#Also- pulls out a knife when he already has a knife on his hip-

[hcadlesshuntcr]

I always choose well :)

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐄𝐲𝐞'𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐦 | 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐳 𝐏𝐭.𝟐 ♡

Day Eight - Voyeurism

【Synopsis】 : There was no denying that Seonghwa had always loved to watch his leaders' angel being pampered. It was his favourite past time afterall.

『Word count』 :  990

-> Genre: Smut. Biker Au.

Pairing: Bikers!SeongJoong x Fem!Reader   

[Warnings] : Oral [f rec]. Swearing. Multiple orgasms. A knife is used to cut clothing. Pussy slapping. Manhandling. hickies. Mean dom Hongjoong. Softish Dom Seonghwa. Unprotected sex. Filthy talk. Pet names [bunny, angel, princess].

Network: @cromernet @wonderlandnet @atzhouse @illusionnet @k-vanity

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"Look what we have here.” Seonghwa’s voice sent a tingle through your body as your eyes locked on his. Hongjoong’s bites got harsh, making your moans grow loud, and the only thing coming to mind was that tonight was going to be fun.

-

Your eyes never left Seonghwa as your lover's right-hand man, simply smirked while sitting relaxed on the couch in the corner of the room. You were completely naked now, Hongjoong had used the knife that he had in a holster on his ankle to cut through the difficult band-t and black laced panties you were wearing without having to move you off the desk. Hongjoong has given you clear instructions when his lips meet your soaked cunt, you cannot lose eye contact with Hwa and you have to scream his name.

So, like the good girl you are, you obeyed.

"Seonghwa!!" Your jaw hung open as you felt Hongjoong eat you like you were his last meal on death row. Your fingers tangled in his hair, you feel his teeth graze around your clit, nibbling it quickly before going back to lick a strip from bottom to top. His three fingers were so deep that you had come twice already from the stimulation. All the while Seonghwa was perched with his legs spread and his hand roughly palming his cock. And as much as he wished to jerk himself off, he did not want to give you such satisfaction of seeing him take care of his problem below. Not when you basically showed off what was rightfully his and Hongjoongs to one of the lower pool boys. No, you needed punishment, and this just so happens also to be Seonghwa’s reward. “Seonghwa p-please.”

Your shaky hand reached for him, but the man did not even flinch. Hongjoong found this all amusing, but he also grew impatient. Unlike you, who was still in the dark, continuously begging for Seonghwa, Joong had silently understood the other males' motives. And he was excited to see where it was going to go. “Come on angel, you can be louder than that. Let everyone hear how good I’m fucking you.” Hongjoong lent over your shaking body to whisper in your ear, “And just maybe, Hwa might fuck you afterwards.”

“Fuck, please.” You cried again like some broken record, watching with glassy eyes as Hongjoong undid his zipper to open his slacks just enough to pull out his angry cock. Your lover's dark gaze met you before giving your abused pussy a harsh slap causing more tears to flow down your cheek, staining your puffy red face. Hongjoong grabbed your chin, forcing you to look upside down, back to Seonghwa on the couch.

“I said, keep your eyes on him Princess, don’t go disobeying me now.” Hongjoong deep growl sent shivers down your spine. Your eyes water more as your head felt the rush of blood from being tilted off the desk. You feel every inch of Hongjoong as he sinks inside you at a painfully slow pace making you feel him in every way possible. “There you go. My angel.”

His thrusts grew stronger with every passing minute. You desperately tried to keep your hazy eyes open, but your mind began to cloud and your body began to shake. Everything was heightened. From the feeling of Hongjoongs thick cock slamming deep inside you with every snap of his hips and the way you can feel Seonghwa stare straight into your soul as he continues to palm him with a light grunt at the sight of you being dishevelled. You were so fiercely close to the edge. “Hwa…J-joong. Please arnghh.”

You gasped as you felt Hongjoong leave your soaked cunt in on pull. A cry on the tip of your tongue at the emptiness. Joong slapped your pussy hard, making you sit up. But you couldn’t protest as he nearly yanked you off the desk, turning you around to bend you over the deep spruce wood. “I told you. Eyes opened and only speak Seonghwa’s name. Can you not follow simple instructions?” He thrusted his cock back inside you at full force, knocking you onto the table by your hips that were surely going to bruise from the impact. “Watch how fucked out Hwa looks right now. He loves to watch you, but you know that, Princess.”

“Yes…I do.” Your eyes lock onto Seonghwa as his gaze rakes down your body, now getting a better view of your bruised-covered tits.

“Even when you don’t know, my angel. He’s watching. When you’re blindfolded or your head is squashed into the pillow. You don’t see our pretty boy lurking.” Hongjoong jackhammers into you, holding your neck to keep you upright, “He loves to watch his bunny cum around a cock.”

You couldn’t hold it anymore, letting go of the twist in your gut. You clench tightly around your lover's cock while you cry another man's name. Never in your life had you felt such bliss then at this moment.

—

© 𝐉𝐚𝟑𝐡𝐰𝐚. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴��𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Game On. | Touya x Reader Imagine 🌶

LOLOL But imagine Touya fucking up into you bare for the first time...

Oh, you can't!? Well let me do it for you...

He finally has you naked in his bed like he's been dreaming about ever since you joined up with the League of Villains.

You'd knocked on his door and kissed him when he'd answered it - putting a fiery seal on 6 months of mutual pining and flirtation. You'd been so desperate for each other that he'd pulled you into his arms and kicked the door closed behind you. His lips were everywhere - your mouth, your cheeks, your pulse point. He'd unbuttoned your shirt and shed you of your clothes in record time. There was no time to be embarrassed about your nakedness - not when there's so much of Touya you still need to explore.

You pull at his hair, bite at his lips, run your hands down his toned, stapled body...there wasn't time to grab a condom, not when you need each other this badly. You were already so wet and desperate for him, he pressed his thick cock into you so easily. Touya slid into you smoothly like a knife into room temperature butter.

And so now here you are, riding him. Bouncing up and down on his cock like there's no tomorrow, like you won't need to have a serious conversation about what you mean to each other after this is all done.

Nope - no thinking. No planning ahead. Just you riding his emo fucking dick and cooing at him as he throws his head back and lets out the sluttiest little sounds you've ever heard.

His piercings and staples glint in the low light and his large hands move to grip at your hips, his touch almost bruising in intensity. His cock twitches and bullies its way up into your tight pussy as he searches for your G-spot. You gasp when he finds it, and he grins wickedly up at you when he feels you reflexively squeeze around him. He focuses in on repeating the motion again and again. Your tits bounce with the rhythm of his thrusts as he speeds up, grinding into you.

"You wanna cum, babe? You want me to fill up this tight fuckin' pussy?" He speeds up and brings a calloused thumb between the two of your bodies in order to rub at your clit. Heat pools in your lower belly and your cheeks heat up as you feel yourself at the verge of release. Touya grins up at you, wicked white teeth glimmering as he fucks you, enjoying himself.

"Don't worry about cumming too early, sweetheart. I bet I can get at least 3 orgasms out of you tonight." He flashes you a smile of bright white teeth as his cock twitches deep inside of you.

And at his inspired dirty talk, you fall over the edge and into oblivion, creaming on the cock of one of the most wanted villains in Japan. Your breath hitches in the back of your throat as you feel your pussy clench tightly around his dick, pulsing and fluttering in time with the pleasure of your orgasm.

Touya's icy blue eyes bore into your own. As he watches you cum, something in him falters and his eyes grow a fraction wider. It takes you a moment before you register what's going on - your orgasm is milking pleasure out of Touya's cock and the goddamn idiot is also cumming. His dick twitches once, twice, three times as he cums deep inside of you, fucking his ejaculate deeper and deeper into your tiny cunt.

Reading his body language you realize - his orgasm had taken you both by surprise. The goddamn idiot had thought he could holdout longer. But now here he is, filling you up to the brim with his thick baby batter.

"Fuuuuck!" He groans out, eyes fluttering shut as his hips work overtime to draw out his release. "Fuckin' hell." You feel his thick, hot ropes of cum filling you up and making the tail end of your own orgasm even more intense.

You groan as you both finish, crying out his name in such a pretty way that he doesn’t know what to do. His hands grab anything they can find – your hips, your breasts, your neck. He feels so good and he craves closeness – he’d climb into your goddamn skin if he could.

When you both come down from that heaven-sent high, you fall onto his chest and nuzzle into his neck. You're absolutely spent.

“Wow.” Is all you can say as you feel him gently pull out of you, cool air hitting your pussy as cum and arousal gush onto the sheets. He shifts you into a more comfortable position and you shiver as the sweat on your body cools in the AC.

“I’ll last longer next time.” He says, softness creeping into his voice. He sounds...embarrassed? You smile, savoring the rare spark of vulnerability. All sense of angry bravado has been abandoned now that he’s fucked out and breathless.

“You’d better.” You try to challenge him, but you’re too tired and too boneless to hold up your end of banter. “Hold me?”

He wraps his arms around you, strong biceps flexing against your bare skin. You feel the hard metal of staples scratch lightly across your skin as you curve into him. You shift your gaze up to his beautiful face, his mouth quirked into an unsteady smile.

His ice blue eyes search your face as he croaks out: “So…are we actually doing this?”

“Doing what?” You ask shakily, afraid of what his answer might be.

“You know damn well ‘what.’” He scowls, but his expression is softer than usual as he squeezes you to him. You can feel his heartbeat pulsing where your chests lay flush against each other. “I want you too badly. I want you to be mine.”

“Like…in a hookup-fuck-buddy kinda way? Or in an intense, deep devotion relationshipy way?” You ask, suppressing a giggle as Touya scowls at you with those endless icy eyes of his.

“Don’t make me say it.” He says gruffly, rolling his eyes as he looks past your face to stare hard into the cracking ceiling. “The latter. I need you all to myself. Idiot.”

“Touya, you’re so goddamn mushy I can’t stand it.” You say sarcastically, bringing up a hand to trace his sharp jawline. He fuckin leans into the touch. He’s so whipped for you, you practically glow with the realization. “So does that make me your girlfriend?” You tease.

He huffs, throwing you off of him and onto your back. You hit the plush mattress and sink in a bit, surprised at his sudden roughness. Seconds later he’s on top of you, kissing down your neck and sinking his teeth into your shoulder and sucking at the skin there. A bright hickey blooms quickly under his mouth and he smiles at it, content.

“If calling you my girlfriend gives me unrestricted access to this gorgeous fuckin’ body…then, yeah. I’ll let you be my girlfriend, sweetheart.” He whispers harshly, his fingers coming down to rub against your abused clit. You gasp, still over stimulated from your orgasm.

“You’re such a shithead jerk, Touya.” You moan in discomfort as he slips a finger inside of you with a squelch, pushing his cum back inside of you.

“Yeah, but doll I’m you’re ‘shithead jerk’ now. No take backs.”

You can feel him already getting hard again against your thigh, and you spread your legs to give him better access to your pussy.

Oh you are gonna have fun with boyfriend Touya. You gasp as he curls his fingers to hit your g-spot deep inside your still-shaky cunt.

You grin wickedly up at his ceiling.

Game on.

-------------------------

Woohoo a rare little one shot ficlet! Hope you enjoyed!

XOXO, RedRiotUnbreakableHeart ❤️

🔥Link to My Master List 🔥

[luveline]

request for miguel - he gets hurt somehow, maybe out on a mission or something, and spider-girl takes care of him and patches him back up, definitely puts a cute plaster on him which he hates but he loves her so he lets it slide :) <33 everyone makes fun of him for it

also hi ily hope you're having/had a fantastic day

thank you for your request!! grumpy lovesick miguel x sunshine spidergirl!reader

"And the salt builds up around their ankles," you're saying, sitting on Miguel's thigh, a bandaid in your shaking hands, "and the chick's feet get so heavy they can't keep up." 

Miguel knows this already, he'd listened to you talk about flamingos for days after you watched that nature documentary, but he lets you tell him again for the very same reason he has you sitting on his thigh in front of everyone, and the same reason he doesn't care that the bandaid you're putting on his cheek has a smiley face in the middle. He scared you today, getting hurt. Even as his quickened regenerative abilities close his wounds and heal his contusions, he can feel you trembling in his lap. 

He'd been out with the elite strike team, Spider-Woman on one side of him and Spider-Girl (not you) on the other. Jessica's more than capable of holding her own, and so together Miguel figured he'd been in neither danger nor trouble. But trouble doesn't always present itself as such, and the anomaly they'd been handling had turned out to be three anomalies. It's never happened before, and the shock startled him into bad decisions. 

The cut on his cheek was wide, but it's nearly healed now. He barely felt it. 

What he did feel was your gasp, like you'd been cut yourself, like he had the knife in his hand when you saw it. He supposes you've never witnessed him hurt before, and you're not as untouchable as you seem; you were worse than scared. 

"Did you get it?" he asks. 

You smooth your thumb along the edges of his bandaid carefully. "Got it. You'll be okay, don't worry." 

You hide your own worry with his. He feeds into it. "Are you sure? What about the one on my arm, you haven't touched that one." 

The one on his arm has been wrapped in gauze and bandages. You bring his arm to your chest, careful not to touch his wound. "Does it hurt?" you ask, your lashes twitching with the intensity of your concern.

"No, cariño," he says quietly, for your ears only. 

"Get a room," Lyla pleads. For hers, too, it seems.

"Sorry," you say, trying to stand. Miguel strong arms you into staying on his thigh, arm like a seatbelt at your waist. "Miguel." 

"You haven't finished," he insists. 

"You look finished to me," Lyla says. "Or did you want another bandaid for the owy over your heart?" 

He grits his teeth. He doesn't want another bandaid, he didn't want the first, but he wants you to be happy. If putting a giant pink heart-shaped plaster on his cheek is going to make you feel better, that's what has to be done. Miguel purses his lips to one side until he feels the adhesive of the bandaid pull away from his skin, and waits in the ridicule of his teammates for you to notice. 

"Oh," you say, fingers poking at the peeled bandaid unhappily. "Sorry, I'm sorry, let me–" You pull the bandaid off achingly slowly. "I only have hearts left, I–" 

"Just put it on," he says, with a feigned reluctance. His devious plan works, and you set a heart plaster over his cut. It's not big enough. You add a second.

"That is hilarious," Lyla says, her mink coat falling down her arm as she twists in the air and holds up a dramatically large cell phone. "Say cheese." 

Miguel looks at you. You throw up a peace sign. The photo is proof of his indulgence in you, if nothing else. He doesn't care how ridiculous he might look on screen, you've finally stopped shaking. 

He squeezes the fat of your hip in his hand and sighs. What a fool, he thinks. He's not talking about you. 

[pedgito]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄 | Tommy Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | tommy's on a path for revenge and you're his unfortunate baggage.

author's note | this is a small blurb for a future series for tommy. for context: joel revenge tour, forced proximity, reader is baggage to tommy, and also mean!tommy. him and maria have already separated before he leaves to go after abby & the group. so if it’s easier to consider this au, please do. this is unbeta'd and based off this post.

content warning | 18+ smut, eluding to past hookups, undefined age gap, tommy is a broken shell of himself, manhandling, a moment of softness from tommy but mostly selfishness, unprotected p in v, mentions of not pulling out. the tommy brainrot is in full effect y'all.

word count —1.4k

He doesn’t touch you like this unless he wants something.

A hand up your back, under your shirt as you bend down to throw more kindling into the fire, taking the broken twigs from his hand.

You feel it, tense slightly as you toss the sticks into the pool of flames and rise, turning your head over your shoulder. 

He’s got that distant smile that doesn’t ever reach his eyes, not anymore. The thing with Tommy is that when he smiled, or used to anyways, it was a full body reaction.

His eyes light up, the lines around his mouth creasing as he grinned and the subtle twitch or flex of his hands as he tried to contain himself. As dark as you’ve seen him lately, you knew that Tommy was still buried underneath. Deep, deep down.

“It was once,” you remind him, eyes flicking down at his now empty hands pressing against your hip, slowly caressing its way over your stomach and slipping underneath the fabric there, sandwiched in by both of his hands as he nudged you to turn and face him, “—we agreed, Tommy.”

“You can keep tellin’ yourself that,” Tommy argues, “s’far as I remember you did a whole lotta talkin’ and you still haven’t told me stop,” his hands settling against your waist, squeezing the flesh under his fingertips, “you want me to stop?” 

Your eyes follow the path of his fingertips as they clutch the end of your shirts and push up, dragging it up until your skin is bared to him, knuckles dragging over the surface. It was heat, pure heat. Different from the sweltering flames at your sides. It was hunger.

So strong, unbridled. If he wasn’t thinking about this, he was thinking about them. Or him. He has nightmares every night, ones you’ve learned to let him ride out. The one attempt to pull him out ended with you on your ass and a knife to your throat, skin nicked from the sharp blade pressing into your chin.

You shake your head so slightly you aren’t expecting him to catch it, but he does. “That’s right,” he nods, his hand raising to brush against the underside of your chin, thumb dragging over your cheek, “look at me.”

Hesitantly, you do. Heart hammering in your chest you dare, staring back at his unrestrained gaze. There wasn’t admiration or fondness, nothing like that. But, there was understanding.

You help me, I help you.

Mutually assured destruction.

The force of your kiss as you rush into him sends him stumbling, feet hitting the edge of a table before he’s collapsing in an old chair, creaking under the weight of you both.

His head presses against the back of the chair, kissing you back soundly, sloppily as he tongue dives—digs into your mouth and licks away the built up frustration you’ve carried for the past week.

It tastes like resentment and anger, things you couldn’t say to him—things he wouldn’t say himself. It was a dangerous dance that has begun to play out for you both.

He reaches blindly for your jeans, popping the metal button and attempting to squeeze his hand between the snug material and your underwear, struggling with the angle and how desperately your pressing yourself into him as you pull at his hair, dark locks tangled around your fingers and he grunts, heaving out a heavy sigh.

“Get ‘em off,” he orders casually, rubbing his hands against the denim as he pushes you away, mirror your movements as he strips himself of a few more layers; coat, flannel, shoving his pants just far enough down his knees that by the time yours are off he’s ready for your hurried approach.

You climb back over his lap, a salacious grin on his face as you mount him, “alright, atta girl,” followed by a soft catch of his breath as you wrap your palm around his shaft, tugging leisurely as his cock hardens from your touch, brow pinched as he watches, “—careful, honey.”

He joins your hand, using the force of his thumb on his opposite hand as it wraps around yours to press the head of his cock between your cunt, slipping between your folds and notching himself against your clit.

Before you can even think to speak, his hand is wrapping around the back of your neck, pulling it taut in his grip as he forces you still, gaze locked on his own as he pushes inside of you.

He’s already worked up, functioning on pure adrenaline and rage the past few days, knowing that he would soon hit a wall, but not before he allowed himself this. A gentle whine squeezing from your throat as he bucks his hips into you slowly, watching the desperate clench of your jaw as you swallow, eyes falling closed.

If it weren’t for the fireplace, he’d be acting off feel alone—like the last time. A back alley in the decrepit city of Seattle and the low hum of infected in the nearby area. Hand over your mouth, fingers circling of your clit as he fucked you against the moss-covered brick wall. 

There was no preamble. Only a look, a deep growl of anger as he snapped and you allowed him to take his emotions out on you—given you were a big reason why his trip wasn’t going off without a hitch like he’d expected.

You were ruining it, dragging him down, but he couldn't just let you go—you were too far from Jackson, too far from home. 

“Not gonna be the last time,” you inquire, a breathlessness to your voice as you worked your hips back against him, fingers digging into the material of his shirt and feeling the flex of his abdomen underneath, the sharp snap of his hips as pistons himself into you, “is it?”

Tommy leans forward suddenly, hand pressing against your back for support as you yelp softly, fingers pulling in his hair in a reactionary manner but it makes him curse. Your body goes fuzzy at the aggression in his tone, clenching around him out of instinct. 

“You tell me,” Tommy counters, “you sneak outta Jackson, you follow me here, you fuck up my plans—and you just think—“

“Think what?”

“I ain’t that dense, honey,” He snarks, “you’ve been eyein’ me for weeks. He said you were good, mindful—but you are just nothin’ but goddamn trouble.”

He didn't need to say his name, you knew.

You smirk at his assumption of you, a small laugh bubbling from your chest as you fight for the upper hand, pressing him back into the chair against his hardened grip, almost avoiding the nudge of his mouth as he leans in for a hungry kiss, his palms squeezing at your ass cheeks so tight that it pulls you forward too, your foreheads colliding quick and sharp, a collective groan of pain erupting from you both.

It’s in the quiet lull of a look, as Tommy rubs at the sore spot on his forehead that you find yourself laughing—soft and wistful as you rock back, his cock still buried inside of you.

In an instant his hands are at your hips, gripping tight as his lips pull in a thin line, whatever semblance of a smile he did have was quickly gone and focused on you—or more so, the point where your cunt was sucking him in and squeezing, so tight he feels like he might come just like that

“Ease up,” he chokes out, the sweat on his brow glistening with the glow of the fireplace, “keep squeezin’ my cock like that and I’ll come right now.”

You grin, a soft snicker slipping past your lips.

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” Tommy offers in a softer tone, “but I ain’t finished with you yet—so ease up.” It ignites the coil of pleasure deep inside of you, the snarl of his teeth contrasting with his gentle tone.

You knew there was no piecing Tommy back together after everything that's happened—whatever was left of Tommy’s peace had departed the moment his brother had too. 

-

dividers creds: @/saradika-graphics

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (22/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: This friendship is off to a great start. Or something like that.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff because you all deserve it, tiny but of angst (because it wouldn't be my work if there wasn't angst in it), google translated French

Word Count: 2.9k

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A/N: tadaaaaaa. did my best and I hopefully have time to update this story weekly. feedback is appreciated!

The other side of the bed is empty when you open your eyes. 

Sunlight beams through the window and warms your face as you stretch your arms and lie back. A loud yawn escapes your mouth, but you are so well rested and relaxed that you don't care who can hear you. 

Charles is probably hanging around the apartment somewhere and you can't help but smile at the thought of him. 

You didn't expect you two to talk so soon, but now that the weight is off your shoulders and the secrets - both your unemployment and the Formula One thing - are out in the open, you feel a lot better. You slept well, snuggled up to Charles with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. His warmth gave you security and comfort and although the road to this moment has been quite bumpy and rocky, you're glad you've finally arrived at this point. 

Pure friendship. 

It's the right thing to do, you tell yourself. This friendship is more important than anything else in this world. I'll be damned if I'm going to destroy the only good thing I have.

You lock your feelings deep inside you, bury them under many and thick layers of friendly affection so that no daylight can reach them. What remains inside you is silence, a pleasant, comforting silence. 

You don't have to worry about what his pet names mean to you. You don't have to worry about eventualities that will certainly not become reality anyway. You can be there for Charles, as a friend - as someone who is there for him. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stand up. There are some fresh clothes for you on a small chest of drawers - a turquoise shirt and short gray Puma sports shorts - which you quickly slip into. As you open the door to your room, the smell of batter fills your nose. 

"Bonjour," Charles smiles at you as you enter the spacious, modern kitchen and sit down opposite him at the kitchen counter. Unlike last night, this time he's wearing a shirt and gray sweatpants, which hang low on his hips but still let you feel a little sigh of relief. With spatula in hand, he scrapes the pancake out of the pan to put it on a plate and slide it over to you. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well," you answer him and reach for the Nutella that is already in front of you. "And you?"

"Likewise." He turns off the stove and sits down next to you with another plate of pancakes. His knee nudges yours, but neither of you pulls your leg away. "The recipe is from my teammate. He says they're the best pancakes ever and I thought we could try them together."

As you spread the Nutella evenly on your pancake, you hand him the jar. His fingertips gently brush your hand. "So if they don't taste good, it's not your fault?" you grin and use your knife and fork to cut off a small piece before popping it into your mouth. 

Charles watches your every move. "That's right. So? Did he lie?"

You shake your head. The pancake in your mouth is warm and soft and fluffy, vanilla is definitely one of the ingredients and as you swallow the piece, a little of the delicious taste remains. "It's really delicious," you reply and spear another piece with your fork. "But I think it's also down to how the pancakes are made. The batter can be as good as it wants to be, but if it's made incorrectly - nope. Then it can't be saved."

Your Monegasque friend pours a little orange juice into the empty glass in front of you. "Was that a compliment to the chef?" A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows. 

You playfully punch him in the shoulder with your fist. He pretends to almost fall off his chair. "My statement is to be considered purely objective."

Something flashes in Charles' green eyes, but before you can pinpoint it, he turns his gaze back to the breakfast. "I've heard you say that before," he mumbles before taking a bite. "But it really tastes great. I'll have to tell him when I see him again soon."

"What does your nutritionist say about you smearing so much Nutella on your pancake?" When he puts his index finger to his mouth, you have to smile. "Do you have to go back? To Italy?" The thought of Charles leaving you alone here in this big apartment makes you swallow hard. You only really talked to each other a few hours ago, does he really have to -

"No," he unintentionally interrupts your train of thought. "I don't think they want to see me there again so soon after I left yesterday. But that's just the way it is." He shrugs his shoulders. "More time for us." Before you can ponder the meaning of that sentence, he continues. "I know we've already talked this morning about what to do next, but I think we should discuss it again."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The brunette purses his lips. "You said that you still want to be friends with me despite my job - and I think that's great - but you should really be sure."

"I am sure," you reply without hesitation.

"But you have to know what all this would mean for you if you take this," he points first to you and then to himself, "on. Dealing with all this is more difficult than you can imagine."

"All right," you reply, shoving the last piece of pancake into your mouth before washing it down with orange juice. "Go on then, Mr. Charles Leclerc."

He looks at you with a look that can't mean anything other than "Really?" before clearing his throat. "I've been in the public eye since I was little. It used to be karting, now it's Formula One. I'm used to people recognizing me, approaching me on the street and wanting to take photos. It's normal everyday life for me."

"Sounds a bit conceited," you joke, but Charles' expression suggests he's not in the mood for fun. "Okay. Je suis désolé."

"As soon as I leave the house, people talk about it. What I'm doing. Where I'm going. Who I'm spending time with. And my friends are set on the fact that when we're out and about, we can never be fully undisturbed." He chews on his lower lip for a moment. "With my female friends, things are a little more complicated."

"Meaning?"

He takes a deep breath. "As a Formula One driver, it's quite difficult to maintain friendships with the opposite sex. As soon as you do something together without anyone else around, it's portrayed as a date in the press or on social media. According to TikTok, I've had four new girlfriends since Annika and I split up. But nobody cares that they are the wives and girlfriends of my best friends. People see what they want to see. Even if it doesn't reflect the truth at all."

Without hesitation, you reach for his hand and stroke the back of it with your thumb. His skin is soft. "I'm terribly sorry about that. It must be awful."

Charles turns his hand a little so you can intertwine your fingers. "It's nothing new for me. It's more difficult for my friends. They are insulted, called names, judged. And all because they want to spend time with me, because that's what friends do. It's not fair. Not for anyone."

Now you understand why it's so important to Charles that you know this. His friendship has a price. And from what he tells you, it's not exactly cheap.

"The pressure on you would be huge. People will have opinions about you that you won't like. And no matter what you do, no matter how good you are - you won't be able to change them. And at some point, you'll be approached on the street without me, just because we're friends. The first time Joris was asked for a photo, he was completely taken aback."

You can see how much this is taking its toll on him and you don't even want to know how many friendships his name has already cost him. It's understandable that not everyone wants to take this risk, this life.

You squeeze his hand twice to attract his attention. When he looks at you, you smile. "Doesn't sound so bad," you try to cheer him up. The attempt fails miserably.

"I don't think you understand me." He shakes his head slightly and removes his hand from yours. "That's no small sacrifice. And there's no turning back once you do. You'll have no privacy once you leave this apartment. You'll be the talk of the town. About what you do, what you say and what clothes you wear. And all because we're friends."

You raise an eyebrow. "And what's in it for me then?"

He lowers his eyes again. His voice is quiet. "Just - me."

Your heart breaks for him. 

How can he not know how wonderful he is? Ever since you've known each other, Charles has always given you the chance to get out of things. He's let you have the bed, driven your rickety Renault to protect you from the public, pushed you away - disgustingly, but still. And all so that you could have a choice. 

You'd like to take him in your arms and hug him tightly, hoping you can patch up his shattered parts. And so you do. You get up from the chair and wrap your arms around him so tightly that he gasps in surprise. He slides off his chair into a firm stance so that your hands slide a little lower down his back. A moment later, when you feel one of his hands on your spine and the other in your hair, you press your cheek against his hard chest.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I do," you murmur against the soft fabric of his shirt, whereupon he presses you a little closer to him. 

"How do you see me?" he whispers against the top of your head. You feel his lips on your scalp. "Like a crazy, jealous guy who shows up at your place in the middle of the night and starts a fight with your ex?"

"You're an idiot." You lift your face from his chest and tilt your head back so you can look at him. He looks down at you. "You're such a wonderful person, Charles. And I would be honored if you wanted me as a friend."

"Are you really sure?" His warm breath brushes over your face. "There's so much you -"

"I'm sure," you interrupt him. 

"There's a series on Netflix you can watch so you can get a better understanding of -"

"I'm sure."

"Y/N, please -"

"Don't you want to be my friend?" You want to take a step backwards so you can really look at him, but he's so comfortably warm and his gaze is so heartbreaking that you don't want to let him go under any circumstances. 

"I want nothing more than that. Really." The hand that was in your hair a moment ago rests against your cheek and your thumb strokes it gently. "But there's so much you have to give up. And just for me."

You nestle your face against his warm skin. "You're all I have. And that's all I need."

His gaze softens and he gently kisses your forehead before holding you close one last time and then letting go. "The Netflix series isn't that good anyway. It doesn't reflect what really happens on race weekends." He sits back down at the counter and grabs another pancake. 

You join him. "I'm not surprised. Netflix will do anything to make money and twisting reality to make it more marketable is nothing new." You copy him with the pancake.

"Exactly. And if you want to know anything, you can ask me. Your friend - the Formula One driver," he grins, shoving a bite between his two jaws. 

"You said yesterday that this season has been a throwaway. What do you mean?" you ask him, emptying the bottle of orange juice into your glasses. 

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "The car and the strategies didn't work as they should have. The Scuderia made more cock-ups than you can stand."

You have to suppress a grin. "Then wouldn't it be smarter to call it the Screwderia?"

His gaze is emotionless as you look at him. "That's the worst joke I've ever heard." He smirks. "But you're right about that."

It's obvious that your friend feels a lot more comfortable now that he's told you the truth. The passion with which he talks about the sport is infectious, and you listen to him as attentively as you can. There's a sparkle in his eyes, his smile almost reaches your ears as he talks about his victories and podiums. 

How could you not want to be friends with him?

When you're done with breakfast, Charles sends you to explore the apartment while he does the dishes. After brushing your teeth and getting a bit more ready - you keep your clothes on, they're comfortable and Charles' after all - you wander through the rooms. 

The living room is kept simple, with white furniture and a comfortable-looking couch where you can watch the second part of Cars. Next to it on a shelf are several trophies and even helmets, which you take a quick look at.

There's even a white piano. A red rose arrangement with the word Love is placed on it. As you run your fingers over the wood of the instrument, you hear Charles enter the room. 

"The roses are from Annika. They're not real, so they can stay longer." He steps from one foot to the other. 

"Why haven't you thrown them away yet?" you ask him as you turn to face him. 

He shrugs his shoulders. "I haven't gotten around to it yet. And Annika was still living here until yesterday. So..."

You nod weakly and change the subject. "Have you been practicing here?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I don't have much time to play because of Formula One. It was good to play in the bookshop. Even if it was completely improvised."

You remember every single note. The passion he poured into the keys to create an incredibly beautiful piece of music. The passion he felt. How beautiful he looked in the warm light. "It was beautiful. It really was."

"It's your song." He smiles lovingly. "It's as beautiful as you are."

Like magnets, you move towards each other. As he holds out his hand, you place yours in it so that he can gently turn you in a circle before pulling you close. Your hands rest on your chest and you feel his strong heartbeat under your fingertips as you smooth down his shirt. His hands are on your lower back, pressing you against him so that you arch towards him. 

"Charles."

"Mm-hmm." His gaze flickers back and forth between your eyes and your lips, making your heart beat faster. 

You hypocrite, you hear your conscience say as your one hand slides to the nape of his neck and plays with the fine hair there. Charles closes his eyes and something you can only categorize as a moan escapes his throat. 

"Please don't stop," he whispers and leans his forehead against yours. The tips of your noses nudge against each other. 

"With what?" you ask softly, even though you know exactly what he means. 

"Touching me." His voice sounds almost like a deep groan. "Tu me fais tellement de bien.“ you feel so good.

You would never stop. It seems like an invisible boundary was torn down last night and you haven't been able to stop touching each other since. His knee against yours at breakfast. Your embrace. Your half-naked bodies pressed together a few hours ago when you were talking. 

Even if you wanted to, you couldn't stop touching him. 

Hypocrite, repeats the annoying voice in your head. 

Without thinking about it, you arch towards him another inch and Charles draws in a sharp breath. 

"Charles?" A woman's voice sounds from the hallway and the Monegasque opens his eyes. „Chéri, tu es à la maison?“ darling, are you home?

Your eyes search his as he suddenly breaks away from you and takes a step back. Panic is practically written all over his face. 

"Who's that?" you ask silently, but get no answer.

The footsteps from the hallway come closer and when you turn around, a woman is standing in front of you, looking first at you and then at Charles before her gaze lingers on you. "'Qui avons-nous là?“ who do we have here? she asks, walking towards you before grabbing your hands and giving you a kiss on the left cheek, then the right. 

"Maman, que fais-tu ici?" mom, what are you doing here? Charles asks hesitantly, taking a step towards you both. 

Maman?

next part

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

06 — PULL A TRIGGER, CLIMB A MOUNTAIN

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

Graves watches you, a sleazy smirk on his face as he sits in the helicopter, blood dripping from his forehead and empty rifle in hand.

With a wink, he chimes in through your channel, “See you when you’re useful again, baby.”

*

Three hours earlier.

*

“Change.”

Looking up, you give the hulking man the most annoyed expression you can muster, cocking your hip and folding your arms over your chest. He, in response, only raises a brow and folds his own arms, a clear mocking of your own stance.

Everyone else is already in the other room, checking over weaponry and making plans. They’re loud enough to be heard here, jovial laughter and quickly-spoken Spanish filtering in. A song plays, too, a nice kind of melody that you find yourself enjoying.

“I usually need a shot or two first,” you snark, making no move to take the folded clothes from the balaclava-clad man. “You buying?”

As he shoves the uniform into your chest, you shoot Ghost a nasty glare.

“We have stuff we need to do without you,” he quips, pushing against your shoulder hard enough to have you taking a step back. “That uniform’s too recognisable.”

“What, the American flag’s too much for you?” You lean in once more, shoving your own hand against his chest. He doesn’t budge. “I deserve to be involved, when I’m giving you intel. This whole exclusion bullshit reminds me of kindergarten.”

“Then change, and stop acting like you belong in one,” Ghost snaps, and with one final look your way, storms out of the main room, slamming the wooden sliding doors shut behind him as he does.

You’re alone, now. 

The room is vast, and at the small table still sits the laptop.

You’d… just. Done that. Threatened the very man who had taught you everything you know, the very man who had practically adopted you after your mother’s death. The very man of whom you’d just sentenced to death by your own hand. Your own lit match.

“Fuck,” you hiss, burying your face in your free hand.

This was the first time you’d had true solitude since. Well. It might’ve only been a day, but everything that’s happened has made it feel like years. Your throat itches from the knife wound, and you can feel your ribs’ bruising when you inhale.

“Fuck,” you curse once more, looking to the sliding doors.

After the call with Shepherd, the four men had been… well, they’d all had a very individualised response.

Soap had brought you in with an arm around your neck, ranting about how ‘badass’ you had been. Gaz had joined in, ruffling up your hair, placing a hand on your shoulder and asking if you were okay.

You’d said yes.

It had been a lie.

Ghost, without a word, had left to check over his magazines. Price had given you a firm nod and a pat on your back before, he too, left to the other room to sort things out.

“Lucky yer on our side, hen,” Soap had joked goodnaturedly. Gaz had rolled his eyes, saying, “You’re just happy your little Sweetheart can take you in a fight.”

Soap had immediately tackled him to the ground, and that was that.

Now, you stood, lone in the vast space of the room. It was still very early morning, the quiet sound of birds outside mixing with the rambunctiousness of the Los Vaqueros on the other side of the doors. Soft light filters in through the boarded up windows, casting over you in an odd haze.

Dropping the uniform onto the table, your brows furrow when you notice not only the 141’s standard uniform, but also a balaclava not unlike Ghost’s own.

The fabric is oddly soft as you run your hand over it, the paint cracking slightly against the nylon. Putting it aside for now, you then look over the uniform. A black long-sleeve compression shirt, baggy beige cargo pants. They’re definitely a bit too big for you, but admittedly, Ghost was right. It’d be too easy to spot you on the field if you were in Graves’ uniform.

Looking around the room, as if to cement the fact that you were alone, you quickly change, swapping out your bloody uniform for the new one.

It’s when you’re about to pull on the shirt that you look down, seeing the bruises lining your stomach. From the fight with Soap, or from one of your confrontations with the Shadows, you aren’t sure. Pressing softly against one, you can’t help a small grunt at the burst of pain.

You pull the compression shirt over your head, the fabric tight against your skin. How he’d had your size for the shirt and not the pants, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Pulling over the new vest, you transfer all of your old items into it, finding this design much nicer. Not as constricting against your breasts, designed more unisex than Graves’ had been.

Grabbing the balaclava, your feet carry you to the sliding doors, and you open them with little struggle. 

You nearly stumble when you find all of the men within pulling on their own masks, stopping in your tracks at the sight. Ghost and Price’s backs are to you, and when you see Ghost pulling on one of the same masks, everything clicks.

He hadn’t wanted you to see his face – had used getting changed as a distraction.

And yet, here were the Los Vaqueros, some of which had never even spoken to Ghost, having the privilege. It shouldn’t make you angry, you shouldn’t care, but you can’t help the onslaught of rejection that floods your system.

When you step forward, into their line of sight, you straighten your spine and take out your gun from its holster, reloading it in precise movements, not looking down at it once. When the magazine clicks into place, you narrow your gaze on Ghost.

“Are we getting this done or having a fashion show?”

*

“That’s cold,” you murmur, eyes squeezed shut as war-torn fingers swipe grease paint around your eyes, careful in their placement. You sway when the vehicle drives over a pothole, but the fingers continue their ministrations without pause.

Price chuckles softly, wiping his thumb underneath your eye. “Used to do this for Ghost every other day,” he says under his breath, collecting more paint from the pot and continuing to spread it across the upper half of your face.

You’re in the back of a van with both Price and Gaz, Alejandro behind the wheel as you head back to his colonised base.

“You look like one of us now,” Gaz chimes, to your right. Watching you both carefully, his own paint already done, he leans back into his seat. “Uniform, mask… we’ve corrupted you, love.”

You roll your eyes beneath your eyelids. “Good luck with that.”

“Don’t test me,” he laughs, at the same time that Price pulls away once more, looking you over, before deciding that more paint will be needed.

“Feel like a kid at a fair,” you muse, earning a soft chuckle from Price. “Do I get glitter too?”

“Maybe if you’re a good girl,” Price jokes softly, and you let out a laugh of your own. Internally, you register your cheeks heating at the comment, a part of you yearning for such praise from the man. If it didn’t mess up your paint or cause the two to give you weird looks, you’d slap yourself.

“Can’t believe you’re Graves’ Colonel,” Gaz admonishes, and you barely restrain a huff of annoyance. He corrects himself. “Were. Man, he did not deserve you in his ranks. You probably would’ve done better as Commander than he ever could.”

You let your lips curve into a somewhat appreciative smile, eyes still shut as Price continues his studious work. “Believe it or not, we all loved him. Behind the scenes, he treated us pretty well. The guys, anyway.”

You can’t see it, but Gaz and Price share a knowing look, both of them raising their brows. Your eyes remain shut throughout their small, silent exchange.

“How so?” Price asks, gruff, and the tone encourages you to tell the truth.

“Well,” you swallow, unsure of how to approach the issue. You never have, never felt a reason to. “Just. Small things. Jokes, and stuff. I’m the only woman in the Company, actually–”

“What?” Gaz blurts out, not seeming able to stop himself. “You’re serious?”

You let out a somewhat self-deprecating chuckle. “...Yeah? That’s pretty normal in military jobs, y’know. Didn’t think it was that weird. At least I’m a Colonel.”

“You don’t think that’s… weird?” Price asks, and it’s only then that you realise he’s stopped painting your face. You blink open your eyes. “The only woman in his Company, and she’s his Colonel?”

Chewing on your inner cheek, you shake your head. “I was one of the very first to be hired by him. We… He was my partner. In nearly every sense of the word,” you admit, a small truth. “I mean. I don’t think that I loved him. Just. Never really had anyone else.”

“How old were you when you joined Shadow Co?” Gaz asks, slowly, carefully.

You mull it over, before supplying an easy answer. “Eighteen, or so. He was twenty-seven when he started, and –”

“That’s so fucked,” Gaz curses, burying his face in his hands. “Seriously. He’s a fucking asshole.”

You’re desperate for a change of topic, anything else but this. Not now, not when your wounds are too fresh, not when you’re about to come face to face with him again. With a deep breath, you divert the situation.

“Am I done?” You ask, looking to the window and trying to catch your reflection to no avail.

“...Yeah,” Price breathes, “You’re done.”

Easing back into your spot, you find your leg bouncing once more, the adrenaline of the upcoming mission keeping you antsy and energetic. You haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours, but you somehow find yourself more awake now than you had been hours ago.

Resting his hand on your knee, Gaz gives you a reassuring smile. “You ready?”

Letting out a low, unsure exhale, you find yourself nodding. “Yeah. I think so. I know what I’m going to say to him. I’m. He’ll come around.”

Gripping your mask in your hand, you move to pull it over your head, the fabric snugly fitting around your skin. It’s an odd sort of comfort, a way of protecting yourself from the emotional wreck that this mission will create. For the first time, you think that you can understand the attachment Ghost has to it.

“If we kill ‘im,” Price starts, but when you instantly flick your gaze to him, starts to backtrack, “If. If it comes down to it. You can’t hold it against us.”

You just check over your ammo, your cartridges, before simply replying.

“I’ll kill him myself.”

“We won’t make you do that,” Gaz says, adamant and firm as he leans in closer to you. “You don’t have to kill ‘im. I know most of us are wanting to do the honours, anyway.”

“I know Soap and Alejandro are just about begging to,” you acquiesce, but you find yourself focusing on the gun in your hands to reset your mindscape anyways. “But. It’s different. If he’s really done all of this… I want closure.”

“You’ll get your closure. Bloodshed or not,” Price pats your back, and you give him a small tilt of your lips, before realising that your mask covers the movement.

“You still good to split with Price and meet with the other team from the helo, hermana?” Alejandro calls from the front, turning slightly to look to you. You give him a thumbs up, and even with his mask on, you can tell he’s wearing a toothy smile.

“Your gun all good?” Gaz asks, jerking his head to the weapon. “Ammo in your pockets, cartridge full?”

Pulling your free hand into a gun gesture, you smile. 

“Pew.”

*

It’s with the weight of the world on your shoulders that you watch Price’s helicopter get shot.

“We’re hit! We’re hit!” Price calls through your shared radio channel, his voice frantic enough to have you skidding to a stop. Distantly, you think you can hear Ghost say something, but it’s quickly shadowed by Price’s, “Going down. We’re going down!”

You’re about a hundred feet away from where Rodolfo and Soap stand, the two also seeming to pause behind a warehouse of some sort.

When you see Soap move to push Rodolfo up the wall, you run as fast as your legs will take you to their position, calling out to them, “I’m coming with!”

“Thought you weren’t making it, cariño!” Rodolfo calls out as you fall alongside them, your heartbeat raging in your ears. 

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” you jest, then pause when you see Ghost to your side. Jerking your head to the wall, you ask, “Need a personal invitation?”

“Price and the pilot need help. You three finish this,” he shakes his head, before turning and leaving for the crash site. Shrugging, you spin back to where Rodolfo’s extending his hand to help you up, which you accept, reaching the top of the wall and swinging your right thigh over it, straddling the brick.

Extending your arm down, you pull Rodolfo up, Soap taking his other hand in a firm grip. When Rodolfo swings around to sit between you both, he curses under his breath. 

“Look!” Soap hisses, and when you do as he says, your own stomach falls down to the dirt floor beneath you.

“That’s not ours,” Rodolfo murmurs, and you can barely find your voice.

“A tank,” you say, mindlessly, watching on as a fucking tank pulls into the training area of the compound. “Graves… he has a fucking tank?”

Neither of the two respond, both instead jumping off of the wall, falling into a crouch as they land. They both extend hands to you, more of a supporting gesture than anything, but you don’t take them as you too land on the other side of the brick, entering the training area.

“Ye ready for this?” Soap asks the two of you, a hint of mania creeping onto his blood-flecked face.

“Hell yeah,” Rodolfo breathes, before looking to you with a friendly smile. Ruffling your hair, a familiar gesture, now, he squeezes the nape of your neck. “If you come out of this alive, hermana, we could use you in the Los Vaqueros.”

You bark a laugh, stunned, almost, before shaking your head. “You should talk to your boss about recruiting people, first.”

Rodolfo shrugs. “Ale likes to make me happy.”

“Interviews can happen later, aye?” Soap chuckles, and the three of you look to the tank once more. “Bigger fish to catch, and allat.”

You go to say something else, when –

“Didn’t realise you boys were into kidnapping women now. That’s a bit sketchy, ain’t it?”

Graves. He’s – he’s got a radio, he’s talking, he’s here, he’s. He’s fucking with you, trying to play mind games, trying to break you all over –

“Can’t wait to bake this bastard,” Soap grunts, and you find your footing once more. Sure, you were ready for battle, but your entire reason for being here was to talk to him. Get him to realise his mistakes, come forward, go back to the man you knew.

Rodolfo and Soap are running somewhere, doing their part, and you –

“Is what they said true?” It’s the most important question you have right now. The answer you yearn for.

A moment passes.

“Where did you go, gorgeous? When’d they get ya? Did they blackmail you in Las Almas?” He diverts, and you tighten your grip on your gun, swallowing your litany of curses.

“Answer my questions, Commander. Is. What they said. True.”

“It doesn’t matter, baby. Remember where your loyalties lie,” Graves takes on a sweeter tone, a more… condescending one, you think. 

“Please,” you find yourself whispering, begging for him to just. Break this nightmare, rebel against it, be Phillip. “Please tell me this isn’t really you.”

“Oveja pequeña,” he coos, and you swear your spine erupts in hives, “I’m still your Phillip. You’re the one who’s changed – look at you, running off with the 141. I’m disappointed.”

You erupt, then, like a dormant volcano, finally gathering the final push to let lava reign free.

“I’m going to fucking kill you! You just killed fathers, tore apart families! I fucking hate you!” You yell into the radios, no tears falling, merely anger and vengeance clouding your vision.

“Don’t forget that you are under my orders. Whether you’re in my bed or not, you’re my Colonel,” he seethes back, and like a shot while you’re already down, you realise that this is a hopeless cause. You weren’t going to save Shepherd. You weren’t going to save Graves.

All you had left to save was yourself.

They’d lied to you, an indefinite amount of times, for how long, you weren’t sure. Your whole relationship – was that a lie, too? Was your entire life?

“I’m your second in command,” you finally admit out loud, hiding behind a crumbling wall as the tank shoots just a few feet away from you. “So when you get taken down, guess who comes out on top?”

“Listen to yourself!” He shouts, his voice cracking in his sudden anger, “Listen–”

“No, you listen!” You find yourself crying out, taking a few shots at the tank, allowing Soap and Rudy to do their part. “Listen to me, Phillip. You’re going to regret this – all of this. When were you going to tell me you were under Shepherd’s orders, huh? How long have you been fucking me over!”

“Whenever you first came around my cock is my guess, baby,” he responds, icy and cold.

His words only seem to further encourage you to breaking point, adding more and more fury to rush down your veins like its very own hit of morphine.

“Guess what, Commander?”

“Don’t bull–”

“That first time, and every time since?”

He doesn’t bother to interrupt you.

“I faked it.”

With that, you switch Channels to one shared with all of you.

You had heard everything you needed to, and along with it, realised something of vital importance. A small inconsistency that changed everything.

“Ghost team,” you say, neutral and unforgiving, “Graves isn’t in the tank.”

“What’re ye talking about?!” Soap calls through, exuding exhaustion, the sound of explosions crackling through behind his vocals. “He has to be–”

“He’s not,” you say, firm, absolute in your decision. “I don’t know where he is – but he’s not in there. Not his style, anyway – prefers to be in the spotlight.”

“What do we do then, hermana?” Rodolfo asks, sounds strained just as Soap had.

Your answer is easy. “You guys focus on the tank – I’m taking Graves down.”

With that, you run for the wall once more, and with nothing but your intuition, you know exactly where you’ll find your ex-Commander.

*

As per usual when it comes to your gut-feelings, you’re correct. 

It’s within the hanger on the compound that you find him getting into a helicopter – a wound on his forehead and tactical glasses on. Somehow, he’s already found himself injured – a small, selfish part of you satisfied with that information.

“Commander!” You yell as you break through the small window of the hangar, using the butt of your gun to do it. It’s as the door to the heli shuts that he notices you – and you switch back on to his radio.

“This is your last chance,” he grits out, his voice thin and furious. “Before this becomes more than a… domestic fight.”

You wince as the blades start turning, taking shelter behind one of the cargo boxes, wary of any bullets being shot your way. “The only domestic thing about us was your inclination for treating me like your little wife.”

“Always did think you’d look pretty barefoot and pregnant,” he muses, and oh, have you never wanted to kill a man more in your life.

“Aww,” you mock, as the blades’ whirring gets louder and shots echo around you finally, “See, I think you’d look pretty bleeding out at my feet.”

“You did look rather good at mine,” he retorts, and your emotions get the better of you as you peek, shooting three Shadows behind the heli with easy headshots. You’re barely there for two seconds before a burning pain echoes through the side of your shoulder, and you duck down once more.

“Couldn’t even get off,” you pant, relentless to the very end even as your breaths turn into heavy falls of your shoulders, “Was like fucking a Ken doll.”

“You’ve always been a petty bitch,” he snaps, and you smirk.

“I am a bitch, you’re right. And you know what bitches do when someone taunts them? They bite.”

You raise your gun, and for a scary, short second, you realise that blood is flowing in a stream that’s causing the sleeve of your black shirt to grow sticky and damp. Now isn’t the time to care, however, as you take aim at one of the windows of the heli.

Pulling the trigger, the bullet bursts through the window, glass shattering and falling to the ground. It’s as soon as it does, however, that it takes flight, boosting in its acceleration immediately.

Fully peeking, this time, you watch as the helicopter quickly takes off, and even if you had the capacity to shoot at it, it wouldn’t hit the intended target, not with your trembling hands.

Graves watches you, a sleazy smirk on his face as he sits in the helicopter, blood dripping from his forehead and empty rifle in hand.

With a wink, he chimes in through your channel, “See you when you’re useful again, baby.”

You get one final sentence in, before the radio cuts off. Even though you can’t see him from this distance, you’re sure you’re making eye contact as you deal your final blow.

“My callsign isn’t baby. It’s Sweetheart.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee

author's note. to everyone asking about the covid, its prettyyy bad haha. i can hardly leave my bed and need 3 blankets in the peak of summer!

at least that means i have downtime to write before my life gets VERY hectic. thank you all for your support again, the feedback and praise for the last chapter made me feel 10x better and i genuinely appreciate you all SO much. thank you thank you thank you!

[sweet-honey-fruit]

Genshin Men Kinks

It’s 9:00 pm, I have exams tomorrow but I’m STRESSING! So I’m writing this to feed you all and to help myself relax a little.

Pairs — Childe, Cyno, Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli (separate) x Gn!Reader

Warnings — Brat taming, impact play, fear play, choking, dacryphilia, begging, bondage, humiliation, knife play, hair pulling, marking, size kink, power play, temperature play, throat fucking

!Everything is consensual! 18+ MINORS DNI

Childe

Mostly a dom but if you beg hard enough he’ll let you get on top. Even then, you’re not fully in control, no matter how much you think you are. He’ll always have a hand on your hips, guiding the way you move and the pace you go.

Fear play is a major kink of his unsurprisingly. Having you backed up into the corner with him having a look that is between lustful and murderous gets him going. He loves seeing the horror in your eyes, the way you beg, the way you squirm with anticipation. He wants to see you cower. He wants to see you submit. And what better way to do that than to choke you up against the wall, muttering “You won’t get away with teasing me. No…no, I can’t let that happen, can I baby?” While his teeth graze along your pulse point.

Dacryphilia. It doesn’t matter where the tears come from: from the amount of pleasure he’s overstimulating you with, or the amount of pleasurable pain over your body from his rough hands. He admires seeing you come apart under him. He wants to see how good he’s making you feel. And what better way to see that than through your tears? He’ll wipe them away in mock affection before landing another slap on the inside of your thigh.

Brat taming. He likes a challenge. And you acting up gives him just that. It also gives him an excuse to bend you in half and use you however he likes. When he tells you to strip, and you give him the “Make me,” he already knows it’s going to be a fun night. He’ll smirk, giving you a predator-like look, “Oh? Is that so?” The brattier you are, the better. Because that just means winning will be all the more fulfilling when he stuffs you full of his cum over and over. Until his seed is dripping down your thighs. But you didn’t get to cum. Not even once. “Only the well-behaved gets to cum,” He’ll edge you all week if he has to. Over and over. You wanted to be bratty. Now face the punishment of your loss. He’ll use you however he wishes.

Cyno

A switch. Whichever role you want him to fulfill he’ll happily do it. He just wishes to pleasure you.

Bondage, both giving and receiving. He finds you so elegant when he has your hands tied up above your head. He loves it when you’re this vulnerable with him. As such, he likes being vulnerable with you. The feeling of his hands tied together while you toy with him makes his tip leak with more than the average precum. His favorite is when he’s using one hand to pin down the two of yours. He finds it more intimate that way because of the way his body curves into yours with every thrust. He also enjoys the feeling of you trying to pull your hands away when he hits the right spot and it gets just a little too much for you. Don’t worry, he’ll keep going until he knows you’re truly satisfied.

Speaking of being truly satisfied: He’s totally into overstimulation. While he doesn’t mind if you overstimulate him, he much prefers it if he overstimulated you. He wants to make sure that he gives you the most satisfying feelings one could only dream of. He gets hypnotized by the way your skin heats up under his relentless abuse of your aching hole. He gets so caught up in your moans, your begs, your whimpers that he doesn’t realize just how many times he has made you cum. The way your body quivers merely from his hands alone makes his cock strain against the confinements of his pants. Don’t get too exhausted, he needs to be relieved as well.

Hair pulling gets him turned on the most. When you pull at his hair during a make-out session, signaling that you want to go further, it gets him yearning to pound into you over and over. Or the way you let out the most pornographic moan when he pulls at your hair when he slams into you from behind. All in a means to get you closer to him.

Diluc

A switch that mostly doms. But much like Cyno, his main focus is to pleasure you.

He’s a gentleman at heart and it reflects even in the bedroom. He’s still into impact play though. If he sees that you enjoy it then he’ll be more than happy to comply. He wants to see you squirm and moan after each hit. He wants to see the marks that were left behind from his hand. He’ll even wear the gloves that have the chains along the back of the hand if you want him to. To him, it’s all about the marks that are left behind and the way you turn into a blabbering mess that’s begging for more.

With that, he’s totally into marking. Either from the bruises from his hands, or the hickeys that linger along your chest, it gets him going each time he sees them. Although he is a man of privacy, so he makes sure he doesn’t leave them in noticeable places. So anything from just below your collarbone, chest, inner thighs, or any other sensitive part of your body. It’s for his eyes only. He’ll trace his fingers along them, recalling the events, and wanting to add more to the collection.

Praise. Both giving and receiving. He wants to let you know just how good you’re sucking him off, just how good you’re making him feel. He loves the way you get flustered and whine from the praises he gives you. In turn, he loves receiving praise. He wants to know he’s doing a good job. He wants to know that he’s fucking you so good that all you can do is mumble “so good, s’ good, keep going,” into his ear. It makes him want to fucking you harder into the mattress to get even more praise.

Kaeya

He’s a dom and a teasing one at that. His kinkiness rivals Childe’s.

He is the type of man to get hard when he has the tip of his sword being carefully dragged across your skin. He’s calculating and cautious, always sure to never hurt you. He loves the fear you display when his sword digs a little deeper but never breaks the skin. He loves the way you shudder in anticipation, the adrenaline that goes through the both of you. He loves having you at his mercy like this. If the two of you get really into it, he’ll hold the edge of the blade to your neck while he pounds his hips into you.

He enjoys humiliating you with teasing, dirty words a little too much. He’ll whisper into your ear the dirtiest words to ever exist in the most public of spaces. “Such a little slut, my slut. Don’t you wish for me to hold you against this wall and make you crumble under all the pleasure my cock gives you?” Of course, he already knows the answer from the way you squeeze your thighs together. He’s a master at wordplay, and he loves to see you look away in a shameful, horny way. He knows that if he truly tried, he could get you to cum just by his words alone.

He’s guilty when it comes to the fact that he uses his vision in the bedroom. His warm lips that kiss up along your neck contrast with the coldness of his hands that roam your body. Your gasps, whines, shivers, and jolting; it makes him grind into the bedsheets. Your body jerks up into his cold hands which only elicit a loud whimper from you. If you try to back away from his touch, it’ll only get colder. He’s the type to get his fingers cold while they thrust up into your hole. The conflicting temperatures leave you shaking in the best way possible.

Zhongli

A dom, and a soft one at that. He treats you with the utmost care. Yet at times he can be cold, that is if he thinks you would enjoy that side of him.

He has a size kink. 100%. He’s tall, strong. He towers over you, even if it’s just by an inch. His presence alone is enough to overshadow you. For reasons he can’t explain, it gets him harder than a rock. Having you be so small compared to him. But when it comes to his dick? It’s monstrous. No matter how many times you take it, you can never get used to it. He knows he’s too big for you, and it fills him with some sort of pride that he would never admit out loud. Having your walls stretch and clench around him, all the while your legs shake from the intensity makes him resist the urge to grind up into you. Lucky for you, he has an infinite amount of patience.

With his size comes power. Power play is something he never expected he would have until he met you. You’re a human. Fragile, weak. He’s an ex-archon, he’s a god. You’re so small compared to him. Rather that’s in status, build, or both. He loves showing you just how much stronger he is compared to you. He won't hesitate to lift you and fuck you while standing. He’ll be sure that you understand the power dynamic between the two of you while his hips slowly drag in and out of you. “You’re only a human,” His nails dug into your hips to restrain himself from drilling into you, “I am your god. Worship me as such.”

He has the guilty pleasure of throat fucking you if you can even call it that. It’s so subtle that it’s barely noticeable. Whenever you’re on your knees, lips around his cock, sucking on his tip, he gently rocks his hips. It’s such a small movement that it can go without being seen. He entangles his hands into your hair, letting out low groans and praises. He’ll then, ever so slowly, pull out of your mouth and back in until his tip just barely touches the back of your throat. He’s careful with it, not wanting to hurt you. But fuck it feels so good, the way he controls your movements and having you gag every now and then. His praises are jumbled when one last drawback shoots cum down your throat. At that point, he’ll hold your head still while grinding his cock in your mouth to ride out his high.

[angelltheninth]

The Bad Batch Men and Their Kinks

Pairing: Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Echo, Wrecker x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, primal kink, knife king, hand/finger kink, dirty talk, cuddlefucking, mutual masturbation, thigh riding, edging, size difference, body worship

A/N: Time to get back to my second favorite Clone unit.

Primal kink - nothing gets him harder than chasing you down like you’re his newest target, pinning you harshly down against the dirt and pulling your pants down your legs just enough to expose your wet cunt. You can barely move, you’re trapped both by his hands and your pants restraining your thighs, you are at his mercy and whim. Not like you can deny how much you want this, even if you tried to hide your arousal it’s not possible with his sharp senses.

Knife kink - his hunting knife is more than a tool to fight. It’s also what he uses to cut your shirt open when he catches you. The flat of the blade is cold against your nipples and clit, the slow dragging of it against your skin all the way beneath your throat, up your chin and then against your cheek. He is careful not to cut you, not too deeply but it can happen if you lean against the knife when you try to chase his cock.

Hand/finger kink - saw you looking at his hands while he lines up his rifle to take a shot. Now it could be his imagination but he swore you bit your lip more than once while you watched his hands move across his gun to set it correctly or clean it. He knows every inch of his weapon just as he knows every inch of your body, he knows exactly how to move his fingers inside your cunt, to hook them upwards as he pulls them out and make you gush all over his hand.

Dirty talk - while he’s on a mission he has to keep quiet, as a sniper it’s part of his job so he has to mouth off sometime. Most often it’s with you, when he adds a third finger into your pussy and grind his palm against your clit, telling you how well you take him and how much he’s been craving to feel your warm inner walls around him. You look adorable when you blush from his words, red all the way to your ears.

Cuddlefucking - everyone knows that he’s not the most athletic among his brothers. But when you’re cuddling and you part your legs for him he can hardly be blamed for pushing his dick inside of you. Seeing as how he’s often the small spoon he can enjoy the softness of your boobs against his face while he grinds your hips against yours, your small moans making his dick twitch.

Mutual masturbation - he has multiple recordings of you masturbating saved on his holopad. You can’t always go on missions with him so late at night he will make a video call to you with his cock already hard, in fact it’s the first thing you see. The only downside is that his hand can’t compare to the slick, tight hole that is your cunt but seeing it dripping for him while you finger yourself is the next best thing.

Thigh riding - holds you against his front, his arm around your body, his lips sucking on your tits and his thigh pushing up against your naked cunt. You’re free to moan all you want but his own sounds are often muffled because his lips will be busy kissing or sucking any spot on you body he can. Will urge you to lift your hips so he can get a good look of the mess you made on his thigh.

Edging - given how long he’s been alone you’d think he’d hate it but on the contrary, he loves feeling like he has to wait to give you a huge load of cum. For him the feeling of your pussy tight and squeezing and drooling all over his hard cock and him not being able to come is almost like a challenge for him to overcome. But it does drive him crazy when you whisper how you just can wait to feel his cum flood your insides.

Size difference - not surprising that he likes this because he boasts about his size and strength a lot. It’s not just about the size and thickness of his cock which already feels like it’s gonna split you open but also about the fact that he can grab you and move you up and down on his cock like a cocktoy. He can manhandle you any time, or he can tower over you and keep your smaller body pinned and your legs spread so wide they’re shaking.

Body worship - always takes his sweet time with undressing you and kissing you before he gives you his fingers or his cock. First he needs to get you on his bed and get a good look at you, run his big hands around your body, caressing and squeezing all the right places until you melt into his touch. As much as he loves almost breaking the bed while having sex with you he will take good care not to break you.

[hanasnx]

thinking about Jason Todd dating a veterinarian/doctor reader. We all know he's very busy with his Red Hood work, so having someone with a busy schedule is almost a relief for him, because then he wouldn't have to worry about disappointing you due to lack of time. he has a lack of time monitoring the city and the reader has a lack of time on medical duty. it's fair. it work.

but that’s not the best point of all, at least not for me. In my mind, Jason is very closed off and stubborn, so it's very difficult to get him to take care of the injuries he gets in alley fights against criminals, but now he's dating a doc and It change things, especially when they're trying to tend to an injury and it's so close, holding him still because god, won't he stop squirming? and he's like "okok, put your tits on my face will not calm me down, doc." It does. it calm him down. jason is a tit guy. He can sit for hours with you stitching his back without anesthesia if it means he'll have the soft flesh hidden beneath a tank top rubbing against him, against his face.

This is shaping up to be a long-winded rant and I don't want to be exhaustive, so I'll go to the last topic: the way tend his injures always lead to sex. he has this thing that he wants to be taken care of. he's rude and dominant with everyone and maybe even in bed, but sometimes he just wants his love to put bandages on his shoulders and spread kisses all over his face while he rides him nice and slow, saying that everything will be fine, that he will be brand new on no time. I also think it could happen since he's just too beat up to fight crime and Reader just put a stay-at-home sign on him, and it's driving him mad. he has nothing to take out all that energy and anger, so he takes it out on you, fucking you against every possible corner and surface, unlike the bubble of love from before, now he's just digging short nails into your hips already marked by his fingers, creating more and more noise tickets late at night.

anyway, I think that's it! I'm so happy you liked that ask about Dick & ballerina, it just warmed my heart! hope you're doing well!

MINORS DNI 18+

"Jay— Jay! You'll pull your stitches!" you warn, but JASON TODD remains un-intimidated, yanking you back by your hips to meet his thrusts. Some thug with a knife gave him a long slice across his bicep, followed closely by one across the side of his ribcage. Wounds you'd just finished tending, but the bourbon he'd downed to ease the pain was already in full effect. That, or he's fucking you through the sting. He's got you bent over in front of him, your fingers bracing on some piece of furniture while you stand. He didn't bother taking your clothes off, yanking your panties down to pool around your ankles, your smart little pencil skirt folded over your torso.

"Help me through the pain, Doc." he replies, his gruff voice strained from effort. "Hurts so good." he moans, but you can tell he's feigning it, as if he's not taking you seriously. To distract you from your protests, his large body curls around you, hand cupping your hanging tits, rolling the flesh in his fingers and palm. "If you cum on this dick I'll feel better."

You bark a laugh at him, releasing a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "Make me do it then. I'll have to patch you back up after this anyway." As if to playfully punish you for your attitude, he smacks one of your tits and you squeak in surprise.

"Finally on board."

[ollie-lolly]

How they react when you blindfold them

Obey me brothers x gender neutral reader

Note: HIT 100+ FOLLOWERS RECENTLY??? I AM VERY GRATEFUL THANK YOU <3. Constructive criticism and reblogs are always appreciated!

Word count: 697

Warnings: suggestive, i accidently added knife play at Belphegor's part oops

The two of you are just working in silence. A nice and calm working environment. Well it is too calm for you! You undo your silk scarf and sneak up to him, tying the silk material around his head. You are surprised when he doesn't stand up.

Lucifer

-His luxurious pen drops on the table 

-"Mc if you know what is good for you, you will remove it right now. I have work to do"

-You decided to ignore his protest and spin the chair around and climb on his lap

-He is desperately trying to keep his composure and patience

-Much to your frustration, he removes the silk scarf

-Before you could take the scarf he takes a hold of your wrist

-"Now let's take care of those bratty actions of yours"

Mammon

-Low-key wants to film it for 'personal reasons'

-You walk around him and lightly lift the hem of his shirt. 

-You start tracing his abdomen with the tips of your fingers

-"Mc what has gotten into ya?"

-You falter "Do you want me to stop?"

-"NO, i mean uh shit" he really did not want to seem that eager

-Your other hand gently pulls at his hair

-"That is all the permission i needed pretty boy"

-He whimpers. A reply to your gentle praise

-He bucks his hips. Desperate for some friction

Leviathan

-He may or may not have a boner rn

-THIS MAN IS CAUGHT OF GUARD

-Already predicting his movements, you hold the gaming chair down to prevent him from falling

-"A- are sure that you want to do this with me?"

-You give your answer by softly kissing his lips, then you start leaving a trail hickeys and bites on his exposed shoulders and neck

-"I can really tell that you are enjoying this Levi"

-Your hands travel to his rising erection, causing him to whimper

-"That's my pervy little Levi"

Satan

-He has 100% read this in a book before

-I swear he reads porn

-You lower yourself to your knees and softly kiss his bare stomach

-He groans as your kisses go lower, you put your hands on his and shift them to the top of your head

-He tries to remain patient

-He finds it embarrassing, but god does it feel good

-He pulls at your hair in frustration

Asmodeus

-"Mc you never cease to amaze me dear!"

-It's safe to say he is more then just pleased

-He whines completely unashamed when you bite the soft skin of his neck

-He quickly starts to get handsy 

-You were expecting this predicament, you grab a small clean handkerchief. 

-You firmly tie his wrists together

-"Let's see how long you'll last Asmo"

Beelzebub

-He has no idea of what to do in this situation

-You notice his stiffness in posture

-When you try to back off, he gently puts his hands on your back

-"Please don't leave, i like it" he uttered

-You make yourself comfortable and put one hand on the back of his neck 

-The other pulls out a small bottle of syrup 

-You put some in your mouth the sweet taste melts on your tongue

-While a large part of the sweet liquid is in your mouth you kiss him 

-His tongue quickly takes over

-He softly wimpers as he feels a heat rise down south

Belphegor

-Wants to do this again for sure

-I can't decide if it's because he doesn't have to do much or if it's the other way around, that he likes to see you helpless. respectfully?

-You pull out a small pocket knife and you gently trace the sharp tip on his collarbones and shoulders

-His breathing starts to become heavy as he starts to realize what the object might be

-He has dreamt about this, with help from his dream manipulation, but had no idea how to bring it up due to 'the incident'

-When a small pool of blood began to drip, you leaned in and licked it off 

-He shivers but also groans when he feels the sensation

Bonus!

Barbatos Barbie

-Wil be surprised at first 

-"We are lucky that we are alone for once, my love"

-His hands gently reach for yours and he gently presses a kiss to your hand

-You take a seat on his leg and start kissing his neck 

-He puts his hand around your frame

-"I would love to do something like this again"

-"That is if you don't mind being tied up for me"

Date began: 27th of march 2023

Date finished: 28th of march 2023

[celandeline]

You’ve Got A Pretty Kind Of Dirty Face

Carl Grimes X Reader, Part 3 [previous part | next part]

Someone’s tapping at your window. 

Even after two years of being behind the walls of Alexandria, you can’t break the habit of waking up at every small disturbance, so it only takes a few taps before you’re slipping out of bed, pulling the knife you keep tucked under your mattress out and skirting around the bed to your window. 

You peer around the edge, knife in hand, only to see Carl crouched on the roof of your porch, gently tapping at your window. He smiles when he sees you, and gestures for you to open the window. You set your knife down, and start on the locks. You shouldn’t - it’s after dark, he most definitely snuck out, you already let him get too far by kissing you in the car today - but you do. It’s Carl, you can’t not. 

You push the window open, and hold it so that he can climb through before sliding it back into place. He still has that stupid smirk on his face when you turn to look at him. “Should I even ask why you’re here?”

“Probably better if you don’t.” He says, playful. “Plausible deniability and all.”

“That makes it sound like you’re planning something nefarious.” You say. 

“What if I am?” He steps closer, narrowing the distance between you. 

Before he can completely close the gap, you place a hand on his chest, keeping him a short distance away. “I don’t know what you were thinking in the car today but if your dad had seen, I swear-”

“He didn’t.” Carl cuts you off, voice low. You can feel his heartbeat against your hand. “I just wanted to thank you for saving my ass.” One of his hands comes up to wrap around your wrist, moving your palm from his chest so that he can press closer, his other hand finding your hip, holding softly. “Still feel like I should thank you again.” He says, just above a whisper. 

He’s so close, you can feel his breath against the skin of your cheek when he talks. “Carl.” You say. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t; if Rick ever found out-

You don’t get to say more than his name because then his lips are on yours again, hungry just like they were before. He kisses you fiercely, and you can’t help but kiss him back. It feels good, it scratches that itch that only gets worse every time you stop yourself from enjoying him for fear of his father. You wind a hand into his hair, and kiss him back with the same intensity, working his mouth open so that you can dip your tongue inside.

He groans, low in the back of his throat as your tongue sweeps over his, and the hand he has on your hip tightens its grip. You can’t help but smile into the kiss, the hand that isn’t tangled in his hair finding one of the belt loops on his jeans and fiddling with it teasingly. 

When he pulls back, he’s breathing heavy. He doesn’t go far, still holding onto you as he rests his forehead on yours, looking down at where your fingers are still looped in his jeans. “Wish you wouldn’t keep doing that.” He says.

“Doing what?” You ask. 

“Saying my name like you want to say stop.” His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, playing with the hem of your shirt. 

“It’s not-” You stop to figure out what you want to say. “I like you, Carl. A lot. I think you’re cute and funny and smart and I admire your strength. And I would like to be with you. But I don’t want to be with you at the cost of your relationship with your dad. I see how close you guys are, and I don’t want you and I getting together to drive a rift in that. And-” You pause. “I don’t want you to take this to mean that I don’t like you.”

He shakes his head. “How could I, when you just went on about how cute and smart and funny I am.”

“Shut up.” You say, the way he repeats it all back to you making it sound embarrassing. “I just… there's more than just that I don’t want to come between you and Rick. It’s also that you’ve never done this before, and I have, and I know that the first relationship you have is the one that sets the standards for the rest. It’s a lot of pressure not to fuck up. I don’t want to accidentally fuck up your conception of love.” You sigh, and then, to lighten the mood, “Also I think Rick would actually kill me if I took your virginity.”

Carl laughs, and lifts his forehead off yours to look you in the eye. “He probably would.” He agrees, smiling. And then, “But, um…” He pauses, brow furrowed slightly. “Hm.”

“What?” You ask. 

He smiles sheepishly. “I’m just trying to figure out how to say that I don’t care about what my dad thinks or that you or that you might fuck up or whatever without saying that I don’t… care.”

You laugh a little under your breath. “I guess I should’ve expected that.” He’s made it pretty obvious, with his insistent flirting and the way he so recklessly kissed you in the car today, that he’s too wrapped up in this thing to think about the impact it’ll have on his dad, or himself, or you. 

His hand skips under your shirt, fingers brushing along the skin of your back. “I get what you’re saying. And I think it’s really… admirable that you’re so concerned about me and my dad, but,” He pauses. “I could die tomorrow. You could die tomorrow. I don’t want to let this go without trying to make it work, ‘cause we might never get the chance again.”

There’s a sadness in his eyes that sends a pang through your heart. You know what he means - you’ve seen it for yourself. It’s very easy to die these days, and no one ever ties up all their loose ends before they go. The world is littered with ‘almosts’ and ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’. It’s only natural to not want this, us, to end up in that ever growing pile.

“You’re very persuasive.” You say. 

Carl smiles, and his fingers play with the hem of your sweatpants. “So..?”

“So what?”

“So you’re not gonna tell me to go back home?”

“I guess not.” You say. “I have a feeling you didn’t come over here just to talk.”

“Not really.” He says. “Not that I don’t like talking to you but I also really like kissing you…”

You laugh as he tugs you closer again, and your lips connect. He doesn’t wait to slip his tongue between your lips, and his grip around your hips tightens. He kisses like he’s hungry for it, and you suppose he is, after you’ve been keeping him waiting. You wind your hands into his hair again, playing with the strands and grinning when you feel a shiver run up his spine from the touch. 

He whines against your lips, and suddenly you don’t know why you’ve been denying yourself this for months. 

You pull away only to step backwards towards your bed, your hands dropping to Carl’s belt loops again to tug him with you. He comes easily, grinning as you pull him into bed. You make yourself comfortable amongst your pillows, and he settles next to you, the both of you laying on your sides so close that your noses bump together. 

For a moment, you just look at each other, only able to make out each other's features in the semi-darkness because you are so close together. This time you’re the one to close the gap between you, pressing your lips to his and sliding a hand under his shirt, trailing your fingers along the plane of his stomach. He shivers again, and you smile against his lips. He’s so responsive, even to the littlest of touches. 

You pull away to trail kisses down his jaw until you reach the junction of his neck just below his ear. Your fear of Rick stops you from leaving a hickey there, but you still lick at the spot, just to make him shiver again. His fingers wind into the fabric of your shirt, holding onto you like he’ll die if he lets go. You move to nip at the lobe of his ear and he pulls you on top of him, crushing you to his chest. 

You can feel him hard underneath you when you sit back, straddling him. His hands fall back to your hips, and you place a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart under your palm. His pupils blown wide as he looks up at you, dark hair fanning across your pillow, you know what he’s going to ask before he even parts his lips. 

“Have sex with me.” 

You purse your lips. “Rick’s gonna murder me.”

Carl shakes his head, smiling. “No he won’t.”

“He so totally will.” You laugh. “He already accused me of corrupting you for trying to smuggle you alcohol, he’ll put my head on a pike for this.”

“I won’t let him.” He says, squeezing the sides of your hips. 

“And how exactly would you stop him?” You tease, leaning down to brush your lips over his again. 

He catches you in a proper kiss before he speaks. “I’ll ask real nicely.”

You sigh, and kiss him again. Rick’s going to kill you, but right now, when it’s just you and Carl in the comfort of your bed giving in to the feeling of his lips on yours and the way his bangs sweep across your face like butterfly kisses, you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re not going to pretend that you’re not incredibly turned on with this beautiful boy underneath you. And more importantly, you like him and he wants this.

“Okay.” You say, pulling your shirt over your head in a fluid motion, tossing the fabric to the floor. His words from earlier, that you might die tomorrow, echo in your head. You want this as much as he does, so why not? Why wait, when either of you could very easily wind up with walker teeth around your neck in a few hours?

Carl’s grins, eyes trailing down your front. “Really?”

“Did you want me to say no?” You ask, rising up on your knees so that you can ruck his shirt up his chest, purposefully trailing your fingers up the planes of his stomach to make goosebumps rise. 

He sits up, pulling his shirt the rest of the way off. “I just expected you to make me work for it more.”

As soon as his shirt’s all the way off, you attach yourself to his collarbones, nipping at the thin skin. Carl lets out a breathy gasp as you take the opportunity to begin trailing hickeys across his chest, confident that they’ll be hidden under his shirt. What you can’t leave on his neck, you leave across his collar, until he’s almost writhing under you, his hands fisted into your sweatpants. 

The moment you lift your head up from his skin, he’s pushing your shoulder, gently knocking you over so that he’s hovering over you now, trailing his lips up the side of your neck until he’s just underneath your ear. “Can I?” He whispers, breath tickling your skin. 

“Go crazy.” You say. What do you care if you’re covered in hickeys? He’s the one with the overbearing dad, not you.

Still, maybe you should have phrased it differently, because Carl does, in fact, go crazy. You’ll be surprised if your entire neck isn’t purple tomorrow. You can’t pretend you don’t enjoy his enthusiasm though, it’s been a while since you felt so… desired. You wind your arms around his back and trail your fingers up his spine. The way he arches into the touch makes you grin. 

He’s so warm, pressed against you as he leaves a necklace of bruises across your neck, his moans muffled by your skin between his teeth as he grinds against your thigh. You can feel his hard-on through his jeans, and you slip a hand down his stomach to dip into his pants, palming his dick. 

The whin he emits at your touch is delicious. You bite your lip to stifle your grin. 

“You’re making fun of me.” Carl accuses. 

“‘M not.” You say, even though you are a little. It’s cute, how sensitive he is, how obvious it is that he’s never done this before. “You’re just cute, ‘s all.” You bring your hand out of his jeans for a moment to undo the button. 

Carl rolls off you to shuck his jeans off, and you slide out of your sweatpants as well. You don’t let him climb back on top, pushing him down into your pillows so that you can straddle him again. Despite the hand on his chest, he still tries to sit up, brow slightly furrowed. 

“Why-?”

“‘Cause you haven’t done this before.” You cut him off with a kiss. “Just let me. You can be on top another time.”

The promise of another time makes him grin, and he lets you lay him down. His hands find your hips and you watch as his expression shifts, the sensation of your bare skin on his enough to make him sigh. Looking down at him, suddenly, your stomach swirls with nerves. Not for your own sake - no, you’ve done this before, and you’re under no illusion that he’ll last long - but for his. You want to make it good for him. 

“You have to tell me to stop if you want me to stop.” You say. “Or slow down, or anything - just, talk to me. I want it to be good-”

“I know.” He interrupts you. “Promise I’ll tell you to stop if I want you to stop.”

“Okay.” You say. Still a little nervous, you shove it down and rise up on your knees again, gently guiding his dick between your legs. His gaze drops to your hand and he sucks in a breath as you begin to sink down on him, his grip on your hips tightening enough to leave a bruise behind. 

He only exhales when you’re fully seated and his grip relaxes. “Fuck.”

You’ve just opened your mouth to ask him if he’s alright when he bucks beneath you, unsettling your balance. You gasp, falling forward, and he wraps his arms around you before he rolls over, still seated inside you. Your back hits the mattress before you can really realize what he’s done, and he tucks his head into your shoulder, groaning as he starts to fuck you. 

“What the fuck?” You say, voice breathy. 

He shakes his head, hair tickling your skin. “Just let me fuck you please. I don’t want you to go slow, you’ve been making me wait for months-” He cuts himself off with a moan, his hips knocking against yours. His thrusts are sloppy, but eager, and he trails his lips underneath your ear, letting all the little whines and moans slip right from his lips to your ear. 

You let him have his way with you, just winding your arms around his neck and enjoying the ride. He’s not half bad even though he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s his openness, you think that’s doing it for you. The way he holds onto you like you’re precious, the way he’s not ashamed about all the little noises slipping out of his mouth, the absence of the posturing and dominance that you’ve had to put up with from other guys. 

It’s not long before his hips are stuttering, and he lets out a long groan before he slumps against you, utterly spent. You move a hand from his shoulders to wind into his hair, playing with the strands. He sighs against your chest, and you smile, hugging him to you. 

“Thanks.” He says, rolling off you to lay against your side. “And sorry.”

“Sorry?” You laugh. 

“For lasting all of three seconds.” He mumbles, making himself comfortable in the valley of your chest. He drapes an arm over your stomach, gently tracing your hip bone. 

“‘S okay.” You say, pressing your lips into his hair. “It was your first time.”

You can feel him falling asleep against you, and hear it in his voice. “Gotta practice I guess.” He smirks against your skin. 

You laugh again, and stroke his hair until you both fall asleep.

[billyloomiswhore4]

Crazy for you - Chapter five

a/n: Sorry it’s kind of short but the next chapter should be out tomorrow or the day after! Lmk if you like it. please don’t be mad because it’s so short, i worked hard to get even this. i love you guys.

Warnings: smut; snoncon to dubcon,(its not fuck or die, but a knife is involved.) knife play, fear play, blood, he cums inside you even when you don’t want him to, 

“Found you.” His voice is sinister, but very familiar. You don’t dwell on it too much, mostly just focusing on how you could get out of this situation. 

For some reason, you’d hoped you’d be different from the other girls that you were sure he stalked. You assumed he wouldn’t kill you, but now you think differently. 

Truly, Billy has no intention of killing you, but he wanted to see you afraid. He’s incredibly hard, and he thinks he might cum in his pants just by the look on your face. You’ve got tears in your eyes, and your mouth’s open like you're about to beg for your life. 

He slowly brings the knife down your throat and to your collarbone. Your lip starts quivering, god does he love it when you cry. 

“Plea-.” You begin, a tear dripping down your face. He shushes you, trailing the knife down between your breasts. You take a sharp intake of breath at the sensation of the cold blade through your thin sleeping dress, 

His other hand moves to your thigh, pushing up your dress just slightly to caress your thigh. You gasp at the gentle touch compared to the harshness of the knife gliding across your chest. That’s when you realize his intent, what he’s going to do with you. 

You grab his arm gently, the one holding the knife. He presses it down, getting the hint. The knife cuts through your dress and just slightly slices the skin underneath. You hiss, and you hear the masked figure release a deep breath. 

Your hips thrust upward, and Billy groans from underneath the mask as your thigh grinds against his hard on. 

He pushes your dress up and over your hips, leaving your lower half clad in only your baby blue panties. He almost groans at the sight of you, laying underneath him, so helpless. 

He takes the knife, careful not to cut you and slices your panities in half. He pulls them off you, swiping a gloved finger through your wetness, You let out a noise of pleasure, and he begins trifling through his pockets. He pulls out a rope, and ties your hands together above your head, attaching the rope to the leg of the bed to hold your hands up. 

He sets down the knife and pulls out a little box, and speaks into it. 

“Tell me, how did your fantasies go?” The voice is modulated but you can hear his voice as well, it’s incredibly familiar. 

“What?” You pant, already worked up. 

“Tell me how you fantasized about me?” You take a moment to think it over before speaking. 

“You come in when i’m sleeping, through my window..” You're shaking from anticipation. “You wake me up, putting a hand over my mouth so I can’t scream.” He hums at that, pulling down his boxers and pulling your hips into his lap.

“And then what?” 

“You do whatever you please to me, taking me for your own pleasure.” He takes his cock in his hands, rubbing it against you to collect your wetness. He pushes into your pussy swiftly, and you tilt your head back with a moan.

“Is that all?” He says, griping your thighs harshly. 

“N-no.” You stutter, struggling to get words out as he thrusts into you. 

“What else do you think about?” He’s also struggling, grunts and groans escaping his lips inbetween words. “God! You feel amazing.” 

You moan at the praise, clenching around him. 

“You-” your interupted by your own moan as he thrust particularly hard into you. “You holding a knife to my neck, the fear of what you could do to me.” 

He moans, and god it’s attractive. His hand squeezes your neck, and you feel your face start to get hot. He pushes your dress up more to reveal your tits. He moves his left hand from your thigh to grab one, laying a small pinch on your nipple. 

He gives three more lazy thrusts before muttering, “God, I’m gonna cum inside you.” 

“W-wait, no,” fear strikes through you, “Don’t cum inside.” You pull at your binds, wanting to push him away.

“Yes.” He murmurs, and gives one last thrust and then warmth floods through you. It triggers your own orgasm, and you spasm around him. He’s twitching inside you, groaning in overstimulation as he fucks you through your high. 

After you come down, he stays inside you for a moment, and then pulls out. Some of his spend spills out of you and he uses his finger to push it back inside you. 

He mutters a quiet, ”fuck.” and undoes the rope. And as suddenly as he came, he’s gone. Leaving you half naked on the ground of your own bedroom with his cum dripping out of you. 

“Shit.”

taglist:

@tzkyo @buzzybee-26 @brazilianneighbour @sammanna @wickedsandwich08 @bdhwiqbwo @roygbivvie @dixxhotgirl2 @iiheartbowie @ashreblogsnow @snailwithaheart @ihbofjastmne @alexa-33 @adaydreamaway08 @zeysartzone @your-daily-envy @aslanvez @simonrileyssoulmate @bowlofceral @wenvierismycomfort@theylovethesky @misscaller06 @fangfoxy @billysbae @sebastianstansblog

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

what it's like to fuck re4 leon (angsty)

pairing: leon/reader

cw: ANGST, smut, rough sex, mentions of suicidal ideation, mentions of death, low self-esteem

summary: i wanted to write headcanons/a similar post to the vendetta!leon post and give my 'realistic'/pessimistic take on re4 leon's sex life, (as opposed to the cute/sexy idealistic version), but i let my mind off it's leash and went full-blown depressing

wc: 977

Leon’s a certified cynic and doesn’t do much to hide it. If you found him out somewhere, maybe a bar - a place he’d one day frequent, he’d seem unapproachable. Not only due to his obvious physical attractiveness, but also to his disinterested expression, which wasn’t directed at anything or anyone in particular. He probably got dragged out of his house by friends who were chatting and laughing, or had already gone home with someone else, so he was just biding time until he’d decide to call a cab home. 

If you struck up a conversation with him, he’d smile politely because behind it all, he’s still kind. The stoic facade is just a new manifestation of depression because he’s not allowed to cry or rot away in bed. That’s not what a good government agent does. He’s charming when you finally get him to open up a bit. He compliments you, sincerely, despite the awkward manner in which the words fall out of his mouth. 

As the night drags on you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how badly you want to take him home or vice versa. You’re hoping he’ll kiss you, but he’s not into PDA, so he won’t, in a crowded bar. But, when you’re standing outside about to call a cab, you think he’s going to offer you his jacket because it’s cold during the winter in D.C., but when he wraps one arm around you, his other hand lifts your chin, so he can kiss you. Soon, that same hand is cradling the back of your head, so you don’t hit your head on the brick wall behind you when you’re pressed up against it. The kiss is hot. It’s not all tongue-and-teeth sloppy, but it’s far from chaste, especially once he has one of your legs wrapped around one of his hips. 

Eventually, he’s holding you up entirely and it takes no energy for him, you can tell by his arms. Still, you can feel his biceps flex under your touch, and you can’t help but think about the possibility of reaching down and feeling a similar firm sensation at the front of his jeans. 

If you’re lucky, if he’s too drunk and can’t walk without stumbling, thus incapable of any sort of wild sex, or if he’s too sober and still has a grasp on the consequences of getting caught with his pants down in public, he might take you home. The sex wouldn’t be rough - unless you ask for it - because he doesn’t know you like that and would never want to cross a boundary. He understands what those are. If you asked for it hard, he’d happily grant that wish because he’s constantly pent up with frustration and has very few outlets to get his emotions out. It’s not like he can talk this shit out, so sex is a cheap bandaid solution, but it feels better than nothing. He’d like it from behind - he wouldn’t want to see your face, but not because he doesn’t think you’re beautiful. He does. But sometimes pleasure looks like pain and he hates to watch people cry even no matter the circumstance. 

On the other hand, he’s quite the masochist. He wants to get his hair pulled while he’s on his knees with his face shoved between your legs. His perfect, precious hair that he fought so hard to keep, but this is the only time it’s not for show. It’s useful when it comes to sex, it’s another vulnerability, one that he allows himself to have. He likes scratches down his back, too, ones that cover up old scars like a new paint job. In the shower the next morning, he doesn’t have to relive every knife and bullet that’s ever grazed his skin. Nails down his back or his chest let him link pain to pleasure, he only deserves the former in his opinion, though, the second is just collateral. 

Sex is just a chase to death, really, Leon thinks. It’s the kind he’s man enough to suffer. The ten seconds of oblivion are so good, especially since he doesn’t have to think anymore. He can’t off himself just yet, so it’s the best he can do. The only other options are morphine, lobotomy and a bullet to the head, or at least, that’s what he thinks. He’d never say it out loud, though. 

When he fucks you, he doesn’t have to think. It’s the same adrenaline rush he feels when he’s in fight or flight mode. It’s like killing, you feel the guilt later. It’s not the same as fighting bioterrorism, though, since the government’s the one that’s screwing him in that situation. The animalistic, carnal side of him doesn’t take over his mind when he kills. He’s not voracious like that, there’s nothing thrilling. Because no matter how hard he’s thrusting into you, even if the tip of his dick is hitting your cervix everytime and his iron grip on you leaves bruises, he’s a good man inside. 

If you don’t want it hard and fast, you’ll get it slow and deep and methodical. It’s a memorized routine, he’s just running on instinct, but he’s not bored. It’s more like watching the same TV show over and over, it was good the first time and it’s comfortable, so you keep cycling through the same episodes. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. 

Leon feels guilty when he gets his dick sucked, so you’d have to coax him into it. If you really want to spoil him, though, you’d have to ask him not to pull out when he’s right on the edge. He doesn’t even think he has a breeding kink, but it’s like you’ve put malware in his brain and just fucked up the code, he can’t help the fact that he blows his load inside you. He’ll buy you Plan B tomorrow and leave it on the counter alongside a sticky note with an apology on it, short and sincere.  

Leon will let you stay the night, let you snuggle up to him while he tries to reciprocate the same gentleness, and he’ll make you coffee in the morning. He won’t plan on romancing you, though. It’s not out of any malice. It’s just that he doesn’t quite believe in love, or at least, he doesn’t believe it’s for him. The government controls his life and he’s learned to submit - they haven’t sent any women to court him yet, so he’s convinced they’d never let him have a girlfriend.

[yandere-sins]

Hello! i just came here from your yandere!ghost headcanons excitedlyfkejdje may i request an nsfw headcanon of yandere ghost? and id like to add he definitely seems to be the type to like it *rough* and really dark, probably into knifeplay ifykyk

Hi! Thanks for requesting ♥ I agree with your ideas wholeheartedly!

Warning: Yandere, Sexual Content, Violence

»»———————— ♡ ————————««    

♡ Keeping you on his lap most of the time gives Ghost plenty of opportunities for sneaky dry humping. He just grinds your hips over his cock while listening to his comrades, pretending to care about their tales. His hands are unyielding even as you try to struggle out of his grasp subtly, only ever getting pulled back right where he wants you above his cock. You can feel him get more aroused with every drag of his length against your sex, humping his shaft between your ass cheeks. He breathes out audibly behind you, and when no one is looking, lifts his mask off his mouth to kiss the back of your neck, adjusting your shirt and hair to nibble the places he wants to while he presses his hips upwards into you. He's in no hurry to cum, and oftentimes he merely uses it as foreplay before whisking you away, thrown over his shoulder, uncaring if other people see the massive bulge in his pants as he tells them that you two are hitting the sack for the night. Not like anyone gets a second of sleep when you two are fucking like animals, keeping the barracks awake with your screams.

♡ Ghosts usually makes-do with things he has lying around. Your underwear—or if he's feeling nasty or needs to punish you, his underwear—and a belt are a great gag. Your shirt can be twist around and over your hands, not only keeping them tied together, but also stopping you from using your nails or fingers to do something reckless. Pant legs make it surprisingly easy to tie you to something like the footrest of his bed. But probably the most convincing, escape-preventing tool of them all is... his cock. Once he shoves all of his massive girth's inches into you, you already know you won't be walking for the next few hours after. And when he makes you cum with less than a handful of lazy pumps, you know you're in for a long night. Sometimes he'll put his bullet vest over your naked skin, the weight making sure you couldn't slip of him as he forces you to ride on top while he lays back, while the rough fabric is also stimulating the sensitive spots on your body. Turns out, military uniforms have more use than one might think.

♡ He does, however, undeniably enjoy torturing you. I wouldn't even go as far as to say he only does it when you misbehave. It's just a sick guilty pleasure for him. You should probably trust him to know how to handle a knife, but putting it up to your throat, telling you to work hard so he doesn't sink it into your flesh is a strange way of encouragement. But Ghost swears you always tighten up nicely when you're scared, praising you for indulging his kink so perfectly. Ghost also loves to see a trickle of blood running down your neck and bare chest when you got a bit too close to the sharp point of his knife, making a great deal out of licking it up when you two take a break or after he's done with you (for the moment). He always patches you up when he gets too rough, but he has cut your backside in doggystyle many times before, leaving the bittersweet prickling of a fine cut on your skin, movements tearing your flesh apart while his cock hit the deepest parts inside you, making you whimper and cry. His favorite knives all had their handles inside you (one way or another) for sure, forcing you to cum on them as if your juices are a blessing to his blades.

♡ Consequently, Simon has cut himself on his blades before, too lost in passion as the excitement quickenes his pace. Those cuts are like hickies, and for every one he gets, you get one too. Sometimes he spents his time just copying his recent wounds onto you, even as you scream and cry. It's something that helps him unwind after a day on the battlefield, especially when he sees your tears and hears your pain. It also gets him incredible hard, almost enough so that he can whip out his cock and jizz over your body covered in fresh wounds in an instant. One moment he's calmly cutting up your skin, and the next he has you pinned down, jerking off all over you before sinking his fat tip into your mouth so you can suck his twitching cock empty. It's not the only fluids you are blessed to receive from him though, Ghost offering you his blood on the regularly, wanting the same treatment as he gives you when he licks up yours. If you refuse, he has no shame in licking his own wounds before kissing you, making sure you get a good taste of him to remember. Simon also randomly pushes his thumb between your teeth and reveling in the feeling of you biting down while he spits into your mouth. He's too unpredictable, and you never know what to expect when he asks you to look at him or turns your head to face him. It never bores him to surprise you either.

♡ His hands are huge. Probably only topped by König (who's a very different kind of groper), Ghost frequently uses his hands rather threateningly. There's a sense of warning when he wraps one around your neck, playing with your breath while he enjoys feeling your pulse quicken against his palm. When he guides you somewhere, be it to the side, down or even up, you follow wherever he wants you to go as long as his hands are on your body. Since he doesn't fear you, he doesn't often uses his hands to restrict your limbs, liking your feisty attempts of trying to get on his nerves with scratches or nails digging into his shoulders, arms, and thighs. It excites him. However, when he isn't comfortable with showing his face yet, he'll catch your wrists and pin you down if you try to grab and tear it off him, continuing to angrily plow into you mercilessly. His fingers almost always leave marks, visibly or mentally. The feeling of calloused skin stopping the bloodflow on any part of your body is definitely something to remember him by, and no matter what you do, Simon can always count on his hands to hold on to you. You could try kicking him in the balls, but while he bites his lip so hard he draws blood, you'll be struggling with air to the point of almost passing out. There's no escape from his grasp, and it's what you should be most wary of. The knife might me scary, but his hands are the only thing actually deadly to you if you push him to far.

♡ While Ghost isn't a big sharer, if the chance arises to have someone come and help with your pleasure, he might consider it, though rarely. It's more of a "No, you can't join when you ask outright," but, "Now that you walked in on us, I can see you want to fuck them too, so get over here." It won't be easy to find the space to accomodate another cock next to Simon's inside you, but he assures you they'll find a way and it's good training. He is, strangely enough, someone who gives praise generously in the sheets. But with another person near, his communication skills improve even more, beyond just grunting about his own pleasure and how good you make him feel. Suddenly he also manages to order you around verbally, asking you to take good care of [second person's] cock and take it like the slut you are. But if you work hard, Ghost will praise you for making the third person moan and cum. With a third party present, his favorite position is probably spitroasting you between the two, reminding you to take the other's pleasure seriously whenever you lose yourself in yours. And if you do well, he might just be so pleased with your performance, you'll get the freedom to go wash yourself in the shower and not having to wait until he wants to go too the next morning.

♡ Considering he doesn't necessarily want people to join, he rarely fucks you somewhere that isn't private. However, there have been times, especially on missions, where he couldn't hold back anymore, needing some release before things outside were going to drive him crazy, pulling you into the next best empty car, the confined space available to you between the amenities and Ghost bodies really bringing you two closer together. If you guys had to camp outside, you definitely had to fear attracting something in the darkness as you two did it behind rocks and against trees, not so far away from camp, Simon putting his hand over your mouth to muffle your screams. He also had you jerk him off on the road before, slipping your hand into his pants when the drive was long and boring, keeping your wrist in place until you gave up and rubbed one out for him. He returned the favor, of course.

[maehemthemisfit]

i have come to return the favour of brainrots.

lyney loves helping you get ready whenever you’re going out. you want your hair done? no problem, he knows exactly what’ll suit you. not sure what to wear? well, he’ll tell you which colours go well with your skin palette and which outlines complement your body shape. want to paint your nails? he’s already laid out all the colours in front of you (and will definitely kiss your knuckles once he’s finished.) you wear makeup? let him do your eyeliner; he’s got you covered, and can probably do it better than you could yourself. (he will, however, take the opportunity to paint a little heart on your cheek if you’re not careful. ‘see?’ he’ll grin, pointing at the teardrop on his own cheek. ‘now we match.’)

he also loves dancing with you—like, i’m imagining a typical ballroom (but maybe a bit more steampunky), and he pulls your favourite flower from what looks like thin air, lowers into a bow, holds the flower out to you, and presses his lips to the back of your hand when you take it, eyes glimmering as he asks, ‘would you care to indulge me with a dance, [monsieur/ mademoiselle/ a gender neutral equivalent]?’

and he’s such a gentleman while you’re dancing, too; one hand hovering on your hips, the other holding yours, and he definitely twirls you around, no question about it. he probably also does that thing where he catches you and you stare at each other for a long, romantic-tension-you-could-cut-with-a-knife moment before he pulls you back up.

his favourite place to kiss you is probably your knuckles—you always get adorably flustered when he just barely skims his lips over the back of your hand, and he wouldn’t give up that expression for the world—closely followed by the tip of your nose and your lips and your forehead and— (you get the idea…)

also, going back to when you’re in the crowd during his performances, him trying to find you in the audience becomes a game over time: you’ll try and make yourself as inconspicuous as possible, and he’ll look for you as he’s performing. he’s never not managed to spot you before, and each time he does and you make eye contact, he winks at you and blows you a kiss.

i feel like there’s also a chance he might actually propose to you onstage at the end of a performance if he was sure you’d be comfortable with it: like, everyone’s about to take their bows, and he suddenly asks for a ‘surprise volunteering act’—of course, you get picked (what are the chances?), and once you’re on stage, he announces, ‘now, my dearest volunteer, i only need your hand for this magic trick. nothing more, nothing less.’

you raise an eyebrow, unsure what he’s planning—this ‘surprise act’ was certainly not on the lineup he described to you—and to your (and everyone else in the audience’s astonishment), he gets down on one knee, takes off his hat, and pulls a little box from it. the whole theatre is silent: you could hear a pin drop as he clears his throat and says, ‘if you’d be so kind as to humour me… may i ask for your hand in marriage?’ safe to say, that was a day nobody who was there ever forgot…

(of course, if he thinks you might be uncomfortable with such a public proposal, he’ll stick with something more private.)

this… got longer than i intended it to be, but… enjoy?

WE WILL SINGLEHANDEDLY FEED THE LYNEY LOVERS !!

I. Don't. Care. What. ANYONE. Says. Lyney frequently kissing your hands is canon. Back, Knuckles, Wrist, Ring, ANYWHERE he can put his lips on. And he always smiles into it too.

Since he's part of the performance industry, it's common knowledge for him to know how to do hair and makeup. So if you ever struggle to do those things, he'll learn how to style and take care of your hair no matter the texture, type, or length. It might be trial and error but you both have fun bonding together, especially when he tries doing your makeup.

Archons forbid he ever puts lip gloss or something on your lips (it's gonna end up on his regardless, he has no self control when he's already inches away from kissing you). He makes a mess and has to redo it again, but that's after the mini make out session, he doesn't mind at all though... he might try to kiss you again. NEVER let them know your next move. 😭

(poor Freminet had walked in on you guys accidentally and wanted the ocean to swallow him whole- immediately reverses out of there and had trouble looking the two of you in the eyes right after.)

LOVES LOVES LOVES dancing with you, even if you can't dance or have difficulty doing so. He'll hold/carry you if he has to and just sway and spin you around. He doesn't mind if you trip up or stumble over his feet. He'll correct it, his hands guiding your hips, whispering instructions and praises as his words brush and fan across your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

He spins you like a princess, and if he's bold enough, he might throw you in the air and catch you (much to your frightened squeals and dismay). Whether you're in the spotlight or dancing in the dark, swaying in the rain, or practicing in a ballroom, his eyes are forever locked on yours. And don't expect him to dip you and NOT leave a kiss (unless he feels like teasing you). It's truly a crime to him if he doesn't at this opportune moment.

Dancing with him feels like a fairytale.

ALSO THE PROPOSAL JAHSKSASJDJSK

Live, Laugh, Lyney ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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