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terminalfruitsalad · 6 months

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Doctor's Orders | [Wriothesley x Reader]

Summary: “Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.” In which a simple tea time turns heated, and you get caught up in the consequence of Wriothesley not listening to his doctor. Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Aphrodisiacs, fem!reader Word Count: 7.9k

Sigewinne is evil.

You would have never suspected that such a tiny, cute body could contain so much malevolence. (Although, Sigewinne would personally argue that you’re confused, and that the word you’re looking for is actually benevolence. But, you digress.)

It all starts a few weeks into your employment at the Fortress of Meropide.

You’d spotted a job listing for a “personal assistant” in passing one day, and had immediately become interested thanks to the very generous salary listed on the paper. Seeing the job was located in Fontaine’s unofficial prison had, of course, caused you to have some second thoughts about applying, but at the end of the day, money is money.

Which is how you’d found yourself down on the ocean floor, waiting with a few other candidates outside the Duke’s office.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous—waiting there to meet the head honcho of the prison. That when he stepped out to call you inside for your interview—all tall and beefy and scarred—your heart didn’t nervously flutter inside your chest.

…but to your surprise, he’s actually much softer than he appears.

“So,” he says, sitting down across from you at his desk. He folds his arms and smiles at you. “Why should I hire you? ”

Having been through this process before, you had immediately rattled off your qualifications and experiences. A few of which Wriothesley had proceeded to comment on and inquire about further. But it wasn’t until he asked—

“What benefit will I receive from picking you specifically?”

And you’d responded with—

“Errand girl.”

“What?”

“I can run errands for you. I’m sure the guards can be slow, going back and forth. But if you’re my direct employer, I can do whatever you want. Drop documents off, check in on things…pick up more tea.”

—that Wriothesley finally makes up his mind.

“Hmm. Very convincing.”

The next day, you receive a letter with the terms of your employment, and your official start date.

So, since then, you’ve been working for Wriothesley. Which is actually kind of…nice.

Your job mostly consists of going back and forth between the prison and the surface, so that Wriothesley can stay in the Fortress and better monitor his domain. The autonomy the job grants you is very rewarding, and in the same breath, Wriothesley also feels rewarded by how you take care of things without him needing to ask more than once.

Safe to say, the two of you get along.

…which Sigewinne notices.

You, of course, meet Sigewinne on your first day. Wriothesley makes a point of introducing you and showing you where the nurse’s office is located, in case you get hurt, or need to drop something off.

The human-like melusine enthusiastically welcomes you, and, at first, you see her as…someone sweet, and caring. A treasure of the prison.

However, over time, your opinion of her slowly starts to change.

Because she keeps looking at you. Specifically, whenever you’re standing next to Wriothesley.

“Why is she doing that?” you ask him one day, nudging him gently with your elbow. He immediately looks up from his meal, over to where Sigewinne is waiting in the lunch line, her pink eyes boring into you.

“She’s probably just double checking that you’re healthy,” Wriothesley responds, paying her no mind. “I often catch her staring at me, too. You must be growing on her.”

Despite his reassuring words, you can’t help but feel a little…put off…by the look in her eyes. Like she’s plotting something.

The second weird thing you notice is when you walk into the infirmary to drop off some herbs she’d asked for, and find her drawing. At first, you assume she’s doodling, since she seems kid-like a lot of the time.

But instead, when you lean over her shoulder and look, you see that she’s writing words. A big, black “DO NOT DISTURB”...with pink hearts and a few flowers drawn around it.

“What’s that for?” you ask her, forcing a smile.

“Oh! It’s just for a project I’m working on,” she responds, swiveling in her chair to face you. She happily kicks her feet, her eyes darting to the herbs you’re carrying with you.

“Ah, are those what I asked for? Thank you!”

You hand her the small bundle of dried flowers and grasses, watching as she immediately turns and places them on her desk next to some string, and cheesecloth.

“You’re welcome,” you respond, taking a small step backwards. “If that’s all, I’ll keep working on the rest of the tasks on my list—”

“Wait,” she says, grabbing your wrist. You instantly freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn back to face her. There’s a serious look on her face.

“How do you feel about Wriothesley?”

Her question makes your heart skip—heat rising on your skin.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother elaborating or giving you context, just waits for you to respond. You cough a little, feeling awkward, and wondering what kind of answer she’s looking for.

“Well…I mean. I think he’s a good boss. He’s friendly, and devoted to his job. He runs the prison well.”

Sigewinne nods, but doesn’t comment. Just keeps…staring.

Feeling pressured, you force yourself to think of more to say.

“Um…he’s deserving of his title and the respect he garners. I…enjoy speaking with him? Like when he invites me to partake in tea breaks. I dunno…he just kinda reminds me of a big, fluffy puppy. He looks scary but he’s actually pretty…cute, y’know?”

Finally, Sigewinne smiles. She takes your hand in her tiny ones, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you for answering my question. You can go now.”

You blink at her dumbly, but nonetheless excuse yourself from the room.

Two days later, Wriothesley invites you to his office for tea. And to your surprise, when you walk in, you find Sigewinne waiting there as well.

“Thank you for coming!” she says as you enter the room. You flash her a smile, taking a seat in one of the open chairs around the table.

“Of course!”

“Sigewinne has a tea she wants us both to try,” Wriothesley explains, a fond look in his eyes as he watches the resident nurse flit around—pouring hot water into the teacups that have been set out.

You nod.

“I see.”

“Although, I don’t know why you won’t just steep the tea in the pot,” Wriothesley complains to her, just as Sigewinne places individual tea bags in each cup. “Are we not all being served the same tea?”

She cutely huffs.

“For your information, no we are not. Your and Y/N’s tea is unique.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley leans forward to look into the teacups as the colors from the herbs begin to bleed into the water. “What’s so unique about it?”

“You’ll see,” she responds with a playful look, one that causes Wriothesley to amusedly raise his eyebrows. However, he doesn’t say anything more—simply waiting for the tea to appropriately steep.

“...are you using the herbs I brought you?”

You can’t help but notice the smell wafting from the cup in front of you is a little familiar. Sigewinne nods.

“Wow! I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Ah, so this must be the reason you wanted me to lend you Y/N for a task the other day,” Wriothesley chimes in, his icy blue eyes once again shifting to Sigewinne.

“Do I get to know what herbs you requested Y/N to bring you, exactly?”

The resident nurse shakes her head, quietly laughing when Wriothesley sighs and deflates back into his chair.

“It’s meant to be a surprise! I want to see what you think about the taste without knowing the ingredients.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Folding your hands on your lap, the office descends into silence for a brief moment, the three of you intently watching the teacups in front of you. Then, Sigewinne finally claps her hands and declares—

“Okay, they’ve steeped long enough. Go ahead!”

“Finally,” Wriothesley happily mumbles, reaching forward to pick up the pristine little plate on which his cup of tea resides. He brings the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply, and then takes a tentative sip.

“Hmm…”

He frowns, his brows pinching as he tries to discern the flavors he’s tasting.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you take a sip from your own cup—wincing as the hot liquid accidentally burns your tongue.

“So?” Sigewinne prompts, staring excitedly between the two of you.

“It’s…pleasant,” you respond, clearly not as big of a tea connoisseur as the Duke. “It has a hint of sweetness.”

“It tastes like a Rainbow Rose smells,” Wriothesley adds, taking another sip. His gaze slides to you. “Did you pick some for her?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn’t. Or…at least I didn’t pick any fresh ones. I did go to a vendor and purchase something in a bottle that looked like crushed, pink dust.”

Sigewinne cutely laughs.

“As expected of you, Your Grace. Yes, one of the ingredients is dried Rainbow Rose petals. Do you like it?”

Wriothesley makes a pleased sound.

“I do. The taste is light, but pleasant—like Y/N said.”

“Good! I want both of you to drink up.”

Sigewinne finally picks up her own tea, and you can’t help but notice the difference in color when compared to yours and Wriothesley’s. She really is drinking something different…but why?

“Aye aye, captain,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne laugh. You smile at the cute interaction between them, and have some more of your tea as well.

Together, the three of you engage in friendly conversation—catching up about recent topics while indulging in tea and a few different snacks that Wriothesley had pulled out for the occasion. As you drink, you can’t help but notice you feel…warm. A heat that spreads out from your stomach, and slowly creeps into your limbs.

You’ve never felt this way before but…maybe the tea is just extra hot today?

You glance up to Wriothesley and notice that he’s a little flushed as well. Which is…reassuring? You think. Since you’re obviously not the only one affected.

“Oh! Y/N!”

Sigewinne’s sudden call of your name draws you from your thoughts, and you look over at her. She smiles.

“I forgot to ask, but are you dating anyone?”

“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley gently scolds. He leans forward and sets his teacup on the table, the cup now empty.

His tone practically says “It’s not appropriate to ask questions like that” without actually saying it. Sigewinne pouts.

“Aww, c’mon. We’re all friends here! I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Hearing that the melusine considers you to be a friend, you decide to grace her with an answer—ignoring the tingling of the taste buds on your tongue.

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you inform her with a polite smile. Sigewinne nods happily at your answer, which makes your smile waver.

Is she happy you’re single?? Ouch.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I’d feel a little bad, otherwise.”

You blink in confusion at her words, watching her as she pops off her chair and heads towards the door. Wriothesley raises an eyebrow at her.

There’s sweat beading on his brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” she responds. “To give you two some privacy.”

You and Wriothesley glance at each other, mirroring each other’s confusion.

Your tummy starts to ache.

“Why are you leaving us alone, exactly?”

Stopping just in front of the office doors, Sigewinne turns on her heel to face the two of you. There’s a smug grin on her face.

“This is what happens when you don’t follow doctor’s orders.”

You frown, raising a hand to your chest, wondering why your heart is suddenly racing.

What’s this about doctor’s orders?

You glance over at Wriothesley…only to see that he’s frozen in shock—his eyes wide with realization.

His pants feel too tight.

“Sigewinne, you did not—”

There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks, his eyes narrowing. He plants his feet on the floor and prepares to stand and confront her, but before he can blink, Sigewinne has drawn her pistol—a tranquilizing bullet hitting him square in the chest, where a little patch of skin is showing.

He makes a noise of surprise, and quickly flops back into his chair to avoid falling on the floor—his limbs immediately going numb.

“Sigewinne!” you gasp. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the fact that she’d just shot Wriothesley is…

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sigh. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. And…I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain…”

She holsters her gun and smiles at you, trying to calm you down.

“As the nurse of the Fortress of Meropide, it is my duty to look after all residents, including Your Grace. And over the last few months, I’ve noticed him becoming more… irritable.”

“Sigewinne…,” Wriothesley mumbles, but the girl waves him off.

“After observing him for a while, I realized that his stress levels were getting high. And as his doctor, I recommended him a way to manage his stress, but he refused. He insisted tea was enough to soothe his nerves, but that’s simply not true. So…when you started working here, and I saw how well the two of you were getting along, I…got an idea.”

Sigewinne glances over at Wriothesley, noticing how he’s begun to shift his boots against the floor.

Her tranquilizers won’t be in effect much longer. They never work as well on people Wriothesley’s size…

So, she decides to cut to the chase.

Reaching into her pocket, Sigewinne pulls out the DO NOT DISTURB sign you’d seen her making the other day. She holds it in front of her, and beams at you.

“Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.”

“You…you drugged us?” you gape, completely thrown by everything she’s just told you. She immediately gets defensive, her cheeks puffing.

“I medicated you,” she corrects. “And in the end, I’m only acting as a doctor. This all could have been avoided if Your Grace had just taken care of his own needs, as I’d insisted. Since he didn’t, I could only logically assume it's because it’s his preference to have a partner, rather than going at it solo. So, if you want to blame anyone for this, please blame him.”

“Sigewinne—”

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wriothesley breathes out a heavy sigh and begins to push himself up. You can’t help but notice his face is much redder now, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, the effects of the drugs, or both.

Seeing that Wriothesley has nearly regained his strength, Sigewinne hurries to exit his office.

“Anyway! The effects of the tea should wear off in a few hours, but only if you relieve yourselves. Otherwise, it will last much longer. So I suggest you let loose and indulge yourselves. You like each other! Enjoy this time!”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, but his words catch in his throat the second Sigewinne opens his office door. He doesn’t want anyone outside of his office walls to hear him or know what’s going on.

“I’ll hang this sign on the door,” Sigewinne continues, her voice hushing. “So no one comes in while you two are…busy. Just remove it once you’re done, okay? Have fun!”

With a supportive little fist pump, Sigewinne then closes the door, leaving you and Wriothesley alone.

A few long beats of silence pass, then Wriothesley finally sighs.

"I…apologize for this. I never meant for you to get roped in."

You turn to look at him, only to find that he's standing with his back to you, his hand raising to rub at the back of his head.

You can see his muscles flexing as he does so, and you hate to admit that it causes the heat inside you to grow.

"It's…not your fault," you respond, laughing a little awkwardly. "I doubt it's easy to follow directions when your doctor tells you to jack off to rectify your hardass-ness."

Wriothesley glances at you over his shoulder.

"Have I been acting like a hardass?"

"You've been a little snippy at times," you tell him, smoothing your sweaty palms down your legs. Seriously, your clothes are starting to make you feel claustrophobic…

"Not to me, specifically. But I've noticed it towards some of the prison residents."

"Shit," he sighs, rubbing his temples. You continue to watch him, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back. For a second, you don't understand why he won't face you. Then it clicks.

"...are you…hard? Is that why you're not turning around?"

"It's…pretty bad," Wriothesley admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat. "I don't know what all was in that tea but…as an aphrodisiac, it's doing its job."

"Yeah…," you agree, swallowing heavily. You can feel wet arousal pooling on the fabric of your panties. His office has also started to feel like a sauna, but you're not sure if it's the air that's hot, or your body.

However, you're still not willing to breach the topic of "relief" with him. You haven't reached that level of desperation…yet .

So, you think of something else to carry the conversation in the meantime.

"So…Sigewinne said you like me?"

"Ah, you caught that."

He laughs a little, and begins pacing around the room, still careful to keep his back to you. You can't help but notice his stride is a little…impeded.

"If I'm being frank—yes, I do. You've been…a pleasure to have around, since I hired you. Actually, one of the reasons I picked you in the first place was because of how you acted during your interview. Most people are scared of me and therefore talk cautiously. You're certainly respectful, of course, but…you're a bit playful, as well. And I found that quality to be attractive."

"Ah, so I charmed you," you respond playfully. "Remind me to add that point to my resume later. "Managed to woo the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide". That sounds pretty good—"

"And there you go again," Wriothesley laughs. He steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in previously, and then finally turns to face you—the back of the chair tall enough that his lower half is out of sight.

"Although, if I recall her words correctly, Sigewinne stated that we "like each other". So, is there something you'd like to say as well?"

Your eyes go wide, and you feel more blood rush into your head. Wriothesley smiles, wide enough to show teeth.

"C’mon now. It's not fair that I praise you and get nothing in return."

You pout.

"To be fair, I didn't know why Sigewinne suddenly asked me what I thought of you…"

"That’s understandable, but still. I'd like to know what you told her."

Wriothesley maintains his playful demeanor, despite the way his knuckles begin to turn white at his sides—a deep-seated need slowly sinking its claws into him.

You sigh.

"I just…told her that you're a good boss, and are deserving of your titles and the respect you garner…"

You trail off, suddenly remembering the last thing you'd told Sigewinne during that conversation. Wriothesley clearly notices there's something you're leaving out, one of his eyebrows raising.

"And?"

You take a deep breath.

"That you're a cute puppy."

He blinks in shock.

"...excuse me?"

Oh god, you wanna phase through the floor.

"I said that even though you look scary, you're really just like a big…cute…puppy."

For a moment, Wriothesley can only stare at you. Then, he throws his head back and laughs.

Embarrassed, you plant your palms on your thighs and push to your feet, instinctively wanting to run away…only to realize that your legs have gone weak.

With a distraught noise, you flop back into your chair.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wriothesley notices.

He coughs, pulling himself back together.

"Well, I've certainly never heard myself described in such a way before. I can't say I totally hate it, but I'm not sure if I agree with the term "puppy"."

You force an awkward laugh, finally losing steam as the arousal inside you begins to cloud your thoughts. Sigewinne obviously wasn't messing around when making her aphrodisiac…you've never felt so horny before that it has literally hindered your mental and physical faculties.

The office is silent for a few tense moments, but finally, Wriothesley heaves a heavy sigh. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his shoulders slumping as he hangs his head.

"You may revoke your good opinion of me, considering how inappropriate it is for a boss to even consider such a thing, but…I think my dick is gonna explode soon, so I'll just come out and ask."

You swallow, anticipating his next words.

"Would you be…interested in having sex?"

Your body shivers in excitement at the idea, the lustful part of your brain screaming at you to jump him already.

"I…would," you admit, managing to keep it together. Wriothesley's entire body jolts impatiently at your words, but he’s able to keep himself grounded.

"I don't think I'll be able to survive…this without some relief. And…I trust you. So…"

"So we're in agreement," Wrioslethely supplies, waiting for your confirmation. You nod your head.

"We are."

In the next beat, he's is crossing the space between you, a "thank god" barely making it past his lips before he crashes them into yours.

Immediately, you’re groaning into him—your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands finding the backs of your thighs. He lifts you from your chair easily—your chests pressing together as he holds you close.

You’ve always been acutely aware of how large Wriothesley is, but you don’t think it fully sinks in until now—as he manhandles you with ease, quite literally carrying you with one arm as the other sneaks beneath your shirt and tugs it over your head.

You’re forced to break the kiss as he does so, but the second the fabric has been discarded, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and dragging him in for another.

Your action evokes a pleased little rumble inside his chest.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbles, his palm roaming over the exposed skin of your back. The warmth of his skin against yours makes you ache.

“It’s probably the aphrodisiac,” you reply breathlessly, a shiver raking your spine when you feel his fingers toy at the waistband of your pants.

“Hmm, shall we posit your theory?”

Before you can even think to ask what he means, the room is spinning—too many things happening at once. However, it’s nearly impossible to miss the feel of your pants being shucked down your legs.

When everything settles, you find that you’re no longer chest to chest with Wriothesley, but rather, face to dick.

“Wh—”

Your cheeks heat up as you finally digest the position he’s put you in—your ass in his face, and his crotch in yours—his body now firmly planted in a chair as he spreads his thighs and makes himself comfortable.

“Wriothesley!” you say in shock, your palms gripping his legs for support as you attempt to turn and face him. However, you quickly realize with the position he has chosen, you’re fairly helpless to do anything—completely at his mercy as he locks his arms around your legs and grips your ass in his hands.

“Hm?” he responds nonchalantly, one of his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties. You shift a little, trying to glare at him, but only succeed in having his clothed dick poke you in the cheek. He tenses at the sensation, and you feel his cock strain helplessly against the fabric of his pants—begging for more friction.

“I’m just testing your theory, like I said,” he continues, a surprised mewl tearing from your throat as he leans his head forward and nuzzles his nose in the damp fabric of your panties.

“If you think it’s the aphrodisiac making you sweet, let’s see if it’s also having that effect elsewhere—”

Before you can protest, Wriothesley is tugging the crotch of your underwear aside—his tongue licking a hot, languid strip between your folds. You gasp at the feeling, your nails digging into his thighs through the layer of clothes that he wears.

Above you, the Duke makes a pleased sound, repeating his previous action—noting the way your body writhes against his hold. His fingers grip your ass tighter, his brows furrowing as he presses his tongue inside your entrance—your arousal quickly coating his taste buds.

“Yep,” he mutters after a moment, his voice tight and his throat bobbing as he harshly swallows. “You taste…addicting.”

His words have your cunt squeezing around nothing, although he quickly dives back in and rectifies that problem—stretching your walls out around his tongue.

“Fuck…,” you pant, your head dropping as your strength wanes. Your muscles progressively start to feel like jelly, thanks to his ministrations. Especially, when he moves his mouth to your clit and begins rolling his tongue around it—a whine escaping you as the desire inside of you sears white hot.

And yet, despite the way Wriothesley presses on—groaning into your pussy as he eats you out—you’d be remiss to forget about the fact that he’s currently affected by the aphrodisiac as well, and has his own needs that need to be taken care of.

So, gathering what strength you have, you manage to push yourself up onto your forearms—your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You frantically work open the button and zipper of his slacks, and then hook your fingers under the elastic of his underwear, tugging the band down.

…only to have his freed cock immediately spring up and smack you in the face.

Your eyes go wide, and in normal circumstances, you’d expect Wriothesley to laugh at the comedy of what has just occurred. However, too immersed in the way your cunt tastes and feels, and the way your body continues to twitch in his hold, he doesn’t even notice. And, too amazed by the sheer size of Wriothesley’s dick as you finally lean your head back and get a good look at him, you don’t bother saying anything.

No, instead you simply part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth—sucking lightly, your tongue teasing at his slit. The groan that’s immediately torn from his throat is involuntary—the sound becoming muffled by your pussy as he momentarily stops to savor the feeling of your mouth on his dick—your tongue flattening on the underside of his shaft as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

Then, he goes back to eating you out with renewed fervor—your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull when he sucks at your clit.

The room quickly fills with the sound of sloppy and messy oral, your head bobbing up and down Wriothesley’s cock. Saliva drips down his length, his pre-cum smearing against your tongue, and you can’t help but moan.

Everything feels so good—from Wriothesley’s tongue on your cunt, to the way his cock fills up your mouth…

“Fuck,” Wriothesley growls. His fingers move to pull at the folds of your pussy, spreading you open wider. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he moves his mouth back to your clit, where he then stays—his tongue flicking rhythmically against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pace and motion he settles on is one that you know will very quickly damn you, and he figures this out as well based on the way your thighs begin to shake in his grasp. Your body attempts to jolt away from him—trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure he intends to give—but he leaves no wiggle room. He holds you tighter, enjoying the feeling of your mouth on his cock, and how your efforts slowly start to crumble along with your sanity.

“I…,” you mumble the word around dick, trying to warn him of the orgasm you can feel quickly approaching. Your entire body swims with arousal, your head feeling light.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “Let’s cum together.”

You feel his cock throb against your tongue, and, dutifully, you do your best to continue sucking him off—your lips once again suctioning around his shaft. Your actions immediately evoke a pleased groan from the Duke, and you feel his thighs tense in your grasp—his own orgasm quickly approaching.

However, despite your best efforts to continue, everything falls apart the second your climax finally crests.

With a cry, you come undone—your body writhing in his hold. You go brainless almost immediately, the strength in your arms wavering, and Wriothesley’s cock stuffing into your cheek—your hot breath fanning over his length.

Luckily, the vulgarity of the entire situation is enough to push Wriothesley over the finish line—his dick painting the inside of your mouth with his cum. And to his surprise, once he’s spent, you actually pull your head back, close your lips, and swallow.

Shit, he thinks.

His dick is just starting to soften, and yet somehow, it’s also already getting hard again.

There’s a few beats of quiet that are filled only with the sound of you and Wriothesley panting. Then, once he’s caught his breath, he says—

“Let’s get you right side up.”

—and the world spins again.

Honestly, the fact that he can manhandle you this easily is criminal.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting you on one of his thighs. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face, staring at you with a hint of concern.

You nod your head, grateful that the carnal desire you’ve been afflicted with is clearly less, now that you and Wriothesley have both gotten off. But…even despite that, you still feel hot and tingly. Like you want more.

You glance down at his lap.

“Mmm. Seems like you’re in the same predicament as me.”

“Think you can handle another round?” he asks. You meet his eyes, playfully raising your eyebrows.

“I’m almost tempted to say no, and see what you do.”

Wriothesley rolls his eyes, his hands grabbing your waist, and in the next moment, you find yourself slung over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you protest, attempting to look at him, but he only caresses your ass with his free hand.

“If you have that much spunk left in you, you can handle another round,” he says, carrying you down the nearby staircase, to the floor below his office. “But, I’ll be kind this time and make you more comfortable.”

His boots echo against the metal floor as he walks, and for a second, you wonder where exactly he’s taking you. But, soon after, Wriothesley pushes through a nearby door, and you find yourself in a moderately sized bedroom.

It must be his, you realize, feeling a little silly that you’d never pondered before now where the Master of the prison actually sleeps.

“Here we are.”

Wriothesley gently deposits you onto his bed, and then immediately reaches for his tie. You watch him with bated breath, your heart doing a tiny flip as you realize that he’s finally stripping out of his clothes. He opts to leave on the leather belts encircling his arms and neck, instead focusing the bulk of his time on shedding his suit, and undoing the many buckles on his boots.

By the time he’s finished—his erect cock once again sitting heavy between his legs—you’re practically drooling at the sight of him.

His lips twitch into a little smile.

“I’m happy to know that you like what you see. However, in the time I spent undressing myself, you couldn’t be bothered to remove what little clothing you have left? C’mon now, are you waiting for me to wrestle you out of them?”

Still feeling cheeky, you flash him a grin.

“Hm, I’d like to see you try.”

Wriothesley immediately cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting at the challenge you’ve just issued, and your attitude wavers, realizing what it is you’ve done. You open your mouth to say you’re only teasing—your hands already raising behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra—but it’s too late.

In one swift motion, Wriothesley grabs your ankle and twists you onto your stomach—his weight settling above you as he kneels onto the bed. You shiver when his knuckles brush against your skin—his fingers swiftly undoing your bra.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you…”

He speaks the words fondly, with a hint of amusement, and yet, they still go straight to your cunt.

“Don’t say things like that,” you respond, instinctively raising your hips when Wriothesley hooks his fingers on your underwear and begins tugging them down your thighs. He stares intently at your backside as he does so, an idea popping into his mind.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

He discards your panties on the floor along with the rest of the clothes you’d both shed, and then grabs your knees, forcing you to spread your legs, so he can properly settle between them.

Another blush rises on your face at his words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. At your lack of response, Wriothesely continues.

“In my understanding, brats tend to like it a little rougher, so…”

His hands ghost up your thighs, to your hips, and he grips you tightly—forcing your lower half off the bed until you’re propped up on your knees—his cock sitting heavy against your ass.

“...what say we continue like this, hm?”

Bracing yourself on your forearms, you turn your head back to look at him—your body tensing as you watch him fist his cock and drag it downward, between the lips of your pussy.

His icy eyes catch yours.

“Any objection?”

“...no,” you mumble, your fingers anticipatedly fisting in the sheets.

Wriothesley nods—

“Good.”

—and then presses the head of his cock inside you.

Immediately, you drop your forehead against the mattress—willing your body to relax for him as he slowly inches inside of you.

His tongue had certainly been enjoyable, but this? Fuck. Nothing compares to the sensation of him slowly stuffing you inch by inch—the girth of his cock positively delicious as he forces your cunt to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s so much that by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your body is shaking—your breath coming out in quick, desperately little pants.

Seeing your reaction, Wriothesely soothes a hand up your spine, his warm palm settling between your shoulder blades. He decides to start slow—to give you a little more time to adjust to him.

And honestly, he’d love to take his time in general—to really savor the sight of you beneath him, your cunt swallowing his cock so perfectly, but alas. The effects of the aphrodisiac make him impatient with need, and it’s not long before he’s moving faster—little gasps and whines finding their way past your lips as he begins fucking you back onto his cock.

“Ahh…seriously you’re…so fucking tight,” he curses. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip—his jaw clenching, and his racing heart pumping lust through his veins.

Your cunt clamping on his dick seriously might be his personal slice of heaven.

“Wrio, I—,” you can’t even get the words out, your brain short-circuiting. You can’t think straight anymore—not with his cock rubbing you in all the right spots, making a mess of your insides, and quickly rocketing you towards another—

Wait, no, it’s only been a minute—!

“Fuck! ”

You choke the word out, your spine curving and your knuckles turning white as your second orgasm of the night is unexpectedly forced out of you—your pussy spasming around Wriothesley’s dick.

The last of your strength officially drained, you collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek smushing into the covers.

…however, Wriothesley doesn’t allow your lower half to fall along with the rest of you—his hold on your hips keeping your twitching pussy firmly planted on his still-hard dick.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his cock continuing to languidly drag between your walls, drawing out the tail end of your pleasure.

You can’t help but whimper at his words, already feeling a bit oversensitive thanks to two consecutive orgasms. Wriothesley does his best to soothe your frayed nerves.

Leaning over you, he gently tangles his fist in your hair—coaxing your head off the mattress so he can kiss you.

The kiss is messy, but sweet—the angle of your bodies forcing his cock deeper inside of you, his hips completely flush against your ass.

“You’re doing so good,” he tells you, peppering a trail of kisses against your cheek, and across your jaw. His praise causes you to whimper, a shiver raking up your spine when his tongue drags across your skin—his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

His actions successfully get you to relax—your body becoming more pliable in his grasp as he once again begins to move. And soon enough, the wet sound of sex fills his bedroom once more.

Wanting to help him cum (and to feel his seed fill you), you do your best to help Wriothesley along—purposefully flexing the walls of your pussy as he fucks you. However, in doing so, you accidentally start yourself down the path of yet another orgasm…

Feeling the familiar, aching pleasure beginning to build inside of you once again, you quickly stop what you’re doing. You think that a third orgasm honestly might kill you, but…it’s too late.

Wriothesley has already noticed your growing arousal, and decides that he likes it better when the two of you cum together.

So, he sneaks one of his hands between the apex of your legs, and begins rubbing at your clit.

The garbled, desperate cry that leaves your mouth immediately becomes seared in his mind for a long time to come.

“No, Wrio, I…I can’t. I—”

Your words come out jumbled, tears beading on your lash line.

Momentarily removing his hand from your clit, he once again reaches forward and grips your hair—pulling your head back so he can kiss you. His lips swallow up your worries.

“You can,” he insists, his voice whispering in your ear, and his hot breath fanning over your skin.

“I want you to cum with me, pretty girl. You can do it.”

You give no protest aside from a cute little whine, and that's good enough for Wriothesley.

Releasing your hair, his hand finds your clit once more.

He then proceeds to fuck you into the mattress—pursuing his orgasm with abandon. A groan leaves his mouth at the way your pussy starts clamping on his dick once again—tightening up with each pass of his fingers across your clit—your pussy slick and messy with your own arousal.

Unable to think straight, you can only hold on for dear life—clinging to his sheets like a lifeline. You can’t even process the sounds that are coming out of your own mouth—a damned, desperate symphony moans.

To Wriothesley, it all sounds like a siren's cry—beckoning him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he pants, feeling his cock throb, and his balls tighten. The motion of his fingers on your clit quickens—your toes curling as the coil of pleasure in your tummy continues to wind—so close to snapping.

Sweat beading on his brow, Wriothesley leans forward, curling his body against yours. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his husky voice sending goosebumps across your skin.

“So good for me…,” he breathes, his hips smacking into your ass. His broad strokes deteriorate into needy rutting, and the sensation has you quite literally sobbing—his cock now incessantly grinding into your g-spot.

You can’t take it anymore.

Shoving your face into the mattress, you bite the sheets and scream—your entire body shaking as you cum for a third time, your cunt milking around Wriothesley’s cock.

He curses at the feeling, his face burying in your neck. Wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you to his body—fucking inside of you a few more times before finally joining you in ecstasy.

His teeth sink into you as his orgasms peaks, a heady groan muffled against your skin as his balls empty—pumping you full of his cum.

It’s not until the intensity of his pleasure has died down that Wriothesley ultimately releases you from his hold—your lower half immediately flopping down onto the bed, and his softening cock slipping out of you.

The Duke takes a moment to simply look at you, and how fucked out you are. Your eyes bleary, skin flushed, and the imprint of his teeth engraved in your flesh.

He grunts at the sight, and settles in beside you—his arm curling around your waist as he tugs you back against him. His tongue immediately begins lapping at the bite mark he’d inflicted, attempting to soothe the sting.

After a few seconds, you begin shaking, and Wriothesley immediately pauses, scared that he’s hurt you in some way.

…only to realize that you’re laughing.

“...puppy…”

He props himself up, glancing at you.

“What?”

“You really are like a puppy,” you giggle, your finger lifting to brush a stray tear from your eye. “The way you bit me, and then immediately started licking at it in apology. So cute…”

You break into another tiny fit of laughter, and Wriothesley rolls his eyes, yet can’t help cracking a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I didn’t break you, at the very least.”

His hand rubs against your waist.

“...right?”

Finally getting ahold of yourself, you roll onto your back and smile at him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I’m not broken, no. Just…sore. And gross. And sweaty.”

Wriothesley chuckles.

“Well, I think I can rectify some of those issues. I do have a bathroom, with a tub.”

“Wow,” you respond, watching him as he scoots to the edge of the mattress and gets to his feet. He waits a second for you to join him, but you don’t move.

“My…limbs feel like jello,” you admit, raising your arm and flopping it back down bonelessly for emphasis. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, but nonetheless leans over the bed and scoops you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his chest, admiring for the first time how soft it really is.

“Whatever shall I do with you,” he playfully sighs, carrying you into the adjacent bathroom. He sets you on the vanity, moving over to the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. You hum.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things you can do. The first of which is helping me into the bath once it’s ready.”

Wriothesley quietly chuckles. Returning to your side, he takes your hand, and brings it to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the tub has filled, the Duke keeps true to his word—once again carefully cradling you in his arms as he seats himself in the tub basin, before positioning you in the space between his legs.

The steaming water immediately soothes the ache of your body, and you sigh in relief—sinking back against Wriothesley’s body. He lightly wraps one arm around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the tub.

For a few long minutes, the two of you bask in silence, simply enjoying the refreshing feel of the bath.

…then, you start to notice something beginning to grow—pressing at your back.

“...really? Is the aphrodisiac still getting to you that much?”

“No,” he admits after a beat, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “I think this one is actually all me.”

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless crane your head to the side—allowing him access to more of your skin as his mouth begins to wander.

“I thought I made it clear that my limbs are jello right now.”

“I can work with that,” he responds, and you feel him grin. His hand slowly trails down your stomach, and between your legs.

“I’ll do all the work. You just get to make pretty sounds and feel good.”

His fingers slide between the folds of your pussy, and you jolt as he passes over your overly-sensitive clit. But seriously…how are you going to say no to him?

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh, echoing his earlier words. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs your chin with his free hand—turning your head so he can kiss you.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things.”

The next morning, you find yourself in a back in your clothes, standing beside Wriothesley just inside his office door.

“I’ll go first,” you say, to which he nods. “I have some errands to run anyway. You can wait a minute and then come out after me.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before you finally square your shoulders, and reach for the door handle.

Before you can twist it, Wriothesley catches your wrist. When you look back at him, you find that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“So, I’ll…see you later?”

His suddenly bashful demeanor causes you to smile. Pressing onto your toes, you cup his cheeks and softly kiss him. He immediately grabs your waist—deepening the kiss.

“You’ll see me later,” you promise.

With that, the two of you finally separate, and you disappear through his office door.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath at your departure, combing a hand through his hair as he waits for the right moment to make his own exit.

To be safe, he decides to wait a good few minutes. But finally, he opens his door—preparing to venture into the main area of the fortress, and make his normal rounds.

…however, he only makes it a step before remembering the sign Sigewinne had made.

With a sigh, he immediately backtracks and tears the DO NOT DISTURB sign off of his door, crumpling it between his palms.

When he turns back around, he nearly jumps—Sigewinne standing right in front of him.

“So,” she says, a pleased grin on her face. “How’d it go?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wriothesley only stares ahead, and walks past her. She easily follows after him.

“The fact that you’re out and about this early in the day means something likely happened between you and Y/N.”

“No comment,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne giggle. They pass by a few prisoners as Wriothesley makes a B-line for the elevator to the production zone. Once there, Sigewinne squeezes herself in along with him.

As the elevator begins to descend, only a few seconds pass in silence, before Sigewinne asks one last question.

“As your doctor, it’s my recommendation that you continue to regularly relieve your stress. So, are you going to be dutifully carrying out my orders from now on?”

Wriothesley makes a little face, glancing away from her.

“...maybe.”

Sigewinne smiles.

That’s good enough for her.

#wriothesley x reader

13K notes · View notes

terminalfruitsalad · 8 months

Text

moon sick. | astarion

›› pairing: astarion x f!reader

›› wordcount: 2.5k

›› genre: smut, established relationship

›› rating: 18+, mdni

›› synopsis: whilst on the road, you get your period. astarion, being the loving, caring, supportive boyfriend he is, offers to help. he has no ulterior motives. obviously.

›› warnings: period sex, bloodplay, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk

you wake with a start, astarion’s cold arm a comforting weight across your waist. you can’t think what could have possibly woken you up so suddenly, as you listen for any untoward noises around camp. but there’s only astarion’s steady, gentle breathing behind you and gale’s obnoxious snoring echoing from the other end of the clearing.

as you settle back down on your bedroll, however, you become aware of something sticky and wet between your legs. could be that a wet dream concerning your beloved has you in such a state, but you don’t remember dreaming of him last night. no, now that your senses are returning to you, you remember that last night was reserved for another visit from your so-called guardian. so what … ?

you toss your end of the blanket aside and groan, throwing your head back against the pack you’ve set out for a makeshift pillow. doing so earns you another yelp; must have made contact with one of the stems of the many apples wedged into your supply bag.

astarion is on his feet in an instant, startling you; you weren’t even aware he was awake. not that elves ever truly sleep. it always slightly unnerves you to feel him levitating beside you in his meditative state. ❝ you’re hurt. ❞ his voice is rough, thick with inertia. ❝ i swear i’ll find whoever did this and bleed them dry. we should never have trusted that damned cleric; shar this and shar that. i’ll shove her blessed shar right up her — ❞

he’s already kicking his own pack aside to stomp his way out of the tent when you hiss, ❝ astarion! ❞

luckily he’s not too aggravated to stop and give you a glance back so you can explain in a low murmur, ❝ it’s my cycle … ❞

astarion stops short, one pale hand clutched to his chest. ❝ oh … i — ❞ he waves that same hand now toward the opening of his tent. ❝ i thought … ❞

❝ i know what you thought, ❞ you sigh, more weary knowing what’s to come over the next 7 days than you are of him, than you could ever be of him. ❝ but it’s not. so just come back to bed. please? ❞

❝ i thought you’d never ask … ❞ he purrs, back to his normal self.

unfortunately, you’re doubled over in pain before he’s even halfway back.

❝ i knew you were in pain. ❞ astarion’s back at your side in a flash. ❝ just tell me who and i’ll — ❞

❝ i am, ❞ you gasp, ❝ in pain. but … not because anyone hurt me. well, more like mother nature cursed me. ❞

a particularly bad cramp seizes you and your hand flies out, clutching the front of astarion’s silky tunic. you press your fingers in to feel his cold, broad chest. the sensation calms you a bit … until yet another bout of pain rolls through your midsection.

icy fingers find yours, ghosting over your knuckles. ❝ shall i … see if the druid can make you something? ❞

you shake your head, tugging at his shirt. ❝ just lay with me. please. ❞

astarion’s skin is blessedly cool against yours, as it always is. you lean into him, pressing your face against his frigid neck, soothing your burning cheeks.

his glacial hands find the edge of your tunic, and then the small of your back, which helps more than he could possibly know. you shudder against him, pushing, trying to get more of him.

❝ you know … ❞ astarion sniffs, delicate voice very close to your ear. ❝ i have heard of one thing that is guaranteed to relieve moon sickness. ❞

pulling back, you glance curiously up at him.

he has that rakish grin on his face that you’ve come to know all too well in the past weeks. his reddened eyes roll away from you. ❝ come now, pup. you must know what i mean … sex. ❞ your heart jumps into your throat at the thought; you’re sure astarion can feel it beating harder against his own chest.

suddenly, his mouth is just under your ear, teeth rasping against the exact place he’s fed from you dozens of times before. ❝ i can smell it, my love. ❞

you don’t answer immediately; while you can’t deny the thought appeals to you, if for no other reason than to rid yourself of these damnable cramps, you’re also apprehensive. astarion feeding from your neck is one thing — still intimate, but relatively normal by vampire standards. to have astarion feed down there, on that blood, feeding from your womb …

❝ you’re right, it’s a bad idea, absolutely disgusting. i don’t know why i — ❞

❝ do it. ❞

❝ eh … hm? ❞

❝ do it, ❞ you repeat, grasping onto him for dear life as another squeezing, crushing shock of pain settles in your stomach. ❝ please, astarion. i can’t take it anymore. ❞

it’s been many moons since your cycle has been this bad. traveling on the road without proper food or rest may finally be catching up to you, exacerbating things. not much you can do about that until you reach the city, though.

other than letting your vampire lover drink your blood, of course.

laying you gently back without another complaint, astarion slips the blanket off of you and reaches to undo your breeches.

anxiety overtakes you; there’s already blood on your trousers and the blanket, you’re going to have to wash them in the river as soon as you’re able. you can’t even imagine the scene underneath your pants … but you’re about to find out.

gently, astarion prizes the trousers from your legs, then gasps softly. ❝ oh, my love … ❞

prying your eyes from the ceiling of the tent, you finally look down. astarion is there, of course, looking lovely as always. except, however, the lines on his face look deeper, almost carved, and the dark circles under his eyes are darker, his eyes redder.

another spell of panic grips you; bright red blood is smeared across your inner thighs.

astarion looks dizzy as he takes you in, cold hands cradling the outsides of your legs. you’re about to apologize and shove him away, tell him this is a mistake, in fact you will ask halsin to make you something — and that’s when astarion mutters, ❝ you are exquisite, ❞ and dives in to have his first taste.

the feeling of his tongue on your thighs makes you shiver, and the cool night air wafting in from the tent flap isn’t helping. you grab the clean end of the blanket and drape your upper half, canting your hips up to tell astarion what it is you truly want.

because even through all the anxiety, there’s also a bubble of arousal blooming between your legs. astarion can’t tell, of course, not through all the blood down there, but you sure as hell can. you have the most perfect creature you’ve ever set eyes on between your legs; how could you not be aroused?

❝ all in due time, ❞ astarion chuckles, voice muffled against your thighs as he continues to clean you up. thoroughly. too thoroughly.

❝ you always tease, ❞ you whine, knocking one of your knees against his ribcage.

this time when his gaze flashes sharply to you, his eyes are the reddest you’ve ever seen them. it makes you shake.

astarion’s nails dig into your hips, deliciously, wickedly. you tremble, reaching for him. he chuckles and kisses the inside of one of your wrists, which leaves a smear of blood. ❝ always such a needy little pup for me, aren’t you? ❞

you don’t even have time to nod before he dives back in, his mouth exactly where you want it this time. his lips suction around your clit, tongue lapping out lower down to scoop a sizeable pearl of blood into his mouth.

this time, astarion is the one who shakes. he lays his cheek against your still-bloody thigh and shudders. ❝ you’re going to be the death of me, ❞ he sighs, and you can see him skirting his tongue around his mouth, flitting over his lips, savoring you.

you huff. ❝ you’ll be of me, too, if you don’t keep going. ❞

❝ so pushy, ❞ your lover mutters, but there’s absolutely no heat in his words as he obeys your command and buries his face back into your blood-soaked cunt.

for a while you just lie back and enjoy yourself, and let astarion enjoy himself as well. his arms are strong around your legs, holding you in place so you can’t squirm away. it feels way too damn good, you may have been tempted to try. but as it is, you can’t do anything but revel in the silky feeling of astarion’s tongue lapping up everything you have to give him, his fangs catching every so often on your clit, making you see stars.

at some point, you glance down at him and gasp. ❝ your shirt! ❞

you know how much he prides himself on his physical appearance, and now there’s blood staining the front ruffles of his normally immaculate tunic.

he glances down and tuts, frowning. ❝ oh well. it’ll have to go with the rest. ❞ just like that, he rips it off and tosses it with your soiled trousers.

he must be in heaven, you suspect, if he’s willing to discard his cherished clothing for you.

now shirtless, astarion gives one last gentle kiss to your clit and then slowly starts to climb your body. there’s blood dripping from his chin, staining the rest of the blanket wrapped around you. but more importantly, his broad chest is skating up the expanse of your bloody cunt as he comes, and your clit throbs seeing all that red coating his torso.

❝ astarion! ❞ you gasp, and he grins, mouth full of your blood.

❝ i’m loathe to ask you for a kiss, ❞ he whispers, so low you can barely hear him. ❝ just one. i promise. ❞

you swallow thickly, and he waits for you to lean up, pressing your lips to his in the softest kiss you can manage. blood squishes between you, and you can feel it coating your lips as you lie back down.

one lap of your tongue against your bottom lip and you grimace, spitting and rubbing at your mouth with the back of one hand.

astarion laughs heartily as you mutter, ❝ ugh, not for me. ❞

❝ more for me, ❞ astarion says, almost gleefully.

he’s obviously preparing to get back to it, but you keep him close with your hands on his shoulders. ❝ i want you. ❞

brows furrowed, astarion squeezes your waist. ❝ darling, you have me. ❞

❝ inside, ❞ you beg quietly, which you know enjoys immensely.

your next step might be a mistake, but you decide to chance it. bracing yourself with your legs wrapped around him, you thrust up, dragging your wetness along the front of his trousers. you can feel that he’s hard, and now there’s blood all over his pants. you’re hoping he won’t mind, considering his tunic is already ruined for the night as well.

luckily he doesn’t seem to, dark gaze sweeping down over the two of you covered in your blood, and then back up. ❝ i thought you’d never ask. ❞

his trousers quickly follow his tunic, erection jutting up between your legs.

❝ he looks happy, ❞ you giggle, as his swollen head prods at your blood-soaked entrance.

❝ to see you? always. ❞

having astarion inside of you is normally a relief, a release of all the rampant, pent up emotions this journey has bestowed upon you.

tonight is different.

with all that blood flowing south, your womb is aching, you're sore and swollen as astarion’s cock spears through your lips. every thrust sends a fresh flow of blood down his shaft, which earns you a tight growl from the vampire as he takes the backs of your knees in hand and shoves your thighs back toward your chest, eager to get even deeper inside of you.

and you’re eager to have him, nails digging into his chiseled back, the hard marble of his jaw knocking against your shoulder as his lips, slick with blood, find your ear again. ❝ are you feeling better, pet? does my cock soothe that ache inside of you? the ache that raged inside of you, until you met me? until i filled you up in every lovely way possible? ❞

his words make your brain go haywire, knees shaking around his ribcage, toes curling, your mouth rubbing comfortingly at his cool shoulder.

more than that, you do feel better. the more aroused you become, the more blood flows out of you, the less painful your cramps become. until you’re pushing down against him, trying to ride him at the same time as he’s shoving himself inside of you with reckless abandon. until you can’t remember why you started this in the first place, other than to wind up begging for him to finish inside of you.

❝ inside. please, astarion, inside … ❞ it’s hard to even think clearly enough to form words, your mind consumed with the sight of his beautiful body moving atop yours.

you assume he’ll make you beg, as he so often does; he loves hearing the desperate, pleading tone in your voice that tells him all he needs to know — you belong to him.

but he doesn’t. he fucks into you as hard as he ever has, his thick cock gliding against your engorged walls, making your eyes roll back.

and then the talking starts. the words that make you wish you knew whether or not vampires can actually have children. ❝ you want me to get you pregnant, love? want your belly to swell with my child inside of it? i will wait on you hand and foot, i promise. i would love seeing you walk around knowing you hold my heir, that you protected my seed so well that it grew into a child inside of you. ❞ astarion pauses momentarily to laugh, tugging your earlobe between his teeth. ❝ with all this blood, i know you must be fertile. ❞

both of you share a laugh, briefly.

and when you cum, together, he sinks his teeth into your neck with nothing but a quiet grunt, cockhead twitching and spurting inside of you.

you mewl softly, feeling the vampire trembling and shaking as he empties himself into you. your hands pet through his hair, soothe the back of his neck, across the scars circling his back.

the pain from before is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a warm, fizzy feeling sitting low in your gut. astarion is bracing himself on his elbows above you, with obvious effort.

you pull him down to lay atop you; he’s not exceptionally heavy anyway.

❝ i love you, ❞ he sighs, nestling his face, chin still slick with blood, against your collarbone. ❝ and … promise me we can do that again. ❞

❝ i love you. and i promise. ❞

#astarion x reader

5K notes · View notes

terminalfruitsalad · 9 months

Text

Satisfied | Kakashi Hatake x Reader |

author's note: this is a WIP that i actually finished today haha i started this many months ago and picked it back up yesterday. i apologize if you can tell what's old and what's new 🙈 this is a fluffy modern au where the reader and kakashi are elementary school teachers!

pairing: kakashi hatake x fem!reader

warnings: pregnant!reader, no plot just fluff

Hatake Kakashi leans against his wooden desk, waiting patiently for his young students to calm themselves after they'd returned from their lunch period. He's a laid-back teacher that doesn't mind letting his students socialize a tad more than was maybe necessary at times. He learns a lot about the children this way; he studies their friendships, their rivalries, and even some inklings of a crush in a few of them. It sure made planning the seating chart fun, whenever he decided to change things up.

"Naruto!" He says sharply as the fifth-grader held a pair of scissors to the ponytail of a girl that routinely made it clear she didn't like him. Kakashi wasn't exactly a fan of how Ino would exclude the blond boy, but he surely wasn't going to let Naruto cut her long, beautiful platinum hair. The last thing he needed was screaming, and the calls to the parents, then the paperwork... He shudders at the thought of it all.

Naruto scowls at his teacher and stuffs his scissors back into his pencil box, crossing his arms and turning his head so Kakashi can't see his face. It was enough to elicit a soft chuckle from Kakashi, and by then the class had calmed down and focused their attention onto Mr. Kakashi, as he had introduced himself at the beginning of the school year.

"Oh, is it my turn?" He jokes softly before standing tall, hands stuffed into his pockets. "For the rest of the day, we'll be outside and painting with Mrs. Hatake's class."

The classroom erupts into cheers. The most fun they ever got to have during school was when Mr. Kakashi and Mrs. Hatake teamed up. Kakashi held a thin finger to his nose and lips, indicating to his students to hold it down. He smiles pleasantly when even Naruto collectes himself and hushes up.

"Leave all of your belongings and line up by the door; and be quick! We're already late."

"We're always late." Sakura frowns. Kakashi could only wonder why she was upset; perhaps because a certain black-haired boy is in Mrs. Hatake's class?

"Time is merely made up." Kakashi shrugs before leading the way out of the classroom, each student neatly in line. Not even Naruto was willing to see what would happen if he tried misbehaving while they walked through the school; Mr. Kakashi once said that he had eyes on the back of his head and he certainly didn't want to see them!

The kids cheer when they get out of the building and ran towards Mrs. Hatake's class. The newspapers, the paint, the brushes, all of it was already set up and ready to go. The other students are patiently waiting and chatting generally amongst themselves, whereas you, Mrs. Hatake yourself, stand waiting with crossed arms and an unimpressed eyebrow when Kakashi finally approaches.

Kakashi rubs the back of his head, smiling weakly and laughing nervously. "Ah..."

"Save it." You snort and turn to the students. "Alright everyone, settle down! Before we start painting, make sure to put on your aprons so you don't mess up your nice clothes!"

Sakura and Ino both squeal as they rush to collect an apron and make it back to the table before someone could take the spots beside Uchiha Sasuke, who already has an apron on. Naruto runs and picks up two aprons, rushing back to his friend Gaara, who was generally too nervous to involve himself in a crowd. Gaara smiles and thanks his best friend with a strong hug that Naruto's more than eager to return. They really are the cutest boys in the bunch, in your opinion.

When all of the children are ready to go, you pass out thick pieces of paper, talking as you go. "I want you all to paint whatever you want! Your pets, your friends, your favorite superheroes, anything! Just express yourselves today. As long as you turn in a painting, you get a hundred!"

"Yes!" Naruto cheers. He didn't get many hundreds on anything, so he's quite determined to rock this painting activity.

The kids start their paintings, so you and Kakashi settle in your own spots on the benches to paint your own things. You make eye contact and share a small smile, a fluttering feeling in your swollen belly passing by, before getting started. "So what will you be painting, Mr. Kakashi?" You absentmindedly swipe a hand over your baby bump; in just a few more weeks it'll be time for your maternity leave!

"Hmmm, I'm not sure yet, Mrs. Hatake." He hums softly. He sure loves saying your name. "How about you?"

"Well, I'm going to paint my beloved cat Julian." You grin smugly. Oh how Kakashi despises that cat.

"The entire world, and you choose a cat? And not only that, but the dumbest one in this world?" Kakashi narrows his eyes with a scowl. Julian was a good kitty, he could admit that. It's the idiotic antics that the orange fella got up to that irritate him to no end, and he's gotten worse since you got pregnant. He's a bit like Naruto, if he really thinks about it. But Naruto's definitely smarter than that cat, at least.

"Ehhhh?!?!" Footsteps quickly approach you and your husband.

Kakashi's eye twitches before he dares look at the only student who can get that loud. "Naruto! What's wrong?"

And thus begins Naruto's rant about Sasuke, his rival since kindergarten. You laugh softly and rub your lips together in an effort to hold yourself back, continuing on painting your cat while Kakashi stares blankly at his student and tries comprehending why he's so upset about Sasuke improvising and making purple paint with the red and blue paints, since Naruto had stolen the purple paint just to spite Sasuke in the first place.

Perhaps Julian has the edge on Naruto after all.

Even young Gaara, a student of your own, has his head hung in shame with a palm plastered to his face. At that, you couldn't contain your laughter. "Naruto, honey." You chuckle softly. "Why don't you get him back and see what happens when you mix red and yellow?"

Naruto nods roughly and runs back to his seat, and moments later he cheers for his success in the making of his favorite color. Kakashi smiled and looked at you with gentle eyes. "How do you do it?"

"I just think how he would and then go from there." You shrug and glide the paintbrush over the paper. "It doesn't make him feel dumb and he learns something new."

"You'd be better off as his teacher than me."

"I don't know about that one. You have quite the knack for kids, even if your style is different from most." You wink at your husband and quietly continue painting.

Kakashi smiles to himself and begins working on his own canvas, but with his own watercolor set instead. He took some art classes back in college, so he decides to put his skills to the test with this project. Being with you gives him inspiration like that, when otherwise he would just be lazy and draw something simple, like an apple with a worm in it. There were endless reasons why he loved you and married you; the way you made him feel and the confidence you gave him were very high up on that list of answers.

You check your watch and issue a ten-minute warning to the students to finish up so their paintings can dry before they go home for the day, and that they could have a whole hour of recess after you called time. Little hands quickly hurry their brush strokes and reach for different bottles of paint as they perfect their masterpieces.

Kakashi hums softly, intently focusing on his canvas. "I wonder what they've all made." He continues to focus on his artwork, diligently ensuring each stroke of his brush is perfect. Hatake Kakashi had yet to be bad at something in his life, so you already knew whatever he was envisioning was going to come out onto that canvas exactly as planned.

You allow Kakashi the time to continue his work and take on the task of getting each student cleaned up on your own. At their current age, they mostly were able to keep themselves free of the paint, save for a few dots here and there on their hands.

"Naruto..." You sigh, rubbing your face tiredly. Even with an apron that was bigger than his little body, he managed to get paint on his face, arms, and the shoulder of his t-shirt. You already know his mother, Kushina, would tear into him when his father brought him home from school. Minato picks the boy up every day, ever since the incident with Naruto and the mud pies happened when his mother picked him up... She was still fully deserving of her title as the Red-Hot Habanero that she'd been given when you were in grade school with her, you learned that day.

Naruto pouts and averts your gaze. It seemed he was also well aware of his mother's ire, but he just wasn't able to control himself enough to avoid the consequences just yet. You offer your hand and take him inside to clean up, and when you're done he runs to join up with his friends on the playground. "Don't get dirty again!" It was a fruitless demand, but you at least had to try.

"As if that could ever happen." Kakashi snorts. Seemed he'd finished his task while you were cleaning up Naruto.

"All I can do is try." You sigh with a shrug and start walking around the tables to get a look at everyone's artwork.

You pause in front of Sasuke's canvas. With a deep sigh, your hand absentmindedly moves over your heart, the other coming to rub against where your baby's just kicked you. Sasuke's painted himself with a first-aid kit in one hand and a medical degree in the other, a big smile on his face. His dream is to become a doctor and cure the disease that's befallen his elder brother, Itachi. You were Itachi's teacher as well when he was Sasuke's age, and to think that a bright young boy like him would become too frail and sick to achieve his true potential was enough to bring tears to your eyes. Sasuke is determined to cure his big brother, and you know nothing will stand in his way.

"Hopefully he's given the chance." Kakashi murmurs, looking at the painting from over your shoulder. He presses a swift kiss to the back of your head, snaking a hand around your midsection to hold your body to his, running his hand over your belly in a wide, swift stroke before he continues his journey around the table.

Gaara painted himself and Naruto playing at the beach, building a sandcastle together. Sakura and Ino both painted themselves holding hands with Sasuke, though you could tell they'd sabotaged one another by swirling green paint through each other's drawings of themselves. You sigh and shake your head; you really hope one day they'll grow out of their rivalry that merely exists because of a boy of all people and become wonderful women with their own motivations. And if they don't, they are set to be in for one tough ride with Mrs. Tsunade Senju when they got to high school.

"Choji needs a hobby." Kakashi muses. The boy's canvas reflects a rather delicious looking meal, but then again, that's what he always turns in for artwork projects.

"Eating is his hobby." You snicker, gazing at Shikamaru's work of art, a lazy attempt at drawing the sky. The paper is simply painted blue, with a yellow circle for the sun and puffy clouds outlined in black. He hadn't even filled in the clouds with white paint! "Shikamaru could use some of Choji's inspiration, that's for sure."

"Sure..." Kakashi keeps eyeing Choji's artwork. "Let's go out for dinner tonight." He murmurs.

"Only if you're buying."

Your husband shrugs noncommittally. "It's a date."

You smile and move beside him, squeaking softly when he puts his arm around you and pulls you into his side, a large hand rubbing the side of the swollen tummy housing his child. "'Kashi…"

"Hmmm?" He hums, not taking his eyes off the students as they play on the playground.

"PDA, with the students so close?"

It isn't a secret you two are married. Of course all of the staff know about it; you two married just one year after you started working at Konoha Elementary. You met in and dated throughout college, and now you're heavily pregnant with your first child together. Hell, if the students were astute enough to put two and two together when they learned both of your last names, they could have figured it out themselves ages ago. In every school year there's eventually a turning point where the students realize your relationship; so far this particular set of students haven't figured it out.

"Shhh... Enjoy the moment. One day that'll be our little darling out there. Playing with their friends..." Kakashi's dark eyes are practically swimming in eagerness and pride. He has such high hopes for the baby, and plans to help them succeed in any way possible. Hatake Kakashi had yet to be bad at something in his life, and he won't let insecurities with himself and his relationship with his father cloud his ability to care for his own child.

You laugh softly. "Not for quite some time, 'Kashi. They aren't even born yet!"

"Time is made up, but it passes in the blink of an eye." He mumbles, eyes still carefully watching the kids.

"You do have a point." You hum and keep a watchful eye over the students, allowing them to play without interruption.

After some time, you cup your hands around your mouth. "Alright everyone, let's come and present our pictures!"

The students eagerly run back over and sit in front of their now dried paintings. "You don't all have to present, but those that do want to are encouraged to do so!" You smile sweetly at all those little faces. This bunch of kids are so special. They're so smart and silly and good friends to one another. It's been a while since you liked a class this much.

Naruto leads the charge, naturally, and then various students volunteer to share after. Everyone gets a turn to present, and you rub your belly as you show the kids your painting. "This is my kitty, Julian!"

"He's so cute!" Sakura squeals. You grin and put your picture down, thanking the class as they compliment your artwork.

"Does anyone else want to share?"

"Mr. Kakashi, I wanna see yours! You never share!" Ino pouts, crossing her arms.

The rest of the kids cheer and pout with her, demanding to see what he spent so long working on. Kakashi laughs nervously and runs his fingers through his silver hair, cheeks tinged red. He glances at you and you smile softly, nodding encouragingly. He carefully picks up his watercolor work and holds it up for the class.

"Wooooooow…" The students hum in harmony, amazed at what a great job their teacher did.

He's put extra care into this, that much is obvious. It's of a very pregnant woman holding hands with a silver-haired man, the both of them smiling. You wipe a stray tear from your eye and rub at your belly, gazing at your husband with all the love in your heart.

"Hey…" Naruto cocks his head, perking a brow. "Mr. Kakashi, that looks like you!"

"It is." Kakashi responds simply.

"And…" His lips twist as he puts the pieces together. But ultimately it's Shikamaru that figures it out.

His eyes go wide with shock. "That's him and Mrs. Hatake!"

"Mr. Kakashi!" Ino scolds Kakashi. "That's weird!"

"How is that weird??" Kakashi holds his hands up, failing to fight his urge to laugh at the accusation.

"You're making it seem like…" Sasuke starts quietly, and Gaara finishes his sentence. "Like you love Mrs. Hatake."

"Well, I do love her. She is my wife, after all."

You, frankly, were not prepared for all of the screaming. Laughter bubbles out of you as the kids crowd around, asking questions a mile a minute and looking between you and your husband like you suddenly sprouted tails. Kakashi can't even hide his amusement and does his best to answer all of the questions.

"We met in college."

"We've been married for five years."

"I did not tell a single lie to you guys. You just never asked my last name."

"Yes, I've heard her fart."

"Thaaaaaat's enough." You scowl at your laughing husband. "Time to head back inside for dismissal."

"Awww…" The kids hang their heads low and pick up their paintings, lining up to go back inside. You and Kakashi lead the way back, your classrooms across the hall from each other.

Kakashi smirks and sneaks in a quick kiss to your lips, which prompts the students to lose it once again. You snort and pat his cheek twice, perhaps with a little more force than normal as revenge, and then move into your classroom.

Kakashi laughs to himself and does the same, his chest light and happy. And once the students have left the building, he meets you in your classroom, leaning on the doorframe and watching you quickly fill in the perfect scores in your gradebook. You glance over and blow him a kiss, which he catches and places into his shirt pocket.

"So, where are you taking me?" You ask, filing away the book and gathering your purse.

"I was thinking ramen?"

"Hmm, I like that train of thought. Might keep you around just a bit longer now."

Kakashi chuckles, stepping towards you with his hands in his pockets and a small smirk on his face. "Just a bit?"

"Might let you stay longer if you rub my feet tonight." You purr with a little laugh, taking his extended hand so you can stand up easier. Kakashi wastes no time in capturing your lips, rubbing your swollen baby bump with both hands and massaging lightly. He's always been clear with his love, but ever since your belly started growing bigger and bigger, he's been unable to stop himself from showering you with more and more love and attention.

"If that's what it takes…" He says against your lips, kissing you for a moment more before he continues. "I'll rub anything you want for the rest of my days."

You smile against him and rub his chest. "C'mon. Get me outta here already; this bra can't come off soon enough."

Your husband smirks and pulls at the clasps through your shirt, somehow unlatching the three hooks. You gasp, affronted at the audacity of that man. Kakashi, however, howls in laughter as his long legs rush him out the room and towards the car, his silver hair falling in his eyes as you're helpless to chase him in your current state. You shake your head with a small chuckle and lock up the classroom before heading out yourself.

That's alright, You think to yourself.

Just for that he's grading all my kid's homework next week!

#kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi x reader

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terminalfruitsalad · 9 months

Text

𝙆𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞 𝙃𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 | 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 | mdni

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪɴᴀᴛᴀ’ꜱ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ ᴅᴀʏ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ᴍᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ.

𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

Gods, she looked beautiful. All in white and soft florals - you couldn’t believe it really, little Hinata who would faint every time Naruto so much as looked at her would now standing beside him as his wife. He scrubbed up well, Naruto, you had gone with him and Iruka to get his wedding outfit fitted and insisted he get his hair cut for the day too. You’d never be his mother, just as Iruka would never be his father. But you two had tried, you had been the one to feed the screeching blonde baby his 3am bottles in between ANBU missions and eventually had taught alongside Iruka in the Academy. Seeing him now, with the sweet girl who’d bring you lilacs every day as a gift with a shy nod, having said their vows and exchanged rings, you had never been more thankful for sacrifices made along the way.

You also felt old. Even though you were only 27.

The reception began in earnest, guests greeting the beaming couple and Iruka standing beside Hinata’s father thanking passers by.

Having taught all of the kids in the academy, being close to Naruto and soon becoming Lady Fifth’s right hand woman beside Shizune - these kids felt just like yours. You’d mopped up their blood, dried their tears as anyone would for their kids.

You had spent so much time with them, made them take their medicine, trained with them, studied with them, mediated petty arguments (Ino and Sakura) and mended broken hearts with them. Of course, there was also the other reason.

The 6ft, silver haired reason standing in the corner. Your best friend since childhood, your Shinobi partner, your partner in crime and the love of your life.

Not that the last part came to light until about 3 months ago, when before the final battle arrived you woke up realising you might die tomorrow. He might die tomorrow. Life was too short, you’d lost too many people to forsake this chance - even though his fear of losing people he loved, and your fear of losing your other half was what kept that unspoken gap between you all these years. How you came to get together after almost 25 years of pining was a story for another day, however, because today was Hinata and Naruto’s day.

You could see Sakura, in the distance - she’d intercepted a messenger bird and pulled the scroll from its foot, and you saw her smile. Only one person can make your Sakura smile like that. Sasuke. On his journey of atonement, who knows where - but still thinking of Naruto, and Sakura. His friends. His family.

Sai stood hand in hand with Ino, a genuine smile on his face and love in both their eyes. A blushing, wait, blushing Temari stood beside Shikamaru - when did that happen? You all knew it was coming, but didn’t know it had happened. Tsunade caught your eye and winked, raising a glass of champagne in your direction. Shino and Kiba were monitoring Rock Lee and Gai who were causing mild havoc and Choji was at the Hor D’Ouvres already. TenTen stood near Kurenai and Mirai. So many loved ones, but too many missing. Neji should be here for this. Jiraiya would be so proud.

You watch the Kazekage make conversation with Kakashi who looks absolutely miserable among so many people, and you decide to save him. You grab Sai as you walk towards the Hokage and Gaara of the Desert.

“Lord Kazekage, thank you again so much for attending today. It means very much to Naruto to have you here with him today. Hinata too, although I suppose I can just call them the Uzumaki’s now! I believe you were speaking about a memorial portrait for your office, Lord Kazakage? Sai here is our finest artist, perhaps you could speak on the matter?” You interject, with levels of diplomacy you only gathered watching Tsunade daily.

“Indeed, I’m grateful to be here to witness a dear friend’s happy day. Sai, would you speak with me about…” Gaara speaks, wandering away with Sai beside him. An odd pair, one you knew would be busy making incredibly strange conversation for some time.

You glance at Kakashi, a wry smile on your face.

“Better?” You snicker, taking your place beside him.

“Infinitely. The second Naruto can string a sentence together without saying ‘Believe it!’ I’m giving him the hat. I hate all this talking.” He grumbles.

“Even to me?” You act offended.

He just gives you that adorable eye smile, lips quirking under his mask.

“Never to you.” He says, voice quieter, softer.

“You really do look very handsome today, Lord Sixth.” You smile, fixing the lapels of his jacket. He rolls his eyes.

“Not even half worthy of standing beside you, sweetheart. Y’look beautiful today, everyday but today - that’s something else.” He smirks.

“Oh hush you, you told me how nice I looked for 15 minutes this morning.” You huff.

“I believe I showed you how nice I thought you looked too, 3 times before we left the apartment.” He snickered, knowing the images of your tangled limbs in the bedsheets making you almost late would infiltrate your mind again, causing a flush across your cheeks.

“Kashi, gods, we were already nearly late - we can’t go sneaking off to a broom closet now and that’s how this will go if you keep talking like that.” You glance at the sky, trying to clear your mind.

You both laugh at the scene in front of you as Gai and Rock begin doing various exercises and TenTen just rolls her eyes. Everyone looks so beautiful, so happy. The aura of calm and peace surrounding everyone is a reminder of why you came back from the war with many new scars. It was worth it. Seeing these kids, who really deserved a better world - actually living it was more than any of you dreamed.

“Did you see Shikamaru and Temari hooked up?” You elbow your boyfriend.

“Finally. I thought his lazy ass would never do anything about it.” He snorted.

“Bets on it was all Temari.” You respond and he shakes your hand to seal the deal.

“Sakura got a message from Sasuke too.” He chimes in.

“Sai asked me to help pick a ring for Ino too.” You remember shopping with him, in awe of how much of a romantic this boy turned out to be.

There’s silence for a moment between you both.

“Who do you think will be next?” Kakashi asks you.

“For what?”

“To get married.”

“Temari and Shikamaru probably. Ino will want to plan a wedding properly, and I think we’re still a while off Sakura and Sasuke. Who knows, maybe Gai will find his partner in the grand spirit of youth?” You respond.

He huffs a laugh, but doesn’t reply.

“Why, was that not who you thought?” You question him.

“Nah.” He shrugs.

“Who do you think will get married next then?” You poke his cheek.

“Us.” He looks at you, unfazed.

You blink.

And blink again.

He just stares at you.

“Is that a proposal, Lord Sixth?” You think he’s joking, so you play along.

“I suppose so.” He nods.

Oh my god, he’s being serious.

“Kashi - are you - do you mean that?” You ask, breathless and grasp his hand.

“You used to say you didn’t want a fancy proposal. Just for someone to say they want to marry you. I want to marry you. The rings at home.” His smile is soft, imperceptible to anyone but you.

You turn to face him, smile bright and lash line glistening with tears.

“You busy tomorrow, Hatake?” You ask, a laugh interrupting.

“Shikamaru can take care of business, you got plans?”

“Wanna get married?”

He just smiles, and glances around to make sure nobodies watching before slipping his mask down and pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“It’s a date.” His voice is wavering slightly.

“Let’s keep it quiet. It’s not our day. Hinata and Naruto leave for their honeymoon tonight.” You whisper to him.

“Tomorrow we’ll ask Gai and Kurenai to meet us at the courthouse. It can be just us four. Then I’ll take Mrs. Hatake home.” He nods, and your heart seizes at the sound of you being Mrs. Hatake within 24 hours.

“I love you, ‘Kashi.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He says, pressing a masked kiss to your inner wrist.

“SAKURAAAAA-CHAN! LOOK AT KAKASHI-SENSEI AND Y/N-SENSEI! THEY ARE SO CUTE!” Ino’s voice echoes.

“Some things never change.” You laugh as Kakashi grimaces.

Recommended Listening:

Say Yes to Heaven - Lana Del Rey

#kakashi x reader

288 notes · View notes

terminalfruitsalad · 9 months

Note

Okay okay, I finally have an idea! Kakashi's love languages: can be fluff, can be smut, or just a mix. The request is either: what are Kakashi's love languages and how does he show them, or the five times Kakashi showed you his love language through:

words of affirmation

acts of service

gifts

quality time

physical touch

...and that time he received those languages back! Hahahaha enjoy😂💕 Thank you bby 😘

A/N: Heeeey Topsy 💕 ohhhhh okay okay this is interesting I like this idea so for sure I can do this for you lovely. Aha thank you 💕 I did a mix of both fluff and smut!

TAGS: love languages, fluff, smut, under the cut is smut, it got real sappy sweet and deep in some parts, this is very long lmao

CHARACTERS: Kakashi Hatake

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

When Kakashi is younger he is short and harsh. The only words akin to praise you'll get out of him is something along the lines of 'I guess that was tolerable.' in terms of you holding your own as a shinobi or 'I guess your presence is tolerable.' if you aren't a shinobi.

That's glowing praise from him back then.

As he grows older his words are softer, more meaningfully affirming.

'Good job.' Finds his lips more and more. He finds it doesn't feel so uncomfortable anymore—praising you.

He thanks you for things often too. Kakashi knows all to well that simple appreciation for things can come to late. He always wants to make sure you know he's thankful for you.

My god is he thankful for you.

There's also the more teasing natured strung together moments.

'Yes just like that.' The words are thick and sweet like honey on his tongue. 'You're so good, mmm, feels so good.'

Kakashi spreads his fingers through your hair as you take more of his cock deeper into your mouth.

'All for me.' He doesn't mean to pull your hair so hard but the love he has for you spurs on a wave of possessiveness he didn't know he had. 'All mine.'

It's moments like these, when he's so vulnerable that he finds he can't shut up and the words just spill out.

'You look so good ah—' he grunts and hunches forward, 'so good taking me like this.'

You look up at him through heavy lashes, moaning a little with his cock still in your mouth. The vibrations cause him to shudder and if it weren't for the mouthful you'd be smirking.

Another deep throat and vibrating moan and Kakashi is cumming, words of praise falling from his lips the entire time.

From you the words of affirmation are a must.

Kakashi thrives on them even if he doesn't realise it as first. He can just get so down on himself that it can really bring him to life at times even if he doesn't alway believe it. He needs to hear it.

The first time you told him you love him he doesn't believe it.

The two of you are at your apartment. It's somewhere he can leave because you know sometimes it gets a bit much for him and he needs space.

You're standing in the kitchen together laughing about something and you feel it. You want to say it even if he doesn't quite feel that way yet. You want him to know.

'I love you.'

There's a pregnant pause.

The laughters stopped and you can hear a pin drop the tension is palpable.

Kakashi is frozen like a statue. The one visable eye is wide and you can see the fear behind it. But you had expected this, you knew him after all, it has been this way the entire relationship.

You always took one step at a time, forward and holding your hand out to him to let him know it's safe to follow.

'It's alright.' You say, soft smile across your lips. 'I just wanted to tell you because it's how I feel. I'm not expecting anything.'

His shoulders relax a little and he takes a deep breath.

He takes a minute.

'Sorry.' He finally says. 'I shouldn't need to process that. But—'

'It's okay.'

He sighs, looking toward the balcony door.

'You can go.' You assure. 'I'll be here when you're ready.'

'Sorry.' Is all he says before he disappears into the village.

Later that night when you're tucked in bed you're jolted awake with Kakashi hovering over you, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

'Is everything alr—'

'Thank you.' He quickly says before adding. 'For being so good with me even though I'm so...' He groans and collapses on top of you.

You chuckle and stroke his hair.

Kakashi pushes himself up and stares down at you intently.

'I love you too.' He says with such confidence it overwhelms you. 'I knew it the second you said it, I don't know why I couldn't just say it then but I'm saying it now so—'

You grab him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him.

ACTS OF SERVICE

Kakashi is the kind of person who makes sure you're eating healthy and balanced meals. Will cook for you when he's home. Since he learnt at a young age (cries the angst!) he's had a lot of experience doing it and it makes him happy to cook for more than one person.

Will learn your favourite recipes and foods and incorporate them into his cooking routines.

Teaches you how to cook if you don't know. Is willing to swap recipes and skills if you do know. Likes sharing this with you along with the reasons behind why he had to learn to cook for himself. It takes time for him to share this though.

If he's busy doing missions or Hokage things he doesn't always get time to clean much but when he does get time he likes to surprise you by doing the house cleaning chores.

Will also spoil you every now and again with surprise trips to the hotsprings to give you some time to relax and unwind.

Kakashi is the kind of guy to just do things unprompted anyway. Things like cleaning, cooking, taking out the trash.

VERY BIG on service in the bedroom too. A very big communicator there. Will look for cues to make sure you're getting pleasure but also asks like 'You like that?' and 'Tell me what you want?'

Tell him to go down on you and he will. Sometimes will deadass just do it if you look like you could use the release (with your consent of course). He's the kind of lover who can get you off and be fine leaving it there.

One time he came back from a mission and he went down on you and made you cum three times with his mouth and hands. He ended up cumming in his pants with a little bit of friction from his hand because he was so turned on just watching and tending to you.

With you it's doing little things to help him out when you can.

Getting a lunch to him when he is Hokage whether its homemade or bought because it gets him to stop work and eat BUT it's also a chance to spend quality time together.

Tidying up his clothes and pack after he's just come back from a mission and feels dead to the world.

Helping him wash either in the bath or shower. It's just something to unwind but also if he's exhausted it genuinely does help him clean without the effort.

Doing the laundry for him so it's one thing less to do. It just piles up so quickly.

Cooking extra food on the days you cook breakfast even though he said he would cook dinner just in case he is too tired or comes home too late. That way there's something to eat in the fridge and he doesn't feel guilty. You just know him.

When he's had a long week and you don't have plans tomorrow and he's in the mood? Just pining him down and showing him a good time. Really taking your time and kissing each spot. Slowly dragging out that hand job. Edging him a little. Turning it into a blowjob. Giving him the best orgasm of his life. Then the best sex of his life. And another amazing time with both of you cumming hard.

GIFTS

Kakashi doesn't give gifts often. At least not grand or regular gifts often.

There's the odd lunch here and there in the early days or food item in general. It's always under guise of making sure you're eating healthy too. Which is half true. He did just want to give something to you too.

Honestly he would probably get a bunch of fish half off or something and think it's a great gift to give you some BECAUSE WHAT A STEAL? How could he not share this with you? lmao he's a dork okay he's not some suave guy, I'm sorry.

Probably gifts practical things too. Like tea sets or rice cookers. You don't have a rice cooker? He's getting you one lmao.

If he did get you something though it would be something hand crafted like a braded strap or something that could go around your wrist like a bracelet or neck like a necklace. Something that fit your taste.

Kakashi is also not the best at receiving gifts that aren't of a practical nature because he feels he doesn't deserve them and feels that they ought to be for occassions anyway. Generally prefers inexpensive gifts for himself.

If you give him things of a similar nature of what he's given you then he'll be really happy. Appreciates it a lot.

Gifting him food things is the way into his heart. Home cooked meals really get his heart racing. The first time you gifted him food he thought he was going to overheat he was blushing so hard.

Enjoys a good bottle of sake now and then too.

There was one birthday of his where you spoiled him with food and a trip to the hotsprings. Then when you came home you gave him one last gift which was you. Lets just say he died and went to heaven that night.

QUALITY TIME

Kakashi really likes quality time with you as long as you don't expect quantity time since he is quite busy. When it's just the two of you though he's all about you.

He really relies on spending time with you to ground him.

Quality time with you means he gets to unwind, relax and just be himself without anything else getting in the way. It's when he's the happiest. It's the thing he looks forward to the most.

It doesn't matter what the two of you are doing as long as you're together. He does make a habit of making sure to at least treat you out every now and again. He'd hate for you to feel like you're always stuck at home with him all the time. He braces the village night life and lunch dates for you.

It's how the two of you combined love for food and each other together. Date times out at food places every now and again become a hit. Trying different dishes. Judging whether or not Kakashi can replicate them.

Sometimes it is just spending time at home and taking the time to cook together, bathe together and have some pillow talk together.

Long, slow make outs on the couch while Kakashi tells you about his day. He'll kiss your neck then tell you about what Shikamaru said about some reports. You'll pull his hair, snort and say something back. The ultimate multitasking team.

You make sure to visit him in the Hokage office on days you know he won't make it back home until late. Sometimes you'll just stay there for awhile and help out.

You call yourself his unofficial assistant.

'Where does this document go?' You ask sitting on his desk.

'Hmm?' Kakashi takes a moment, reading the rest of his scroll before looking up. 'Oh those can go on that pile there for Shikamaru when he comes back.'

'Right.'

You sort the document, along with the others of the same category into the pile mentioned.

'When is he coming back?'

Kakashi doesn't look up. 'Hopefully not for awhile. I fear he's going to bring even more documents if he does.'

An idea pops into your head as you swing your legs over to his side of the desk. It doesn't go unnoticed by him. His brow raising as he continues to read through the scroll in his hand.

'Since we're all alone...' You begin, trailing off suggestively.

Kakashi looks up at you uncertain. 'Yes?'

'Perhaps we could...help you relax a little?'

'Oh?' Kakashi places the scroll down and sits back. 'And how are we going to do that?

He looks at you already amused.

You slide down from the desk and place your hands on his shoulders. Inching closer, your thighs shuffling either side of his as you come to stand over him.

'Mmm, I have a few ideas.'

You sit down onto his lap causing him to gasp on impact.

Before he can get a word out your lips are on his. In seconds his hands are on your waist. Instead of pulling you off he's pulling you closer and kissing you harder.

PHYSICAL TOUCH

Probably Kakashi's main love language. A lot of the times words just fail him and he's just seeking out your touch and needs to show you his love through physical means.

Kisses your temple after pulling you by the waist. Kisses your forehead with his hands resting just above your hips. Dragging his lips down your neck when he can't get enough of your scent, he just needs to keep them against your skin.

Then there's those mornings when he wakes up pressed against your back. His nose is in your hair nuzzling and brushing down your back. He presses kisses across your shoulder. His hands find that dip in your waist.

He wonders if your body was sculpted just for him. That all these grooves and contours were specifically put here for him to touch and feel and knead.

Taking your skin between his fingers he grinds against your backside, breathing hot air against your ear.

The pads of his fingers push down and splay out as they move across your stomach and pull you further against him. He can hear you moan as your hand joins his, your body pushing back rutting in time.

Mornings are bliss when you two can just get lost in the touch.

The rest of the world is an afterthought.

Then there's the more innocent touches that mean everything.

Your hand cupping Kakashi's cheek. Your thumb tenderly brushing against the apple of it, gently letting him know that you're there. That you love him.

The way your hand finds his so effortlessly. Whether it's at home on the couch while you read or down the busy streets of Konoha while your browse for produce. It's simple but full of love. It says 'You're mine and I'm yours.'

The way you kiss his lips then bite the bottom one in a frenzy of lust on he knows. The way you taste his blood between his teeth.

Kakashi doesn't mind though. His heart beats for you. His blood is yours too.

As is the way you run your fingers through his hair after a long day. The way you wrap your arms around his core when he walks through the door. Or the way you pinch his cheeks after being salty about something.

Kakashi finds he always craves your touch. Your warmth. Your love. Your arms, your lips and your touch are home.

#kakashi x reader

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terminalfruitsalad · 9 months

Text

❦ FLOPPY HAT

cw: none, this is fluff

alternate title: team 7’s first impression of you

kakashi always delays your mornings. he’s late to everything and one of the reasons is because he prefers to keep you in a loving headlock each morning (he calls it cuddling, but it’s inescapable) while he reads his books.

needless to say, when he finally leaves much later than he should for his first mission with his new team, you can get ready and go outside to tend to your garden.

only to get severely pissed off.

your garden was new, kakashi had his routine and your garden literally got in the way of it, BUT DID HE HAVE TO WALK RIGHT THROUGH IT FOR THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK????

your blood boils and you feel it in your cheeks as you see the murderous footprints of kakashi who was probably reading his stupid icha icha instead of looking where he was going.

team seven, on the other hand, is being continuously amazed by their new teacher. they can’t land a single blow on him, he seems invincible to everything. and they’re about to give up hope when they hear the piercing scream of of a killer, a sound so horrifying it shakes their sensei to a halt.

it’s you. and you’re pissed.

“kakashi hatake! how many times have i told you to look where you’re going!!!”

the man freezes as he sees you coming over the horizon. a jonin knows when he’s defeated, and seeing his significant other blowing steam out their ears as they march straight towards him, he knows he’s done for.

he doesn’t do much when you approach him. and team seven look on in horror as you rip the book out of his hands.

“this is what happens when you read your stupid book while you walk!” you swing the novel down onto his head. repeatedly. “you ruined my garden again! this is the last time kakashi!!”

your man takes the beating, slightly laughing at you because your assault doesn’t hurt, and team seven is looking at this random person in a floppy sun hat beat their sensei.

kakashi holds you in his arms. no book in his hands this time as his fingers run up and down your back.

“that better be the last time, kakashi.” you mumble into his chest. he chuckles and adjusts the two of you on the couch. after todays kerffufle, you went home and took a nap. kakashi had replanted everything while you slept, leaving a path that he can walk through in the morning. it looked funky, and out of place with everything else, but it was sweet.

“it’ll be the last time.” he assures. “my team thinks you’re pretty scary:”

“that’s cause i’m the only one who can kick your ass.”

✧—place an order—✧

#kakashi x reader

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terminalfruitsalad · 1 year

Note

Hello, hello, can I have a sub Zhongli with a gnonis play? Afab reader.

Something like, the gnonis are connected to the Archons, so you can use that against them, right? But what about using it to please them? It intrigues me.

I believe she would be very sensitive to the Archon's partner, as a "gift" from Celestia for when the Archons have intimate moments.

I think Zhongli would have known about this "gift", but he wouldn't have known how potent and sensitive it was because he never used it. I think it would be cute to overstimulate him with that.

Can I be the 🐰 anon?

Warnings: dom! reader (no gendered pronouns used), sub zhongli, overstimulation (m), established relationship, gnosis play (???), clothes on clothes (forgot what it’s called), thigh riding, coming in pants, nipple play (m), hand job, and I think that’s it

A/n: 🐰 anon your brain is magnificent, hope I do him justice ^^ horrible set up but shh…

Today was the day Zhongli would give away his gnosis. And though you’ve been dating for quite some time, you’ve never actually seen it up close. So before it goes, why not ask him if you can see it?

“I don’t see why not.” He handed you the gnosis, a bit reluctant but he trusted you.

“It’s smaller than I thought it would be.” You said, inspecting the yellow figure. Holding it up to the light and tracing your fingers along the design. It was simple yet intriguing.

“H-has your curiosity been satisfied?” Zhongli coughs awkwardly.

“Yeah, here-“ you look up, snapping out of your trance to see Zhongli shifting around a bit uncomfortably. You quirk a brow at him, perhaps he was uncomfortable with you holding the gnosis for too long?

You hand it to him, “Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“No, of course not my love.” He said, which did little to ease your confusion, especially with the slight change in his expression which you’ve learned to read. Perhaps he was just needy? His negotiations and contract signing had taken up some of your time together after all.

You smile and place a small kiss on his lips, intending for it to be short until his arms wrap around your waist to pull you closer and deepen the kiss. You quickly adapt to the change in pase, easily leading as you always do and pull him closer.

You move his arm off your waist to hold his hand, unintentionally rubbing up against the gnosis he was still holding onto. A whine left his lips and he tightened the grip he had of your hand.

You part from his lips, much to his dismay. “You’re more sensitive today, whys that?”

Zhongli glances down at your intertwined hands before looking back into your eyes, attempting to come up with an explanation for his behavior.

You interrupt his thoughts, bringing your hand up and unclasping from his hold, “Maybe it’s this?” You point to the gnosis, picking it up and holding it between you and him.

“The gnosis has many uses, including… intimate situations as well. I never thought to tell you because I didn’t deem it as important.” He confesses.

Amused by the situation, you hummed, giving an experimental lick onto the gnosis. Zhongli’s knees buckled in surprise, a tent in his pants beginning to form. You place a knee in between his legs, supporting his body weight so he would not fall. Staring into his eyes, you push the gnosis deeper into your mouth, moving your tongue around and sucking on the cold casing.

The archon groaned at the feeling, leaning back against the door and rubbing up against your thigh. You move your other hand up his shirt, toying with his nipple as you continued the onslaught of pleasure.

“How does it feel?”

“It feels good hah- keeping going…please.”

Sucking on the gnosis again, it was only natural that Zhongli was having troubles holding out with all the places you were pleasuring him. The way you looked at him like he was everything, the feeling of your hand on his chest, the riding of your thigh, the new feeling of his gnosis being sucked, it was all so much and so good.

Zhongli came in no time, hips stuttering on your thigh, a silent scream coming from his lips. Panting, he said “Sorry, I didn’t think I would come that fast.”

“It’s alright, you can make it up to me.” Unzipping his pants, you remove his half hard length and place the gnosis against it causing a whine to slip from Zhongli’s lips. Using his previous orgasm as lube, you beginning moving your hand, the gnosis rubbing up against him. His body shivered as overstimulation had began to set in, hips bucking away from your hand as he leaned into your shoulder. “You can give me another one, right?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please.”

You smile at his response, speeding your hands up and placing soft kisses on his head. He moved up to catch your lips, struggling to keep up with your pace as moans constantly escaped from him. “You look so beautiful like this, it’s a shame you’re giving the gnosis away.”

“Cannot hah- go back on contracts mmm~.”

You chuckle, even during sex he talks about contracts. “Do not laugh.” He reacts, making you laugh even more.

“Sorry, sorry. Are you close?”

“Y-yes, just a bit more.”

After a minute or two, Zhongli came again, much harder and much louder than before. Coming down from his high, he collapses onto you, his weight almost knocking both of you down.

You try angling your head a bit to the side to get a look at Zhongli’s face, a bit concerned. “Are you alright?”

After a couple seconds of heavy breathing, he hummed a response. “I’m fine, thank you.”

You kiss his cheek, sitting him down on a near by chair. “Rest here for a bit while I clean this off for you, I’m sure they can wait a bit longer.”

Ah, yes, the meeting… which he is now late to…

I wrote this as soon as I woke up from a nap, hope this was to your standards 🐰

#oh 😳#zhongli x reader #this has me kicking my feet and shit #giggling to myself

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terminalfruitsalad · 1 year

Note

Would you ever write Simon getting pegged? The image of him falling apart from a prostate orgasm won't leave my head... Topping from the bottom but control is slipping away as he starts to really get lost in the sensations hmmm

In whatever way I just think he deserves a good mindblowing ride

Hope you have a good day! Thanks for sharing your amazing writing 💛

A/N: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader. Pegging.

“Is that what you want?”

He holds her face between his hands, his thumb dragging along her jawline. “Yes.”

She tips her head, lips crowning to a bright-toothed smile. “Alright.”

***

She’s gentle about it, which Simon seems to find endearing.

“I won’t break, duchess,” he teases when she’s got her fingers inside him. She looks up, eyes wide and heavy-lidded.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she mutters before lowering her face and tasting where her knuckles are buried.

He arches, groaning at the shock of her wet little tongue.

“Fuckk,” he hisses, fisting the sheets. “You dirty thing.”

She wants to tell him that he’s just as filthy. He’s eaten her ass too many times to count. When she touches herself between her legs, she’s soaked and throbbing. She has to admit that making Simon twitch and pulse gets her off. Her giant, muscular boy is letting her fuck him—trusts her enough to thrust a cock inside his ass.

His gorgeous face is flushed and pink. Blood swells beneath his chest—his too-big pecs that she loves to burrow into. He is terrible and kind, and she loves to please him. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribs as she touches the length between her legs. Suddenly, he sits up and reaches for her; his enormous hand finds her cunt, strokes it, opens the damp folds, and thumbs her clit. She jerks, gripping his forearm. It’s all muscle and black ink, his flesh spasms beneath her nails.

“This,” she breathes, mouth parting on a moan. “This is supposed to be about you.”

He snorts before his other hand cradles the back of her skull and forces her to his mouth. He licks her tongue and her teeth. He kisses her fiercely as she tugs his hips to the edge of the bed.

“You’re doing well, love,” he croons as he moves his fingers from her cunt to her hand before guiding it around her fake cock. The base is pressed to her mound, and it hits just right.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs as he helps her push into him. He exhales through his nose with every inch she steals.

“Baby,” she echoes, drinking his warm breath. “You never call me that.”

“Only when I’m in a vulnerable position.”

How can he be? He’s still teaching her—dominating the space even though he’s taking her cock.

“I call you a lot of things,” he continues almost cheekily. She frowns before drawing back, and then snapping forward, he grunts. Her pelvis is slotted against him. His thick thighs are spread, hitched beneath her ribs, his cock jutting proudly. Rose-red like his cheeks.

She slides her palms around his tapered waist and squeezes a handful of his perfect ass. His body is stunning. An Adonis. He keeps talking: “You’re the bane of my fuckin’ existence—too bloody gorgeous for her own—Christ just like that—just like—shit—you’re a good girl—my good girl.”

Amused, she traces the scars littered across his abdomen and his sternum. She teases as she fucks him at an even pace. Long, agonizing strokes. She can sense him clenching, the lines of his abdominal walls tightening with every punch of her cock.

He really is babbling.

He will undoubtedly ruin her for taunting him as she allows the toy to kiss gently against his prostrate before she retreats.

"FUCK," he barks as his eyes pierce her, stab her. "Duchess...."

Warning. Threat.

“Do you like this?” she asks coyly, changing the rhythm to sharp, brutal snaps. He chokes.

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice hitching because she’s taken a rein—maybe both reins. His big hands find her hips, and he holds them, petting her flesh with his fingertips. She wants him to crush her bones and body, fold her up and drink her. “Only you,” he mutters as he smacks his head back against the pillow. She watches the pale precum dribble from the swollen crown of his cock. He’s making delicious, feral noises from the meat of his throat as she splits him open. The sounds are spilling out of his full lips, uncontrolled and desperate. She’s never gotten him like this.

“Only me?” she implores before gripping his length and stroking him in time with her thrusts. “Am I the only one who’s been inside you, Simon?”

“Yes,” he growls, teeth clenched. Frustrated.

As if he thinks how dare you evenflirt with the idea that it would have been anyone else? You. You. You. How can I prove it?

His jaw tenses as sweat beads his hairline. The place between them is wet and sticky: lube, slick, and spit. The room reeks of sex and flesh, and her orgasm lightly dusts her nerves, subtle but present. It’s not the same as the climaxes Simon can give her when he fucks her. No—this is entirely her pleasure birthing from the look on his face as she claims his ass.

It's a thought. It's pride. It's arrogance and joy that she can make him look like that.

He trusted her with this. He’d been through so much, and he wanted her to give this to him.

Wordlessly, he snatches her hand from his cock and places it against his mouth. He kisses her fingers, tongue slipping against the creases and joints. He licks her wrist and sucks her thumb before nipping it.

A wave of emotion overtakes her. She’s drowning in it as she studies Simon’s expression: blissed-out, slack, warm, and hungry.

He’s safe with her. His deep well of pain is somewhat filled, rubbed out by her touch and her lips, and her voice easing him into relief.

#jesus fucking christ #thank you for the food #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader

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terminalfruitsalad · 1 year

Note

“#his beard just??? looks wet???” okay but Price having to talk to the team after eating you out and not getting a chance to make himself presentable 🫣🫣

you put this idea in my head (after i put it on your head) so now you have to deal with this!

➝warnings: cunnilingus, edge play (kinda), smut, P-in-V sex, creampie, D/s undertones; Price is a menace and the biggest dom; gendered anatomy, female Reader, female gendered anatomy ➝notes: this is so beyond messy, so sorry!! not even fun messy just. why would you do this, girl? messy. ➝word count: 2,4k

"Ah, cap—!"

Your knees quake when he presses the flat arch of his nose against your throbbing clit, tongue tracing figure-eights over the taut skin of your cunt, stretched around three thick fingers.

He grazes his knuckles over a spot inside of you, dragging the rough skin over your gummy, fluttering walls, until you gasp for him, choking out something that sounds like this name.

Price huffs, and the curl of his breath wisping over your soaked pussy makes your eyes roll, chin tilting back on the table he spread you out on. The one that, three hours prior, was used to plan a hostage rescue with the team.

(The very same team getting their things ready in the debriefing room for wheels-up in forty minutes.)

The wry bristles of his coarse burnt umber beard scrape deliciously over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and the feeling of it chafing your flesh raw makes you tremble, quiver. It's that equinox of pleasure, and the beginning edges of that delicious burn of irritation when he rubs you raw. Tender.

His other hand rests flat against your thigh, keeping it flush against the table. His thumb strokes your skin when you're good for him, a small modicum of comfort amid a storm of utter brutality. Of nearly twenty minutes of pure, delicious torture. The other he hikes over his broad shoulder, your heel knocking uselessly into the thick muscles of his back as he works you to the very top of a vertiginous mountain.

(Over and over and over again—)

"Sir—," you whimper, the word a featherlight cry from your chest. It makes him hum.

"Steady now, Sergeant."

Steady, he says, as if he hadn't been eating your pussy for twenty of the forty minutes, drawing it out until you were an overwrought, overstimulated mess on the table. All thoughts are caught in the sticky opiate mess of your head, rendered out into ashes, into wispy cries of his name (John, John, John—), or his title (captain, sir—), and please (please, please pleasepleaseplease—). It's muddled in bliss; in the bitter, maddening tang of dissatisfaction.

Price brings you to the edge of that delirious precipice, and then pulls back before you reach the top, leaning back on his haunches as you whimpered, begged, pleaded for him to let you cum, to just let you—

You'd look between your trembling thighs, then, as if you could somehow will the man to give into your demands, your needs, just by flashing the same expression that started this whole thing. Coy, saccharine sweet; lips arched in a smile that tasted sybaritic.

(Knuckles brushed against his when you curled your fingers over the straps of his vest, and used his steady, solid unmoveable weight to hoist yourself up, lips brushing the wry, rough hair covering his chin, murmuring: "you talk a lot, sir. I should find a way to shut you up—"

He'd given in, then, shifting on his feet as you peppered kisses to his ulotrichy jaw. "And what do you have in mind, Sergeant, mm? Want me to bury my face in your pretty cunt? Gonna shut me up with your pussy?"

You thought you won when broad hands slipped away from the grip on his straps, and curled under your thighs. He gave you no time to prepare yourself before he lifted you on the table, eyes Sapphire beds of desire as he loomed over you.

It was a victory, then.)

But now, no matter how twee you act, or desperately you beg him for release, he won't give in. Won't.

He just smiles at you. Grins. Chin wet, ruined, hairs sticking to his lips, matted to his cheeks, and he'd say (taunt):

"C'mon, Sergeant. You can't be about to cum already." Timbre drenched in sex and liquid with smoke. His eyes flash—florentine promises: a hymn to Hēdonē—and he waits, waits, until the high dissipates in your veins. "Don't be greedy, now."

You want to laugh, to scoff, but the weight of his hands pulling your thighs apart, the ghost of his breath against your cunt, the rasp of his tongue sliding over your slit, stems the words in your throat.

All you can do is thread your fingers through his messy locks, and get swept away by his pace once more.

There is no respite in this. Despite the pleasure his humid breath on your cunt brings, or the molten roll of his tongue running from your messy, weeping hole to your throbbing clit and back again, it's torture. Madness.

He circles your clit with just the soft tip, running figure-eights over the bundle of nerves until your thighs tense, clamping against the sides of his head, and locking him tight to your pussy.

A huff. Then, "tryna' suffocate me, love?"

It's muffled, and wet. Sticky from your drenched pussy leaking your slick down his wrist, his forearm, and saturating his beard until it turns the same dark shade as his cigars. Near black with how soaked you are. The bristles stick to his lips, and cheeks.

The sight when he raises his chin, damp hair sliding over your raw cunt, makes you lose it completely.

"C'mon, love," he groans into your cunt, nuzzling his beard over your sopping slit. The burn of it feels good—so, so good—and you break at the feeling of it. The indelible amalgam of pleasure that edges so sweetly into pain, into that raw quiver of a livewire.

It feels too much like sticking your finger in a socket. Licking the back of a battery. The shock, the jolt ricochets through your core until you leak dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins from every overwrought synapse.

"Price—ah, fuck—"

"Come on, sweetheart," your knees quake from the sound of his voice alone: heady with smoke, sex; a crackle, charred wood, that spills from his soaked lips, heavy with your slick. "You wanna cum? Beg for it."

Your hips arch, canting your greedy cunt into his eager, teasing mouth.

"Please, please—"

"Not good enough, love."

It's a grumble; pitched low and liquid, and you nearly cum from the timbre of his voice—molasses thick, and covered in ash—but he pulls his mouth away from your clit, and slides it down to push at the rim of your entrance. His fingers spread inside of you, scraping over your walls until your back arches, head gummy and soporific from the way he fucks your pussy.

"Price, please—," another rasping hum—disapproval—and he slows his thrusts until high begins to ebb. "Fuck, no, please—please, John, I need to cum—"

"Better."

"Fuck, sir, please! Let me cum on your tongue—I need it so bad—"

"Then cum for me, love."

It doesn't sound human when the command is scraped out of his throat. A mangled, thick demand; a smouldering ember.

You cum with his tongue laving over your clit, three thick fingers fucking insistently against a spot inside of you that has nirvana liquifying behind your eyelids.

Bliss floods through you like a deluge; a cascade of euphoria that snaps inside of you like a broken rubber band, an unspooling coil.

You melt into the metal below; bone dissolving into raw mercury. Blissed out. Drunk on the opiate high of his tongue and fingers, and the burning husk of his voice—molten commands dipped in ashes.

"God, that was—"

He stands in one fluid motion, and slots his hips in the loose, languid bracket of your legs. His cock falls on your mons, tip leaking prespend over your belly button.

There is no warning, no words. His hands slide under your thighs, gripping you tight enough to bruise, and then he's wrenching your pelvis up, cock rubbing, bobbing insistently against your slit.

"John—"

One hand leaves your aching flesh to grip his throbbing cock in his hands, sliding it down the mess of your cunt until it catches on your weeping hole.

"Oh, god—"

He catches your gaze as he rubs himself over you.

"M'not gonna fuck you, love—;" his cock slides to your clit, tapping his frenulum against your aching flesh when you whine, pout. You want him inside of you, pushed to the limit—

"Gonna be good for me, aren't you?"

You're nodding before the words are out—eager, docile; you want him, always. Your cunt clenches on nothing, desperate to be filled, stretched to the absolute limit by his girth.

But he won't. Not yet.

His cock is covered in your slick, and when he runs his palm down the length of it, you hear the sticky, wet sound of it as he fucks his own hand, bringing himself to the edge despite your eager, willing cunt right there. Right there—

You angle your hips up, and feel the engorged head of his cock catch on your rim. So, so close, so—

He pulls away, tutting at you. "Greedy little cunt, isn't it?"

You whine. "Please, need your cock—"

He leans down, pressing his chest against yours, and catches your mouth. It's not a kiss—it's a wet, sloppy mess of tongue, and teeth, but it makes you ache, makes you mewl at the taste of yourself on his breath, and the dripping state of his beard as it leaves behind a soaked trail over your chin and cheeks.

He's a mess. An absolute mess of your pussy, and—

His hips jerk, and he breaks the kiss to press his mouth to neck, teeth scraping over your flesh as he finally, finally, sinks inside of you, stretching you, pushing your walls to the mettle as you struggle to make room for him.

The head of his cock presses taut to the plug of your womb, knocking into it until you whimper from the too much too full feeling of taking him to the root.

"'M'not gonna last long," he promises in a hush, liquid whisper, voice quivering from pleasure.

You cant your hips into him until the grind of his cock inside of you sends you reeling through the opium haze of bliss that spoils inside of you once more.

"Cum for me, John," you choke out with a gasp when he meets your messy thrusts with his own, sloppily pounding into you.

His muscles quiver under your fingers, nails digging into his biceps as he pounds you like he's starved for it, desperate. And he is, of course. This whole thing has been just as much of a tease to him as it had been for you, and you know, know, he's close by the tells you pick up on. The divot between his brow, the clench of his job, the broken grunts that slip between gritted teeth, sibilant and aching, and the glossiness in his nautical blue gaze.

The grind of his cock inside of you is more than you can handle, but you take it, anyway. Your legs lock around his thick waist, hands cling to his arms, as he fucks you in brutal, deep thrusts; hips pistoning into you as he chases the embers of his own release.

You taste yourself when you press your lips to damp cheek, and whimper into his skin:

"Cum inside me, baby—"

You feel him tense, body coiling taut, and then he groans. Low and liquid, and you feel heat bloom inside of you as he cums, fills you up.

He grunts with each jerk of his cock as he spends himself within you, low and brittle; guttural growls of masticated words that make little sense when they squeeze through the clench of his jaw.

You take it all, holding him close as his lashes flutter, eyes roll, and his muscles lock over you. He looks good when he cums, when his face falls, lax and loose, mouth dropping open, as he spits the last of it inside of you where it pools, a molten puddle, against the seal of your womb.

Price's bones liquifying. He sags against you with a huff of your name, and something you can decipher through the roar in your ears, the rush of pleasure and the gossamer of sex that clings to your skin.

"That was—"

He's cut off.

His phone buzzes. The ring is familiar.

Times up.

You snort a little when he groans, and slowly, reluctantly, pulls away from you. His irritation bleeds into the torpor of his expression, cutting through the aftershocks of bliss.

It's uncanny, really, how he's able to reassemble himself into the shape of a leader with ease despite the scent of sex that clings to him, clogging the room in a thick, dense cloud.

He pulls out of you, murmuring a quiet sorry, love when you flinch at the drag of him against your bruised walls, and then tucks himself back inside his trousers.

Three minutes is all it takes and he's Captain John Price, a leader, superior; dependable man.

If you didn't feel the ache in your cunt from where he split you open with his thick cock, or the steady trickle of his molten spend leaking from your raw, chafed hole, thighs sticky from your own slick, and irritated by the rough scrape of his beard against delicate flesh, you might have thought nothing was amiss.

Nothing, except—

His face is flushed a bright red, eyes rippling with the aftermath of his ebbing pleasure. It's easy to hide, however—he might have been exercising prior to takeoff. Napping, perhaps.

But the way his beard glitters in the jaundiced light, wet and slick, is—

You open your mouth to tell him, but his hand falls, palm smacking against your inner thigh, cutting your words short with a sharp gasp at the sting in your flesh.

His lips curl up in a smirk when you flinch.

"Gotta go, love. Get yourself cleaned up, and I'll tell the others you're doing the last-minute check."

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, but it does nothing to hide the dampness of his beard, the glossy sheen that coats his matted hair.

Price turns with a sharp nod.

(You blink at his back, and wonder if the gnarled thing inside of your gut, a twisting sense of possession and accomplishment at the sight of him, soaked from your cunt, should alarm you.

But you can't deny seeing him wrecked from you alone buzzes through your marrow in a way that makes your toes curl. Primal satisfaction, you think, and wonder when he'll notice how soaked you'd left him.

Moments later, through the thin walls, you hear Soap murmur:

"Did you wash your face before, cap? I think you forgot to dry your beard."

#the way i am literally barking #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader

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terminalfruitsalad · 1 year

Text

cw. nsfw. afab!reader, bondage, sex toys (dildos, vibrators, collar, nipple clamps), threesome of sorts (f/m/m), praise *not proofread, just pure horny

[tea anon I will make out with you so hard rn]

reblogs and comments are appreciated <33

MINORS DNI!!

your tugging on the restraints is futile as soap fucks your cunt open with a dildo. the ropes tied around your knees were tied to the headboard, holding your legs up and open for the men kneeling between your legs. price held a bullet vibrator to your clit, trailing his free hand over the backs of your thighs.

"looks like we've got ourselves a precious gem, huh cap?" soap laughs at the whines that fall from your lips, your thighs trembling with every movement of the sizable fake cock that rubs against your velvety walls. "hmm, a real beauty. hold that." soap presses the vibrator harder against your clit, still punishing your needy hole with the silicone toy.

price leans over soaps shoulder, reaching for a collar with nipple clamps. he hovers over you as he fastens the collar against your neck, fingers tweaking your stiff nipples. your back arches painfully as price attaches the clamps to you, tugging at them just enough to have you crying out and squirming. "there we go doll face, being so good for us."

tears gather in your eyes, hands clenching into fists as they both watch how you tense and shake around the toy. price takes the vibrator away from you, forcing soap to keep the toy lodged in you, watching as you suck in the toy as far as it can go. "you want it that badly? beg for it, cmon I know you can." your words are slurred together, mumbled sentences of 'please' and 'I'll be good'. "I don't think you want it if this is how you're begging,"

soap pushes against the base of the toy, pushing it flush against you, pushing it to rub against your sweet spot each time you shifted. each word tumbled out of your swollen lips as price hovered the vibrator over your clit. barely letting you feel it before he takes it away. "captain, sargeant, please. I'll be good, promise."

they both let out a low breath, not giving you time to prepare yourself for the onslaught of pleasure. your legs fall open as wide as the ropes will let you, eyes rolling back as each vibration and push against your sweet spot has you teetering the edge of insanity.

#i apologize for anyone who followed me for other things #i’m having a hyperfixation moment #john price x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader

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terminalfruitsalad · 1 year

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Lemniscate (the place between sleeping and awake)

a chance encounter with your superior during a very lonely holiday season leads to an interesting conversation and an insight on yours and Ghost’s relationship.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 4,8k

a/n: i had to repost this bc tumblr was being fussy and hiding it oops. also i was listening to so handsome hello by woodkid while writing this so there’s my song rec for the day. i am down bad for this man someone help me! thank u loml @deafeningcat for being the best beta reader ever, always <3

warnings: explicit talk about death, war, trauma and violence, suggestive, profanity, ghost being ooc, sex as a coping mechanism for ptsd, heavy antimilitarism, angst to fluff, slight prey and size kink if you squint, non intentional liverpool slander, reader is part of 141, soap calls you "bonnie" once but otherwise no gender especified for reader, reader thinks they can fix him and is sorta emotionally dependent so its kinda toxic idk, intentional repeating of words, christmas/holidays ambience. MDNI

The puddles rippled under your boots, and right there under the faint street light which reflected the light drizzle of rain darkening the already pitch black night sky, you remembered how much you hate the holidays. Sure, it felt nice not having to worry that much about being ambushed or shot or killed for once, but you’d be lying if you said you looked forward to having time off from work. Having spent the last few years constantly living on edge, running solely on the primal instinct of survival for weeks on end had you addicted to the adrenaline, and you forgot what it’s like to be completely at ease a long time ago.

You felt your skin dampen under your clothes in the humid air. You haven’t bothered with an umbrella; you have been through worse. Liverpool was never your cup of tea, the sky was too gray and the wind felt like tiny needles attacking your skin on the rare occasion it wasn’t raining, and in moments like these you missed the scorching summer sun from your hometown. But again, could you really call it home? That thought had been lingering in the back of your head as an ugly reminder of one of the shittiest parts of your job ever since a few days ago when the base you were stationed in was filled with the sound of rambunctious laughter and the smell of cheap cigarettes and beer, all of it a reflect of a mission well done. The intel was useful, the danger was dealt with, and your teammates could not be more grateful the timing was just right so that they could go spend some time off with their families for the holidays. You weren’t really thinking too hard about it, too absorbed in your teasing banter with Gaz, until Soap turned to you.

“What about you, bonnie? Where ya spendin’ your holidays at? Going home?”

You had shaken your head no with a chuckle, swallowing the bad taste the word home left in your mouth and masking your discomfort. Having all their attention on you as your team mates waited for your answer wasn’t inherently bad, but you did have to ignore Simon’s piercing stare from across the group, focusing only on Soap and trying to not give in to your instinct of looking back at your Lieutenant. As the years went by, you’d found out that was just the way that he was, and you had to learn how to differentiate when he actually wanted for someone to be scared by his constant, terrifying eye contact, and when to know he was simply looking in your general vicinity. Not that it worked that well, of course, since just his massive presence and the low timbre of his voice could make anyone’s fight or flight instinct blare sirens in their head, and yet, at some point you realized you liked it. You felt like a prey under his gaze, and the fact that it both terrified and excited you was intoxicating.

“Nah. I’m heading to Liverpool, i think, as usual”

Being in Liverpool for you was far from pleasant, but a few years before you decided to go there for your time off just because it was closer to the base you were stationed in and you had nowhere else to go, and it became a tradition, even if it sometimes felt like self punishment. It certainly seemed like it, you thought as you wandered aimlessly through a quieter part of the city, occasionally passing through a group of tipsy barely-of-age kids, or a happy looking family going back to the comfort of their cozy homes together. It made your chest ache, but the loneliness got duller after so much time being surrounded only by the 141 members and having to watch so many people you knew die on the front lines.

“Do you regret it? Joining the military?”

You had asked Ghost one day after you two had to get holed up in a dingy safe house, trying to pass the time while waiting for exfil. He had stared at you for a few seconds, silently, and you wondered if you had crossed a line by asking something way too personal, but in a moment he was back to staring at the worn out coffee table in front of the couch you were in.

“No. I did what had to be done at the time.”

While somewhat cryptic, you accepted his answer without prying for more, but after a few seconds he looked back at you, not going unnoticed how his eyes looked a bit more tired than usual.

“Do you?”

You remember sighing.

“Everyday. War is hell.”

He only hummed in response, putting an end to the conversation that had barely been started, but your mind dwelled on your answer. It seemed like ages ago when you were a starry-eyed private, having been fooled by the military propaganda promising you’d be a hero, but that resolve quickly broke a few months later in your first mission, and you certainly didn’t feel like a hero after taking someone else’s life for the first time.

Lost in thought as you walked, you almost paid no mind to the man in your path that was leaning towards a lamp post and having a cigarette, if not for the fact that even from a distance you could see he was massive. There was only one person you knew that seemed as tall as that, and that was your-

“Lieutenant?” You squinted, being pretty sure you couldn’t mistake your towering 6’4 masked superior over someone else, and he acknowledged you with a look. If he was surprised to see you, he didn't show it. “Liverpool sure is tiny, huh? I thought you were from Manchester.”

“I am.”

His answers were rarely something other than short and dry, and he knew you knew better than to pry into his own personal reasonings, even because you also had no real reason to stick around that city and yet there you were. Still, the laidback-ish atmosphere of being between missions made it easier for you to act a little more daring than usual, treading lightly as you questioned him, unable to hold back your curiosity. Alas, you found yourself hypnotized by the way Simon’s full lips wrapped around his cigarette as he took a slow drag, waiting for you to say something.

“Heading somewhere?” Your voice sounded foreign even to yourself, and you didn’t know whether to blame the cold, the awkwardness of feeling like you were bothering your superior on his time off, or the way just being by his general vicinity made your chest ache with a feeling you hadn’t quite been able to name yet, but you shrugged all of it off and focused on trying to act as normally as possible.

“Not really. Are you?”

“Not really” You mimicked his words, smiling faintly and wanting to imagine that you actually saw mirth in his eyes. “Lookin’ for a pub that’s still open, but I'm not having too much luck with it.” You paused, unable to stop the next words that came out of your mouth. “Care to join me?”

Ghost pondered your bold request for a moment before putting out his cigarette by stepping on it and nodding with his head for you to lead the way. His way of communicating with so little words made you uneasy at first, but nowadays you’d find it endearing.

And that’s how you ended up in a beaten up looking pub near the port, sitting side by side with Simon by the bar, acutely aware of the bartender eyeing you two warily. You weren’t sure if he was angry for the fact that the bar actually had customers, which meant he couldn’t go enjoy time off at home, or if he was intimidated by Ghost. Maybe both. It was an otherwise cozy little pub, the warm lighting and the low ceiling made you feel slightly comforted by your surroundings, even if there were only three other customers around and the air smelled of burnt oil and deep fried food. You tapped your fingers on the wooden surface of the bar while waiting for the grumpy bartender to bring your beer, comfortable with the silence between you and Simon. When it arrived, you watched with a side eye, trying to be discreet, as he raised his mask slightly to take a sip of his bourbon, even if you knew he had noticed you.

Ghost’s face was somewhat familiar to you. Less than his body, admittedly.

There were a handful of times you had seen him without his mask, but you had barely committed its features to memory since it had mostly been in the dark confines of his quarters - which made you think how nice it must be to have a rank high enough to have your own room - and in times where staring at his face was not the first thing on your mind. It didn’t matter anyway, knowing he really was handsome after all under the balaclava didn’t change how your chest would tighten at the sight of him way before you dreamt of seeing his whole face.

Being alone with your superior was hardly foreign at this point, after so many years and everything you had been through together, and while you had never said it directly to him, his company was enjoyable. You remember clearly; It had happened the first time during mid summer after a mission gone particularly wrong in Somalia. One hour in the shower later, scrubbing your skin raw, you still felt dirty and grimy, as if you believed you could let go along with the blood-dirtied water the screams of all the civilians you had heard and the image ingrained into your brain of all the innocent people lying dead on the streets, massacred without a second thought. You tried showering, smoking, drinking, going for a walk, talking to your fellow team mates - all of them who looked just about as shaken as you were - but nothing could get your mind off of it. Mid walk, you had rounded a corner inside the base and locked eyes with Ghost, who was coming from the opposite direction, and, for reasons unknown, something instantly changed in the air between you. Sure, you had flirted a bit and perhaps given some indication of your attraction towards him before, but at that moment maybe you looked more distraught than you thought, and in only a split second after the very sudden eye contact, a non-verbal agreement was set, and quickly you found yourself glued to his broad chest, his hand lifting his mask just enough so you could connect your lips in a messy and aggressive kiss as he guided you to the door of his room. There’s no way to tell how long you were there for, but as you felt him blindly in the dark to hug his neck while he was inside you for the nth time, you were grateful he didn’t comment on your sobs that you now allowed to flow as freely as your tears, and, in turn, you didn’t comment on how tender your huge, scary superior could be, holding your face gently and whispering praises, comforting you the best he could.

It became something akin of a habit. At first it was just fucking to destress or to not have to deal in a proper way with all the trauma that came with your line of work, but then you started to linger. His touches became gentler, his big hands would stroke your skin instead of just gripping it hard enough to bruise, and you found yourself staring at his strong and scarred back one morning as he slept somewhat soundly beside you. Your hands itched to trace them, and at the moment you decided you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed, literally, with your superior more often, it was when you also realized you were fucked. To the others, surely it looked just like a very unethical and paperwork-worthy sexual tension, but you weren’t stupid, and not a teenager anymore, so you couldn’t find any excuses for the lingering glances and touches, how you started worrying more for him in battlefield, and you didn’t know if it was comforting or terrifying for you to think that he probably realized what was going on inside your head whenever he looked back at you, even if his hardened and unreadable gaze never faltered. Some nights, you’d find yourself alone in your cot wondering if you were imagining it all or if the longing you felt for his reciprocity was too delusional, and the thought made your throat ache in the worst way possible. You knew it was a bad idea, but you were unable to restrain yourself from finding your way back to his bed more often than not - and whenever he’d open the door for you when the base was already dead silent, realizing he also seemed glad to see you made all of your rational thoughts go out the window.

“Quit the starin’.”

Oh. Right. You were still looking at him. You muttered out a low sorry and looked down at your cup, well aware of Simon’s gaze burning holes into your face. So much for not staring.

“Why don’t you ever go home?”

There’s that word again. You wondered if your experience with feeling so stateless after fleeing from the place you used to call your own such a long time ago was that uncommon between soldiers, and suddenly the beer in your tongue didn’t taste that bitter anymore.

“It was just a place like any other. I’m afraid there hasn’t been anythin’ for me there in a while, so i guess i don’t really got one anymore.”

But again, you did wonder why Simon was all the way over to Liverpool and not Manchester, and a part of you selfishly hoped you weren’t alone with the gut wrenching feeling of not belonging anywhere but your base. Not that he’d ever admit to something like that. Simon was not the kind of man to say his thoughts clearly, or with words, for that matter.

“No family? Friends?”

Chuckling dryly, you’d let yourself linger a bit longer on Ghost’s sudden interest in actually knowing you more than physically if his bluntness didn’t amuse you in a bitter way.

“People realize really quickly how hard it is to keep relationships with someone who’s gone for months on end, and could very well be dead in a ditch the next time you try to call. Can’t say I blame ‘em.”

Simon said nothing in response, but his gaze on you seemed to soften a bit. Experiencing him outside of the battlefield was the kind of thing that would surely give you whiplash, years of military experience and living through horrors beyond comprehension would, of course, make him have a dangerous and reserved aura 24/7, but watching him let loose just a little bit and allow himself to be minimally vulnerable through his gaze and casually, softer spoken words were a new sort of fascinating. He was never the kind of person to ask things out of politeness, no, he was brazen and direct, so his genuine curiosity in you made it difficult to calm your already palpitating heartbeat.

Under the lights of a very dimly lit pub in East Liverpool, you were seeing not Ghost, not your Lieutenant, but only Simon Riley. You came to the conclusion you really liked this side of him. So, you decided to take your chances and prod a little bit more.

“What about you, Lieutenant? Where is home for you?”

“Classified.”

You chuckled, and a tiny, barely-there smirk formed on his lips before he hid it with the rim of his bourbon glass. It was worth a try.

You lost track of how long you were sitting there, in silence, just listening to the static-ish audio of the shitty television on the corner of the bar or the idle chat of other patrons, occasionally muttering something to Ghost, but it all felt superficial. You wanted to jump him, to strip him bare, not of his clothes, but of all of him that was a façade, and lay down every word left unsaid. Maybe it was selfish, but you wanted him to let you care for him the way he cared for you. For every time he’d wordlessly patch up your wounds in a dirty alleyway, push you out of a sniper’s line of sight or bark orders for you to get to fucking safety, you wanted to help him through each nightmare (that he thought you didn’t notice it plagued his nights more often than not, leaving him restless the next day), and hold him close when the throes of carrying a whole team and an entire life of trauma on his back became too much to bear on his own. You felt like a fool, pining over a man who made no effort to hide how little he trusted people.

Soon enough, the pub grew quieter and more devoid of people, and at some point you and Ghost decided the bartender’s gaze was way too unwelcoming, as he clearly wanted to go home, so you wordlessly decided to go back to your aimless wandering. A few of your old army colleagues wouldn’t hesitate to pull off their military card to get what they wanted, whenever and however they wanted, but just the thought made your stomach turn in disgust. Your blood stained hands didn’t feel like the ones of a hero that deserved to be pampered.

“Why are you still here anyway?”

He had asked you a few days after your conversation in that dingy safehouse. You had found yourself brushing shoulders side by side together after you went out for a smoke in the base, running into him leaned against a parked truck, lost in thought. For some reason, the question made you feel ashamed to meet his eyes, even if his tone wasn’t accusatory; just curious.

“I feel like it’s too late for me. I’ve seen too much. There’s nothing else I know how to do at this point.”

Your tongue felt like lead inside your mouth. A part of you longed for an early retirement so you could live a quiet and monotonous life somewhere in the countryside, but you also knew most people with your lifestyle wouldn’t live enough to see retirement. Alas, deep inside you felt like it was impossible to not grow restless if you were to live a life free of the adrenaline you embraced as a vice. It felt hypocritical, suffering over the consequences of your own choices, but God knows you’d leave in a heartbeat if you weren’t already too far deep in. You’d suppose becoming a soldier had its good sides, though, even if just the idea of finding any comfort in your work made you uneasy. Surely you’d never have met the 141 otherwise and, consequently, made them your little dysfunctional found family. You’d hold onto that for the sake of your sanity. On your side, Ghost hummed, acknowledging what you were saying, and maybe you’d find he could relate to your feelings, somehow.

“It’s difficult to let go of a whole life of violence.”

His words had stuck with you, as wise and cryptic in a way only he managed to pull it off.

Outside, the drizzle seemed to have gotten a bit stronger in the last few hours, but neither of you cared enough for it. It didn’t feel that bad compared to the storms that rained over you in open fields or the mud you’d have to crawl across to stay hidden sometimes. You’d feel pretty stupid if this little rain actually got you sick, but that was a worry for future you. It didn’t even cross your mind to ask Ghost if you were heading somewhere, you just followed him blindly, analyzing him in silence and noticing he looked good in civilian clothes, the plain black hoodie fitting him perfectly. From the little distance you walked besides him, you could notice he was smelling good, a mixture of cologne and his natural musk which you were already very well acquainted with.

The street was clearly in a commercial district, and it felt even quieter than the one you were before. All the stores were closed with only a faint night light illuminating a few of their interiors, and you appreciated the faint smell of the sea by being somewhat close to the port.

You enjoyed the stillness of it all and the lack of people to make you jealous with their normal, happy lives.

Subconsciously, you barely noticed that you ended up scooting even closer to Simon as you walked, happy he didn’t seem to mind it.

Suddenly, he stopped mid-walk, and you became hyper aware of how much you were staring at him. God, you felt like a creep. After a second, he spoke in a murmur, not turning to look at you.

“Since when?”

You waited for him to elaborate what he meant, but it never came. Chuckling nervously, you peered up at him, confused.

“Since when…what?”

Finally, he turned to look at you with something indescribable in his eyes. It made you feel small, like he wanted to devour you, but it also made your heart leap in your chest, like he wanted to devour you.

“I know how you feel about me. You’re not very subtle about it. I’m not bloody stupid, kid. ”

Your head snapped towards him at his harsh words, even if his low voice and gentle-ish tone didn’t quite reflect the true nature of them, but any witty reply you had died down once you saw how his eyes were downturned in unease.

Oh.

You realized what he’s talking about, and turns out your late night musings were right - at least part of them. Simon leaves no opening to figure out by his body language what the bringing up of the topic means to him. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he will reject you and reprimand you for being unprofessional (as if loving him was more unprofessional than fucking your superior). Maybe-

“I’m…not sure.” You admit, refusing to meet his steely gaze. “It just…happened. Stopped being just casual sex a while ago.”

His silence makes seconds feel like hours. You try to control your labored breathing by listening to the soft pitter-patter of the rain that’s back to drizzling on the store awning you’re both under. A part of you wishes the rain would suddenly get so strong it would break the awning and drag you away with the current from Simon’s soul-crushing silence. You feel stupid, foolish.

Fool, fool, fool-

He closes the distance between your bodies. Having never paid much detailed attention to the rare occasions when gloves didn’t adorn his hands outside the bedroom, you suddenly notice how much his palms feel a pleasant kind of rough and calloused when they don’t carry the intent of ravaging you, so big against your face as he gently cradles you. Of course, he knows you’re a soldier, not some porcelain doll to be easily broken, but God knows how much seeing him hold you as if you’re something precious makes your once-labored breathing come to a halt altogether. His eyes are soft, half lidded, and uncertain on you as he murmurs out sorrowfully.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, kid.”

For the first time ever, you feel like you’re the only person who’s ever seen Simon Riley look scared. You don’t know if he’s afraid of hurting you or the other way around.

Instinctively, your own hands gingerly go to the top of his in a light caress, and you fight against the urge to close your eyes and breathe in his musk as you lean into his touch. This up close he also smells faintly like cigarettes.

“Maybe not.” You admit, and you hope he can notice the way you look up at him with hearts in your eyes and willing to wear your own on your sleeve. “But I want to find out.”

He doesn’t really smile - he almost never does - , but his gaze holds a promise in it, a vow. One of his hands leaves your face to hike up his mask, and you expect it to stop just below his nose, as always, but he keeps going until it rests on top of his dirty blonde hair, making your breath hitch once again. You were wrong about him; you didn’t need to strip him bare, no, you realize he’d do it for you if you asked. A long time ago you decided you didn’t give a shit about how his face looked, but you made sure to take a good look at him, finally committing his features to memory, acknowledging his trust in you and also how much you really were a fool by underestimating it before. The stubble on his jaw feels coarse under your fingertips, and you indulge yourself by lightly tracing the scar on his lip the way you wanted to do with all of his marks ever since that morning. It occurs to you that even when the hookups turned into something more, you had never seen him so vulnerable, and it sets an equally giddy and unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, as if you were witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, but you weren’t about to question his resolve. Taking the reins - as he always does - his lips are on yours in an instant, and you swear you’d die happily at that instant.

The way he kisses you is something new, slow and passionate, as if trying to savor every piece of you at his pace and communicate what he doesn’t know how to put into words. You’d kissed before, sure, but it was always animalistic, an aggressive dance filled with wanton growls deep from his throat and your involuntary whines whenever he would bite your lip - a gazelle in the jaws of a lion - and in the occasions sex was tender, it was most likely because something bad had happened, and you’d hide your face in the crook of his neck so he could pretend not to notice how much you needed it - him - to cope and how much his touch kept you grounded; you’d like to imagine yours made him feel something of the sorts as well. Simon Riley was not the type of man to engage in raw emotional affairs without getting something out of it. And yet, as you close your eyes to hug his neck, bringing his large body impossibly closer to yours, you feel like he is finally giving all of him to you in the rawest way he knows how to. Of course, you’re not teenagers, and with the way of life you lead, emotional attachment can make any soldier feel dreadful for their future, so it would be foolish to expect a full on love confession in the rain, but, if anything, you suddenly realize you can feel Simon’s heart beating fast on his chest through your own, and that is enough for you, making you smile against him.

When you separate, there’s still minimal distance between you two, the air around you feels lighter, and you surround yourself in affection by the way Simon looks down at you adoringly. Any outsider would be quick to say he has the look of a stone cold predator, and he is as unreadable as they come, but once you start dealing with the true man under the mask - even if only figuratively -, you realize that his eyes are truly the window of his soul, and any words left unspoken you’d die to uncover are visible in his dark hues the moment he looks at you. A few blocks away, a clock tower strikes midnight and you spare the building a look from where you can see it.

“Merry Christmas, Simon.” You murmur, knowing full well religious holidays are neither yours or Simon’s thing. The irony of it all is lost when he huffs out a small noise of amusement and distances himself just enough to extend his arm for you to take, his gaze never leaving your form. You could point out he hasn’t really lowered his mask yet but you enjoy the view too much so you might as well indulge in it while he doesn’t remember to do so. His bicep is thick and strong under your fingers as you grip him gently, and he nods forward beyond the awning.

“It stopped raining. Let's get going.”

#simon riley x reader

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