chocolate1721

[chocolate1721]

bokuto fucking your insecurities away

i LOVE his character. very fun to write. would love to do any requests for him!! working on an oikawa request now :)

warnings. nsfw. conversations around body image issues info. nsfw / rough sex / friend sex / chubby!reader / insecure!reader / bokuto has a praise thing / impatient!bokuto / airhead!bokuto / sweet!bokuto / bokuto likes big girls / dumb dick bokuto / pool party setting / 2.3k words

haikyuu collection. more here. links. masterlist / my ao3 / request box

Watchful eyes tracked the arrival of a group of girls from the house to the poolside, all clad in their colorful swimsuits, hats, sunglasses, and smiles.

Bokuto bumped a serve up to Akaashi and grinned at the perfect opportunity to show off in front of you.

SLAM! Right into the water on the other side of the net, splashing Washio hard in the face.

He cursed loud at his unnecessary force, but quickly shut himself up when the girls came walking around the side of the pool. He pushed the water off of his face with flexed arms.

Something was wrong, though. Bokuto swam to the side of the deep-end and pushed his body up to sit on the edge despite the game going on.

"Hey!" He waved enthusiastically to a couple of girls and brought them over.

They were more than happy to bend over in front of his sculpted, shiny body, but his attention was only taken by your absence.

"Where's (Y/n)?"

They frowned and stood back up, half-heartedly mentioning that you wouldn't come out of the room they all changed in, and walked away.

That just wouldn't do. He turned to look at the house.

"Put a towel on before you go inside!!" Akaashi called, exasperated he even had to tell him.

"AAAAAHH!!" Was his response; as good at articulating his frustration as any that he had to jog the distance back for a stupid towel.

Akaashi rolled his eyes into setting another ball. Bokuto rolled his eyes, too, and slid the screen door open.

It was so cold inside, his skin prickled up instantly. He wished you'd just come out already-- enjoy the warm sunshine, let him rub sunscreen all over you, lay on his chest in the pool. His stomach pooled with heat at the fantasy of it all.

Oh, you were coming out of that room even if he had to drag you out.

Just before his hand grabbed the doorknob, he thought better for a second. A loud, rhythmic knock.

"(Y/n)!! Come outside!" He yelled into the door.

He didn't spare a single second more to linger when he heard a faint sniffle.

You weren't a mess, but your eyes were still stinging and you were not happy to be walked in on when you had nothing but an ill-fitting t-shirt over your bikini, even if it was Bokuto.

His proportions were ridiculous. Giant, hulking shoulders and a strong, wide back dipped deliciously into his tiny waist. Itty-bitty trunks showed off his powerful thighs, though he was dripping all over the carpet.

In a way, it only brought you back down to the feeling that you were not up-to-snuff to walk out in your bathing suit with all these athletic bodies outside.

"What the hell?" He yelled; not at you, just at the fact that you were clothed, and clearly trying to not cry.

A couple steps forward made you tense. He caught this, so he turned around and closed the door behind him.

Being soft wasn't one of his strong suits, but he tried with you.

His affinity for you was never-ending after he passed you one day in the hallway. One big, empty-headed smile was all it took to start your odd friendship. He used this one interaction to wedge his way up to 'studying' with your small, academic club.

His eccentricities made him charming and personable to talk to, but Bokuto was undeniably attractive and even more popular. So, you weren't sure why he associated with you, since he never paid attention in your study group.

You pushed the wet off of your face with the heel of your hand and tried to sober up a little, "I'm going home."

Your voice sounded so hoarse and weak, you regretted saying anything and not just walking out when you had the chance.

Bokuto laughed as if you were really joking.

Instead of trying to explain yourself to him, which historically never went well in your favor, you grabbed your pants off of the floor.

His gaze dropping and necessary palming of his growing ache wasn't subtle, but you couldn't see it. That tiny shirt didn't cover your ass; he had to savor the sight.

His head spun with confusion and the beginnings of frustration at the sight of more clothes, "What are you doing?"

He tried again, desperate to keep you from putting on those pants, and closed the distance between you, "Come oooon, let's just go out there and have some fun! We're playin' some ball- I want'cha to watch me win!"

His big, adoring eyes chipped at your guard. Instead of getting lost in them, you looked to the side, to the corner you were changing in when you first started feeling like this bikini was a horrible idea.

A frown made his entire face droopy when he saw your expression harden.

"I should've gotten a one-piece," You muttered.

It took a few moments for him to process what was so bad about that. It took him longer to come up with a response, which gave you enough time to shiver at the lack of space he gave you.

You felt horrible that you wanted to leave him, since he was the reason you were invited and had the courage to wear something like this in the first place. It just didn't stand up to how overwhelming the possibility of judgement might be.

Bokuto closed the gap even more so you'd look up at him, face set, "You always think too hard about this stuff."

Frustrated that he couldn't even grasp at the concept, you gripped your shirt harder.

He let up, physically unable to keep a mean mug on his face for more than a few seconds.

"I'm sure ya look real good-," His wild and unruly imagination inspired an obvious up-and-down with his eyes. Your heart skipped at his intense energy.

"So come on!" He tore himself away, grabbed your wrist, and didn't give you the chance to pick apart his tone, "Let's go!"

You weren't moving despite his jerk towards the door. A frustrated sigh made you feel a bit smaller.

He was pretty imposing when he was close to you, and not his usual high-energy self.

This topic of contention wasn't new. He brushed away your usual self-deprecating jokes, and called you cute on a number of occasions-- you thought it was a joke, or just politeness. But he never got irritated before.

"Need me to prove it?" His thumb hooked under his the hem of his trunks and pulled on them enough to make you give a quick, uneven:

"N-o,"

One uncontrollable glance down, and your face was burning fast.

You were pretty sure you just saw his dick. He laughed at your sheepish reaction and slapped a hand to the back of his neck.

"I dunno how else to convince you that you're fuckin' gorgeous."

You tried to pretend not to see him adjust, but he was watching you, like an owl waiting for his mousey dinner. It was difficult to not feel aroused and curious when you were so plainly desired and lusted after by this big, stupid hottie.

The air between you was warm and still.

After a moment of deliberation, your fingers gripped the edges of your shirt and you lifted it off. It was more of a test to see if he still felt the same.

"Damn," He sighed, lids heavy, thumb still hooked to his trunks.

His free hand guided your face up to his- you found no reason to deny him a needy, raunchy kiss. He was so forward, there was no room to doubt or overthink his intentions when his hands were filling with your hips and chest so fervently.

You had never felt so wanted before.

The ease in which he picked you up and set you onto the bed forced a startled moan against his lips.

He sucked a toothy kiss to the side of your mouth with a boyish giggle, "Sooo pretty."

This time, you took his compliment as it was intended. Unlike the countless other times he told you that and you assumed the worst.

He was only gone for the moment it took for him to wrench his own trunks off, leaving him completely bare with a generous size straining against the air.

Being naked truly didn't bother him at all. He looked so natural it was like he could walk outside like that, completely fine.

You envied his simplistic mind.

His cock was burning hot against your skin once he sandwiched it between yourself and his weight.

If there was one thing you could tell from his messy, rushed kissing, it was that he hated taking things slow. It took a few deliberate whines to keep him from yanking on the bottom piece of your bikini.

He melted at your successful efforts and the squeeze of your legs around his hips.

Your hands fluttered over his strong back, pushing, pulling, poking here and there at some hard muscles that you didn't even know existed. You wanted to enjoy as much of him as you could.

To keep his discomfort at bay, he rubbed himself against your softness, breath labored and hot on your lips.

"'Need you so fuckin' bad," He laughed, unable to cope with his peaked impatience.

This time you didn't fight his efforts to remove your bikini bottoms-- but you gasped at his unhinged lick to the inside, where you had been slowly getting them wet.

He tossed them to the side with a smile and pulled you to the edge of the mattress so he could stand. This was better for his control, in his opinion.

The guy had clocked this height to work before you had even expressed any interest much earlier.

Another few kisses you had to reign him in for and he was sliding against you, getting himself coated with your wet, yearning to be inside you already.

It helped that he gave you such a good view.

His hands kept your twitchy, plush thighs still as he pushed into you.

You gave a fretful sound, not quite as prepared for his size as you preferred.

A guttural groan escaped from him, one that only further proved his bottomless lust as valid. You watched his face tighten, then drop into something a bit sleepier- it helped you adjust better, feeling, seeing, hearing exactly how much he wanted you.

His big, strong hand grabbed the bottom half of your face, "That feel good, baby?"

He didn't wait for you to respond to him before stealing a few hungry, rough kisses from your puffy lips.

When he pulled away after stealing enough of your breath, his head flew back and left you to watch his taut, muscular body twitch and flex as he fucked deeper into your cunt.

An absolute piece of art was taking you, in a stranger's bed no less.

"Ah-h!" You whined as he set an intense pace.

His cock felt so good, stretching you out over and over again, and you gladly adjusted to his unquestionable enthusiasm.

A handsome, boyish sound was his giddy chuckle, "Ya like that?"

Those skilled, eager thrusts resonated throughout your entire body- he watched your tits bounce in your strappy top under him in a stupid daze. His hands were filled with the plush of your hips, constantly stretching to grab and pull more of you onto him.

He fucked you like he'd never get the chance to again. Under his touch, you felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. Nothing else mattered much in comparison.

"Fuck, yeah," It came out in a whimper, but still captivated him like you'd muttered some spell.

His satisfied moan at your affirmation was choked and uneven. He nabbed one of your wrists to place a kiss on, but his pussy-fixated brain could handle one thing at a time.

You needed him deeper- fuck, he looked so pretty panting on your wrist like that.

The squeeze of your thighs stalled him. His eyes were filled with a confused, yet intrigued restlessness when you pushed on him so you could flip over.

"Mm, yeah, yeah- That's so-o fucking hot!!" Bokuto whined.

He let you take the lead because he loved seeing your confidence shine through. It was beyond sexy watching you own it and put your ass in the air for him.

"Oh, f-uck," He moaned, breathless as he sunk into you.

You squeezed around him when he landed a hard slap on your soft, supple skin.

Yeah, this was all you needed. Next time you were feeling down, this perfect man could just fuck the insecurity out of you.

You settled into a deep stretch with a nice arch for him and felt a calloused hand pressing into your lower back to keep you still.

He certainly hated wasting time.

At this point you leaned into it, crying whiny curses into the pillow beneath you while he fucked you hard.

His heart skipped a few beat when you cried, uneven at each thrust, "Feel s-o good, Bokuto"

His nails dug hard into your ass, his breath getting choppier, voice raspy when he told you, "Been waitin' so long."

He laughed, barely swallowing his own whine at the threat of needing to cum so bad.

"You'll get this- h-ah," He winced, having to stall a moment when you clenched around him, "Nex-t 'ime you wanna act all fuckin' shy..."

Your climax was hard and fast, rendering you a bit lightheaded as he pounded his last few strokes out and finished all over your ass.

Everything was hot and hazy when he rolled onto his back next to you. You slid so you were laying onto your tummy.

His big, goofy grin was a bit cloudy in your vision: "One more?"

requests: open

masterlist

[chocolate1721]

(polyship) Alpha Daichi & Suga with Pregnant Omega Reader

AN: I really like how Daichi and Suga pair together, thank you for requesting this!

Word count: 900

Keep reading

[chocolate1721]

Woooooahh

its the no notes ghoast

[chocolate1721]

🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

I have seen the true power of the Tesseract, and when I wield it…

[chocolate1721]

Monster Fics

Fics:

Dinner is served (Minotaur × fem!reader)

Just being neighborly (Orc x yandere fem!reader)

Little hatchlings (Dragon x fem!reader)

Perfection to me (Monster x fem!reader)

Tying you up (Yandere Centaur x fem!reader)

Heads or tails? (Dragon x fem!reader)

In the darkness (Shadow Demon x fem!reader)

The venom’s test (Naga bf x fem!reader)

Bite me baby (Werewolf bf x Vampire fem!reader)

A surprise visit (Tentacle Monster x fem!reader)

The kiss of fate (Shark Hybrid x fem!reader x Merman)

Late to the event (Bull Hybrid x fem!reader)

Blurbs/Imagines:

Kissing your drider (drider x gn!human)

Werewolf/Vampire bf period eating out (Werewolf x Vampire x fem!reader)

Monsters reacting to you getting hurt pt 1

Vampire cockwarming (Vampire x fem!reader)

Firefighter centaur (Centaur x gn!reader)

Obedient Pup (Puppy hybrid x fem!reader)

Full moon but you’re the one chained up (Werewolf bf x fem!reader)

Fourth of July w/ Monster bf (Monster bf x fem!reader)

Teasing the monster under your bed (Tentacle monster x fem!reader)

[Commission] First time having period sex w/ Monster bf (Monster bf x fem!reader)

Cuddles with your Werewolf (Werewolf x fem!reader)

Dominating your monsters (Vampire x Fae x fem!reader)

Prey for your predator (Tiger Hybrid bf x Deer Hybrid fem!reader)

Down days with your bf (Monster bf x gn!reader)

Shifting slime (Slime Monster gf x fem!reader)

Slime mixture (Snail Hybrid bf x Slime Monster fem!reader)

Just one drop (Vampire bf x fem!reader)

Monsters being nerds

Grooming session (Hybrid Tiger bf x Hybrid Deer fem!reader)

Taking a walk (Werewolf bf x fem!reader)

Good Boy’s Reward (Puppy Hybrid bf x fem!reader)

[chocolate1721]

knights in shining tactical gear | masterlist

s. 'ghost' riley x f!reader x j. 'soap' mactavish

Summary: After the undead apocalypse has destroyed most of society, your main goal is to survive and take care of your baby niece. At a moment of utter desperation, two veterans come to your rescue.

Warnings/Info: Zombie Apocalypse AU | 18+ Only, MDNI | found family; strangers to lovers; slowburn-ish; angst; hurt/comfort; horror; humor; smut; m/f/m; mind the warnings for each chapter

💀chapter one; to the rescue

💀 chapter two; converging

💀 chapter three; domestic bliss

💀 chapter four; hells bells

💀 chapter five; carnality

💀 chapter six; Coming soon!

[chocolate1721]

Say You Won't Let Go

Last House on the Right

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 1.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, mentions of pregnancy related eating issues + vomiting, Reader's got some separation issues. Fair warning this is so half baked I haven't even decided what kind of apocalypse it is, but somehow Ive got a whole plotline regardless.Same pairing as my fic Blind Date

Next Chapter

You can’t believe your luck. 

You’re not sure what exactly it was about this house in the dead of night that had you so transfixed, but your intuition has paid off in spades. 

The area’s been abandoned, to your knowledge leaving you the sole inhabitant meandering around. 

Or maybe waddling would be a more apt description.

Fear and uncertainty of the outside hurry you along into the house. Most everyone- the survivors- has splintered off into groups. There’s no evidence of anyone still living here (admittedly it’s not like you’ve taken the time to check every room, but there are signs when a house is inhabited), but you luck out that the cabinets haven’t been picked over. 

It’s been entirely too long since your last meal, and it takes a good amount of restraint to not devour the can of ravioli too quickly. 

As much as you’re tempted, you know there’s a fine line between what will and won’t have you immediately throwing up in the sink- grazing seems to keep the worst of the upset down.

There’s no hospitals to jaunt off to if you end up dehydrated. Excessive vomiting is not ideal post end of days.

If you were in your right mind- not frightened, isolated, starving, cold- and not focusing on how the unheated chef boyardee might as well be a five star michelin meal for all you can think right now, you might have been paying more attention.

The sound of a safety clicking off behind you freezes your blood far more than the cold. That sound is deliberate. Whoever’s behind you- gun pointed at you- wants you to know they got the jump on you.

“Hands where I can see them,” the order is gruffly barked at you.

You feel stupid. Of course all of this was too convenient for you to simply be catching a break. It wasn’t exactly well lit and designed to draw you in- but you’re an animal caught in a trap regardless.

The fork clatters against the counter next to the can as you go to comply.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

You’re not much of a threat in your current condition. That much is obvious.

Time stopped having any sort of tangible meaning a while ago. You should know how many weeks you are, but the days run together fending for yourself and you just know that you’re close. There’s no hiding the swell of your belly.

The man at the doorway looks as gruff as he sounds. Your mind spins like a tire in mud to process everything in front of you in the poor moonlight. Military, that much is obvious. You’re not actually sure if that’s a good thing. Handsome from what you can see, though historically your type has been men who don’t have a weapon leveled at you.

The taciturn expression on his face falters when he spots your bump, but you’ve learned by now to not expect any sort of special treatment.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize immediately. “I-I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll leave, I swear.” 

He looks at you another moment before a look of resignation washes over him.

“Turn back around. Keep your hands up.” Oh God. Your mind immediately goes to the worst- That this man, for whatever reason, has decided that your infraction has signed your death warrant. That he can’t quite bring himself to fire on a pregnant woman staring him in the eyes, so the last thing you’re ever going to see is some tacky wallpaper and ugly cabinets.

You yelp when one of his hands finds the pistol on your hip. Holy shit you didn’t even hear him cross the room.

“Easy, love,” he soothes as he starts to frisk you for more weapons. “Not gonna hurt you. You have anything else on you?”

“A knife in my back pocket.” It doesn’t even occur to you to lie; putting yourself in his good graces is your only option and you can’t do that by lying.

His hands slip under your jacket, the hem oversized and hanging even with your arms up, making a wrong guess at the first pocket he checks before grabbing the knife out of the second one.

“Anyone going to come sniffing around looking for you?” A fair question, but one that sticks like a knife between your ribs.

The “No,” that escapes you is softer than you meant it to be, voice warbling as you try not to cry.

Hormones would have had you on the verge of tears at any given point, and that would have been before the end of the world and before your group abandoned you. You’re well entitled to your tears, you think, but try to stuff them back down anyway.

“You’re out here alone,” he grouses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you. The like this? is implied.

Your arms are still up, and they’re getting tired. Everything tires you out these days.

Like he can read your mind, he releases you with a “you can set your arms down now, love.”

“Thank you,” you’re in full fawn mode, turning to face him. While he’s clearly decided against killing you, you’ve been scared and alone for the past few days and you really don’t want to be separated from the only person who will give you the time of day right now. 

“Is there anyone else here? Other soldiers?” Your fate is sealed and lies in the soldier’s hands regardless of his answer.

Nothing with change, no matter what he says, but you think you’re less intimidated if it’s just the two of you. 

The world’s gone to hell in a handbasket, and yet you’ll never forget watching 28 days later when the line I promised them women was dropped.

“Got separated from my team.”

He turns away from you, gesturing to follow him out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

He’s limping.

You haven’t seen him move until now. You’re more an expert on busted hardware than busted body parts, you can’t tell if it’s a fresh injury that’s still healing, or an old one that’s set in place.

“They left you.” They left me, too.

“They didn’t leave me for dead, they think I am dead. Gonna take a bit more than that to get the job done, though.” 

You have no reason not to believe him. Despite having just met him, the man is like a living manifestation of everything masculinity is supposed to be- down to the surly attitude despite him herding you further into the house. It doesn’t take much to figure out that he’s tough as nails and sure why not flirt in death’s face that her last attempt wasn’t good enough?

You sit on the couch he points to, as he settles into the leather chair across from you.

“Christ what’d I’d do for a fucking smoke right now,” he mumbles, pawing at his chest absent mindedly on reflex.

You mean to sit stiff as a board, but your body is tired and the couch is surprisingly comfortable.

The soldier, however, sits like he owns the house. “And now for the question of what to do with you.”

[chocolate1721]

Sibling mischief

Loki x little sister

Summary: Loki believed himself to be the last of his kind, destined to be alone, but a visit to Jotunheim would prove him terribly mistaken.

Notes: y/n age up for your interpretation (i wrote this on two hours of sleep)

Word count: 724

Warnings:none

“GET BACK HERE YOU RACSAL!”

Loki shouted for you while chasing you through the Asgardian forest as your giggles filled the air. Never in the thousands of years that Loki had roamed the universe did he think he'd have a sister. He had been so sure he was the last of his kind, but that all had changed the fatal day he returned to Jotunheim.

—————

It had been a dreadful day, weeks even. Despite his brother’s attempt to connect with him and his father's feigning affection, Loki was lonely. Lonelier than usual, so he traveled to the one place he could find solitude, jotunheim. The abandoned realm offered him the silence he needed to ponder about his existence, his burden.

His trance was broken by an unclear echo, he stood straight, pulling his dagger. “Who goes there!?” He exclaimed. he heard it again, a faint wail. “You dare mock a god!” He shouted as he began to follow the sound up a mountain. The cries were now clear and aggravating “Show yourself.” Loki demanded, scanning the rubble. His body came to a halt, seeing a glow coming from behind a rock. Loki slowly approached before shoving the rock out of the way. Lokis breath hitched as he dropped his dagger.

“Why hello there,” Loki said dropping to his knees, eyes wide as he stared, it was a baby. a baby that seemed to be frozen in time, as it had been a millennia since the last frost giant inhabited Jotunheim. “A frost giant baby” Loki whispered to himself, slowly lifting you into his arms as your cries began to subside. “A baby sister…” a small smile crept on his face.

Loki returned home where he would have to present you to Odin. a screaming match ensued. “how dare you bring a frost giant into my realm!” Odin screamed from his throne “you endanger our people with your reckless actions” he accused “She is no more than a baby!” Loki screamed back as he held your crying form against him. “Father hear Loki out, the baby can do no harm” Thor intervened earning a glare from Loki “i do not need your pity brother” he snarled, turning back to his father beginning to approach the throne “How dare you accuse me of being reckless when it was you who snatched me from Jotunheim, denied me of my identity and power, for years! You will not deny me a sister!” Loki screamed in Odin's face as guards began to approach. A simple raise of Odin's hand stops the guard in their tracks.

Odin's calm gaze met Loki's enraged one before glancing at you, as you rested against his chest, your small hand gripping the leather of his clothes. “Loki, do you swear to take full responsibility for this child as long as it roams Asgard?” Odin questioned. "I do," Loki stated firmly. "And if this child is to cause any issues, you shall take full responsibility, including punishment?" Odin continued. "I do. She is my burden," Loki stated clearly. "The child may reside on Asgard."

——————-

You let out green puffs, using your powers to distract him, but as soon as Loki had you in his sights he used his shadow powers to trip you. You went down with a hard thud “you truly are the goddess of mischief, sister” loki smirked leaning against a tree watching as you rubbed your forehead “that isn’t fair!” You exclaimed. “If you stopped running off when im trying to teach you, you would have known how to avoid thag trick.” Loki stated standing over you, extending his hand “now come on, before the sun sets” you took his hand and began heading back to the castle “loki…will you tell me the story of how you found me again?” You asked looking up at him with puppy dog eyes, he scoffed.

“Of course darling…”

[chocolate1721]

Cherry Pie 🍒

Mob! Loki x female baker! reader

18+ | contains smut, slight breeding kink

Clearing away the things on the counter, you made your way to the cupboard, putting the flour away before you heard the door chime. It wasn’t long ago that you changed the open sign to closed however you stupidly didn’t lock the door. Huffing to yourself, you put the flour down before you called out.

“We’re closed.”

“Even for me.” You heard the stranger reply before your eyes widened at the rich familiar voice. Quickly, you made your way to the front of the shop.

“Mr Laufeyson.” You greeted, wiping your hands on your apron before realising even that was covered in flour too. You took it off, placing it on a table as you stepped towards him. “Please, take a seat.” You offered, gesturing to a table.

“Loki is fine.” He insisted, sitting down.

“I’ll get you a slice of pie.” You smiled as he sat.

“I was just passing through the area and thought why not say hello to my favorite baker,” he explained as you cut him a slice of pie, “and business partner of course.” He added as you squirted a little cream on top of it before bringing it to him with a fork. Once you were in front of him, you placed the plate on the table, taking a seat opposite him. He could sense your apprehension, he knew you that well. “What’s the matter?” He asked, picking the fork up.

“Look, Mr Laufeyson, I can’t keep bringing your shipments through the shop.” You spoke evenly, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders at your admittance.

“Loki” he corrected you, dipping his index finger into the cream before bringing it to his lips, tongue darting out as he licked it off. Your eyes followed his movements as you subconsciously bit your lip. “I’m usually on a first name basis with the pretty women who serve me pie” he grinned, turning his attention to you “and my my, isn’t it delicious.” He finished, eyes roaming up and down your body as he licked his lips. You felt flustered under his gaze before he looked back down at his plate, cutting a piece off with the side of his fork before stabbing the severed piece and bringing it up to his mouth. “Start again, and say my name.”

“Loki” you began, taking a breath before you continued “I can’t keep bringing your shipments through the shop.”

“Y/n” he sighed in fake dramatics “you wound me.” He smiled, placing his hand against his heart as he continued to eat, your eager eyes still following his movements. “Mmm” he hummed contently “cherry pie.”

“Your favourite.” You answered, swallowing thickly.

“Would you like a taste?” He offered.

“No I—” you started to protest before he presented a piece on his fork to your mouth.

“Open” he prompted you, eyes on yours. Opening your mouth, you welcomed the pie, already knowing it was delicious; it was a family recipe, a recipe that was now tainted by the image of Loki feeding it to you and his expression as he commanded you to open your mouth.

Using his thumb, he swiped off the cream that had landed on the corner of your mouth before bringing it to your lips. He didn’t have to prompt you to lick it off.

“Tell me y/n, why can’t things continue how they are?” He questioned, sitting back in his chair “it’s a good thing we’ve got going on here. I offer you my protection in his shady, dingy town in exchange for one of your vans once a fortnight” he shrugged “I mean, we do exchange other things too” he smirked “but that’s pleasure, not business.”

“I don’t want to be a part of it anymore, I don’t like the risk.” You sighed.

“So it’s the risk you don’t like” he pondered, standing to his feet “and here I was, clearly mistaken, thinking you liked taking risks” he spoke, making his way to you “tell me what I can do that’ll make you more agreeable” he probed, lowering his lips to your ear as he spoke behind you before placing his hands on your shoulders “do you want me to use my hands?” He asked, a smile evident in his tone “you seem to like them.” He added, noting how your breath hitched as he began massaging your shoulders.

“Loki.” You breathed.

“Or perhaps you want me to use my mouth” he countered, kissing your neck, your eyes falling closed. “Do you want me to tell you what I think y/n, I think you like the risk” he chuckled darkly before lowering his lips to your ear again “I think you find it thrilling.” He continued, kissing the nape of your neck. “Tell me, do I make you feel alive?”

“Loki.” You exhaled desperately.

“What do you want, pretty girl?”

“I want you.” You relented.

It wasn’t long before you were on your feet, kissing Loki as you walked to the backroom. Your breaths were heavy between kisses, filling the space between you as he pushed you up against the table, lips venturing your chest. His hands found your body, both of them starting at your shoulders and moving down to your hips as he turned you around so that your back was against his chest as his kisses centred at the nape of your neck. Your breaths grew ragged as you felt his thumbs curling into the waistband of your jeans before he was tugging them down your legs along with your panties. You wordlessly stepped out of them, at the mercy of Loki Laufeyson. You felt his lustful kisses against the back of your legs, his lips working their way up to your thighs as his soft hands roughly pushed them apart. You gripped the edge of the table hard as his impatient kisses finally found your centre whilst he bent you over, opening you with his tongue.

“Fuckk.” You moaned as Loki licked his thumb, rubbing your clit with it as his tongue delved through your folds, exploring your sex. His hands cupped your ass, revealing more of you as he flattened his tongue against you before swiping across your clit leaving you panting like a bitch in heat. “Just like thattt.” You whimpered as he hummed against your pussy leaving vibrations reverberating through you. “I’m gonna cum.” You near cried as he wrapped his lips around your clit.

“Not yet” Loki beseeched, standing to his feet as the swelling pleasure that was building inside of you began to dissipate. You heard Loki undo his belt before you felt the tip of his cock breaching your sensitive entrance. “Is this what you want me to use?” He exhorted, his lips close to your ear again only this time glossy with your asousual.

“L-Loki.” You murmured, unable to string a sentence together as he ran the head of his cock through your folds before lining himself up with your entrance again.

“Will burying my cock deep inside of you make you more agreeable, more amenable, hmm?” He questioned, pushing more of his length inside of you. “Show me how affable you really are, I want to fuck the genial host I’m used to.” He grunted as he entered you completely, impaling you with his cock as you screamed his name in rapture. The table shook as he fucked you, pushing your back down against it as he held your waist. “See, I knew you liked taking risks” he grinned “I don’t even have a condom on and you’re still letting me fuck you.” He sniggered, slapping your ass.

“S-so good.” You choked out, swimming in pleasure, barely able to speak.

“Are you going to let me cum inside of you too, fill you with my seed?” He grunted, his strokes paced as you felt every ridge of his cock against your walls “you always lose all control when you’re filled with my hot seed” he gushed “sticky and panting, your natural state, isn’t that right my hospitable whore” he continued to goad, fucking you deeply. “Or maybe you want me to make you a doting mother?” He ventured, grinding his hips into yours, his thumb teasing your clit again.

“Fuck!” You yelped in unaldorterated pleasure, his words driving you insane.

“You know I’ve always had a soft spot for you, maybe I should finally fuck a baby into you” he groaned, his climax fast approaching “would you like that?” He rushed out, staving off his orgasm, he needed your confirmation, your faux vows to really send him over the edge. You nodded frantically in response but that wasn’t enough. “Say it!” He ordered desperately.

“Yes! Fuck Loki yesss!” You yelled, hitting your peak as Loki’s thrusts turned disoriented, sloppy before he came, shooting his load deep inside you.

“Fuck!” He growled, spilling inside of you as you tried to slow your breaths.

Once you had both come down from your highs, Loki pulled out of you before sheathing himself again. Silently, you turned around, your legs shaky beneath you as you reached for your jeans.

“If you don’t want me to use your van, I won’t use your van” Loki eventually spoke “there are other ways for me to import and export.”

“Loki, wait.” You called after him as he turned to leave.

“You’ll still have my protection as long as I still get my cherry pie.” He winked before leaving.

Omg in the season 2 trailer, Mobius was telling Loki to eat the pie 😂

Tags:

@lokisgoodgirl @thenotoriouserg @chantsdemarins @donaweasley @xorpsbane @mcufan72 @loz-3 @evelyn-kingsley @sailorholly @lovingchoices14 @lokiedokiee @noideakitten @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokiprompts @lulubelle814 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @tmilover1993 @lyds247 @dustychinchilla74 @lokis-dark-queen @november-rayne @12-pm-510 @vickie5546 @newtomofgods @eyesbluelikethetitanic @lokiestorch @somewhereinthegalaxi @beautyb1ade @angelilacsworld @lokidokieokie @mushypork @iamlokisgloriouspurpose

[chocolate1721]

Be Mine [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A morning meeting has an unexpected twist. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Language. Smutty. Avenger!Loki x Female Reader. Questionable flirting techniques. (w/c 2.8k)

The muscle at the side of Loki’s jaw flexed. He swallowed; an achingly glacial bob of his Adam’s apple making you want to claw your eyes out.

For some inexplicable reason he had opted to wear full leathers to today’s briefing.

It was seven nineteen in the AM. Thor was sporting a muscle vest boasting not one but three stains of varying complexity and a pair of shorts which left little to the imagination. Scott was wearing his dressing gown.

The rest of the team hung off chairs and flopped on the table in various states of undress. Steve stood at the head of the room as usual; prim and fresh in a crisp button-down and perfectly creased chinos.

“So what we’re seeing here,” Steve said, turning to the group from the Powerpoint, “is an up-tick in biological experiments-”

His eyes narrowed while they roamed over the doodling, distracted and hungover band sprawled around the table. “Lang.” he snapped. “Close your legs; there are ladies present.’

Scott shuffled up his seat, drawing the dressing gown down over his knees while mumbling apologies. A low rumble of mirth circled the room, but Loki’s gaze never left the Captain’s.

The curve of his dark lashes swept upward, features set in performative rapture. Loki's facial expression hadn’t changed as the scene unfolded, but for a miniscule twitch of his lip. Usually the two of you would exchange a few eye rolls; a few knowing smiles during a particularly turgid monologue about shoe storage post-mission...but not today. Today he hadn't even looked at you.

Steve sighed. He extended a finger and pushed his retractable pointer down to a stub. Pacing to the table, he dropped his head, laying his palms flat. When he looked up, disappointed-dad energy was thick in his eyes. “Folks, this just won’t do.” he said.

Natasha’s sunglasses slid down her nose. Scott crossed his legs making the swivel chair knock into Wilson and waking him up. The Falcon’s arms flew wide on instinct, whacking Tony in the chest. “Jesus Christmas-” Tony snorted, blinking wildly. “It was a party.” Natasha drawled, pushing the sunglasses back in place with disdain. “Maybe if you’d stayed after the cake you’d have those tight panties of yours in less of a spick, Rogers.”

“That’s Captain Rogers.” he snapped. “We’re on the clock.” “Calm down, Rogers.” Tony said, cresting his fingers. He was remarkably chipper for a man with whipped cream crusted in his hairline. “You’re all sitting on my clock. Remember that.”

Steve flushed scarlet. His eyes narrowed as Tony’s smirk grew.

“All I’m saying is it’s a sorry day when Laufeyson is the star pupil. Look at him!” Steve said, gesturing incredulously at Loki who remained in position; back straight, chin up. But now, one eyebrow arched. “All of you lot in your skivvies and Laufeyson’s in full dress?” Steve shook his head. “I fail to see the humour, Rogers.” Loki said. “Why is it so surprising that I come to our daily summons dressed thus? Certainly I have never presented myself in a tragic towelling monstrosity like Lang here.” “There was that one time with the silk nightie.” Sam whispered to Scott. Scott covered his mouth.

“A silk robe.” Loki snapped.

“Usually you only bring out the Asgardian shit when you’re brown-nosing. Or when you’ve done something shifty.” Natasha said, propping her chin up with a fist. You bet her eyes are closed. Wanda nodded behind her Starbucks.

“Or trying to impress someone,” the witch said. Natasha waved a finger in agreement. “Sexually.” Wanda added.

Loki released a scandalised snort. “How dare you.” he said. Leather creaked against his biceps as he folded his arms.

Beneath the table, your thighs squeezed together. The only thing hotter than Loki in leather, was an indignant Loki in leather. You suddenly became very aware of your quickened breaths making the buttons of your blouse strain. The god’s eyes darted to the side, meeting yours. “What?” he snarled. “Nothing.” you squeaked, swallowing. An awkward silence hung in the room. The scent of stale vodka suddenly seemed very strong. Steve sighed.

“Let’s call it for this morning-” he said, immediately met with muted hisses of celebration around the table. He patted down the air. “Rescheduled for this afternoon. Thirteen-hundred sharp. Wear clothes.” Approval turned to whines and hushed curses as chairs were swivelled and aching bodies shifted. “Unbelievable.” Loki snarled under his breath.

You watched out the corner of your eye as he stood; the flat of his iron stomach inches from your face. The scent of rich leather filled your nostrils while Loki’s fingers nipped beneath the hem of his tunic, tugging it down. He flipped the length of his cape with a sniff. You saw it swirl around his boots briefly as he stepped towards the window, clasping his hands behind his back.

Taking your time, you picked up each piece of carefully laid stationary at your seat. One by one, the rest of the team left the room. Steve was last, his hand hovering on the door handle while he shot you a wary look. As a parting gift, he opened the door wider. “You didn’t stay late?” Loki’s voice was a thick hum in the growing silence. His tone, inscrutable. “Huh?” “At the party.” he said. “You didn’t stay late.”

This time it wasn’t a question. “I usually head off when Thor starts making passes at everyone. I didn’t see you. Were you there?” “He did that?” Loki bristled. “To you?” There was a pause. “To everyone.” you repeated quietly. Loki’s shoulders stiffened. His fingers twitched, thumb digging into one exposed palm behind his back. He was still staring out the window.

“I’ll see you later.” you said, nerves fluttering in your belly. The god’s hair shortened as his chin dipped. You wondered how it would feel to wind those dark strands through your fingers as you rode him. Wondered how the grunts and signs and pretty curses from his lips would sound wet in your ear.

“No.” Loki said. “Excuse me?” “No,” he repeated.

You steadied against the table-top with the pads of your fingertips. Small stars began to burst in your field of vision. “I think the leather looks goo-good,” you stammered. And you didn’t know why.

The thought of him barring the exit of enemies in far flung realms using only that voice barged through the doors of your imagination with the force of a horny caveman. If that was the last sarcastic quip they heard, by god, you imagined they may just have died happy. And hard.

“It looks good.” you repeated, no more than a whisper. Loki turned his head. The sharp profile came into view at a glacial pace. First the peaked tip of his chin, then the slant of his regal nose, then the harsh peak of his cheekbone, then his eyes. Your ass met the table-top with a stumble. There was a small crease between his eyebrows. “Bold of you to make another jest without your compatriots around you, Agent.” he said. Across the short distance between you, venom dripped from his tongue; his hackles raised. “I wasn’t joking,” you said quietly as his gaze fell to your feet with a sneer. The quick breaths that made your buttons strain were back. Loki’s rising stare lingered on your breasts, a small smile tweaking at the corner of his mouth. Words tripped from your lips, forcing their way from behind your teeth. “I like it.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. He turned fully with a ceremonial flourish, the hands clasped behind his back moving to the front and rippling his leather and silken cloak. It fluttered.

“Is that so?” he purred darkly. He didn’t believe you.

You imagined how this is how a rabbit felt in the eyeline of a fox. To look away was to admit weakness, vulnerability. It meant death. And yet – it was the only chance to escape. But did you want to escape? Not really. You wanted to feel the sharp of his teeth fasten to your neck as he sucked and bit and made violent love to every inch of you.

You nodded, not breaking eye-contact. Loki inhaled sharply, chin tilting up as he did so.

His eyes wandered over grim foam tiles as though an enemy lurked beyond the suspended ceiling. They narrowed, darting back and forth. With a thundering heart, you noted one of his heavy boots rise from the floor. He paced forwards slowly, ceremonially, stopping inches from you. Your fingers curled tight around the table’s edge, the messy in your panties beneath the skirt becoming intolerable. Loki cleared his throat. “Am I to understand, contrary to common rhetoric, that you find my Asgardian leathers enticing; Agent?” “I think ‘enticing’ is a little grandiose, is it not?” you laughed, cringing at the way you so easily mirrored his speech. Loki noticed it too. He tilted his head. “I am nothing if not grandiose, Agent.” Loki said. “Am I not impressive? Am I not imposing?”

He trailed a long finger down your bicep, his touch light as a feather. “So often, you mortals use such words as insult.” he mused.

“It is merely a reflection on your own feelings of inferiority. This morning is a perfect example. An attempt at ridicule to deflect from their own pathetic presentation. Each one more bedraggled and an abject embarrassment to their purpose than the last.” Heat began to rise in your cheeks as his finger drifted along your collarbone. There was a pause, his eyes dropping to your lips before the finger brushed the skin at the hollow of your neck. It graced upwards, tracing the curve and stopping beneath the tip of your chin. “But not you.” he said.

The god’s eyes snapped to yours. His cheekbones hollowed under fluorescent lights, mischief glowing from the depths of his irises and painted in every light wrinkle on his brow.

“What else do you like, Agent?” he goaded softly. “Do you like the idea of what lies beneath these leathers?” You swallowed thickly. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Loki-” you said, glancing towards the open door. He followed your eyes, rolling his own. With a flick of his hand the door slammed shut. “I want you,” he breathed, leaning closer so that the heat of his cheek warmed your own, “to tell me what else you like.”

You bit your lip, watching his beautiful face come back into view. With a prang, the thought occurred that perhaps you were not the rabbit after all. Perhaps you were the fox. Loki’s gaze lingered on your face, searching it.

Emboldened, you found the words. “Why should I?”

His brows peaked softly. He released a muted sigh, pursing his lips. “As much as I am loathe to admit it, Romanoff was right.” he said. The hand tilting your chin upwards returned to its mate, clasped against the leather tunic. “I was trying to impress someone, but not that insufferable Rogers.”

He raised his eyebrows.

Excitement blossomed deep in your belly; rising like shaken soda and fizzing around your chest. Loki bit his bottom lip.

“You see, Agent, I like you very much. And I’m afraid that now it has reached the juncture where I must know if you like anything about me...beyond my exquisite taste in battle armour.”

The change in his demeanour was so dramatic that you could only gape. But when it came to Loki, could you expect anything less? Without thinking you reached forward and grasped the belt slung over his chest, pulling him forward.

Loki’s mouth clashed with yours, the heat of his lips giving way to the thrust of his tongue. Your hands slid over his metal epaulettes, tangling in ebony waves that cascaded around his shoulders. He tasted like heaven, the scent of him deep and dangerously delicious in a way you’d never known. A scent a girl could lose herself in forever; gladly.

In seconds your back was flat against the table, its cool wood harsh against the heat of your skin through the blouse. Loki’s ravenous kiss consumed you, licking and dancing inside your mouth like a man possessed. His shallow moans ricocheted between slurps of his lips, wetness coating them.

“Tell me, you infuriating woman,” he panted as a thick forearm landed on the wood beside your head. The metal vambrace clanged against cheap wood. Saliva hung between your mouths as he stared deep into your soul; blue eyes darkening. “Tell me what you like.”

“About you?” you panted. Loki didn’t nod, only lowered his chin.

His nose nudged at your lips, dragging upwards, tongue tracing around the bottom one. He had begun to smile. One of his legs nudged your thighs wider. The god straightened and you felt a thrill run from your scalp to the tips of your dangling toes. He towered above like a monolith, leather tight to his rectangular body. Hair fell around his jaw, perfectly imperfectly wolfish curls flirting against his skin. His cape brushed against your bare calves as he shifted his stance, palms sliding up your thighs and pushing your skirt higher. “Yes; I like the idea of what’s beneath all this,” you whined as you pawed at his leather-clad stomach. It was so hard. Loki smirked, watching beneath half-lidded eyes. “I think about fucking you in the showers after training,” you whispered bashfully as your hips thrust up against your will. Loki raised an eyebrow. “More...” he rumbled. “I think about you all the time. All the awful things I want to do to you, y-you do to me- Loki, uhh-”

His hands crept higher as you spoke, fingers hooking around the hips of your panties. “If I pull these down, darling” he said with an air of reprimand, “will they be wet?” You let out a gasping moan, back arching against the table.

“Excellent.” Loki snickered, pulling the panties down the length of your legs before stepping back between them.

A hand flew to your mouth as you watched one long finger dip between your thighs, running lightly between your folds. He brought it to his lips, sucking gently. His cheekbones hollowed, finger slipping out. He swallowed with a groan of appreciation.

Loki settled himself between your legs, pushing them wider. The height of the table pressed your dripping centre against his crotch. You thought you might explode. His palms slid up your waist, exploring the curves of your body while your legs wrapped around his hips. The god’s cock pressed eagerly against the leather, strong and thick up the centre. His forearms came down at either side of your head, metal wrist-guards clinking.

“I will show you what it is to be mine,” he murmured in your ear.

Loki’s cock settled against your sex, rubbing in perfect gyration. “Oh...god,” you gasped as the weight of his body pressed against your own.

Fingers combed up from the base of his neck, tangling in his hair. The next moment, they grasped around his back, pulling him closer, catching in the folds of his cloak which draped across your bodies. The god grunted filthy praises in your ear as his bound manhood sent electric currents of pleasure deeper than you’d ever known. His searching lips found their way to your neck, your jaw. Every utterance from his throat more disgustingly sensual than the last. Hot leather filled your nostrils, the scent of him strong and intoxicating. Mounting orgasm bubbled in waves, a dream-like trance broken only with whispered groans of pleasure from your throats. Loki Laufeyson was about to make you cum. The thought was unbelievable. And yet, your pussy being tugged and massaged and owned by his leather-bound cock into the throes of heaven knew it to be true. Dry-humped like a teenager in the back of a pick-up.

“Be mine...” Loki mumbled breathlessly, a strangled choke gasping from deep in his chest. He immediately dove for a perishing kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and releasing it with a wet suck. He smouldered down.

Against the bright lights, his dark halo shone; tendrils curling against your cheek and brushing with every calculated roll of his hips. Every muscle in your body tensed. Your legs tightened against his hips.

“Be mine,” he echoed. His face was twisted, and you suddenly wondered how close he was to cumming in those beautiful leather pants. “Loki-” you gasped, clutching at his cape. Back arching, the last thing you heard as climax stormed your brain were the matching pants of the god. The last thing you saw were his peaked brows above dilated pupils so deep you could drown in them.

In the afterglow, all you could manage were garbled phrases as your forearm draped over your eyes. “That was...unexpected.” you panted when the god’s weight lifted from your chest. “Perhaps for you.” Loki winked. “It was very carefully calculated on my part,” You watched in dazed disbelief as Loki sank to his knees, leather creaking, and hoisted your hips higher. He lapped at your soaking pussy, muffled moans seeping from his throat as he buried himself in your fresh pleasure. The flat of his tongue licked a thick stripe from the base to your swollen clit, placing a gentle suck on the tip. His eyes flickered up, meeting yours.

“Immaculate, as expected.” he breathed. His chin glistened.

You groaned as he withdrew; grasping at the air as he went. That small caress of him against your sex was everything you could ever have dreamed. Loki let you reluctantly arrange yourself before offering his hand for the short hop off the table. “Not exactly how I imagined our first time,” you said with a sheepish smile. Loki scanned your face.

“Agent don’t be insulting. That was merely a sample,” he scoffed. “It barely counts.” He stepped forward, pulling you flush against him with a flat palm at the base of your spine. “We must ensure you have eaten something before more intimate activities are indulged in; lest you faint. Or worse.” “Or worse?” “You are only mortal, after all.” Loki smiled slyly. “And this,” he gestured to his cock; hard and straining against the leather, “can be rather a handful. As well can his Master.” You slapped him on the shoulder. Loki smirked. Remembering the unexpected schedule change, you frowned. “You think we have time before the meeting later?”

Loki snorted. “We’re not attending. The two of us fulfilled our obligations, unlike the more cretinous members of our party.” You raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to get me in trouble, I can tell.” Loki’s fingers danced up your back, a light thrust of his hips making your body keen. His dirty exhale flooded your ear, the warm scent of him overloading your senses.

“Oh Agent,” he purred against the skin; his eyes darting covertly to the pair of panties discarded on the floor. “As if you expected anything less.”

Taglist (continued in comments)

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog

[chocolate1721]

mail-order bride x simon "ghost" riley masterlist

this story is meant to be open-ended and vague. a collection of scenarios between simon and his mail-ordered bride.

cw: this piece isn't necessarily nsfw or dark, but i will not promise it won't contain these themes as these pieces are literally posted on the spot with random prompts (18+)

early delivery

no privacy

help wanted

get off my lawn

views

quiet hours

expectations

necessity

no past

#mail-order tag (lore + more lmao)

[chocolate1721]

Outlaw Gunslinger!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Plus Size!Reader x Marshal!Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Tw: sexual content, crass language, violence

You're nabbed by him before your hotcakes flipped.

Blissfully unaware of your surroundings, as usual. Just cooking and bustling about, making sure cowhands, yawning ladies of the night, deacons, and whoever else who didn't care about having breakfast in one of the oldest, dilapidated buildings in town got fed. No one minded, not when Miss Miss, as the townsfolk affectionately called you, served one of the best plates on this side of the Mississippi. Didn't matter the customer, didn't matter the weather, didn't matter the time: You made sure everyone left full and satisfied.

It's not like this is the first time the joint got robbed or had a shootout. Maybe that was why you shrugged even when bullets went flying and the screams of various people cut through the roar of frying. As long as you got to cook in the back, oh, well, you guess. All of the previous combatants left you alone, as they were even customers of the place, and Miss Miss going missing would've started an outright war, especially since the nearby soldiers at Fort Kortac were reliable patrons. And as far as kidnapping, you weren't exactly the lightest person around. Whoever dared would need to have herculean strength and grit. So, when a large hand clamped over your mouth, you had no time to lament the burning hotcakes left on the griddle. The figure made off with you as if you weighed nothing into the dark of the Texan desert.

All this time, Marshal Johnny MacTavish watched the taking like a hawk, and hell if the outlaw Ghost was going to take his woman. He urged his horse into a hurried pace, but made sure to keep enough distance; tracking them down and surprising them when the bed rolls were out would be an advantage for him. Quicker way to put a bullet into the other man's head, too.

He struck at the intended time. Save for the fact that Ghost knew the entire way to camp, and the shootout and scuffle that ensued had you squawking behind your gag. Had you indignantly fighting against your restraints on the bed roll as the two pigheaded men eventually came to dueling in fists. It's only when you thrash so uncontrollably that they pause and dart over to you to see what the problem was.

Heated, you spare no patience as you chew the two of them out after the marshal removed the gag. Yeah, you knew the both of them. Very well, actually. Your best patron that came in the dead of the night for your plates. Your childhood friend before he ran off and accrued one of the biggest bounties in the West. Your former crush. Simon Riley. Or was it Ghost. And the other fellow: The all-too stubborn marshal whose drawl would lick all over you when he came in for brunch and dinner nearly every day. Made you slap your head at times to not get caught up in his obvious courtship. Johnny MacTavish, or did he like to go by Marshal Soap, the way he cleaned up every bandit with a flick of his wrist on his revolver?

Guess you nagged them enough, because there's an unknown truce the way they kid about gagging you again for some sleep. And the fact that you'd look more than pretty chewing on a bit with your arms still restrained. So they mute you again and decide to murder each other after some shut eye. Duel at noon? Perhaps.

Noon rolls around, and the duel decides to take place. You thrash against your restraints and try to tell them to stop but they don't listen. Typical. It's a second before one of their bullets fly that bullets from another direction fly again. Simon cuts the air with a sharp whistle and his horse sprints behind the cover of the canyon boulders while the other man does the same. They both rush to you and don't even fight about Johnny carrying you like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder, hoisting you onto his ride and taking off through winding curves of the large rock paths. But what about Simon? You two were leaving him, and he didn't even have a fit over it.

You both stop at a small lean-to some miles later. He takes the gag out of your mouth and you let yourself go into hysterics over leaving Simon behind. He may be one of the worst murderers in the country. Maybe he robbed and killed more than a few times. Okay, he even had the blood and diamonds of politicians all over his hands. But that didn't mean he wasn't a good person, because somehow he was a great customer and childhood friend and you still never forgot about your shy kisses on his cheek and how he never made fun of you for being big and you always liked how he looked directly at you and never lied and what made him run off like that years ago and only present himself as Ghost-

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Yeah, more than a penny. It's a barrage. You tear into Johnny, tear into him second by second, clutching at his shirt and demanding that you both go back there to retrieve Simon. And then it's tearing away from him after he tells you that he's got more than a little thing for you the way he sees you hot and bothered; drops his intent as plain as day, that the two of you should make off back to town and get your marriage registered. After all, the townsfolk won't just sit right and proper after finding out the two of you went off on some adventure alone, and nothing became of such a trip...

oOo

"You never changed one bit, did you, Johnny?"

"Well, reckon you'd have known that, Simon, after all these years. Pity they ain't put lead in you, but I guess the feds don't train their folks enough to be a decent shot."

What?

"Congratulations. Sir, you just probably became the most wanted feller out of the whole country; ain't just the West. What was that? Six agents?"

"Ten. Killed a few others before, but not ten in a row."

"Huh. Well, thank you, Ghost. It'd be a nice confession I'll share with the judge when I haul you back into town. Shame they don't let the marshals collect the bounties."

"If you can haul me back."

Simon met you guys half an hour later after the attack, and ensured the entire party got a move on further down the state. Glad he lived, but you still didn't have a clue why you were kidnapped, and how the hell was Johnny still trying to make moves on you while you were a victim. It's only when the marshal deemed it further along enough that he whipped over and demanded Simon for a duel. Well, tell what the hell he was trying to do, and then eat lead. You agreed, except for the latter. Normally, you'd want your kidnapper to die, but he was your childhood friend, and you don't miss the way your body flushes even further as the years passed. And were you crazy, but did he look at you above the rim of a shot glass with the same level of want? Who was to know.

Simon hitched the horses and gingerly helped you off. Seemed like some type of hideout, and it must've been familiar to him. He seemed at ease.

"Your aunt. I managed to find her. She's down yonder in Tabasco."

Tabasco?

"That's nearly at the bottom of Mexico."

"Yes, Ma'am. And she's hired me to escort you there. If you would like."

If you would like? You couldn't believe it! Aunt Bessie. Down in Mexico. God, she wasn't dead after the attack that you pushed to the way back of your mind. That attack that only you had survived; Mama, Papa, little Tommy, MeeMaw, and the others. Dead. The family ranch you had fond memories of. Gone. And none of the law enforcement ever found out who the perpetrators were, save for the fact that you were penniless now and the ranch got possessed by the perverted bastard Herschel Shepherd. In fact, you were in debt, and it was apparently oh so kind of him to allow you to work at the food joint. It was literally indentured servitude. You worked to live and eat, just to survive. The main things that kept you sane were your smiling customers, late night visits from Simon, and the eyeroll-inducing Marshal Johnny MacTavish who enjoyed making you flustered. Else, life was bleak.

You accepted. Then you thought. And then you couldn't accept. And then you thought, and then had way too many questions. Simon seemed to have prepared for it all, down to your knight in shining armor trailing after you. You couldn't leave due to your debt. So he nabbed you, went through a chase, and wouldn't it be convenient for Marshal MacTavish to go back into town stating you were dead? Come back with the brassy flower pin you adorned in your hair. That way, you were reported as dead. Problem solved.

"And what if I didn't accept?"

He shrugged. "I'd take you for myself, none the less."

Johnny moved quicker than you thought. The gun's already out pointing at Simon's form. "I claimed her earlier than that, Riley. If anything, she'd be my wife."

oOo

You accepted, but gave them both the cold shoulder for their male pettiness. They snapped over you in their own ways like wolves, baring their fangs while you sat trussed up on the horse like a hunk of meat. A fatty piece of meat which they seemed to enjoy, because they were no longer in the eyes of polite society, and gave freedom to their hands. Not that you were complaining sincerely, even if you squawked when they lovingly massaged your stomach or spent too long grabbing onto your rump when they helped you up and down. You don't know what's going on in Johnny's head, as the southern border was coming up right too soon, and his jurisdiction ended there. He didn't say much after you taking up Simon's offer; just asked for the flower pin and your torn stockings.

It's not easy ignoring his deep inhales at the crotch area, though, before he tucked them away in his pocket.

oOo

In one of the mornings, Johnny's gone. The night before, he steals one of the longest kisses, right flush up against his body under a tree. You wonder why Simon doesn't say a word while he tended to the horses a few feet away. Didn't he know that the other man was caging you in and letting you feel him there, as if clothing was not a barrier? That he had one hand in your hair, baring your throat for his greedy lips? Had you panting into his mouth while he hoisted you up to lock your legs around his hips.

Surely he knew. You knew. You knew last night while you laid on Simon's bedroll, supposedly sleeping, but it was hard to go to sleep when the marshal had the outlaw backed up against a boulder, scraping his teeth along an exposed chest. And Simon uttered no complaints. Just let his jeans get pushed past his hips, and they were doing things that you saw as shadows cast by the flickering flames of the campfire, letting guttural groans of satisfaction lick at your ears.

A hell of a sendoff, a hell of a ride, and time blurs, because you and Simon ride for hours. He's gruff, but sweet, because he pads your saddle to make sure it's as comfortable as possible, and holds you steady as the stallion treks across the Rio Grande. You want to ask about that night, but can't. What isn't a mystery is the familiarity between the two men, and you know sure as hell that it wasn't the first time they knocked boots; like cat and mouse, the marshal chasing the outlaw, an archetype tale as old as time, but was it normal for the two players to tear at their clothes as much as their throats? Was it okay to ask? Surely not, so you keep quiet, and let yourself doze off as you wonder where the devious marshal ran away to.

oOo

The wasteland turns into little towns and settlements, and Simon tells you to keep your head low; your face and countenance may save you, but not everyone was thrilled with a mountainous gringo who was highly noticeable with a fat bounty. You guys try to avoid civilization as much as possible, in case, and you mourn your tiny vanity and hot baths. Simon could tell when certain people started to suspect him as Ghost, and you both had to move quick into the night. You still wonder about Johnny.

The only time a town was acceptable was one that was nearly entirely remote, devoid of most niceties save for a motel and a general store. Tonight was one such night; you grin excitedly as Simon untacks his horse and pays the owner more than the usual amount of pesos. Slips you upstairs into the tiny room, and tells you to get ready for another full day of riding.

Except this time, he doesn't leave. The other two times, he excuses himself to let you pamper and preen yourself in silence out of courtesy while he visits the saloon or goes God knows where. He drags the lone chair into direct view of the steaming tub, and tells you to bathe. Doesn't forcefully demand, doesn't ask, but directly tells you. He leans against the back of the chair once he sits, and that's the cue for you to act.

And you do. Trembling. Shy, frazzled, questioning, wanting. Caked in grime, sweat, the clothes peeling off your weather-hardened skin, and no doubt your hair was a nest. But under that watchful gaze complimented with silence, it didn't take a genius to know you were more than a cold drink on a hot summer's day, with dimpled fat, scars, and all. Naked as a jay bird in front of man who didn't think twice about slitting a man's throat, and he made you a queen. You take his outstretched hand and let him sink you into the tub. The water was hot and steamy.

Just like you. Just like him. He bathed you with no words, and you idly played with the bubbles as he washed your hair, your neck, shoulders. Then your breasts. And you gasped. Trembling, not in fear, but in need, and the washcloth goes lower and lower. He skirts around the bottom of your tummy to focus on your legs. Strokes them, feels them, lets your toes poke out and he cleans them to softness the basic soap couldnt do on its own.

It's inevitable that he goes there. And yet you part your legs shyly but willingly; but he takes no advantage, efficiently cleaning with care using another cloth. He carefully stands you up in the tub and advises you to wait in the adjoining room, going out before coming back inside, and some women come in to haul off the tub and return with it empty along with buckets of hot water.

He rinses you off, but it's not the heat from the water that pulls at your core. It's the same stare, no less intense than the time you bared yourself to him, and it went past getting to you. Makes your head spin as he dries you off. Makes you thirst. Hunger. Makes you offer no resistance when he snaps and pulls you right against him, and he crushes all flitting complaints out of your mouth with his own.

oOo

When you were a kid, the mean kids called you an ugly, fat cow. Made you cry until Simon chased them all away and gave you the good candy from the general store, the two of you walking hand -in-hand while you laughed and cried to the sweet taste of peppermint sticks. Poor Simon couldn't chase the self-hatred out of your head, though, and you fruitlessly dreamt that you could be pretty and thin and weightless, elegant like those heroines effortlessly carried by the hero in those penny movies. Except for the fact that you stayed the same tubby, homely woman now deemed spinster by the townsfolk, but Simon played hero, because he somehow had you in his arms as if you weighed no more than a feather. Had you reeling like a heroine in a pueblo that had seen better days. But it didn't matter, not when each hand splayed across each of your buttcheeks. He pressed himself into you, and you were lost.

Scratching at his back as he laved at your breasts. Squeezing, touching, playing your lips as much as your hair. Said nothing but everything, and you knew. You knew he'd kill more than a man for you, that he'd give it all to you. And you wanted it. Wanted, and you let him know that, clutching at his shirt while he layed you down on the bed. You protest when he pulls you against him to go to sleep, but he says now wasn't the time. That he'd do it right on a real bed that didn't poke at your back with spiders on the ceilings.

That he'd take you to your aunt and build you a big house nearby. Let you more than play housewife while he tills the land, and there'd be farm animals and neighbors and little fruit trees by the se.

You don't miss how he utters about Johnny picking the rings, though.

Johnny eventually catches up days later. Says he told the townsfolk you were dead, used your pin and torn stockings to prove the lie. You ask him why he's here, why he has more than a measly satchel slung over his horses and he shrugs. Suddenly kisses you for more than a good measure in front of Simon, and he laughs.

"I ain't tryna leave my dead bride running around with a dead man, not while I'm alive."

This time, as the three of you make your way across the new lands, Simon lets Johnny hoist you up to ride with him instead.

[chocolate1721]

yeah yeah yeah 1600s au where john price's wife is your dutiful queen, and you are the doting, shy lady-in-waiting, but, today, something isn't right. (dark!ghost x fem!reader, 18+)

cw: reader described as curvier/plus-sized, mentions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, ghost is obsessed with your tits

it is not a secret that you are afraid of the king's men. there is a reason that they have a reputation of cruelty. ravagers, conquerors, unruly and untamed--they train like dogs, and they live like them, too. by accident, you have wandered to where their barracks are, and if it wasn't for the happenstance of your king hearing your screams, they would've taken your virtue that night.

that one belongs to my wife, he had said, gripping you by the scruff of your neck. spoil it, and i'll have your fuckin' heads. his queen had been much kinder when he returned you back inside, cradling your head in her lap and promising to have something fashioned for you to wear so none of his men would ever touch you again.

and they haven't. they do not bow to you, but they open the doors for you, move out of your way, try to keep their eyes off of the softness of your cleavage and the curve of your skirt. but there is one that does not, there is one that refuses, and this one you avoid the most.

you don't know him by any other name other than ghost. the right hand of the king, his most trusted advisor and his most brutal of men. there are times when he barges into the throne room, his sword dragging along the stone floor and trailing blood in its path, and he tosses the head of the king's enemy onto the floor. you clutch onto the skirt of your queen's dress, tears welling up in your eyes, and when you look up, he is staring at you, heaving in the metal of his armor, and you look away as his men yell out proudly as they crowd the room.

his eyes are always on you when you are in his presence. they track you as you move behind your queen, follow you as you eat and drink and tend to her majesty's needs. he wanders the halls, and he observes you as if you are his next meal. and maybe you are--if he suddenly decided you would be his next conquest, you don't think a refusal is in order. maybe that's the mercy he gives you; just the aggressiveness of his stare and his stare only, and not the strength of his hand or the cruelness of his demeanor.

there is always a party. always a celebration for this brute. he is praised by politicians and priests alike, because he must be the hand of god, delivering whatever the king asks for when it is asked of him. he does not lose, all he comes back with is chests full of gold and new slashes to add to the growing collection on his skin. sometimes you wonder if he puts them on himself. you wonder if he drags his dagger in a crooked line down the length of his arm, as if he is tallying his win, counting up to a number that already puts the men that came before him to shame.

he seems like the kind of man to do so--like the kind of man to do it even with the blood of his adversary still warm on the sharp edge of the blade, the kind to lick it clean when he's finished just to solidify the unease and the terror of the next man to have the unfortunate fate of ending up at the wrong end of his adrenaline.

he has no face. he has no name. and if he is coming for you, it's already too late; your fate has been sealed, and you should say your last rites. the only mercy he ever gives is that death is always quick. his sword is too sharp, and his hand is too heavy.

it is late in the evening when you hear it. there's screaming in the courtyard, yells and howls and cheers. you put down your hairbrush, getting up and padding to the window to look outside. the king's men are there, hundreds of them milling about and walking around. they share mead and wine, crusty bread in their muddy hands. they are bloody and bruised, but they are happy. they sing and chant, hold each other and crowd around fires. they left weeks ago, and they are back now, and you suspect it must be victory on account of their demeanor.

you are not surprised by this. they aren't kind, but it makes them good soldiers. they aren't afraid to die; it's a common idea in your culture that for a man to die in battle is the only way to true salvation, to actual ascension. you have always hated this idea. boys become cruel, and men become unforgiving, and it is why you are so grateful to be her majesty's lady-in-waiting because it means she is your only duty and nothing more.

you are surprised by the knock on your door. you think about ignoring it, but then there is another knock, and then a familiar, low voice mutters, "are you awake, my lady?"

you tie your robe and scurry. when you open up the door, you curtsy low and graceful, your eyes drawn to the floor as you tremble a little in the king's presence. you've never really spoken to him before, not without his queen at your side.

"y-yes, your majesty? i'm sorry for my appearance, i--"

"it's quite late," he says gently. "you don't have to apologize. is it alright if i come in?"

you stand from your curtsy, blinking up at him. you think for a few moments before you nod, widening the door. he settles himself at the seat by the window, looking down into the courtyard. he has a hint of a smirk on his face as he looks down at his men, still singing.

"i have a request of you," he says finally. you take a seat at the edge of your bed, wringing your hands nervously in your lap. whatever his request is, you don't know why he's putting it this way. you're not exactly allowed to refuse. "it is time for my most decorated men to receive their titles. they deserve it, after what they have done for me these past few years."

you swallow, "yes, of course. you have such a fine army, your majesty. you must be...v-very proud."

he turns to face you, and he nods.

"these titles come with land. money. responsibility. and it comes with other things they might request," he explains. "one of these things can be a bride."

"they are most fortunate," you say softly, trying to smile. he stands, turning back to look down into the courtyard.

"you are to be wed tomorrow," he tells you. "i know you gave up much to accept your role at my wife's side, and for that, i have arranged for a sizable dowry on your behalf. congratulations, my lady." he turns to smile at you. "by sunset, you are to be a duchess."

you're shaking when he goes. you clutch the sheets, sinking to your knees, and you cry. you cry because you know who asked for your hand. you know who wants you, you know who it is, because every time he comes back from war, he cannot take his eyes off of you. he eats you with his gaze, he violates you and has never even touched you, he takes from you, and you've never spoken to him, but you know it's him, you know it, you know it--

your queen is ecstatic. she lends you diamonds to wear, and she fusses over the embroidered silk and cotton dress they've sewn for you overnight. she tells you she's so proud, that you will make such a beautiful bride and a beautiful duchess, and it takes all of your strength not to cry, to choke back your sobs. your innocence will be gone by the next morning, you know this, and yet here she beams about colored fabric and your new, unwanted title and all of the duties you have never, ever wanted for yourself.

marriage will be your prison, and you will never be free. you'll be hidden behind closed doors and forced to carry loud, chubby babies.

you are not the only bride that afternoon, but you feel like the most important. your veil is the longest, your dress is the most intricate, and you are wearing the queen's diamonds. not to mention, you are to become a duchess, and the rest will be lords and ladies, nothing more. you have always hated the hierarchy that society fits themselves into, but you've never despised it more than this moment.

he is waiting for you when you make it to the throne room. he wears his armor, polished and without blood, his face covered and his hood up to shadow his dark eyes. he wears his telltale insignia with pride, the skull motif of his belt gleaming and the paint of his mask fresh. he stands tall and menacing, a reaper in human skin, and you are so close to tears as you make your way to him. your eyes find his, and he holds out his hand for you to take. you slip a delicate hand into his gloved one, letting the rough fabric warm you as he brings you to stand in front of him. he purrs, you think, a low rumble as his eyes look you up and down.

you are a prize. a trophy. nothing more. a gift given for cutting the heads off of your king's foes, and that is all.

the ring on your finger is gold, and the ring you slip over his is silver. and then he gives you his first gift as your husband--a tiara, made of emerald and gold, and he slips your veil off to tuck it between the strands of your hair. the intricate pattern on the tiara matches the patterns along the iron of his armor, and you want to think of this as a gesture of good will, but you know it is given with possessive intent, a brand of ownership.

because that is what this is. not a ceremony of love, but an exchange, a transaction. you've been bought with blood, and there is nothing you can do about it.

but one day he will grow bored of me, and maybe then, i'll feel myself again.

he narrows his eyes, glares, and your lips part, trembling, you are terrified. his response is to growl with delight, his eyes falling to stare at the laces that hold in your cleavage. you observe this fact--the fact that you have things that other ladies do not. you are not tiny like them, not thin nor delicate. you are warm, soft, and the squeeze of your breasts in your dress draw him in.

you are a prisoner, now. but perhaps, if you play this game correctly, you can be in your ward's good graces. this is the hand you've been dealt; perhaps there is still a way to win if you steel your bluff.

the party is lively. there is music, gold coins tossed haphazardly on tables, so much dancing and enough food to stuff yourself for days. there is endless wine, and there are brides seated in laps, hungry new couples kissing and whispering soft nothings into each other's ears. the king blessed you all, told you to enjoy your new lives, your new titles, to make your country proud and raise pretty, fat babies.

you sit aways from him. you don't speak, just stare at your dinner plate, sipping wine absentmindedly as you think about the rest of your life and how miserable you will be. you think about the control you have never had, the choices you have never been given, and you wish so badly that you were a man.

men simply ask for, and then they receive. women simply hope that their eyes don't meet a flame too hot to handle.

his eyes bore into your head. when you catch his gaze every once in a while, all he does is tilt his head to the side and observe you. the beauty that you are, the woman that no one can have, the supple tits that belong to him, and the perfect cunt he knows that you have under the multitude of skirts you hide it under. your skin glows, your hair is healthy, you will give him everything that he needs, that he craves.

you'll look so beautiful carrying his heir. you'll look so perfect when you begin to wear the dresses he will buy you, when you sleep in the bed in the house that he gives you, when you stand in the kitchen that he builds for you. although, a woman like you deserves to do nothing but relax, be pampered, to lay down on a bed of furs as he eats your sweetness and fucks you stupid.

when the morning is early, you sneak out. you scurry to your bedroom, closing the door behind you for a moment of peace. you take a seat on your bed, the bed you aren't sure you will have for much longer, and you sit there and stare at your feet until the door opens.

you know who it is right away. coming in unannounced, because now he is allowed to, because everything in this room now belongs to him, from the thread holding your dress together to the very breaths you take.

you sit up straight, turning your head. ghost slips through, taking up the space by the door as it shuts behind him. you watch him as he stands poised just like the soldier he is, looking at you illuminated by nothing but candlelight. his gloved hands rest at his sides, but he squeezes them in and out of fists, clicking his tongue. you hear the leather of them move.

you have never spoken to him before. you've never heard him speak. you wonder if he really knows how to; you wonder if he has a voice or if he's been whittled down to nothing but the sounds that a loyal mutt makes. you know why he's here, you know why he's come. you can't tell him no, you don't think, but he doesn't move from his place, so you aren't completely sure of what he wants.

but you have an idea.

"y'abhor me," he says finally. he speaks. you swallow. at least he isn't stupid. it's rare that you see a brute with brains. although, with all the battles he has won, you know he doesn't lack intelligence. he is seasoned, worldly, knows how to convince the politicians and to rile up the uneducated men that kill for him. he must have a quick tongue and a strong vocabulary. a leader bred for killing, a man taught to know his audience and how to deliver a persuasive message.

but has he been taught to tame a cat? how to please a woman? how to love her, how to have her?

love. what a silly dream.

"not as much as i fear you," you admit. he hums, his eyes crinkling a little, as if he's smiling. you watch him carefully as he finally moves, rounding the bed before he stands in front of you.

"wot is it y'r afraid of?" he asks. his voice comes low, from the bottom of his chest. you tilt your head up to look at him.

"that you'll hurt me," you whisper. he shrugs, shaking his head.

"a beaten wife is no good t'me," he tells you, very matter-of-fact. "need strong heirs. which means i need y'fed and happy."

"i'll never be happy."

he grips your chin, shutting you up. a part of you wishes he would be meaner. that he would be the angry, possessive ghost that he truly is and show the kingdom that there is no part of him redeemable or salvageable. you want to sport his bruises and tell the queen he is an animal, but his touch is firm and nothing more. if anything, he's gentler than you expected him to be.

"we'll see about tha'."

your eyes water, and you stiffen at his touch.

"i know who you are," your voice cracks. "i know what you do. you're a pillager. you take women, and you kill men."

he tilts his head to the side, smoothing his thumb along your bottom lip. you aren't wrong. since he was small, most of what he has known has been the smell of blood in the air and the sound of screams when he shows up at their doors. he's never been particularly gentle when he ravages. he takes, takes, takes--it tastes good and strengthens his bones. it puts medals on his chest and pretty, thick women in his bed.

but you are no village in an unfortunate land. you are the gift that his king has given him. the forbidden treasure that he had his eye on since he saw you standing there beside his queen. poised, elegant, graceful, timid, untouched, perfectly soft. ghost has never known this kind of thing, and if you had been any other lady, he would have married you long ago, but he had to wait. he had to be patient, win and kill enough that his king could not refuse his request--no, his demand--to have you.

he did not do the king's bidding for the glory or for the honor. he did it so he could bite into you, so that even if you screamed, you belonged, and no one would care.

"just a matter of war, dear wife. they matter little," ghost mutters. "let me look at ya..." he tilts your head side to side, observing you. he guides his hand down your throat, arching you back so he could trace his fingers along the swell of your breasts. he hums with approval, reaching lower and squeezing the fat of one breast with one big hand. his eyes flash, and he fondles the other.

you are surprised by the sensation. no one has ever touched you this way before. it feels...good. his hands are warm, even under all of that leather, and you find yourself feeling rather sensitive. you lean back a little on the palms of your hands, looking down. you watch as he traces a finger around your nipple, and you bite your lip when it pebbles under his touch. he uses both hands now, cupping both of them, growling. ohhh--it feels so nice.

"gonna be so nice when they're full," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "all for our babe."

you don't know what comes over you. you don't know why you do it, but you do. you lift your hand, gripping the edge of the laces that tie the front of your dress closed, and you pull. the weight of your breasts unravel the ribbons, and ghost groans audibly when they spill out of your corset. there is a tickle that you feel, some sort of sick satisfaction, knowing that you've pleased him in some way.

"tha'sit...my beautiful bride..." he smacks his lips together under his mask, as if he's hungry, "tits of a fuckin' angel."

you squeeze your legs together. you know what it is to feel aroused, but this is different. you feel wet, so wet, as if it's wetting the skirt of your dress. you've never felt it this strong. you whimper a little, and he chuckles, so mean.

"y'like tha', my bride?" he asks. he reaches up and cups your cheek, bringing your soft eyes to his. the praise, it itches you nicely. "y'r m'prize, swee'eart. i killed over a thousand men, and y'are what m'reward is, did y'know tha'?" he hisses. "cut the heart out of a man's chest, like a fuckin' pig, just to 'ave this cunt."

why does it feel so good? why are you getting wetter and wetter, why are you whining, why are you giving into it? why do you want it so bad, why do you ache?

it hurts, it hurts--

"'s olright," he coos, so condescending. "shhhh..." he puts a palm on your chest and pushes, making you lay back. you swallow, letting him put a finger between the laces of your corset and tug. it barely budges, fastened so carefully, and you gasp sharply when he uses two big hands and grunts, ripping your corset apart. you hear the crack of the whale bone give away under the strength of him, and it's a reminder of just how dangerous he is, how strong, and you know when he looks between your thighs, he'll find you wet and needy and captivated.

the corset comes loose, and he tugs, taking your skirts with it until you're naked underneath him. you want to feel shame, but you can't. you're so desperate, for whatever he will give you, and instead of covering yourself, you let your knees fall open. the groan he lets out makes you leak even more, and he watches with awe as your puffy hole pulses. he moves to shove his trousers down, but you stop him, putting a hand on the chest of his leather armor.

"wait--" you meet his eyes. your eyes flutter. "b-but...but i want..."

he eyes you curiously, narrowing them.

"want wot?"

you swallow.

"i-i..." you reach down and slip your fingers gently through your folds. the squelch makes his eyes widen, and he's mesmerized by what he sees. "i want...your mouth..."

he snickers, "y'think a man will eat it so easy?" he raises a brow. "doesn't work tha' way. besides..." he shrugs. "i don't reveal m'face."

you sit up, blinking, smoothing your hands down his chest and tracing them along the hem of his trousers. his dark eyes follow you, and you realize he doesn't really say no. you need to remind him that you are not one of his men. you need to be kept happy, and he needs to give in, even if it hurts his fucking ego.

"please?" you whisper, taking his hand and putting it back on your face, kissing the palm of his glove. killed a thousand men to have me, so show me--show me, show me, show me. you nuzzle into it, giving him those eyes, and he stares for a long few moments. "please..."

he sinks to his knees almost immediately. his armor stretches a little, the leather and metal moving rigidly with him. your eyes widen a little at the position--the thing that he is knelt down in front of his wife, an act of submission.

"turn around," he snaps. "on y'r knees."

you do as he says. you turn on the bed, your face squished against the cushions, and he yanks you back by your hips. you fist the sheets, sucking in a shaky breath, and your eyes squeeze shut when he puts two hands on your ass and spreads you wide. he plants a kiss on your folds from over the mask, and then you hear the shuffle of fabric before his warm tongue prods at your entrance.

he eats slow at first. just drags his tongue through the slick there. he's exploring you, learning you. but then he is all-consuming. he hisses, gripping you by the thighs and suckling at your clit before tracing his name into the folds of your cunt. you can't help how wet you are--drooling, wetting his mask, crying so soft as he bobs his head and eats you, starving. he did not expect you to be so sweet, so soft. every part of you is soft, and he associates the taste of you with the sound of your pleasure, and it's like a trigger. his brain ticks just the right way when he hears you moan for the first time. not even battle quiets the tinnitus, but the ringing is nearly gone now.

he wonders if you're sent from heaven, even though he doesn't believe in it. but something had to have sent you, something had to have given you to him, because it's too much, it's too good, it's too real.

what he wants is in his hands, cumming on his tongue, crying because of his touch. too real, too real, too real.

he pulls away. he smacks his lips gently, smirking, and then he pulls his mask back down. he stands up straight, watching you, still on your knees, squirming. he tuts, turning you onto your back easily. you're languid and a little breathless, and you giggle a little when you realize how easy it is for him to manhandle you, for him to move you. you've never felt very small, but he doesn't even strain, not even a little.

he's so scary, it makes you sick, but you can make this your own--you could make him love you, couldn't you? someone this twisted, someone this insane, you could make him obsessed, you could drive him crazy, you could have the loyal dog you have always been yourself.

killed a thousand men to have me, so i'll put you on your fucking knees.

it's what you're owed. for all the years of serving, for all the years of submission and pain and kneeling and curtsying, you're allowed to have something, you can have something, even if it's this monster of a man. he may have paid for you, but you won't let a thousand men die for nothing.

you will make him love you. you will make him love you. you will make him love you.

you sit up, a bit dazed. you're swimming in your own head, a little insane from the orgasm. you know what a man like him wants. you have doted on men like him all your life. you know what it is that arrogant people crave, what it is they desire, the things that keep them up at night, you know because you've soothed those fears all your life.

you just need to know how to make him purr. you need to know what clears the thoughts in his head.

"my husband," you whisper, meeting his eyes, and there's a little twitch in his eyes. he likes that title. "i--"

"did y'like that, my bride?" he murmurs. "your husband's mouth on y'r cunt, 'n now y'r singin' for me, eh?"

you bat your lashes, sliding your hands up his forearms. you drag your fingers over the sleeves of his armor, whimpering. the smell of leather is overwhelming, but you suppose you must get used to it. you have a feeling you'll be polishing it for the rest of your life.

"i've always been...terrified of you," you whisper. "the way you come into court...the way you fight...seeing you in all those places, you have always scared me..." he hums, his eyes intrigued. he smooths his hands up your thighs, gripping onto your waist as he tugs you closer to him. "but, i..." you reach for his shoulders, pulling on him until he bends, leans over you, crowds your space and shadows you like the eclipse he truly is. "i-i want more..."

he chuckles, "i know y'do," he echos. "could see it in y'r eyes, darling girl," he sighs. "a pretty face like this one...wasted on her majesty."

"i don't think we're allowed to say that."

"i deliver entire countries at john's feet, i'll say wot i bloody please," he snaps. you just blink up at him, before smiling a little.

this disgusting, murderous, possessive, immoral, treacherous piece of shit that is your husband is really the most beautiful man you've ever set your eyes on. strong, resilient, unable to be killed, adored by his king and his men alike. he is everything a man is supposed to be, but nothing like how a gentleman should behave. he is built for war, built to take, so how can you get this nasty thing to love you?

ghost does not seem the kind of man to bend to the desires of ordinary men. he may want to fuck you, but he has self-control. he may enjoy the praise of his men, but he doesn't require it. he may ache for the soft press of a woman, but he is self-sufficient and easily deterred.

so you do what servant women do best. you appease, because at the end of the day, ghost is still a man, and men are all the same.

"a baby..." you whisper, holding onto the backs of his hands firmly. you dig your nails into the skin there, arching your back to get closer to him. he growls under the mask, metal biting into your soft skin as he grips you even tighter. "want a baby..."

he cackles, so mean, and he leans down to kiss along your ear, down your throat, biting at the supple skin through the mask. he's still got all of his armor on, he hasn't shed one lick of his gear, but you cling to it like a parasite. he is one with it, and you realize this now, his second skin made of durable steel and patent animal skin, singed at the edges. he's such a fine soldier, too strong for his own good, too rough around all his edges to be anything but a masochist, but he's yours. he belongs to you as much as you belong to him, and it isn't until he slides the warmth of his length through your folds that you realize this, too.

you reach up with trembling hands, high enough to cup his masked face. he flinches, nearly throwing you off, but you shush him gently, cooing softly as you nuzzle your nose against his.

"i'm sorry," you whisper there. it's so intimate, this position, and you know that he has never let anyone touch him this way by the feeling of his body under your hands, stiff and unable to move. you roll your hips gently, up against his, and you let out a soft keen at the squelch of your slick against his cock. "it's...it's everything i didn't know i wanted..."

he grunts, metal creaking as his nostrils flare.

"i don't understand," he murmurs. affection, it's so unfamiliar that it startles him. that someone can be kind to him, something other than a hard hand and an impossible order, it's not something he knows, and he's not sure how he feels about it. his instinct tells him to distance himself, but his cock guides him closer.

"you," you whine. "so big--" you reach down between your bodies, pumping his cock gently. your fingers barely meet around his girth, a true testament to his size, he lacks this largeness nowhere. "--there's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

ghost snarls a little, gripping your thighs tight and securing them around his waist. you lock your ankles around his hips, pulling, and he hums as the head of his cock sinks into you easily.

"naughty lil' girl," he laughs, standing straight as his thighs meet your ass. you whine, your back bowing like a taut string, and he slides his tongue over his teeth with a menacing click. "not a virgin, are ya?"

"i-i am," you gasp, clawing at his forearms, and he hisses when you clench.

"mm. not a stranger t'this feelin' then, aye?"

you shake your head, and he nods, hoisting your legs up and over his shoulders as he gives you a firm thrust.

"good," he mutters. "don't much feel like pettin' ya."

and he doesn't. he's a menace. he snarls like a beast under his armor, his gloves squeezing your plush thighs as he pounds into you with no words to soften the blow. he isn't gentle by any means--he gives, and he expects you to take, and your legs shake as you try and crawl away from him. he doesn't let you--his fingers spread around your waist and he tugs, spearing you back onto his cock before he leans over you and starts putting his back into it.

despite the roughness, he looks down at you, eyes focused on yours, and he doesn't look away. your arms flail a little until you reach up and wrap them around his neck for stability, but it only draws his face close to yours. your hand falls to grip his jaw, and he leans into it just enough that you know you have him.

"you'll make such a good little babe," he grunts, groaning when you tighten just that much. he's securing his place, making room inside of you so you can take even more. "cunt was made to bear m'children, m'lady..."

"that so?" you squeak, and he smiles under the mask--you're falling apart on his cock, a good girl, just for him, just like you always are. "have to finish what you started for that to happen, don't you?"

"fuckin' brat--" ghost snaps, but he presses his face to yours, needing to be closer, needing to have you, needing to make you his from the inside-out. a ring is not enough, no, he has to bind you to him forever by making you bear his kin. he will give you many, he's going to keep you fat and beautiful and pregnant, and his children will know that their father hungered for their mother so much that he destroyed a generation of men to covet one of his own.

ghost has known since the first moment he laid his eyes on you that you would be it. you had to be his wife, no one else would suffice, because no one else could bear the weight of his name the way you would be able to. no one else would be able to carry his babies without dying, no one else could make the sun fall and the moon rise and the fire wane just long enough for him to feel human again, no one.

you start to think the same. you've never felt this way, so out of your body and so aware of it all at once. you're floating--you're somewhere else, you think. there's a pleasure so searing, that you can barely breathe. his cock is deep, touching places inside of you your fingers could never dream to reach, and there's a place that he touches sometimes that makes your eyes blur and your mouth make the most pathetic whining sound. you're crying, begging, asking him for more, please--! nnghh--please!

he's never had a woman so wet. he has always had them for his own pleasure. he has never paid attention to what they feel or tried to make it nice for anyone but himself, but he knows he will never want it the same ever again. there's something so satisfying about the heavy plat, plat, plat that his cock makes every time his hips meet yours. he can feel his trousers sticking to his thick thighs, knows that there must be some thick, creamy slick coating his length and sticking to your skin that he suddenly wants to scoop up with his tongue and savor the tang of his bride, his wife, his pretty, pretty girl--tha's it, just right, like tha'--

"i...i-i--!" it's more intense than you've ever felt it. a crescendo of pleasure that is starting to grow in your belly, an unwavering warmth that he keeps flooding you with, so good that you can't stop crying for it. you're sputtering, drooling, clawing at the hood around his back because it's so fucking close, it's right there, it's mine, you're mine, mine, mine--

"fuckin' hell--" ghost groans, cradling your head against his chest as he stills his hips against yours and fills you nice and warm. you go cross-eyed, you think, shaking as you latch your mouth onto his masked jaw and suck. you need to put your mouth around something, need to fill it with the taste of him. he doesn't move, body heavy and suffocating over you, but you don't tell him to move and make no effort to push him off.

you think you want this. you think you want him to keep you here, just like this, underneath him, full of him, drooling from more than just your mouth from a fucking too good and the promise of something more.

he moves to take a seat on the bed, and you chase after him. you keep your arms around his neck, shuffle into his lap, and he chuckles under his breath as he wraps one big arm around you and tugs you close to him.

maybe it isn't so bad to be bound to someone like this. maybe it isn't so bad to belong, maybe it isn't so bad to be wanted this way, maybe it isn't the most unfortunate thing to not have the autonomy of yourself anymore in favor of being this thing's wife.

you slide your hand down his chest before smoothing it over one masked cheek. his eyes close for a moment, and he leans into it for just long enough that you recognize the gesture as one of need. ghost aches, too--maybe not for the same thing you ache for, but he aches, and maybe it's for this.

something gentle. something soft. something to bury himself into because the flames have burnt too hot for too long, and the voices in his head give him no reprieve. his hands are too dirty, too unclean, and you think maybe that's why he doesn't take his gloves off anymore--there is no cleaning agent enough for the blood caked under his fingernails.

he's more human this way. less beast, more man, but you see that flicker of humanity disappear entirely when he sees the trickle of his cum slipping onto the fine sheets of your bed.

what a waste. what a loss. he has to fuck you again.

he will never be bored of me, i don't think. ghost will want me forever--even when we are dead, because he cannot die, because he's already rotting inside.

you don't seem to mind your new position. no kneeling, no curtsying--your duty is on your back and on your side and on your stomach, presented for your husband, just for his pleasure, just for your own.

in all your life, you have never wanted this. you endured the burden of serving because you were at least needed this way. marriage to you looked akin to death; when the veils fell over girl's faces, you never saw them again. they would be confined to their houses, made to spread their legs, forced to carry children they didn't want and die the slow death of giving their husbands everything they wanted while their dreams were buried alongside them.

your dream is freedom. it always has been. your dream is to do as you please, to go where you want to go, to say the things you want to say. there is an understanding here that you have, an opportunity that you could not see before. before you had ghost, you saw him as the thing in your way. he was the quicksand that would pull you under, the tide that sunk the earth, the dog that guarded his bone. but you know now, you understand, that ghost doesn't have to be the wall in your way.

he is more animal than man, and in that fact alone, you feel power in your toes and something hungry knocking at the bone of your ribs, just waiting to come out.

ghost will hold the sword. and you will hold the leash.

[chocolate1721]

Fancy Masterlist

ongoing

A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life. Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate.

Ao3

Ch. 1: Here’s Your One Chance

Ch. 2: Just Be Nice to the Gentlemen, Fancy

Ch. 3: The Wheels of Fate Started to Turn

Ch. 4: Black Out Days

Ch. 5:

[chocolate1721]

Price, who runs most of the businesses in the city you live in, but everyone local knows it's all to hide his ... shadier dealings.

(part 2)

You, who only know him by his reputation and not to see, have no idea who the nice man you meet in a club one night really is.

And he's so charming at first, with just the right edge of rough that you like.

By the end of the night, you've had enough to drink that you don't question why he has a back-office in the club. You just let him lay you out on his couch and settle between your legs.

Only come to your senses when you wake up a few hours later, snuggled close to a bare chest. Slip back into your dress and grab your dress before sneaking out. And as you turn to quietly click the door shut, you see the tiny placard on the door.

J. Price.

"John," he'd rasped into your ear, buried inside you. "Call me John, darlin'. Say my fuckin' name, there's a good girl."

You vow never to see him again, are sure he won't mind - it's just a one-night-stand, after all.

Until, a few months later, when, after a job, him and his boys stop at a diner for some food and you happen to be his waitress.

You beg your colleagues to take the table for you but they all take one look at the men and pointblank refuse.

When you finally dredge up the courage to approach the table, John looks up and immediately smiles at you.

It's only when his eyes drop to the small, but prominent, bump under your shirt that his smile fades and you know you're in trouble.

[chocolate1721]

A draft.

Here are my silly thoughts on Half infected!price meeting reader:

He thought he was a goner when he woke up, skin's ashy blue like corpse with a bloody bite mark place on his left arm.

But then something clicked, he's still conscious. He still have the humane mind. He's not gone.

He was panicking when the sky turns dark and he saw them lurking. Red eyes glowing in the woods like sniper aim.

But they don't attack him. At least if he doesn't attack them first.

He clutch the weapon in his hands tight as he make it across the town. The God forbid town.

Where to now?

He knows damn well that he'll die if he goes back to the base now. He didn't expect this, if he did then he wouldn't tell Gaz to shoot him if they saw him back, bloody and messy.

While he's lost in his little world, his stomach grumbles. He grumbles as he looks around, ready to hunt down a deer if needed to.

But then something caught his nose.

Something that smells so sickenly sweet.

Thick saliva dripped down his chin as he blindly followed the scent, his pace quickened as the smell starts to become clearer.

But when he see you he was confuse.

Very confuse.

Your smaller frame was shaken with fear, hands grasping onto the pistol like your life depends on it (which it probably was).

He looks down at you with his good eye, before tilting his head. What an odd pretty stranger.

He went to speak, but his voice was hoarse and it hurts to talk, despite this he push on.

– "A..re..alone?"

You were taken aback and slowly let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, before nodding.

Price nods back, looking around to make sure that you were safe from any hungry beasts. (Unaware that he is one).

– "Wh..what are you."

Your voice..oh your voice, how he would love to hear you talk all day.

It took Price a min to realize that you're asking him a question before shrugging his shoulders.

Your eyes twinkle with curiosity and hold the most gentle looks someone has ever looked at him.

But when you move closer, the scent faintly reaches his nose, and he took a notice that you have rolled yourself in mud to cover your scent.

Such a smart pretty sweetheart.

His stomach grumbles again and he took a step back.

You stop in your tracks before turning around, struggling to pull something out of the big heavy bag of yours.

But when you look back, Price was already a few feet away from you, a dead fucking squirrel in his hand. What the fuck.

And he starts to pluck its furs away, before staring at it. Deciding if he's ready to eat it or not.

This should be terrifying, but his little head tilt makes your heartache. You felt bad.

You slowly start to walk towards him again and hand him one of your small water bottles. Dumb moves, but you couldn't help it.

He hesitate and took it, thanking you as he gulp down the water, and wash the squirrel with the rest.

His stomach grumbles as he stares at it long before your dirty hands cover his eyes, telling him not to think of it so much.

Hey it's just raw meat right?

He finally decided to take a small bite, before gnawing on it like a starve man he is.

When there were only bones left you decided to let your hands fall to your side as you were ready to leave him be.

As quick as your meeting come, you left.

But that won't stop the man to follow you, and you didn't mind.

[chocolate1721]

Come come kitty kitty you're so pretty pretty don't go kitty kitty Stay with me

Lion hybrid!Konig x reader x black Panther hybrid! Ghost Part 1

“Y/N, I honestly think your main problem is that you’re so lonely. What do you do everyday besides work and sleep?” Your therapist asked as you laid on the blue lounge chair.

“Ummm…hang out with frie-“ You started before your therapist cut you off.

“Imaginary friends don’t count ,girl. I tell you what I feel like a companion would be good for you!” She said as she wrote a few things down.

“Here these are a few adoption places I’ve gotten all of my babies from atleast one!” She said gesturing to the picture of all 10 of her cats sitting on her desk.

“Ok, thank you!” You said paying her and walking out.

“Good luck, Y/N” she said as you waved at her walking out the building, and to your car where you sat for a second reading the list.

“Laswells hybrids?” You said to yourself that one catching your eye out of all of them.

You’ve always heard of hybrids either in a bad way or an absolutely good way.Your neighbors even had one at your child hood home, it was a sweet bunny hybrid who everyone adored.

“I can’t talk to a regular dog or cat and I can’t get a parrot cause I don’t have the space, I’ll get a hybrid!” You thought starting your car and driving out the parking lot, on the way to the adoption center.

At the adoption center

“Hello, how can I help you?” A young man with a British accent asked you smiling widely at the front desk.

“Hi, Im looking to adopt” you said as he nodded as you looked at his name tag that read “gaz”.

“Any preferences? Certain person?” Gaz asked

“Nope, but i’d prefer more calmer ones” you said as you two started to walk down the halls of the center.

“Here way have, ghost! A black panther he doesn’t talk much, pretty low maintenance, protective, strong, and very loyal” He said as you looked at ghost through the glass, who stared back as he sat on a hammock. And you waved at him but of course he didn’t wave back.

“He’s really chill when you get to know him.” Gaz said motioning for you to follow him down the hall.

“Konig, what’s up buddy!?” Gaz teased the giant cat that side eyed him hardly, holding a tablet in his hands.

“He’s a little…short tempered, he’s been returned a couple times.” Gaz said as you frowned at Konig who watched videos of cooking.

“I want him” you said sternly peaking Gaz’s attention, as he shook his head.

“But you haven’t seen half the other options!” Gaz said as you sighed

“True True” you said as he eagerly pulled you to look at other hybrids.

A few minutes later

“Tigers, bears , alligators, octopus…they’re all cool but ,Konig.” You said looking at Gaz with pleading eyes

“Fineee, but you’ll regret it” he said sourly marching back to Konigs room

“Konig, she wants to speak to you.” Gaz said opening the door to the room as Konig glanced over at you, as you walked in the room.

“Hey, my name is Y/N. I’m looking for a friend, someone to care for. I live on the north side I work at a company ran by my family.” You said extending your hand out as he stared at it for a second before slowly taking it

“I’m, Konig I’m a veteran. I like to work out, sleep, and…that’s about it” Konig said as you smiled widely

“I’ll take him!” You said as Gaz sighed as Konig slowly stood up towering over easily as you gulped slightly

“Fine” he said gesturing for you and him to follow him, as Konig grabbed his little belongings. But as you two walked down the halls you caught sight of ghost looking so depressed.

“Wait!” You said gaz stopped eagerly as you walked up to ghosts room. His knees to his chest his face buried in his legs, sitting on the ground.

“I think I want him to” you said as konigs blood ran cold as Gaz winked at him going to open the door

‘May the best man win’ Gaz muttered as Konig snarled at him as ghost lifted his head up staring at you

“Hey there..my name is ,Y/N” You said as his eyes had a weird look in them as you started talking, you were completely unaware of konigs death glare towards you both but 2 certain people definitely weren’t.

10 minutes later

“If anything happens give us a call! Good luck ghost..I’ll miss you bro” Gaz said as him and a few other guys stood by ghost, eagerly as stared at them smiling

‘Good ol bromance’ you said Konig stared down at you

“Bye” ghost said to his friends waving as you guys walked towards the exit, you in between both of them.

“Poor girl” soap teased as you waved at them and they waved back

“No, poor Konig. When ghost absolutely destroys him!” Gaz said as price shook his head at their childish behaviors. Sure ghost and Konig had pretty bad beef, but they still didn’t have to act like that.

With you guys

“I want the front seat” Konig said coldly as him and ghost both reached for the door handle

“I grabbed it first” Ghost spat pulling it of course causing Konig to grab it to.

“Guys, please you’ll break the handle! How about we take turns, we have to make a few stops before we go home” You suggested pulling their hands away gently

“I’ll go first” Konig said as ghost got in the back and you all got in the car

“So, you guys know each other well?” You asked putting your seatbelt on

“No” they both said immediately as you started to drive

“Oh” you said nervously knowing this was gonna be a pretty interesting experience

I decided to make them enemies cuz I’m pretty sure it’s canon that they don’t even like each other sooo