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callsignserpent · 14 days ago

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🥃 𝕆𝕗 𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕪 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕤🥃

💀'GHOST' RILEY X READER ONESHOT💀

It was only supposed to be a quiet evening alone out at the bar after exfil... until a chance encounter left Simon 'Ghost' Riley's head and heart entangled....

• fluff; angst; language; brief mentions of violence/blood

He'd never forget that voice, not for a while.

"Table for one?"

You'd approached him with no fear, no hesitation... and it'd stuck with him ever since.

Ghost takes a seat at the table, leaning back with a sigh, the sound deeper than all the countless lives that were currently weighing on his conscience, his very soul.

It was ironic, really.

Here he sat, bearing the callsign 'Ghost', and yet... the very reason he took up the name in the first place, was the same reason his thoughts, his dreams, his nearly every waking moment were being haunted.

Funny how the past has a way of eventually catching up to oneself...

"Your usual, mate?"

The quiet voice of the bartender briefly pulls Ghost from the dark chasm of his thoughts, and he gives a wordless nod, tired eyes watching the bartender disappear back behind the counter.

It'd been the same routine for the past few months now, a sort of downward spiral.

Infil, mission, exfil, post-op, drink... no sleep.

And the voices, the faces.

Ghost didn't know which was worse: the fact that he hardly slept anymore, or the fact that when he was lucky enough to be able to close his eyes, all he could see were the countless thousands of faces who'd died at his hands.

People who, like him, had once had a family, friends, loved ones... but no more.

Because of him... the Ghost of 141.

Jaw tensing, Ghost lets his fingers curl into an idle fist atop the worn wooden table, only loosing them momentarily when the bartender returns with his usual: glass of straight whiskey, on the rocks, leave the bottle.

It'd quickly become both his favorite and worst vice, the one poison he knew he could drown his thoughts and conscience in.

Reaching forward, Ghost's fingers curl around the glass, shadowed eyes narrowing above his mask as they stare through the amber liquid and the ice, as if looking for an answer, a prayer... a way out.

But that was just it: there was no way out.

There was something his Captain had said once, and it'd stuck with him ever since.

"We get our hands dirty so the world can stay clean..."

But how much more blood would spill on his hands, how many more faces would he have to see behind closed eyes, before it'd be enough?

Jaw tensing again, Ghost brings the glass up to his mouth, lifting the edge of the mask just enough to swallow down a mouthful of whiskey.

He didn't even feel the burn of it in his throat anymore, having grown numb to it.

If only the same could be said for his conscience, for the guilt and the memories...

Another mouthful of whiskey, another bitter memory gets swallowed down, the pain sharp like glass, cutting away at his insides-

"Table for one?"

That voice, so soft spoken, so warm...

It catches him off guard for a moment, and his head snaps up, brown eyes narrowing as he reaches up to adjust his mask back into place, fingers working to set the glass of whiskey down a little more harshly than he intends to.

You stand there before him, such a quiet little thing, eyes watching him almost expectantly, yet there's an undertone of patience there too, an old soul-

A soft clearing of your throat has Ghost's jaw twitching momentarily beneath the mask, and he realizes two entire minutes have came and gone while he's sat here, glaring up at you.

"Table for one?" you ask him again, softer this time, one slim brow quirking up at him.

The way you ask him, so unabashedly, ever so patient with him- it has his gaze softening, and before he knows what he's doing, what he's saying, what the fuck is he saying, don't-

"Sit."

The word comes out quiet, gruff.

And you do exactly that.

You work with nimble fingers to unfasten the buttons on your black coat, revealing a hint of red beneath, and you take a seat in the chair opposite him, and you smile at him-

Fucking hell, the way you smile at him-

It makes Ghost's chest ache, the feeling raw and unfamiliar and different from the usual ache.

A beat or two of silence passes by, a serene ocean of unspoken thoughts and feelings and how-do-you-do's, until-

"You look... lonely."

The observation, spoken so gently in that way that you have, it makes a muscle in Ghost's jaw tic briefly.

"M'not."

But it's a lie, and he knows it, and he wonders for a split second if perhaps you know it, as well.

Shadowed eyes watch the bar patrons, inked hands bring that whiskey glass back up to his mouth, fingers lifting the bottom edge of his mask to swallow down the poison, swallow down the hurt, bury it all-

"I've seen you in here before, you know..."

And those fingers tighten on the whiskey glass, tense and almost afraid to let go-

"You're alone this time. Something's different... your friends, they're back at base. They don't know you're here, do they?"

And it's not so much the way you say it, more so what you've said, that gets him.

The whiskey glass nearly slips from his hand, until a second hand comes into view, catching the fall, fingers brushing against his, and fuck, the warmth-

"What did you just say?"

The words come out a little more biting than he intends, British accent thick and voice all gravelly, full of accusations and hurt and wariness-

"You... you're military? Aren't you?"

You ask him so softly, unflinching and determined to keep this going, to keep him going...

"You don't sit and stare into your own soul and try and drown it like this, unless you've seen things, things you're not supposed to see. You're military?" There's that question again...

And before he can stop himself, Ghost is nodding, and letting you take the glass from him with gentle hands to bring it up to your lips, those haunted eyes of his watching as you take a sip from the glass, his glass-

"British army. Price's unit, yes? He comes in here sometimes with his team. Did you know, one of them goes by the name 'Soap'?"

The way you're sitting here in front of him, rambling on about his teammates, his Captain...

Despite himself, one corner of Ghost's mouth twitches up for a second at the mention of his best mate.

"Aye. Johnny. He's a good one."

The words roll off his tongue so quiet, a world of weight concealed behind them.

Johnny had been with him from the beginning, had seen and felt the weight of their work, the effect it'd had on his friend.

There was many a night where Johnny would sit here with him, the two of them drinking away the pain and the loss and the bloodshed... but tonight wasn't one of those.

No, tonight Ghost was alone with his conscience, his guilt, his soul.

Or at least, he had been.

"Hey. Look at me? Please?"

Such a gentle way you have of speaking to him, but why was there a touch of sadness there-

And before he can stop himself, Ghost is looking up, brown eyes meeting yours, letting you see and feel the gravity of what he'd felt ever since he took up this job...

He could swear he hears your breath hitch, in this quiet little corner of the bar, where two lonely souls sit opposite each other-

"It weighs on you, doesn't it? What they ask you to do, the things you've seen, heard...?"

"Not all rainbows and easy A's and sunshine, Miss...?"

"Y/N." You answer him with that look in your eyes again, such gentleness there.

"Y/N."

Ghost echoes the name, letting it roll off his tongue, and it tastes and burns sweeter than any poison this bar could ever offer him.

"Y/N," he starts, voice heavy with the weight of what he's about to say, "my job-"

But then his voice hitches in the back of his throat, and he has to swallow hard to keep going, oh fucking hell, he needs to keep going-

"I know."

The interruption comes so quietly, he almost doesn't hear it at first.

You know? What does that mean, you know, what the hell could you possibly know about what he deals with, what he is-?

Brown eyes narrow above the skull mask he wears, not to protect himself, no, but to remind others of what lies at his core, the darkness there, a warning of sorts, 'don't get too close'...

"You... are not your job."

Ghost's head snaps up, eyes widening, searching yours for an answer, a sign-

"What the fuck are you sa-"

"You. Are. Not. Your. Job."

The way you're leaning forward in your chair, eyes staring into his like you're trying to gauge his soul, to see what lies deep within-

"You're the one they call 'Ghost', yes? And yet... it haunts you. All of it. I can see that it does. But... you are not your job."

You sit in a quiet sort of contemplation for a moment, swilling the amber liquid around in the whiskey glass you still hold clutched between your fingers, before bringing it up to your lips, swallowing down the alcohol.

The quiet clink of the empty glass against the table is like a reflection of Ghost's being, his heart, the very core of who he thinks he is, who he's let himself become: hollow, empty, a mere shell of his former self.

But then your hands are working so gently to refill the glass, and there's more warmth there, more poison to drown it all down with, only something is different this time, it's... perhaps not quite as bitter and scorching and hateful as he'd allowed himself to believe...

And when you offer him the full glass, he accepts it with a trembling hand, fingers working to lift the edge of the mask that hides his scars, the ones he keeps on the outside, and the liquid finally burns as it runs down the back of his throat, but it's a different burn this time...

"You know it, don't you? You can see it? That you're more than just a name, a callsign, a weapon to be used... more than a job?

"What they would have you do, the blood you've spilled, the faces you have to see for the rest of your life... you're more than all of that. Please tell me you know that...?"

"M'trying-" the words come out strained, almost pleading, and for a moment, Ghost isn't entirely sure who he's actually trying to convince: you, or... himself.

"I know you are, and I see that. I see you. Please... in all the thousands of lives that have probably died at your hands, don't- don't let your own sit among their ranks."

His hands...

Ghost's gaze drops to rest on his hands, the muscles and tendons and ink stained with the blood he can't see, with the weight of each and every life he'd snuffed out at his fingertips.

And then a second set of hands, your hands, so small and warm and alive-

They take one of his between them, fingers folding over his, a silent reassurance, a promise, a simple 'I see you, I've got you'...

"Breathe."

Your eyes search his once more, and he can't look, but he has to, he knows he has to, and now he can't look away, and he's trying, he really is, but it hurts, his chest aches again-

"Breathe, Ghost. I know it's a lot. I know it's heavy, it weighs. But you can't let it..."

Those fingers give his a soft squeeze, a silent plea to hold on, just a little longer...

"We are more than the weight of our wars."

Those words...

'We are more than the weight of our wars...'

Those words, and the way you sit here across from him, the way you look at him, see him, truly see him, it's too much, and yet not enough, all at once.

Something inside of Ghost breaks.

Every single wall he's so carefully crafted within and around himself, not to keep others out, but to keep himself inside, to keep the darkness inside... all of it crumbles.

And this time, when you offer him the glass of whiskey, a cure to drown it all... he refuses.

His brows furrow, eyes narrowing and then widening and then narrowing yet again above his mask, his mind trying desperately to come to terms with the onslaught of emotions and denial and guilt and hurt and acceptance-

"Walk with me?"

You ask the question so softly, so sweetly, he couldn't say no even if he wanted to, but that's just it, he doesn't want to-

Ghost finds himself nodding, the harsh scrape of the chairs against the floor briefly grating against his nerves, there's a light rattling of coins being dropped onto the worn wooden tabletop, payment for the bartender playing host to his pain tonight-

And yet through it all, your hand remains firmly clasped around his, fingers lightly tapping against the back of his inked, worn hand.

The still half-full glass of whiskey remains abandoned on the table, bottle perched next to it, chairs lying open and ready for the next few ghosts of the past and present to sit and mourn.

A muscle in Ghost's jaw tics as he follows you outside, thunder rumbling in the distance, the clouds gathered in the velveteen night sky above heavy with the promise of rain.

"Home?" you ask softly.

Home...

Was he ready to go back yet? Ready to face all of that, another sleepless night?

"No."

Ghost's voice is quiet, gruff, a heavy sigh trailing after the single syllable.

"No?"

"No. Stay."

Two syllables this time, less harsh.

"Stay... with me. Please." Three.

He knows he shouldn't expect it, but somehow a small part of him remains hopeful...

And you do. You stay.

Such a small thing you are, tugging him by the hand down the sidewalk, until he eventually falls into step beside you, two souls on a sidewalk in the mid-October night.

Thunder rumbles again in the distance, louder this time, and as Ghost casts a look up at the skies, rain begins to fall from the velvet abyss that lies above.

And all too soon, the sound of your laughter is reaching his ears, and he's being pulled along the sidewalk again, hurrying to keep up with you as the heavens weep, the downpour soaking through the hood of his black denim jacket, the fabric of his mask.

More laughter reaches his ears, and somehow, the voices and faces that had been haunting his every thought tonight slowly fade for a little bit, lost in the light that is you-

"Here, here, quick-!"

Those words are all the warning he gets before Ghost is being tugged into a side alleyway, the rain a little less harsh here, the downpour a bit more forgiving.

More laughter rings out, echoing down the brick walls of the alley, and Ghost is a little surprised to find his own deep voice among the sound, joining yours.

"Fucking hell-"

The gruffly spoken swear words are followed by a brief pause, a momentary lapse of silence with only the rain as a backdrop, until the two of you are laughing again, and your hand is slipping from his as you dart to the edge of the alley, watching the other poor souls get caught up in the downpour.

Shadowed eyes watch as you wait until unsuspecting souls pass by the mouth of the alleyway, so you can kick up puddles of rainwater towards them, and the very sight has one corner of Ghost's mouth lifting up in a smirk beneath his mask.

And somehow, the longer he watches you, the more that smirk eventually becomes a full-blown grin, until he's laughing, striding forward and tugging you away from the puddles, deeper into the alleyway.

"You little menace-!" he's laughing.

And oh, how it feels so good to be able to laugh, for the first time in what feels like months, years, even-

And that ache in his chest has returned, only this time, it's much more different, sweeter, somehow...

But then all too soon, his boot is slipping out from under him as he takes a step back and he's falling towards the asphalt, and oh, fuck, your hand is still in his, oh no, what has he done-

And you land atop him, practically straddling him in the alleyway, staring down at him with those eyes of yours, fucking christ...

Ghost swallows hard, staring up at you, the rain soaking his face and likely making his eyeblack run everywhere, but in this moment, he couldn't care less, because the way you're looking down at him, the way you see him-

Perhaps it's just the whisper of the wind, but he could swear he hears your breath hitch, like earlier in the bar, as your eyes drop down to stare at his masked mouth, lingering for a touch too long before you're looking up at him again-

"Y/N-" he whispers, his hands finding yours and moving them up towards the bottom edge of his mask, letting you pull it up to see the scars that reside there, to see the real him...

There's a very deep part of himself that is terrified of how you'll react once you see the darkness that is him, once you see what lies within, what's at the very root of his core.

But then you lean down towards him, and before he can stop himself, he's leaning up to meet you halfway, his mouth finding yours and moving almost urgently against yours, as if he's only got a few moments' time left.

And it certainly feels that way, or maybe, just maybe, it feels like time itself stops for the two of you here in this alleyway-

The softest of groans looses itself from your pretty little mouth and fuck, if it isn't the sweetest sound Ghost has heard in his life.

He groans in response, the noise a deep rumble in the back of his throat, and he's sitting up, pulling you into his lap, one worn, inked hand moving to wind his fingers through your hair, tugging softly-

"Ghost, fuck-"

Your little whisper, your gasp, the way your mouth moves against his to form the words, has a shiver running down his spine, a feeling that has absolutely nothing to do with the slight chill of the mid-October evening.

"Simon-" he corrects you, shaking his head.

"Simon..." you repeat it.

The sound of his name, his real name, coming out of your mouth like that, it sets his soul ablaze, warmth trickling down his spine and bleeding into his bones, his heart.

"Say it again, please," he's begging.

And you comply only too easily.

"Simon..."

His mouth claims yours again with a deep groan, hips moving to rut against yours, free hand gripping your thigh until your hand comes down to rest atop his, holding on tightly.

"Simon, fuck- please please please..."

Ghost isn't entirely sure what it is you're asking him for, what you're begging for, but all he knows is from this moment on, he'll never get enough of you saying his name like that, like it's your lifeline, like it's the only word you know...

"Anything, love-"

The endearment slips out before he can stop it, and when you whisper "You? Please?" he's shaking his head at first, because he doesn't understand, how can you want that, want him, you just met him, you don't know what that darkness is like-

But then you're moving your hands to take his face between them, breaking the kiss to lock eyes with him, brows furrowing as you whisper a single word, a single little syllable-

"Please."

And the very last wall that Ghost had so carefully crafted for himself all those years since, it crumbles to nothing more than dust at your hands, your eyes, the way you see him, feel him, the way you want him.

And he's nodding, eyes falling closed as your mouth finds his again, whispering a softly spoken "Let me in" to which he finds himself answering with an equally soft-spoken "Always, love.."

Thunder rumbles in the distance, a quiet audience to the pain and the acceptance and the warmth between the two lonely souls caught up in an alleyway, the rain having stopped a good while ago.

And it's only when you're finally pulling him by the hand to his feet, your small hand clasped within his own, that Ghost finds himself able to breathe, to truly breathe, for the first time in what feels like a very long time.

"Home...?" you ask him, for the second time that night. But this time, he's ready.

"Home." he agrees, his tone soft and gentle.

And later that night, as he's lying back in his bed in the barracks, staring at his phone, the name 'Y/N' now in his contacts list, your number below it... Ghost knows tonight won't be a night spent haunted by the faces of the past.

No... tonight the only face he'd see behind closed eyes would be yours, full of warmth and light and love...

Tonight, the Ghost of 141 would finally rest.

🥃 𝕋𝕎𝕆 𝕎𝔼𝔼𝕂𝕊 𝕃𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ 🥃

"Nah, mate, I'm tellin' ye, next time he wants to show his ugly mug, he's mine!" the familiar Scottish voice rings out in the bar, followed by a round of laughter and agreement.

Ghost shoots Johnny a grin beneath the mask, the edges of it visible as his brown eyes crinkle at the corners. He raises his glass of bourbon in a toast, before lifting the bottom edge of his mask to swallow down the liquor.

It'd been two weeks since he'd last drowned his sorrows and his pain, and he'd abandoned his former poison, the whiskey, ever since, having chosen to move on to better, more promising things, something of substance and warmth, something that would be nicer to him.

Shadowed eyes glance down at the glass as he adjusts his mask back into place, staring down thoughtfully at the amber liquid and the ice... until a familiar voice sounds from nearby, causing a smile to break out beneath his mask.

He'd never forget that voice, not for a while.

"Table for one?"

💀 TAGLIST: @nixwolfe @konigsblog @konigslittleliebling @alecvolturiswifeforever @like-rain-or-confetti @simonghostrileylover @lay-z

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whydoeseveryonewanttobangchan · 2 years ago

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🥃 Guess I’ll have to find something else to do with my mouth… 🥃

✎ Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

✎ Genre: Smutty smut smut smut

✎ Summary: Chan did not want to go to karaoke night, but good god is he thankful he did.

✎ CW: !!!Sewerslide joke!!!, drinking, swearing, random hookup, public makeout, oral sex, unprotected sex (please don’t fuck a stranger without a condom), rough sex, nipple play, choking, teensy daddy kink

✎ Word count: 2,804

✩ The song is Lovesick by BANKS, listen if you’d like 😈 ✩

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥

Ice meets upper lip when Chan throws his glass back to get the last drops of his drink. He hasn’t been working on this one long, but the whiskey’s been watered down by the melting cube — it may have come watered down from the bar, to be honest.

Regardless, it’s his fourth drink and he’s buzzed enough that it doesn’t matter. And on top of that, he’s bored.

“Want another?” Minho shouts over the loud backing track and off-key, wailing vocals.

“Naur, I’m about ready to head out, I think,” Chan yells back.

They swore karaoke night was Tuesday, but apparently, it’s Wednesday. Chan just wanted to go home; Minho convinced him to stick it out. But the lights are too bright and the singers are too drunk and he’s never been more ready to leave a bar in his life.

Minho’s still nursing drink #2 and scanning the room with his dark eyes. It’s the usual crowd, and Chan lost interest in meeting anyone new around the same time that one guy absolutely butchered Someone Like You by Adele. And this rendition of We Don’t Talk About Bruno has him ready to blow his brains out.

“Oi, I’m gonna get some air,” Chan says, gesturing toward the door with his thumb. “Meet me outside when you’re ready to go, yeah?”

Minho nods in reply and turns his attention back to a group of girls huddled by the stage.

Chan pats his friend on the shoulder and heads to the door — and sweet relief for his eyes and ears — skillfully weaving through the crowd as he goes. His hands meet the cold metal of the push bar but pause as soon as he hears it.

“Please call me your baby, baby, baby.”

It’s a new song, a new girl. Your velvety voice quite literally stops him in his tracks.

“Look how long that you have kept me waiting.”

He turns around, almost in a trance, and moves in the direction of that beautiful sound.

“Oh, I know your love before I kissed you.”

Chan joins the crowd circling the stage. He’s not the only one absolutely transfixed right now.

“And now you have only made me miss you.”

It’s not only the way you’re singing, it’s everything about you. The way your long hair drapes over your bare shoulders, the way your hips sway back and forth with the slow beat, the way you’re gripping that microphone…

“Come get me. Come love me, baby, come love me.”

The magnetic pull between you is impossible to fight, and Chan’s pushing through the crowd to get right up to the stage now. It’s not dense, but moving past bodies requires some effort and even more apologies, and he’s not nearly as smooth with it as he was just a minute earlier.

“Ooh, aah, cause I'm lovesick, and I ain't even ashamed.”

His dark eyes travel up your bare legs, and he’s not ashamed either. Any anxiety he would’ve felt in this moment of obvious adoration has been numbed by the alcohol.

Luckily for you, the lights are right in your eyes and you can’t see any of your audience, including the handsome stranger whose gaze is fixed on your thighs.

“And I'm hard up, for some time in your sheets.”

Warm blood rushes to Chan’s cock, filling it up and stretching his jeans in seconds. The thought of you in his sheets…

“Would you be down to spend all your time with me?”

He absolutely would. And he stands there, almost eerily still, for the rest of the song. Head entirely empty of everything but thoughts of the siren in front of him.

“Cause I'm lovesick.”

You finish the song smoothly, but you have no idea how your friends convinced you to get up there in the first place. You’re nowhere near drunk enough for this, and you have every intention of immediately booking it to the bathroom to hide.

Lights dim as you take a tiny bow and step off the platform. You set off on a clear path to the restrooms before a big, broad stranger cuts you off.

His coffee-flavored eyes are wide and his lower lip is clenched between his teeth, and he just stares at you. It’s so intense, and if he weren’t possibly the most beautiful human you’d ever laid eyes on, it would be incredibly unsettling.

“Uh, excuse me…” you say, attempting to walk around him. But he grabs your wrist.

“I’m sorry, I… uh,” he stutters, staring down at your hands. Even he’s surprised at his urgency. What the fuck is he doing?

“I’m so sorry. I’m Chan,” he says, his firm grip on your arm disappearing before he continues. “You were, you are… wow.”

Eyes meet again, and his cheeks are flushed. But after that performance — and whatever the hell this is — yours are, too.

“Oh, thanks. I’m y/n,” you reply, finishing just before the next singer starts his assault on your ear drums.

You both wince, and his big lips turn down into a scowl. But his expression softens again when he not-so-slyly glances down to your chest and back up.

“You’re really beautiful, you know?” he asks, his husky voice straining to be heard over the music. “You here alone?”

Chan’s trying his best to feign confidence, but his heart is pounding. He hasn’t done anything like this in so long and you’re so sexy and he’s so… dizzy.

“Wow, straightforward, huh? I’m with friends,” you say, gesturing over to the huddle of girls by the bar, ready to pounce at the slightest signal of distress. “Very protective friends, clearly.”

“I can see that,” Chan answers. He rotates his hand in a small wave, but their expressions don’t change. No points to be won there. He’ll have to charm you on his own. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I don’t think you need another, honestly,” you say with a smirk. And you’re right. He’s speeding down the highway, two miles past tipsy and about to get off at drunk. But he’s also at his most confident. And that means he can say something sober Chan would never.

“Hm, you may be right. Guess I’ll have to find something else to do with my mouth.”

Your eyes narrow at him. He has this dumb smug look on his face while he waits for your reaction. The smirk only depends as more seconds pass.

“I guess I can get that drink at yours?”

Bingo.

“Shall we?”

Three texts, two attempts at calling an Uber, and one sloppy backseat saliva-sharing grope session later, you’re stumbling over each other up the stairs to Chan’s apartment.

Your hands haven’t left his body since you got in that Uber, and the same goes for his. Now you’re pulling at his hair, his shirt, his neck — anything to keep your mouths attached and get closer to privacy, to a socially acceptable place to be this feral.

Feet finally reach flat flooring and you shuffle to Chan’s apartment door. He has no clue where his keys are right now but he doesn’t particularly care. He’s focused on trapping your body between the door and him, pressing his palms into the wood and pushing his thigh between your legs.

Lips are past swollen at this point, and he’s focusing on your neck now, sucking and biting any spots that aren’t already coated in his spit. However many hickeys he’s already left on the delicate skin there — it’s not enough. And there aren’t nearly enough on your chest.

So, he heads there next, fondling one breast over your dress and nipping at your collarbones. Even if you’re only his for tonight, he’ll make sure you remember him every time you glance at your reflection for the next week.

One of your hands runs through his dark curls and the other grips the doorknob, trying to will it open. Keys are still an afterthought, though. His unoccupied hand is headed under your dress, between your legs.

He presses four fingers flat against you, and your head tips back against the door with a thud. He’s happy to discover that your panties are soaked through, and he can’t wait much longer to taste you.

If you two don’t tumble through that doorway soon, he’ll just have to take you right here in the hallway. But he’d prefer to have you laid flat, spread open, and writhing on his kitchen table. Time to find those keys.

Fingers fumble through his pockets, and of course he finds everything but what he needs. Phone, ID, cards, receipts, a condom, and more fall to the floor in his frantic search. Then, finally, keys. Fuck it, he’ll get the other shit later.

He makes quick work of unlocking the door and twisting the knob. The weight of your body pushes it open, and his hands reflexively go to your waist to keep you upright as you make your way to the table.

Chan swipes the miscellaneous papers and dishes to the floor and lifts you onto the cold wood. Lips reattach and he reaches for your pussy, slipping his fingers under the wet fabric to feel your folds.

You relax into his touch and slide your hips closer to the edge of the table. He drops to his knees and pulls you forward that extra inch to yank your underwear down your legs and onto the floor.

He sloppily sucks on your inner thighs, leaving a trail of red, swollen flesh on his way to your cunt. Once he gets there, he spits on you and dives right in to taste the combination of liquids on your sensitive skin.

Chan’s plump, pink lips are slick and saliva runs down his chin while he spreads your folds and dips in and out of you, savoring the flavor on his taste buds.

He locates your clit and prods it with a pointed tongue before flitting up and down. He alternates between targeting the sensitive bud to elicit more nectar out of you and lapping at your folds to indulge in the results of his hard work.

Chan has every intention of making you come with just his mouth, and the way you’re gripping the table and trembling and moaning makes him think that’s happening soon. And like clockwork…

“Hey, I’m… gonna…” you pant, trying your best to speak between breaths.

He doesn’t reply. He only grips your ass cheeks harder and buries his face further into you, and that’s enough.

Walls flutter around his tongue as you hit your climax, and you cry out loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He suctions his mouth against you to catch any additional arousal you have to give. It’s so sweet and tart, and he truly cannot get enough.

Your supporting arms give out and you collapse onto the table, satisfied and twitching from the aftershocks. Oh, but he’s not done with you. Not by a long shot.

Chan unzips his pants and reaches under his boxers to play with his thick cock. This is exactly what he pictured when he first laid eyes on you. Head thrown back, chest rapidly rising and falling, thighs parted, cunt dripping. What a beautiful sight.

“You want my cock, baby?” he asks, still stroking himself behind the fabric. He loves the reveal, so he’ll keep his length hidden for now.

You lift your head and lock onto his eyes.

“Please, show me.”

“I don’t know if you can handle it,” he teases.

You scoff at that pretentious shit.

“Try me, daddy.”

“As you wish, baby girl.”

He drops his underwear and unveils his veiny erection. It is impressive, but it’s even better that he knows how to use it.

His hands grip your hips, and he pushes in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. He can’t hold back a throaty moan the first time his whole cock disappears inside you. It feels so fucking good, he forgets where he is for a second.

“Fuck me,” you hiss.

And then he’s back on Earth, pounding in and out of you at an unrelenting pace. Your legs wrap around his hips and your back arches off the table as you shudder beneath him.

Chan reaches for the straps of your dress, pulling one then the other down over your shoulders. He works the fabric down past your chest, freeing your breasts to bounce up and down with each thrust.

“Fuck…” he groans. How the hell are your tits perfect, too? The hardened peaks are just begging to be sucked, bitten, claimed.

He sacrifices a steady rhythm to put his lips on your skin again. His large frame descends so he can catch one taut nipple between his teeth. The bite isn’t too hard, but he’s pulling at the sensitive nub every time he rolls his hips.

You manage to pull enough air into your lungs to speak between moans, but he’s not sure if he heard you correctly.

“Say that again?” he urges.

“Ch-choke me.”

“Oh, fuck. Absolutely,” he growls.

His cock throbs inside you, and if he weren’t so excited about making you come again, he would’ve finished right then and there.

His huge hand engulfs your throat, pressing your neck down into the table.

“Smack me if I’m too rough, ok?” he says.

You respond with a half-hearted thumbs-up, too focused on the fire in your abdomen to think about much else.

He resumes those merciless thrusts in and out of your cunt, closing his hand around your neck just enough as he goes. He has no idea how he’s lasted this long and — as much as it pains him — he has to close his eyes in an effort to hold back his own orgasm until you find yours.

His field of vision is dark, but the sound of his balls slapping against wet flesh is hard to tune out. He can barely catch his breath and you’re whimpering and he can’t do this anymore. Good thing you can’t, either.

“Chan, I’m… don’t stop. Fuck, I’m, ohhh…” you cry.

“Me too. C-cum. Cum for me.”

He tightens his grip on your throat and jerks into you with one last powerful thrust. A choked sob escapes from your tortured throat and your walls clench around his cock, holding him there while he spills himself deep inside you. Your name is the only thing on his lips.

His fingers leave your neck and rest softly on your collarbones. His chest drops, and he lays his head on your breasts to try to catch his breath.

It takes a few minutes for the tremors to stop, but you both recover as best you can. Chan pulls out of you and disappears down the small hallway to get a towel for cleanup. You still haven’t moved when he returns, and a sly smile spreads across his lips.

“Oi, all good down there?” he chirps.

You respond with the same weak thumbs-up from earlier, making him giggle. God, he hopes this isn’t just a one-night stand.

He does his best to clean the mess, wiping his saliva from basically every inch of your skin. The towel can’t do anything for the tiny bruises, though.

Hickeys litter the flesh from your jawline all the way down to your inner thighs. And then there’s the thin outline of his long fingers on your throat. He really did a number on you, and he can only hope you won’t be too mad.

“So, still want that drink?” he asks.

“Hmm, maybe. If you’re up for it,” you mutter.

“Of course, what’s your poison? I have beer, whiskey, scotch, gin…” he says, padding over to his well-stocked alcohol cabinet.

You interrupt before he can reach the end of his list.

“I was thinking of something… else,” you purr.

He turns on his heels to re-route for the fridge, trying to remember what he has in there.

“Sure, like… watuh? Soft drink? Juice?”

He’ll run to the store for whatever it is if it’s not here. He’d do absolutely anything to get you to stay the night.

You don’t reply, and he turns again to meet your eyes. But your gaze is pointed down, aimed directly at his dick. He takes a second to process.

“Wait… you want…” he trails off and instead uses his pointer finger to gesture toward his crotch.

That same sly smile spreads across your lips this time. Jesus Christ.

Rehydration mission abandoned for the time being, he strides back to the table and climbs on top of you, propping himself up with palms placed on either side of your head.

“Ready when you are, baby.”

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beforeimdeceased · 1 year ago

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🌾🥃🪑 PARADISE — ELLIE WILLIAMS

moodboard layout ib @munsonsfairy

somewhere in southwest texas, glimmering under the sun, was none other than ellie williams. a car mechanic and a damn good one. she’d had her fair share of run ins with the police on a list, taped to the front of the chief’s desk.

possession of illegal substances, aggravated assault, and failure to appear in court. but fuck court. ellie just wanted to come home to her sweetheart, you.

in a small corner just off the highway lay a simple plot of land. two decades ago they’d turned it into a trailer park, but it was becoming more of a community to you.

you and ellie had hauled ass and held yourselves up pretty well there the last four years. she’d been fleeing from bad things all her life. this was her one shot at staying still.

you were fanning yourself with an old newspaper, sat on your porch in a lawn chair that always creaked when you moved. ellie was gonna get to fixing it one day.

you swat a bug off your leg before reaching for your iced glass of sun tea. letting the cold liquid slip down your throat and soothe your body’s rising temperature.

above the sunglasses sat on top of your head was a sweet kiss placed in your hair. ellie had come outside to greet you.

“hey baby, soaking in the sun?” she smiles. a tank top bunched up on her waist at a pair of shorts that were way too big for her. her boxers peaking through as she continued to pull them up and let them fall. pull them up, let them fall. over and over.

“more like the sun’s frying my ass.” you chuckle a bit to yourself. she laughs along with you. “come on inside i wanna show you something.”

what you laid your eyes on festered up tears. she’d made a custom photo frame for the two if you. etchings of your initials with roses and flowers adorned it’s sides. a photograph of you two smiling when you’d first arrived was in the middle.

you envelop her in a hug, wrapping your arms around her neck as hers fall to your waist. “oh ellie! it’s beautiful.” you smile.

she grabs your hips, her grip a bit firmer now as she looks into your eyes. “i’m glad you like it.”

you let a sweet kiss linger on her lips, your mouths dripping with desire. your blood rushing with excitement. you were so content with the life you’d built, you wanted her right then and there.

“cmon.” she trails as her right hand in yours leads you to the bedroom. she carefully places you on the bed, peppering kisses on your face. her fingers hooked into the hem of your jean shorts, struggling to pull them down.

you help her, unbuckling them, and letting them be forgotten as they fall past your ankles to the floor. her hand snaking up your thigh to rub you over your panties.

a soft moan spilling from your lips is caught by hers. she chuckles as you struggle to kiss back.

her fingers slide your underwear to the side and trail over your soaked lips, rubbing your wetness and making a mess of your cunt. your underwear had long before been ruined.

she dips two fingers in, the nectar of your heat allowing her to slip in easily. you lean back onto your elbows looking up at her. she can’t help but smile.

“always so easy to slip in, i’ll never get tired of it. you’re always so wet for me fuck.”

her fingers move faster, free hand carefully finding itself on your lower back. you lean into her touch finding yourself grinding on her fingers. a long and drawn out, “fuuuck.” is all that leaves her lips as she watches you. your steady pace, back and forth. practically drooling as she watches herself slip in and out of you. your slick a sheen coating on her fingers and dripping down her palm.

this is paradise.

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heartbeetz · 1 year ago

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@ Anton come kiss me rn my mouth tastes like whiskey and cinnamon

#made a fun drink. whiskey + coffee ice cream + pumpkin pie spice (no pumpkin. just the spice mix). warmed up in a mug #was kinda shit tbh but I wanted to try and make something #wayyy too much alcohol per volume. smelled and tasted like nail polish remover. stung my nose :(#only made worse by the fact that I tried to add vanilla extract :////#also used too much spice mix I think #maybe not though. I couldn't really distinguish the flavors bc they were all drowned out by the liquor :///#anyway I fucked it up but just kept adding ice cream until it was drinkable #could've been better if I'd thought about flavors ahead of time instead of just. putting shit in a cup. lol #note to self: you are not a mixologist #was gonna say ''he could make me better drinks'' but this isn't true. he probably drinks it all straight #or plays around and fucks up like I do #lol. lmao even #roz posts #♡: 🔨🎰🥃

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thcpresidcnt-archived · 1 year ago

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Are you aware that your counterpart is trying to steal your pet / girlfriend, for whatever reason? Probably some nasty scheme.

@evilmcg && @countlessrealities mentioned

There was a bit of silence. The president had to admit that he didn't know exactly what went on. Something about an arrow then suddenly those two were closer than ever before. Maybe he shouldn't have been so busy with his second-in-command, but he couldn't help it.

Lately, he'd been dealing with something from his past, but that was a completely different story.

The click of a pen regained his composure and put focus on the question asked to him. "How idiotic of you to think that he could steal what has and will always be mine," He spoke flatly as he concentrated on the paperwork in front of him, signing the dotted line on each piece of paper.

"If anyone is scheming it's her, not him," He could help to let the bit of jealousy rise through him and out of his mouth. "Who does she think she is running around Other Mes, I gave her this life that she has now, I'm the one who helped her and this is how she repays me?"

A slam of a fist on the surface rumbled the entire desk. He could feel his heart racing, breath quickening. Damn. Maybe he should get a drink to help relax him.

#{ anons' answers ; 🥃 }#{ ic ; 🥃 }#{ meg + morty || ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛꜱ }#Morty + Morty || ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɪɴꜱ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴀꜱ ᴄᴏʟᴅ #{ big oof }

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vikkirosko · 10 months ago

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Hi, new anon here! Could I get some headcanons for what Fizzarolli, Beelzebub, Alastor or Husk would do if their S/O had to go to the dentist or anything similar? How they take care of their S/O?

Welcome~

Headcanons Dentist

📻 Alastor x Reader 🎙

Alastor has always been attentive to others, including you. He noticed when you started to feel uncomfortable with meals and realized pretty quickly that the reason for this was a toothache. He watched for several days as you tried to ignore this pain, but eventually decided to intervene, realizing that at this rate you will never get rid of toothache

Alastor asked you what happened, not rushing to say that he knew about your toothache. You said you had a little toothache, but at the same time you claimed that it would pass soon and there was no need to worry about it. After your words, Alastor laughed and said that you should go to the dentist, because if your teeth hurt, you won't be able to smile. You didn't want to argue with Alastor, so you agreed to go to the doctor, even though you couldn't hide your concern

You were gone for several hours, which even surprised Alastor. He didn't think you could have a problem that would take so long to solve, but you finally came back. When Alastor came up to you, you held out your palm to him, on which lay a pulled tooth, because of which you felt pain

Alastor understood that you were afraid of dentists, but the fact that you were able to cope with your fear at least when it was really needed. He was pleased that you could smile again without suffering pain and eat calmly, enjoying your favorite food

🃏 Husk x Reader 🥃

Husk realized that something was wrong with you when he saw you drinking a cocktail that he had prepared for you. There was a lot of ice and you almost dropped your glass when you drank a little, as if you were in pain. He asked if you were okay, to which you replied sheepishly that you just had a little toothache and that there was nothing serious about it. He tried to ignore it for a few days, but he kept seeing that you had a toothache. But when you tried to eat and screamed in pain, Husk told you straight out that you needed to go to the dentist

Husk wasn't going to leave you alone until you went to the dentist. You knew yourself that you needed it, but you were very worried. He told you several times that everything would be fine and it had its effect. You went to the dentist, asking Husk to remember only the best about you if you didn't come back. He didn't understand why you reacted like that to going to the dentist, but Husk was sure that everything would be fine

You've been gone for hours. Husk started to worry about this, he didn't expect your visit to the dentist to be so long, but you finally came back. You smiled at Husk with a winning smile, which made it clear to him that your visit to the dentist was a success

You didn't say why you were so afraid to go to the dentist, and Husk didn't ask you about it. He was just pleased that your tooth wasn't bothering you anymore. He didn't like the fact that you were in pain, and now that it was over, he could breathe easy

🐝 Beelzebub x Reader 🍯

Beelzebub has always been attentive to you, so I quickly noticed that when you eat together, you could wince as if you were in pain. She was worried about your health and asked if everything was okay. You confusedly told her that you had a toothache and that it hurt you to chew one half of your jaw. Bee was worried about you, so she suggested you go to a good dentist

You were very worried about going to the doctor, but Bee convinced you that everything would be fine. She wasn't going to send you to an untrustworthy doctor, so she signed you up for a dentist she visited herself. She even suggested that you go together since you were so worried about the upcoming doctor's visit

The private dental clinic where you and Beelzebub came to welcomed you with cordiality. Bee promised you that everything would be fine and that she would be waiting for you in the hallway while you were at the dentist's appointment. If she could, she would have stayed with you in the doctor's office, but she had to stay in the hallway

When you left the office, you could breathe a sigh of relief. The dentist fixed your tooth, and all that remained was to wait a couple of hours before you could chew normally again. She was glad that you were healthy again and that the problem with your tooth was not as serious as you both feared

🎪 Fizzarolli x Reader 💟

You've been very nervous the last few days, and it didn't escape Fizzarolli's gaze. He was worried that you were in trouble, so he asked what happened. As it turned out, the reason you were so nervous was that very soon you had to go to a dentist appointment. You were afraid to imagine what it would be like to work as a dentist in Hell, that's why you were so afraid and worried

Fizz understood that for you who have never encountered medicine in Hell, so he offered to go with you. You agreed right away, thanks to him. He quickly realized that you were very scared and his offer was practically a salvation for you. On the day of your visit to the doctor, you went to the hospital together. You made him promise that if something bad happened, he would immediately come to your aid

Fizzarolli was waiting for you in the hallway while you were at the doctor's appointment. He was perfectly aware of other people's eyes on him, but he kept waiting for you. He wasn't going to leave you, because he didn't want you to feel betrayed if you walked out of the doctor's office and found that he wasn't there

When you left the office, Fizz hurried to you, asking if you were okay. You nodded, smiling with relief. You were able to get off with a slight fright and no dental problems were found, so you could safely leave. Fizzarolli didn't know why you were so afraid of dentists, but he was ready to go with you if you needed to see a doctor again

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel headcanons #Alastor #Alastor x Reader #Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss x Reader #Fizzarolli #Fizzarolli x Reader #Beelzebub #Beelzebub x Reader

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worksby-d · 10 months ago

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hehe a prompt: going mall (ahem b&bw 😌) shopping with steve, andy, or ari 🥰🫶🏻

fuck it, let's talk about all three 🤭 they would LOVE bath & body works i just KNOW it i’d force them to love it 🔪

thanks for a fun lil idea, brandy!!

Picking another body spray off the display you’re working your way around, you take a quick sniff of it, but you need the full effect.

“Give me your arm,” you tell Steve without looking at him, just holding out your hand for his.

He’s beside you pretending to look around. He knows he can’t go far since he’s holding the basket that you handed to him as soon as it started to get the tiniest bit heavy with everything you’re picking up.

He knew the nudge you give him was coming. It’s only the hundredth time you’ve done it since coming into the store. When you ran out of space on your own arms, you had to start spraying fragrances and putting dots of lotion on him instead.

“I don’t think there’s anywhere left for you to put anything,” he chuckles. “You’re gonna start mixing scents, sweetheart.”

“What are you talking about, there’s a lot of surface area on these bad boys,” you tease, patting his large bicep. “Don’t you worry.”

He wants to roll his eyes, but he can’t. He can’t do anything other than be a sap and press a kiss to your forehead as you lean to smell the spray you spritz on his upper arm.

Bonus: Steve’s fave scent is Dream Bright 💎

“Ugh,” you groan, smelling another candle. “I don’t need this. Tell me I shouldn’t get this.”

You don’t have to ask him twice. If he had it his way, you definitely wouldn’t be looking at candles right now considering the shelf full of them you have at home.

The words leave his mouth instantly. “Don’t get it.”

“Okay,” you sigh, catching a glimpse of his unamused look.

But your actions contradict your words. You set the candle in the basket he’s holding.

He scoffs feeling the added weight, dramatically dropping his arm as if that made it too heavy suddenly.

“You just said you don’t need it,” he chuckles, trying his hardest to suppress his smile.

“Look how pretty though,” you pout, picking it back up to show off the decorated jar. “And it smells so good.”

He has no choice but to take a whiff of it as you hold it up to his nose.

“Okay, okay, it smells good.” He can’t hide his smile anymore as he gently pushes your arm away and gives in. “Get it then.”

You gasp putting it back in the basket and shake your head, tsking at him. “Always an enabler, Andrew.”

Bonus: Andy’s fave candle scent is Pistachio & Toasted Vanilla 🤎

“Smell this.” He steps behind you and puts a hand over your eyes before holding a candle up to your nose.

You jump, reaching behind you to swat at his leg, playfully hitting him for startling you. “Ari!”

He chuckles, ignoring your scolding tone. “Do you like it?”

“I guess,” you laugh, bringing your hand up to pull his away from your eyes.

He moves so you can see him. “I wonder if they’re safe for–”

You don’t let him finish his question, cutting him off with a stern look. “They’re not.”

His mouth drops open in faux offense. “How’d you know what I was gonna ask?”

“Because you have a one-track mind,” you scoff, grabbing the candle from him.

“Hm,” he pouts, giving it up easily once he knows he can’t use it for what he wants anyway. “What’s the point if they can’t be used in bed?”

“Normal people use candles to make their homes smell good, you know that right?”

“Well,” he rolls his eyes. “That’s no fun.”

Bonus: Ari’s fave scent is Cozy Vanilla Bourbon 🥃

Tag list: @patzammit @thummbelina @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @astheskycries @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @la-cey @turtoix @harrysthiccthighss @tvckerlance @rocketrhap3000 @mrspeacem1nusone @murdcox @geminievans1 @doozywoozy @americasass91 @dwights-new-plague @wwwmarissa92 @redhairedfeistynerd @whxre4cevans @aubreeskailynn @white-wolf1940 @melchills-j @xoxabs88xox @before-we-get-started @chrissquares @christowhore @ice-dtae @mariestark @justile @rogersbarber @dilfbarber @livstilinski @payperhearts @vintagestarlight @gitasor @chaeycunty @miss-ariella @bemysugarbean @t-stark35 @seitmai @reginaphalange2403 @raelorns21 @mrsgweasley @pandaxnienke @brandycranby @cutedisneygrl

#this is so silly 🤭#steve rogers #stever rogers x reader #andy barber #andy barber x reader #ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #requested #brandycranby

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