden sting on your cheek, bottom flaming red by his hand. Pain is such a foreign concept to you that it initially leaves you speechless. 

He props you against the stump with little care for how your knees drag in the dirt and whether your underwear gets dirt on them. He keeps you pinned there with a big hand on the centre of your back. Your shimmying gets you nowhere, only planted farther into the dirt; it only scuffs up your knees and pulls wretched little noises from your throat. 

The terror comes when you’re bare to him and he draws his hand back. You gasp at the first smack, shocked; it’s a broken, stupid sound. At the next smack, you react properly, going into a frenzy, twisting left and right to get away, but helpless under just a fraction of his strength. Your magic does no good for once in your long life either. You feel it sit on the periphery, unsure of what to do because it cannot come close to this strange man for some reason. 

You yelp every time his hand comes down on your bottom. Red fills your vision. Tears do as well. 

“I am going to—” you break off on a yowl, back arching, “—I am going to eat the flesh off your bones for this! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

His chuckle is bone-chilling, ices you right over. “You oughta at least know the name of the man you’re going to eat. They call me Ghost.”

“I’ll call you—” The caustic name you were about to call him is ripped from your lips by another well-placed smack on your ass. 

You shriek so loud that the birds flee from their perches within the trees.

[cuubism]

some canon-verse trans Hob for the lovely @five-and-dimes who recently got top surgery! 🥳🥰 congratulations, I'm truly so happy for you, my friend. please accept this humble offering

--

“So, it actually started on a dare,” Hob says, on the day he tells Dream the story of him. Or of this part of him, anyway.

Normally, Hob gets a bit guarded the first time he tells someone he’s trans. It’s hard to predict with absolute certainty how people will react, especially ones he’s just become romantically involved with. He’s had it go poorly, to say the least, in the past.

He doesn’t feel that way with Dream. It’s not because there’s so much trust between them—they’re still new, after all. No, it’s something about Dream himself. For all his prickly and standoffish nature, being close to him feels like sinking into a warm lake, into a dark sleep where secrets and hidden wishes float up like glowing reeds to the surface. Deep, personal feelings feel safe with Dream; he cradles them in his hands and soothes them. Or that’s how it feels, when Hob is touching him.

Personification of dreams, indeed.

“A dare?” Dream echoes.

“Sort of," Hob says. "Got frustrated with people saying women should or shouldn’t do this or that or the other thing, so I decided if they felt so strongly about it I’d just be a man. Moved somewhere no one knew me, dressed differently, got stronger, practiced the sword—and that was that. No one seemed to care much, once you were at war. So long as you could swing a sword and not get yourself killed.”

“A choice, then,” Dream says. He’s listening very intently, hands folded on his knees, untouched tea on the coffee table before him.

“At first. Was only after I’d been living that way for a few decades—before and after we met—that I realized while there might be a handful of women out there living as men for the freedom of it, that they didn’t all like it. Given the choice they’d rather just be women in a more equal world. You know?”

Dream hums in understanding.

“But I didn’t want to go back,” Hob continues. “I felt like... who I'd become was the truth of me all along.”

“Identity, while not wholly immutable, is resilient against adversity and circumstance,” says Dream. “You found what your heart wanted you to be, if in a circuitous manner.”

“You seem very unbothered by it,” Hob observes, sipping his tea.

Dream frowns. “Why would I be bothered by it?”

“Dunno.” Apparently he can’t fully shake that this’ll put a wedge in us feeling. “People sometimes are. Feel deceived, or something like that. So they say.”

“If they are deceived, it is by their own assumptions,” Dream says, with disdain. “You should be as you dream yourself, Hob. No more nor less. Put aside these petty physical trappings.”

“I do actually have to live in these ‘physical trappings’ even if you don’t, you silly thing.” He can’t help laughing. “Besides, I rather like being some kind of living creature in the world, rather than what? A ghost? Best I can do is make this body as close to how it should be as possible.”

Hob’s come to like his body, for the most part, in the form that he’s made it. He didn’t always. But he needs a body of some kind to be alive, and he likes being alive. So what he couldn’t change, he made peace with.

Besides, they have hormone treatments nowadays. Brilliant stuff. Makes it so much better.

“Anyway, now you know. I wanted you to. Since we’re together.” It’s still a marvel. Together.

“Thank you,” says Dream, with evident sincerity. “It is a privilege to be gifted your secrets.”

“Not really a secret, but I get what you mean.” He takes Dream’s hand, just to touch him, and admits, “Telling it to you is like… I don’t know. Feels like when I was younger and first admitted out loud, ‘I’m a man. I want to stay like this.’”

It hasn’t been a proper secret in a very long time. But giving it to Dream is like the freedom of releasing a held breath, even so.

“I am the harbor and cradle of dreams,” Dream says in reply. He traces his fingers over Hob’s. Does Dream’s strange form just spring from the ether? Hob wonders. Or does he have to choose it? The way Hob chose his? “Dreams of being and becoming… these are most precious for they grow from tough soil. I can only protect them, I cannot create them. You must do that. And I expect that were I to find you in the Dreaming, there would be a fantastic garden there, indeed.”

Dream himself is the most fantastical thing. “Well, darling, just know your work is appreciated.”

Dream’s lips tip up in a tiny smile. When he meets Hob’s gaze again, his eyes have gone dark and starry. He folds Hob into a hug, and—

oh, it’s like being hugged by the universe itself.

Hob feels the light breeze of a warm dark night, when he’d lain by the dying fire in a war camp in the French countryside, and looked up at a million stars and first whispered to himself what if this is really who I am? Dream is that breeze and those stars. The dying embers that had lit him as he’d run his hands over his body and felt it differently than he ever had before, and been terrified because what would it mean?—but also thrilled and alive. Dream is the night wrapping around him in that moment, the night that was listening to his dreams no matter how quietly he admitted them, Dream is that and more and the voice in his heart telling him it would be okay.

A younger, more uncertain Hob would have needed this. Hob now is older, and he already knows who he is and what he wants, but he falls into Dream’s embrace all the same. A tear slips from his eye, and Dream kisses his cheek, wiping the tear away with his tongue before leaning their heads together.

“I could craft you any body you wanted in the Dreaming,” he says lowly. “However I think the one you have made with your own hands is more remarkable.”

Oh, God, he’s going to tear up again. “Dream, you are the most beautiful, wonderful thing.”

Dream hums in pleasure at the words, and lets Hob hold him close, lets him cradle his head to his chest, a dream kept close to his heart. One that he knew as soon as he saw it walk into the White Horse. Sooner even than he truly knew himself.

Then Dream looks up at him with a hopeful expression. “With these truths revealed, are we able to be intimate?”

Hob laughs so hard he has to tip his head back against the couch. “Wow. One track mind with you, isn’t it? I spill my heart and that’s what I get?”

Dream grumbles, tucking his face in against Hob’s neck to press his lips to Hob’s throat. “I find myself impatient of late.”

“Knew all along you were only with me for my body.” He’s grinning, though. Can’t stop.

“Well. Considering it is such a lovely one.” He plucks at Hob’s shirt buttons. Lecherous little nightmare.

It feels fucking good, though, to be desired.

“C’mere, then,” he says, and drags Dream into his lap.

Dream settles there with a purr, starts playing with Hob’s hair, but says, “I would not truly derail this moment, nor distract from your feelings if you do not wish it.”

“Oh, I wish it. You’ve no idea how much I want you right now. You’re like a prize.” He cradles Dream’s beloved face between his hands. “Stick around for long enough and you’ll get the most incredible Dream at the end of it.”

“Or at the beginning,” Dream says, and Hob’s heart swells so much to hear him voice that that he has to kiss him.

When he does, Dream makes a low, pleased sound, settling deeper in his lap. Yes, this moment, this life, is certainly the prize for all of those years hanging onto those dreams:

the dream of his lover

and the one of himself.