#angel haze (oc) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonsaver · 25 days ago

Text

hesperus

The evening star calls home. Ruin is your saving grace.

Tw/Cw; Suggestive/explicit scene, gender neutral reader, implications of religious themes (not great), dubious morals(?), reader is a COUGARRRR (implied), Sunday loves older authority figures (guilty), just guess at this point. Also reader is implied to be like a parental figure to Firefly. OOC because i love making canon characters my own ocs.

Pairings: Stellaron Hunter!Reader x Sunday (romantic), (hinted) Firefly x tb, (platonic) Firefly x reader.

A/n: 5.8k words, i hate this fic, enjoy whatever whatever.

——

“Will you be okay?”

The small girl looks up at you - trepidation and concern visible in her eyes.

“I should be asking you that, lovely.” You smile, gently tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair was beautiful, in your opinion. You often verbalized how beautiful it looked, mentioning it as silver under a blue moon.

Firefly still had concern in her eyes, dampened by your words, her hand clasped over the middle of her collarbone.

“I'll make it.. I think.” Her determination made way through uncertainty. You hum, smiling at her.

“You will, as shall I. If you ever need, I will be there.”

You wink, making the young girl smile a bit. The small, almost sad smile, still breaks through her worry.

“I've heard they've been on the lookout for us. I'm..”

She didn't have to continue. You already knew. Your hand comes up and pats her head, gently.

“We'll be fine. Go on, my sweet.”

You smile, softly. It seems to melt away the rest of her trepidation.

She takes a moment. Then nods. Worry and uncertainty now embers as determination fires through her eyes.

You wave her off, as she makes her way.

You are being watched. But you are aware.

–———

You hum, swirling the champagne glass in your fingers, watching the bubbles rise to the top, and stick to the edges in clusters.

“Interrupting your break, am I?”

The man beside you laughs, softly. Almost forced. He doesn't respond further.

“I'm guessing your weekends are spent tending to your white coat.”

You tilt your head, looking at him, a small smile playing on your lips. He doesn't bother acknowledging you.

“I give it to the dry cleaners, actually.”

“Ah, busy man. I suppose I should leave you be.”

“..I have an inkling you won't.”

His wings bristle slightly. His halo shines beautifully – a sort of warning that hangs over his head. Sharp edges, blinding gold. Angels crafted to deter the evil.

But you aren't phased. Perhaps it is the alcohol.

“There was a story, I remember. If you're up for it, of course. It's quite old.”

“Ah, an anecdote from your life?”

“I'm not an ancient tablet.”

“I wasn't aware.”

You chuckle, setting your glass down, the glass base clinking as you do.

You take a brief moment; simply to compose and immerse into the present moment. You look over at the man, allowing yourself to shamelessly scan him despite the unreturned glancing or staring.

“Owls and Ravens were once friends. And both had snow-like feathers. As pristine as white clouds on the expanse of a sky.”

His hair is soft, blue and hazy under the warm light of the bar, shimmering the slightest bit. He shifts in his seat, perhaps to get more comfortable.

“They decided, then, to paint each other, since nothing else was there to do. The Raven painted the Owl diligently, in patterns and dots. And the Owl sat patiently through the process.”

His eyes are piercing, golden, yet they rest, conserved and distant.

The alcohol hazed your vision, smoothing out the edges like a loving artist's strokes against the canvas of his visage.

Your fingers circle the rim of your glass, returning your gaze, watching the bubbles clear.

“But when the Raven's turn came, it never sat still. And as the Owl painted, it painted over the Raven entirely, marring it's feathers as black as obsidian.”

“What a shame.”

Your foot playfully taps the side of his, making his leg stop jittering up and down.

“Indeed.”

He hums, his gaze temporarily flitting from your foot to your hand, placed on your knee. He almost acknowledges you.

The background is a warm blur against your view of him, almost as though he's the sole performer on a podium – the light seemed to belong to him, and him only.

“You have a daughter, am I correct to assume?”

His fingers tap, rhythmically, like patters of rain.

“No, just.. a friend. But I consider her as such.”

“She left in quite a hurry.”

“She did, didn't she?”

“has the dream not been to her liking? In the case something has gone awry, The Family hopes–”

“Oh, you know, kids these days. They see someone they like and skitter like a fool.”

He doesn't seem to take your words in stride. But you smile.

“I see.”

You stretch, spinning in the small loveseat, planting your feet down as you rise,

“See someone you like?”

“Already got a view.”

Sunday finally acknowledges you - his eyes trailing your form as you walk away.

——–

“I love you!”

The voice crackles from the plush toy's broken voice box, as Sunday peers down at it. He doesn't move – idly looking at it, and yet not bothering to pick it up.

He stares, for a few more moments, noting the grime and the tears at the seams. The small stains of probably candy or something sweet sticking to its “paws”. The bear had worn down inexplicably from love. The very love it spoke at every press. And from abandonment. He found himself wondering at the fleeting childhood passing by like a reeling ribbon from a child's hands, as if the bear had been dropped unwillingly, and had not been allowed to reunite with it's owner again. A strange dilemma – not alive, yet full of the most humanly feeling. So full, infact, the cotton burst at the seams, and it's button nose was dull.

With careful movements, Sunday picks it up, by its collar behind its “neck” [if you could even say it had one]. His hand holds it at a bit of a distance.

“A fan of soft toys, Mr. Dreammaster?’

Your voice teases him. You watch his arm slightly falter, imagining a plethora of emotions on his face you'd love to pull at like strings of a tapestry falling apart.

“..I am the Head, of The Family. The Dreammaster would be–”

“It's alright. I was joking.”

“I wasn't.”

His voice is still, flat. There is no semblance of emotion.

“Feisty, today. Was your toy missing for a long time? Sour about how it looks, hm?”

Sunday breathes out; an amicable replacement for a drawn out sigh. He turns to you, still holding the bear at a distance, staying quiet.

“Now, that is no way to hold a gentleman.”

You walk forward, and gently grasp the bear in both of your hands. Sunday's eyes flicker to your gloved hands, as though in his own curiosity of your lack of concern in terms of hygiene.

“There. Better. You ought to be respectful to your elders.”

“Ah, yes. My apologies. I should have bowed when you spoke to me.”

He bows slightly in jest, his hand on his heart,

“Hm, that's right.”

Sunday smiles, looking up at you from his bowed state. You seem to pay more mind to the bear in your hands, an array of similar thoughts in your head as you process it's appearance.

“Do you want to take it with you? Who knows, you might come to like it.”

“Please, that's no way to ask someone to get rid of it.”

You eye his non-faltering, feigned innocent smile. He simply closes his eyes and continues smiling.

“Well, turns out it has a nametag. It won't hurt to stitch it up a bit and return it back.”

He hums, watching you fix the bear's little dishevelled bowtie.

And then he clears his throat, catching your attention.

You tilt your head, curiously looking at him.

“Yes?”

Sunday points to his own tie, slightly miffed. You chuckle,

“Well, now. Whoever shall fix that?”

“Perhaps an elder. They know better than I.”

You roll your eyes, setting the bear down gently onto the side, removing your gloves and fixing his tie.

———

“Cozy, cozy.”

Kafka purrs into the phone, the rasp of her voice not blurred by the digital medium, as you stare in the distance at the blue-haired halovian.

“Kafka, I'm gonna have to call you back soon.”

“Just when things were about to get interesting..”

You roll your eyes – she can't see it, but she chuckles, knowing what your silence meant.

“Alright, goodluck. Looks like you'll need it.”

You hang up before she has anything else to say, pulling out a compact mirror, and adjusting your appearance. Just as you snap it shut, a small creak of the loveseat beside you indicates his occasional arrival.

“You're late. And I hoped a man of your stature was more punctual than that.”

You tease, watching his eyes never meet yours. Only this time – you catch it. He swallows, rather thickly, watching his adam's apple bob as he does.

“I don't recall having scheduled any meetings with you.”

“Oh?”

His reply is curt, almost condescending if you weren't the type to brush it off.

“Seems my last story hasn't melted the ice yet.”

“Not an inch.”

“D'aw, alright. Wanna hear more, lovely?”

His wings – not his ears – twitch slightly at the pet name. You notice the faint rush of blood to the tip of his ears.

He doesn't answer, choosing to be chaste in silence. You huff out a chuckle,

“Alright, drink's on me then. I'll tell you something interesting.”

——

In your travels as a stellaron hunter, you've assorted many into repulsions and desires that draw you in.

To fast thrills, versus the indignancy of a dragging present. You find yourself drawn to the bright lights of a night bar, versus the blinding array of a scorching sun. To shallow connections in lieu of heavy and complex relationships. Attachment would be your downfall. Ruin is your saving grace.

However, you find yourself looking for your repulsions.

The grey haired girl stands in front of you once again, shuffling from foot to foot, her eyes low and shy as her hands fiddle with a stray lock of her own hair. You eye her for a moment, before humming, and gently coax her to face you by placing an index finger under her chin and raising it up.

“Little bug, what's on your mind?”

“Um..”

“Script not to your liking?”

You watch her mumble under her breath, her face slightly tilting down as she resists the urge to tuck it away again. As she does, you gaze from over the top of her head; a familiar blue haired man walking into the distance, followed by panicked coworkers. It seems he will be amiss once again, for today.

“I couldn't.. tell them.”

“The trailblazer?”

She hums, nodding.

You huff out a chuckle, patting her head.

“You have your chances, do you not? Rest easy, your time will come.”

She visibly relaxes, her shoulders slightly dropping, and her hands leaving the lock of hair to return to her sides. Her eyes are still low, as though scanning the pavement under your feet, as she contemplates. You watch her bite the inside of her cheek before she raises her face again and nod.

There is a fire in her eyes.

It is almost like the Sun.

You are almost afraid of it.

“I'll do it. As many times as I need to.”

You smile, leaning back onto the cold wall behind you.

“We should go shopping after your next attempt.”

You find your jaw clenching after the words slip from your mouth. Your repulsions are your weakness. Yet you still seem to subconsciously seek them out. It's a testament to your human nature.

She nods, smiling at you. She stays in her place for a moment, before she speaks again,

“I could.. ask Kafka to go with you if I don't make it.”

You turn and glance back at your usual spot at the open bar‐empty without you and the man you've been missing lately. Your smile only widens at her perception. Clever girl.

“No need. I'd like some silence anyways.”

She seems a bit unconvinced, as she continues to gaze at you for a brief moment more, scanning you for any deception. Out of worry than any ulterior motives, unlike the woman she mentioned a while ago.

Truthfully, you were lonely. This is what your ruin does to you, regardless of how it saves you. A few conversations lure you into a false sense of companionship, regardless of however brief it must have been, even encouraging you to divulge more than necessary if desperate enough. You find your eyes flitting at anything the colour of pale blue. At anything that glows gold under a light.

You chuckle and wave,

“I'll be fine, honeybee. Go, be on your way, now.”

She nods, smiling at the pet name.

You find your repulsions carry you elsewhere, the bar fading into the background as you walk the opposite direction, once all spying eyes have cleared. You find your eyes flitting to find him. However, no matter how blessed your vision may be, the absence left behind can only be described, not pointed to. Ultimately, it is your mind that hinges on the assessment of what you have lost, or gained.

But it seems this time your heart has taken the hit – a burrowing feeling between the slats and the depths of your ribs as though an animal had sprung from it, and left it behind as a husk of what it once was.

–——

Sunday tuts, his fingers taking a bold graze of your hair, sliding and gently tugging out a lock.

“You ought to take better care of your hair.”

You stay silent for a brief moment, and it's apparent to him aswell that you hadn't expected him to do something so.. casual, considering his formalities. He takes his time to address it in your period of silence.

“I simply noticed and commented on it, no need to look like a deer caught in headlights.”

His eyes flicker to yours for a moment, and avert immediately. You watch his hand fall to his side, his fingers slightly shaking. You can't tease him on it – it would be hypocritical. A slight, excited sort of feeling sparks in your stomach.

You lick your lips, and take a sip of your beverage, feeling your senses dry up a bit. The liquid instead burns at the dryness of your throat.

“You're into haircare, hm?”

You reply, ignoring the brief silence and the tension it carried.

“Often. It comes with taking care of my wings.”

“Ah, I see.”

Silence once again. Unlike the pleasant one you two usually shared, this felt different; it felt electric. Thick, a bit suffocating.

“I like your piercings.”

His hand, previously resting on the counter, subconsciously raises up to fiddle with his earring,

“Thank you.”

You stay silent again, almost inviting in the tension that causes him to graze his teeth against the inside of his cheek, a step away from chewing on the sides of it.

You break the ice first.

“Do you prefer gold or silver?”

“Silver.”

He stays silent for a moment. He's often found his mind wandering when it comes to you – wondering how various adornments would suit you.

“Really? Didn't take you as a silver type.’

“Ah, about me?”

“Who else?”

He felt silver suited you; more than your complexion, he simply felt.. drawn to it. Like the faint glimmering of a moon's reflection on a lake. You were someone who's depths were mysterious, almost alluring to him.

You stay silent, too. The question hangs in the air for a brief moment.

You watch his shaky fingers rub slightly at his nose. You've noticed a lot of things about him. The tips of his nose and ears that turns red a bit too easily. The faint fluttering of his ghostly blue lashes. The twinkle of gold – not just of his halo, but the various imprints of it on him; jewellery, and the woven golden threads of his pristine suit.

His eyes follow to your hand, on the bar's countertop, swallowing thickly again.

It seems despite everything, he's still a fool in the grasp of his shame.

He looks away,

“I prefer gold.”

——

Sentience is a curse, he thinks.

His fingers tap and circle the perimeter of the frail glass, a clink accompanying each one. Waves form on the surface of the shimmery liquid from the small force.

Morality is a cruel beast. Because it is unrecognisable. And it knows you.

It follows you, through your ages. A small, ghastly and putrid thing, akin to a shameful, big animal. Hunched over, following you like a chore. Like a lost, stubborn child. It grows with you. It becomes bolder. It becomes aware. It has your voice. Soon, the mind caves and buckles into the grasp of the dastardly beast, that grows like uncontrolled weed on a substrate. It grows and envelops. And it tells you – can you truly allow yourself to do this? And the answer is never yes. Morality is a curse. A big ugly thing, unafraid to show it's face. It fills the room when silence staves arguments in the form of chastened tension.

Yet he finds himself, almost seeking it out. Searching the cruel shackle of his morality, almost wanting it to shame him into hiding.

Your place is empty. He notes. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, fluttering lashes coming to a halt. He envisions the faint waft of your perfume, the dainty clicking of your fingers over the rim of the glass, the cheeky tap against his agitated foot. Sunday would find himself already ashamed, if he'd outright admitted he'd actually been staring at you, from his periphery. You overshadow the ugly beast, drawing out a sort of soft, beautiful serenity with a hollow voice, and an elusive persona.

Angels are, by design, made to stave evil. Somehow, however, it seems he has attracted one. A devil in the form of you. And yet, like a man yet to feel the cold relief of forgiveness on his lips, he wanders aimlessly in his mind, as though in search of you. Sin is unbeknownst, ignorance is plaguing, and yet he revels in it. Even for a moment.

He huffs out a laugh. A novel turn of events. Its his turn to wait for you, isn't it?

Yet it seems easy to do, simply imagining your form beside him once again, telling him another strange tale, either for your own amusement or to reel him in. He disregards the source. His weary face finds an ache, a pleasant one, as it pulls into a faint smile.

As sentience drives a being to deviate from instinct, his awareness has driven him to exhaustion. Yet you are a double edged sword – a balm for his exhaustion yet endlessly pushing him to caution.

——

“You've been gone too long, haven't you?”

You croon, a cheeky smile on your face, Sunday bashfully keeping his eyes locked to his drink. Despite everything, he cannot meet your eyes.

“I have.”

For the first time, the pastor is of the guilty. The devil has come to exorcise him. But exorcism does not mean erasure of sins, neither does it mean cleanly cutting off the strings that attach one to them. You may as well weave more of these strings, and craftily ground him to you.

“How will you make it up to me?’

You drawl, leaning on the palm of your hand, speech slightly slurred from the alcohol.

“..How would you like me to?”

His gaze is trained on his hand – gripping the fragile neck of the glass with a bit too much force.

You hum, twirling your own glass, watching the liquid rush and bubble at the edges.

“Tell me a secret.”

He swallows.

A secret?

“Is that.. truly what you desire?”

“Mhm.”

You take a sip of your beverage. Sunday is relieved, yet almost disappointed.

“..very well.”

He breathes in, and takes a moment to compose himself. His eyes flit to you, a small flicker of boldness somehow making him hover over a line he dares not cross. His gaze wanders to your lips, the slight crinkle beside your eyes, the squish of your cheek against your palm. He eyes your clothing.

A stellaron hunter.

It was as though he was placing himself as the bait in a trap. As though he was the one caught in the trap. What else could he complain about? Except for that of which he can't admit – his unbecoming is his fault.

His fault for unreeling like a ribbon under your daft fingers. He finds himself wanting to spill like an ink bottle, the surface tension of the liquid keeping it from just flowing over the thick, glass borders.

And he breathes in your perfume. He breathes in the expanse of the night's air. And he spills. He spills so cautiously, so quietly, as though he is afraid of staining his own lips with the tenacity of his words.

He has many secrets. Most of which were handed to him, more akin to an heirloom than an actual personal matter. More akin to a treacherous contract than whispered confessions. How he wishes this was a confession to you, than an unveiling over his disgusting innards.

But you listen, unwavering. A lazy smile still gracing your lips, stained with grapes and understanding. It is as though you were stained in so many ways, his words are unflinchingly simple to you. It becomes a confession, rather than a revelation at the altar of the cartilage shell of your ear.

And you keep it. You keep it like a lost prayer. Like a silent vow.

“..want me to whisper it to you?”

You return the sentiment, offering a request. It seems you are no guiltier than he innocent.

———

“Can't convince you, can I?”

“Not at all.” Please don't try, anyway. He lets those words die on his tongue.

You huff out a laugh, a bit forceful, as you look away from him, folding your arms.

“Shit, you don't pull any punches, huh?”

A pang of guilt hits him at the slight hurt in your forced laugh. But he can't be deterred.

Not that you were going to, considering Elio's script. It's on you, really. But you didn't expect it to actually hurt.

You watch the empty audience seats, his back turned to it.

“It's a pity. I wish I could have seen this theatre when it was filled to the brim with people.”

“..it would have been an extraordinary view. It always is.”

“You look forward to it?”

…

“Not anymore.”

You hum, your teeth nipping at the skin of your lips. The quietness of the theatre is exemplified at the rustle of your clothes, as you turn to look at his back. The light of the podium makes him look beautiful. His halo is almost blinding. He looks like the Sun. You'll be lead to your death, at this rate. Wasn't Ruin supposed to be your saving grace? Here you are – disguised as both Icarus and the blinding Sun.

Sunday stands still, a cleancut form, unable to face you. You can stare at his back all day. But the pain resounding in your chest from your heart hurting strings you back into the present. You breathe deeply, and sigh,

“Alright. Goodluck, then.”

With one step forward, you disappear as quietly as you came. It's a trick familiar to your group; as Sunday knows. But even then, he braces himself to greet the empty space you leave behind, his heart sinking further at the loss of your presence.

———

Sunday finds the shackles of punishment more liberating than death on his knees.

He learns this in isolation. He learns many things in isolation.

He learns how to miss you.

Phantoms and taunts of your words echoing the empty expanse of his empty mind, wafting through the many whispers of the stellaron that plagued his mind.

His finger twitches upwards, when his lifeless eyes imagine the faint illusion of your affection, grazing fingertips over his knuckles. You hadn't actually ever gotten so physically close to him, but he indulges himself. He imagine the soft sensations of your lips on his jaw, trailing up to ghost the shell of his.

“Miss me, Mr. Dreammaster?”

He shivers at the illusion. Your voice is close yet far; reverberating in the hollow wasteland of his mind like a single thread of gold.

A lot. He wants to say. He swallows the words, and for the second time, the fruit lodges in his throat. To admit is to acknowledge the sin.

“Make it up to me, Mr. Dreammaster?"

A knock. Your phantom, agonisingly so, vanishes like a mist casted away by a gush of wind. But the interruption is far from divine.

Jade, from the IPC.

——

Like gently settling fog, rumours stagnate over a crowd. The whispers and the hushed words are not elusive to your ears.

Your phone buzzes, but you ignore it. Firefly is accompanied by Silver wolf, you wouldn't have to worry.

As much as your thrills lure you to the lavish party to celebrate the Nameless, your repulsions seem stronger.

You sip your beverage, tipping the glass up, but your eyes stay on your phonescreen. You hadn't ever texted Sunday, and neither had he texted you. You two hadn't even called. There was no history. It would be as though you could keep your phone open for hours and no one would bat an eye. Even for the most prestigious of those in stature would have to occasionally practise patience when it came to him. Who would you be? The vague, elusive stellaron hunter who's suspected of causing trouble wherever they go? Like a stray piece of pebble that's easy to disregard and kick away, who is he to ever glance at you?

And so you stare, measuring in silence, the strange stirring of feelings in your stomach. You could blame it on your beverage, but you hadn't drank enough really, mainly because you couldn't even bother keeping it down.

Buzz

You blink, watching a notification pop up, and promptly retreat as you click on Sunday's contact again.

He messaged you?

No, it couldn't be. It must be one of The Family's members.

You push yourself off of the wall you'd been warming with your back, and take a small step forward in contemplation, your eyebrows knitted as you stared.

Why would they send you to his office's location?

——

Sunday breathes in, the cool, familiar air of his office hitting the back of his throat as he does.

There is a certain pleasure in ordinary things.

The patience of a ceramic cup that stays warm with coffee. The smooth crafting of the surface of a wooden desk. The ambience of the air conditioner accompanying the steady scribbling of a pointed tip on paper. The comfort in reclining back in a cushioned office chair. Things he may as well soon never come across again.

He swallows, his eyelids doing little to shield the overhead lighting of his office, but still keeping them closed to simply savor the feeling.

A shadow emerges, obscuring the light from his eyes, casting a shade on his face. It's soon accompanied by the faint wafting of perfume.

“Miss me, Mr. Sunday?”

This wasn't Ena's dream. But for a moment, he could have considered it.

You're leaned over from behind him, watching down at his face as he opens his eyes. He opens his mouth, but decides to stay silent.

Your hand comes up to gently cup the side of his face, your palm pressing beside his eye, fingers reaching the bottom of his chin. Your thumb lingers around the edge of his mouth. You both stare at each other, simply noticing the dilation of each other's pupils.

“It's just Sunday.”

He tells you. There is no animosity, no hostility in his voice. It's almost a whisper, as though he's unsure if you are real. His own hand reaches up, and cautiously, his fingers graze the side of your face.

Your skin is warm. Your relaxed smile widens as he does so. He shivers.

“Savouring your final moments?”

He smiles.

“I am.”

You stay that way for a moment, before slowly leaning back and standing up straight. Sunday gets up from his chair and moves to stand across you.

“Couldn't let me know where you were a little earlier?”

You tease him, but he can sense the slight irk in your voice.

“My deepest apologies. How can I make it up to you?”

You hum, spinning on your heel and walking around his office, fingers grazing the edge of his desk as you walk beside it, and to the front. You turn, leaning on it, your back facing him.

“A secret won't be enough this time, y'know?”

He watches your hand fiddle with a few trinkets on his desk, your other hand supporting you. He makes his way to you again, rounding the desk, and stands in front of you,

“What may help?”

You hum again, but he knows better. You're feigning your contemplation.

You smile, still leaned back against his desk.

“I wouldn't know. Something special before we depart?”

“Hm.. is that so?”

He steps closer, his hands placing themselves right beside your waist on the desk behind you, caging you in. His eyes never leave yours.

“Mhm.”

You smile, looking at him.

He leans in, eyes falling lower, on your lips, as he asks,

“Now, what shall I do?”

His warm breath fans over the lower half of your face, and the small exposed bits of your collarbone.

“Perhaps do as your seniors advise you.”

“Hm? Who?”

You grab him by the collar of his shirt, push off of the table and swerve him, pushing him against the desk as you lean in,

“You can listen, can't you?”

He breathes in, slightly winded at the switched positions.

“I might need guidance.”

You huff out a laugh,

“I'll guide you, so listen well.”

You lean in, your lips almost brushing his, but pull away when you sense he might lean in, his lips stay slightly parted as he watches you.

“You need to be patient, okay?”

He almost doesn't hear you, swallowing as he eyes your lips, his abdomen constricting, feeling something tighten and coil.

“I will.”

You smile. And lean in, testing his resolve,

“Do as I say, alright?”

His lips twitch, and his breath hitches. He waits, agonisingly, as your lips brush against his, but don't press. He whispers out,

“I will.”

“Good.”

You finally press your lips against his, and it's as though a river rushes through his veins, as he eagerly kisses you back. His breathing is heavy, his hands unsure as they hold onto your waist, but you're made aware of his desperation as his nails unconsciously dig into your flesh, through the thin fabric of your shirt. You suck in a breath at the feeling, and he almost moans, his wings bristling and tensing as he desperately tries to deepen the kiss, almost panting into it as your tongue brushes against his lower lip, eagerly parting them open.

Sunday can taste the alcohol mixed with your sweet saliva, causing his head to spin a bit, but instead he presses further, his tongue eagerly lapping at every inch of your mouth. You pull away for a moment, but his mouth follows close, kissing the side of your mouth and trailing them down the column of your throat. You breathe in, shivering as you close your eyes for a moment, each wet kiss electrifying and going straight down to your core.

He mumbles your name against your skin, his tongue laving at a spot before his teeth nip at it, causing you to gasp. Your hands crawl up to the base of his head, one pushing into his fluffy hair and fingers entangling within the strands.

“It's okay.”

You breathe out, but he shakes his head slightly.

His tongue presses against the base of your throat, and drags up all the way to the corner of your mouth, before his lips envelop yours again in a heated kiss. He parts, panting,

“I wanted to see you. Every second I spent there..”

His hands run up and down your sides, feverish at the contact they'd been restrained from,

“I know.” You say, looking at his dishevelled state, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

"I wanted to return to you."

You feel his hands slide down and rest on your hips, his knee nudging between yours, before he slides up further and pushes his thigh at your core, making you jolt for a moment at the contact. His hands stay firm on your hips, almost pressing you down onto his thigh. Your hands clench at the fabric of his shirt as the contact shoots up your spine, making you arch slightly into him.

He breathes in, leaning down, his lips graze the shell of your ear, hot breath coming out in puffs as he whispers,

“I'm yours, aren't I? So go ahead and prove it.”

You smile.

“Alright, then.”

–——

“[Name]!”

Firefly's voice calls out to you, and you smile, looking over her winded appearance.

But you weren't in the state to complain. You looked similar, if not even worse. Your shirt was slightly wrinkly, tie askew, your hair patted down in a rush. You hope no one noticed you wobble.

“are you okay?”

Firefly would be more worried instead of confused if not for the wide smile you've donned. She glances over her shoulder at the bustling crowd, her eyes almost searching for someone, before returning to you.

“I'm alright. Your hair.. seems exciting.”

You comment, and Firefly blushes, patting down her own hair.

“I'll tell you what happened later, but.. we should leave now.”

You nod,

“Silverwolf?”

Her hologram appears without a second's delay, her annoyed resting face almost lovingly familiar to you.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard.”

You both chuckle slightly at her.

The party ends on a positive note.

———

“Quite a pleasant surprise.”

“Greetings, to you too.”

You smile, your virtual form glitching slightly. Although Himeko doesn't disregard you as she does Kafka, she's still wary of you, as are the rest of the crew.

“Settling in well, chicken boy?”

Himeko cuts in,

“What do the Stellaron hunters need now?”

You chuckle, softly,

“Miss Himeko, it's been a while, hasn't it? Regardless, I sincerely apologise, but these questions are solely for Mr. Sunday here.”

Her face shifts, almost unnoticeable, clearly displeased by your words. She sighs, and glances back at the new recruit. The rest of the crew follow her suit.

Mr. Yang's voice flows in,

“Perhaps there remains any unfinished business with the stellaron hunters? It would be wise to address it sooner than later.”

“None of the sort, Mr. Yang.” You reassure, hands neatly folded, as you smile,

“Just a few, simple questions. Think of it as a.. survey, of sorts.”

“A survey?”

Sunday steps forward, facing your hologram directly. You would have blushed if it wasn't virtual.

“3 questions. That is all.”

“..alright.”

You sense his hesitation, slowly melding into trust as his thoughts process. Although relationships between your factors are complex and messy, it is you that's asking him.

“What is your name?”

“..I am Sunday.”

“Where are you stationed?”

“The Astral Express.”

“Are you happy?”

The question makes him hesitate, words stuck in his throat like a grape seed for only a moment.

“..yes. i am.”

You smile. Sunday faintly returns the expression. After a brief moment, you turn to Himeko,

“Kafka will speak to you shortly, Ms. Himeko.”

And you vanish. Just as mysteriously as you'd come into his life.

170 notes · View notes

bambisworlds · 1 month ago

Text

bambi and her bodyguard

simon "ghost" riley is bambi's bodyguard, he worships the ground she walks on but fights his feelings for her. well, until he can't anymore (5,121 word count, i'm insane)

*bambi is my oc, click on my pinned 'about my blog' post to learn more about her :)

content warnings, mdni 18+

f!reader, bambi!oc, bodyguard!simon, unmasked!simon, gentledom!simon, innocent!reader, shy!reader, inexperienced!reader (but not a virgin), simon is down bad for reader, protective!simon, jealous!simon, oral (f. recieving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), use of "Daddy" (2 times), use of "good girl", lottts of praise, not really a warning but frequent consent checks (consent is sexy), frequent usage of pet names, let me know if i missed anything x

Simon never expected to like his charge for his latest bodyguard gig. The contract would only last for a year, and then he'd likely move on to whatever spoiled brat he was assigned to next. He retired from special forces 5 years ago. He thought he'd enjoy it, but as it turns out he hates to sit still. So, he started working as a bodyguard 2 years ago. He's had 8 jobs so far, most of them were short-term gigs. Bambi was his latest assignment.

Her name wasn't actually Bambi, but the nickname fitted her well. She looked as if she belonged in some flower field where the sunlight could shine on her, making her hair glow in golden hues. Bambi was gentle and skittish like a deer with big doe eyes. The object of innocence and sweetness. He wanted nothing more than to taste the sweetness of her lips and her cunt, but he couldn't go there. He wouldn't.

Bambi was the daughter of the CEO of a luxurious company. He was a billionaire, and like most wealthy and famous people he had people who hated him. Her father was receiving threats on both himself and more importantly, Bambi. His words to Simon in the consultation before he was hired were; "She's too good for this world, too innocent. These thugs would squash her like a bug."

Her father was right, Bambi was too good for this world. And he would do whatever it took to keep her from its harsh realities.

Simon stood outside of her bedroom, he could hear pop music faintly playing inside. Probably Ariana Grande or SZA, which Bambi had been educating Simon on against his will. Bambi had plans to go out with her best friend, Florence. She and Florence have been friends since middle school. They were an unlikely pair. Florence was outgoing, raunchy, and bold. Bambi was not. Bambi was shy, polite, and kind. Florence, like Simon, knew Bambi was precious, so she often used her boldness to defend Bambi, which Simon greatly appreciated.

Simon had been staring at the wall across from him in a haze as he listened to Bambi's faint, melodic humming from inside her bedroom. He was practically in a trance. But, he was snapped out of it as Florence came strutting down the hall.

"Hey big stuff," she greets Simon with a wink as she walks into Bambi's room without knocking.

"Florence," Simon greets flatly. As if there was some magnetic pull between him and Bambi, he turned so he could look into her room. Florence had left the door open after she entered. Simon leaned on the doorway as he watched Florence try to coax Bambi to do bolder eye makeup. Simon didn't think it was necessary. She looked angelic with her usual soft, pink eyeshadow and the delicate highlighter on her nose that gave her a natural but ethereal glow.

Simon barely registered Florence's outfit, his gaze was hyper-focused on the silk, pink dress Bambi was wearing. It had fine flower designs on it with a low cut, giving a glimpse of her cleavage. Simon gulped and forced himself to look away, pretending to seem intrigued by the collection of romance novels on her bookshelf.

"Si's coming with us," Bambi says, her sweet voice calling Simon's attention back to her like a siren call. He blamed the flip in his stomach on the shitty Chinese food he had for lunch, not her calling him 'Si'. She was supposed to refer to him as Ghost, but Simon wanted to hear his name on her lips, so he asked her to call him Simon two weeks into his job.

"You won't even know I'm there," Simon says, his tone dull, as she tried to prevent Florence's unavoidable bitching about him accompanying them to the blues bar they were going to.

"Yeah, right," Florence scoffs, turning towards Simon, "What are you? 6'4, 6'5? I'm sure I won't even notice your sasquatch ass behind Bambi the entire night," she says with a roll of her eyes.

"He's just doing his job, be nice," Bambi coaxes Florence with a gentle touch on her arm.

Simon watched transfixed as Bambi adjusted her hair in the mirror. It was neatly curled with a lovely, pink bow on the back of her head to keep her hair out of her stunning eyes. Bambi adjusted her dress and turned to Simon, "Are you ready?" she asked gently.

Simon cleared his throat, he barely listened to the words she said, he was too focused on her otherwordly-like appearance. "Yeah, I'm ready," he says gruffly.

"Good, let's go," Florence says and takes her hand, pulling her along with her as she exits Bambi's bedroom.

The whole drive to the blues bar was torture for Simon. He tried to stay focused on the road, but his eyes kept involuntarily drifting to the rearview mirror to get a glimpse of Bambi.

"I need to find you a man," Florence says to Bambi and Simon snaps out of his daze. His eyes fly to the rearview mirror again at almost inhuman speed. Florence was perceptive, or at least more perceptive than Bambi, so she had picked up on Simon's feelings for Bambi. And damn, did she love torturing him with it.

"I don't know, no guys seem to be the kind that I want," Bambi sighs, fidgeting with her purse, "I've tried dating apps, but they all just want hookups or they ghost you once things start to get serious. I want someone to understand me, to want to understand me."

I understand you. Simon wanted to say but bit his tongue.

"Maybe we'll find your Prince Charming tonight," Florence says to Bambi with a gentle smile, before turning to look at Simon in the rearview mirror with a mischievous smirk. Simon scoffs under his breath and focuses back on the road, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

Simon was two seconds away from punching something, someone, in the face. He never had the desire to hit a woman before, but damn was he itching to as he watched Florence introduce Bambi to a group of frat guys. Simon was positioned at the opposite end of the bar so he wasn't breathing down their neck, but could still see them clearly.

Simon wasn't supposed to drink on the job, but he went against protocol and downed a shot of bourbon after one of the frat guys rested his hand on Bambi's lower back.

His grip tightens on the now empty glass as Bambi smiles at the guy shyly, her cheeks tinted pink. Simon was practically seething when Florence looked at him over her shoulder with a smirk, clearly enjoying his struggle. She wanted him to man up and tell Bambi how he feels and she was gonna make him, one way or another.

After another grueling half an hour of watching the string bean of a human flirt with Bambi, Simon stood, the bar stool scuffing from his abrupt movement. He practically stomped over to them, stopping when he was positioned behind Bambi. The frat guy slowly looked up at Simon, who stood nearly a foot taller than him, he could see the unease in his eyes. Simon reveled in it.

"Your dad wants you to go home, said he got a new threat in the mail," Simon says flatly, his eyes bearing into the man's face. Bambi flinched at the sound of his deep voice, unaware he had been behind her. Simon grabbed her wrist, but with a gentleness that contrasted his rough exterior, and started to lead Bambi out of the bar. Florence followed after them with a slight smile.

Simon led Bambi to the car, he offered her his hand as she got in and closed the door behind her before getting in the driver's seat.

“Thanks for the help,” Florence mumbles as she gets in the car as well without any special treatment from Simon.

“I’ll drop you off on the way,” Simon says flatly to Florence. His eyes were dark, situated on the road ahead of him as he spoke. Florence knew she had pissed him off tonight, and she couldn’t be happier about it, which Simon knew, pissing him off further.

Simon pulled in front of Florence’s apartment. Bambi bid her goodnight.

Florence stopped at the driver's side window, “You better not fuck this up.” She says to Simon, a quiet warning before she heads up to her apartment.

Her words rang in Simon’s ears the whole way home, he really didn’t want to fuck things up with Bambi. But he needed to taste her, to be surrounded and engulfed by her sweet, addictive, scent.

After pulling up to the Bambi's father's mansion, he killed the engine. His heart pounded in his chest at the knowledge that her father was away on business. He fell into the usual routine of helping her out of the car and walking her to the door with a protective hand on her lower back.

Simon held open the door for her, and once she entered he did as well, closing the door behind them and locking it. Simon stood, utterly motionless and silent, as she took off her Mary Jane shoes. When she straightened back up Simon spoke, "What do you want in a boyfriend? What traits, what behaviors?" Bambi turned to look at Simon, her delicate features furrowing slightly from the question. "I'll be any of it, anything you want," Simon says, hating the slight desperation in his tone.

Bambi's big eyes scanned over his face with a mix of confusion and understanding.

"What do you want?" Simon asks again.

"I want them to be like you," Bambi says softly.

Simon swallowed roughly, his hand twitching with the effort of keeping still. "Like me?" Simon asks, his tone flat.

"Not like you," she says, her voice soft and airy, "I want you."

Simon could hear his heart pounding in his ears as the entire world seemed to get smaller and smaller until only Bambi remained. Before he could think twice about it, he walked over to her in two long strides and captured her lips with his. The softness of her lips made his head spin. His large hands moved to span across her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"You want me?" Simon asks, his lips a breath away from hers, "You can have me." he says, his voice gruff. "Whenever you want. However you want."

Bambi let out a shaky breath and kissed him again, her soft hands moving up to rest on the back of his neck. Simon's legs nearly gave out from the eagerness of her kiss, but he forced himself to pull away again, "How do you want me baby?" Her eyes flicker between his, a silent storm behind her eyes as she tried to get the courage to say what she wanted, "It's okay, you can tell me. No need to be an embarrassed sweetheart." he says, his large hand lifting to rest on the side of her face. Bambi looked down at her legs briefly then back up at him. Simon smirked, "You want me down there?" his head nodding towards her thighs. Bambi nods timidly, nibbling on her bottom lip anxiously. "Good girl," Simon praises before leaning down again to kiss her.

His hands slip down to underneath her thighs, lifting her up until her legs wrapped around his waist. Simon managed to make his way up two flights of stairs and down a hallway without looking as he kissed Bambi like she was his only supply of oxygen.

He kicked open the door to her bedroom, then kicked it shut behind him before carrying her over to her plush bed. He laid her smaller form on the pink comforter. "Can I move these?" he asks gently, motioning to the four squishmallows propped up against her pillows. Bambi nods and Simon smiles slightly, moving them over to the bay window before returning over to her. He stands over her, his fingers softly tracing along her thighs that were on either side of his legs.

"Now, I need you to do something for me, okay sweetheart?" he asks and Bambi nods. "Whatever we end up doing, if you want me to stop, or it doesn't feel good, you gotta tell me. Sound good?" he asks and she nods again. "Good," he says softly and leans over her body, his hands braced on either side of her head as he kisses her once more. Simon moans against her lips and braces one arm beside her head, the other sliding down to rub her side soothingly. His hand progressively moves down to her thigh, bunching up her dress slightly. He slowly eases the skirt of her dress up higher until her panties nearly peek out from beneath it, "This okay angel?" he asks and Bambi nods, her hands resting on his broad shoulders.

Simon pushes up her dress to her belly button, exposing her cotton panties to his eager gaze, "Cute." he mutters with a small smile as he looks at her panties. Simon leans down to place a kiss on her covered mound before standing straight again. "Can I see these pretty tits too?" he asks, gripping the fabric of her dress again as he prepared to lift it up higher. Bambi nods, "I need words sweetheart." he says with a gentle smile.

"You can take it off," Bambi says, her voice breathy with a slight tremble.

Simon leans down and gives her a gentle kiss, "Good girl." he mumbles against her lips before straightening up to take off her dress completely, “I’m gonna treat you like a princess tonight, sweetheart.” Simon says huskily as he lifts the dress up over her head. Bambi lifts her arms to help him, then rests them at her sides once the dress is off. Simon lets out a shaky breath at the sight of the delicate, lace bra that hid her breasts from view. "Such a pretty little thing," he breathes as he leans back over her body to plant kisses over the swell of her breasts. Bambi shivered, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. "Nervous baby?" Simon asks, lifting his head slightly from between her breasts to look up at her.

"A little," she says softly.

"Then let even the playing field a bit then," Simon smiles and pulls off his own shirt so perhaps she'd feel less exposed. "How's that?" Simon asks, tossing his shirt on the floor without a second glance.

Bambi gulps, her eyes flickering over his chiseled chest and abdomen, "Good." she says shakily. Simon chuckles in amusement.

"Now, we'll take this as far as you want, or do as little as you want, okay?" he asks and Bambi nods. "Can I take this off too?" Simon asks, his fingers ghosting over the straps of her bra. Bambi nods, "Use your words, baby." he reminds her gently.

"You can take it off," she says, arching off the bed slightly so he could unclasp her bra. Simon reaches behind her and unclasps her bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down her arms until her breasts are exposed. He folds her bra and sets it on the floor with a carefulness he didn't express with his own clothing. As Simon looks back down at Bambi, her chest heaving from anticipation and nerves, he felt his cock twitch. This little creature had the most perfect tits he's ever seen.

"Damn, little one," Simon says with a dramatic exhale as he drinks in her exposed chest. "Is it okay if I taste 'em?" Simon asks.

"Yes," Bambi asks, remembering to answer verbally this time.

"Such a good girl," Simon praises as he leans down to take her left nipple between his lips. He moans in satisfaction, his right hand coming up to squeeze its twin. "How's that feel baby?" he mumbles against her breast.

"G-Good," she says, her hands gripping the comforter beneath her. Simon smirks against her breast, moving over to her right breast to give it the same attention. He suckles the bud gently before pulling back to admire her tits again. Simon moans at the sight, his hands cupping and squeezing the soft mounds.

"Perfect fuckin' tits," he mumbles under his breath. His distraction from her breasts breaks as he looks down at her panties. "How about these, baby? Can I take these off?" he asks, nodding down towards her panties.

"Yeah," she answers, her grip on the comforter relaxing as he lets go of her breasts. He slips his fingers beneath the delicate fabric, "Lift your hips for a second sweetheart," he says and Bambi complies. He slides them down her thighs until they dangle from her ankles. Simon leans down to place a gentle kiss on her right ankle as he removes her panties, setting them on the floor with equal care he did with her bra.

Simon's focus returns to Bambi momentarily and his head falls back with a dramatic groan at the sight of her bare mound. He lifts his head again, sighing heavily as he rests his hands on her thighs. "Remind me what I want you to do angel," Simon says, looking back up at her face.

"Ask you to stop if I don't like something," she says softly.

"That's right, good girl," he says as he slowly pries her thighs open. Simon's mouth waters as he spreads her thighs, his eyes drinking in the sight of her pink, glistening folds. "Fuck," he whispers to himself, taking a moment to admire her bare sex. Bambi's cheeks turn pink and she looks away, growing flustered by his heated gaze. Simon smirks, "Don't get all shy now baby, you've got a pretty little pussy, might as well show it off." Simon leans forward, kneeling between her thighs and he plants a gentle kiss on her clit and Bambi jerks slightly.

"Have you ever had sex baby girl?" Simon asks Bambi. He knew she had a boyfriend before he was hired as her bodyguard, but he wasn't sure if they went all the way or not.

"Yeah, a few times," she says shakily. Simon nods in acknowledgment and kisses her clit again. He places a kitten lick on her clit before sucking it between his lips. He lets out a low moan at her taste, gently sucking on the sensitive bud. Bambi exhales shakily, her thighs twitching slightly. Simon keeps a gentle hold on her thighs to keep her spread open for him as he ravishes her pussy. Simon's technique was slow and unhurried, wanting to drag this out for not only her but for himself. He wanted to savor her taste and the sounds she made.

Simon's eyes flickered up to her face as he slid his tongue inside her. She gasped and her back arched slightly, a good sign. He began to pump his tongue in and out, lifting one of her thighs onto his shoulder so he could move his tongue deeper. Bambi let out a sweet moan, her face scrunching up slightly as his tongue slid deeper inside her. Her delicate hands gripped the pink comforter beneath her as Simon continued his ministrations. He watched her reactions closely, trying to see what she liked best. When she made a particularly appetizing noise, he repeated the action until her thighs trembled. He cycled through the favored motions, wanting to make sure she enjoyed every second.

Bambi panted softly, gripping the comforter tightly, her body growing tense as the familiar signs of an orgasm built within her. "Cum whenever you're ready, baby. There's no rush." Simon mumbles against her pussy, alternating between lavishing attention on her clit and fucking his tongue into her. Bambi gasps sharply and keens as she reaches her peak, her body trembling and spasming. She tilts her head to the side, trying to muffle her cries of ecstasy with the comforter. Simon smirked against her sex at her attempt to stay quiet.

He continued to lap at her clit until she jerked with each stroke of his tongue on her overly sensitive bud. Once satisfied that she was spent, he pulled away and licked his lips clean. "Good girl," Simon praises as his eyes drift over her limp form appreciatively. "Still not quite ready for me, though." he smiles and stands up to sit on the edge of the bed beside where Bambi's legs dangled off the edge.

"You're gonna do more?" Bambi asks, still slightly breathless.

"Baby, we can keep the foreplay going all night long if you want, I don't mind." he smiles, his fingers tracing over her mound. "I wanna make sure you're ready for me. But, if you don't want to have sex tonight we can just stick to this stuff." Simon says and Bambi shakes her head quickly.

"No, I want to," she says eagerly and Simon chuckles from her eagerness.

"Don't worry baby, we will if you want to." he smiles as he slides his fingers down to slip one of his thick fingers inside her, "Gotta get this pretty pussy nice and prepped first," he says with a breathy moan as he begins to slowly pump his finger in and out. Bambi lets out a slight moan, her thighs beginning to fidget, but Simon's free hand holds one open for his ministrations. "So fucking tight," he grits out as he continues to thrust his finger in and out of her sopping cunt. He relished the wet squelch from his finger moving inside her.

Bambi's eyes flutter shut as she moans sweetly, clearly enjoying herself. Seeing that she's relaxed, Simon adds a second finger. Bambi gasps and her back arches momentarily before she melts back against the bed. "Good girl, just relax and enjoy it," Simon encourages, picking up the speed of his fingers slightly. Bambi's lips part with a shaky moan as he picks up the pace. Simon smirks and crooks his fingers to find her sweet spot, he knows he found it when she arches off the bed and a high-pitched moan slips past her plump lips. Simon focuses on hitting that spot with each thrust of his fingers.

Bambi begins to squirm on the bed, her hips involuntarily rocking against his hand. "That's it, take what you need," Simon practically moans as she rolls her hips to meet his movements. He clenched his jaw, trying to stifle his own desire as he focused on making Bambi cum. But, there was a visible patch of precum on the crotch of his pants. He ignored it, focusing on the little angel he was pleasuring.

Simon smiles to himself triumphantly as her pussy begins to squeeze around his fingers and she white knuckles the comforter. Simon adjusts his hand so he could circle her clit without pausing his ministrations. Bambi gasps, her face scrunching up in pleasure. She tilts her head again, trying to hide her moans with the comforter. Simon's free hand moves to tilt her head straight again, "None of that little one, let me hear you." he says gently but firmly, and she complies.

Simon watches her face intently, drinking in every micro-expression as she cums. She lets out a desperate wail, her body convulsing and thighs squeezing around his hand as she cums. Simon's free hand quickly moves to grip one of her thighs, forcing her legs apart again. He slows the pace of his fingers, prolonging her orgasm. Once her inner muscles begin to relax and her breathing slows he withdraws his fingers, bringing them up to his lips to suck them clean.

"How are you feeling baby? Still good?" he asks and Bambi nods mindlessly, her eyes shut in bliss. Simon chuckles, amused by her blissed-out expression. He rubs her thighs soothingly as she comes back to herself. When she finally opens her eyes again Simon smiles down at her, "Do you want more? Or was that enough for tonight?"

"I want more," Bambi says quickly and Simon laughs at her speedy response.

"Okay, sweetheart," he chuckles and reaches down to work on his belt buckle. He pulls off his belt, tossing it on the floor before moving to unbutton his pants. Bambi watches his every movement, her body buzzing in anticipation. She had been dying to see what he was hiding beneath those cargo pants.

Simon unzips his pants and pulls them down, then his briefs. Bambi's eyes widen slightly as his large cock springs free and bobs against his stomach. The tip was red and angry, dripping precum. After Simon tosses his pants on his forming pile of clothing he looks over at Bambi, he chuckles at the look on her face. "Feeling a bit giddy are we?" Bambi's eyes flicker up to his face and she looks away shyly, feeling caught. "Don't be shy baby," he smiles gently, grasping her chin to turn her face back to his, "You can look at it as much as you want. It's all yours for the night, and as many nights as you want after."

Bambi timidly peeks down again before looking back up at Simon. Simon smiles to himself but doesn't comment on her quick glance as he moves to stand between her spread legs. He grabs her thighs in his large hands, guiding them to wrap around his torso as he stands before her. Bambi complies, locking her ankles together behind his back. Simon gives his cock a few slow strokes, spreading the precum over his shaft.

"Still want to do this baby?" Simon checks and Bambi nods, "What did I say?" Simon asks, his voice growing firm.

"To use my words," she says timidly. Simon raises an eyebrow, "I still want to." she says and he nods in approval.

"Good girl," he says and drags the head of his cock through her slick folds, coating himself in her juices. Bambi shivers each time his cock slides over her clit. His free hand rests on her belly as he positions himself at her entrance. He inches the head of his cock in first and Bambi tenses, panting softly. Simon moans lowly from the tightness of her pussy. He starts with shallow thrusts, stretching her open. Bambi responds eagerly to his movements, her eyes fluttering shut and lips parting. Taking it as a good sign, Simon pushes deeper until half of his cock is inside her, repeating the slow thrusts to ease her open for him.

Bambi's hands grip the comforter for the nth time tonight. She bites her bottom lip, stifling her moans.

"What did I say, baby?" Simon asks, halting his movements. Bambi's eyes fly open, "Don't be quiet, I want to hear you." he says firmly and she nods in response. Seemingly satisfied with her response, Simon resumes the slow roll of his hips until he bottoms out inside her. He groans in satisfaction as his balls press against her ass, "Fucking hell," he moans, remaining still for a moment to savor the sensation of her warm walls gripping him. Lost in his own euphoria, Simon snaps out of his cloudy haze as Bambi begins to squirm. "S'okay baby, I'll give you what you need," he says as he begins to thrust slow and deep, pulling out until only the tip remains before pushing back in.

Simon's eyes roll into his head as he begins to thrust again, letting out a gravelly moan. "Such a perfect little cunt," he breathes, "Gonna get addicted to you sweetheart," he pants as he picks up speed slightly. Bambi responds beautifully, her mouth dropping open as she lets out sounds of delight with each snap of his hips, "That's it, make all the noise you want," Simon encourages breathlessly, his hips smacking against the underside of her thighs with each thrust.

Bambi’s tits jiggled enticingly with each thrust, only adding to Simon's arousal. Simon lays over her, his arms braced on either side of his head as he ruts into her. Simon let out a shaky moan, tucking his face into the crook of her neck. She lifted her hands to rest them on the back of his neck, spreading her thighs wider to give him easier access.

“Good girl,” he grunts out as she spreads her legs wider. He leans back again slightly to get better momentum as he fucks her. Bambi’s eyes drank in the sight of him. His mouth was dropped open, his forehead beaded with sweat as he grunted and moaned with each movement he made. She couldn’t tell who was enjoying this more, him or her. His abs rippled with each snap of his hips, and Bambi couldn’t resist the urge to trace her fingers over the muscles.

Simon let out a low loan as her fingers danced over his hard abdomen and he increased his pace, fucking her with renewed vigor. “That’s it, touch Daddy wherever you want.” He grunts out. Bambi whimpers from the dominant title, surprised by how much she enjoyed it. Simon smirked, “Yeah? You like that?” He asks and she nods mindlessly. Simon chuckled and smacks her hip lightly, “Be a good girl and cum for Daddy. Make me proud.” Simon lets out something that resembles a whimper as Bambi’s pussy began to tighten around him. “Fuck,” he gasps, “Sweetheart, you gotta cum now before I blow my load inside you.” He warns, a slight tremble in his voice.

As if on cue, Bambi’s cunt clamps around his cock and she convulses wildly on the bed. “Oh shit,” Simon moans, his eyes rolling back at her already tight cunt becoming impossibly tighter, “T-That’s it, good girl,” he praises, his voice trembling as he fucks her through her orgasm. Bambi mewled and whined, her hands clawing at his arms as she rode out the waves of pleasure crashing through her. “Oh, fuck,” Simon gasps, “Gonna cum,” he pants, quickly pulling out of her messy cunt and stroking his cock rapidly. He lets out a low groan as he cums, thick ropes of his seed coating her stomach. Simon shudders and moans, bracing himself on one arm as he falls forward so he doesn't collapse on her as he rides out his high.

Simon pants, letting go of his cock as his orgasm subsides, “Holy fucking shit sweetheart,” he says, his chest heaving. Simon sighs shakily and tilts his head down to give Bambi a slow, almost thankful kiss, “That was damn good.” he sighs contently. “How about you? You still feelin’ good?” he asks breathily.

Bambi nods, “Yeah, really good.” she says, equally winded.

Simon gives Bambi another lingering kiss, “Let's get you cleaned up sweet girl.”

if you have any fic requests including the people on my masterlist please comment them below or on my masterlist!! (check here: about my blog to see what things i'm not comfortable with in regards to requests <3)

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost x oc #simon ghost riley x original character #bodyguard simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #call of duty #bambisworlds #simon ghost riley x bambi

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sierrale8ne · 1 month ago

Text

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER THREE

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @patscorner @makethemhoesmad @ohbueckers @rosemariiaa @wbbgetsmewetter @authentic-girl03

kalena speakss 🪽! paige has known maraye for no more than two days and she is down baddddd! yall gonna hate me for the end of this chapter icl 🙂‍↔️

May 2025 — Phoenix, Arizona

“P, she has a boyfriend. She’s straight! Do you understand?” Rickea leans over towards me from her seat beside mine.

We’re in the trainers room, through the glass Cam is doing her rehab while Rae and Dearica talk about God knows what in front of us. This conversation has happened in different variations multiple times during the last two days.

Once when Rickea texted me immediately after the game, telling me I was insane for sizing Maraye up in public (which I was not doing, she’s just dramatic). Another when our flight landed last night, at our lift 20 minutes ago, and once more right now.

I roll my eyes. “I’m not gonna do anything! She’s pretty, I have eyes. That’s it.” I speak in my defense. Maraye having a boyfriend was enough for me to take a step back, she was someone else’s which I simply had to respect. I’m not one to break up a happy home.

I guess her being straight should also tell me to walk away too, given my track record of hooking up with wildly toxic straight women. Los Angeles would probably not be the best place to continue that tradition.

“Okay but do you understand what I’m telling you. You will get yourself hurt, either by her or— if you fuck something up— by me; and I’m actually starting to like you.”

“Starting to? What about all the tampering you were doing to get me here?” I ask Rickea.

“I ain’t say you weren’t good.” She points, “but that’s not the point. She’s in a relationship.”

It takes a minute, but everything my teammate says sticks in my head. I was getting ahead of myself in multiple ways. Plus, it probably wouldn’t be ideal for my first pro scandal to involve the most popular musician in the country. If CD was here she’d have probably torn my other ACL if she knew what I was up to.

So I nod. Looking over at Rickea’s stern expression makes me shift in my spot, very clearly irritating the lovely older woman who tapes my ankles. “I’m on my best behavior, swear to God.” I speak. My right hand falls over my heart in promise.

“Better be. It’s your ass not mine, Rook.”

—

May 2025 — Los Angeles, California

When the door to Cameron and Ben’s gorgeous home swings open, I’m greeted by a very tall and very and very smiley stunning Cameron Brink. She wears a black off-the-shoulder maxi dress that touches the floor.

There is a container of Banana Pudding in my hand and with the way she smiles and sighs a breath of relief, I think she likes it.

“Maraye, you’re a lifesaver.” She pulls me into a warm greeting hug and I return the gesture, clutching to the dessert in my other hand. “Don’t tell anyone, but Ben burned the dessert and I was getting a bit nervous.” She whispers in my ear.

I giggle. “Anything I can do to help. Thank you for having me!”

“Are you kidding? Thank you for coming!” Cameron steps to the side, allowing me to walk into the home. I hear the voices of all the guests in the home, specifically the yelling of Ben and his friends to my far left. “Come on, all the girls are in the kitchen, guys will be there in a minute.”

She takes the dessert from my hand and I follow behind her into the kitchen. It was out before me, a vast expanse of modern elegance that seemed to breathe life into the home. Sleek lines and a minimalist design, and an organization that seemed to make it more open. Cameron definitely had good taste. It was around 6, and the sun peered through the blinds and covered the room in a yellow haze.

The dining table nearby is decorated white clean white tablecloth and candles and flowers. We would be making pasta, which is why we started out in the kitchen, but each seat at the table was decorated with crisp plates and personalized name tags.

“This place is beautiful, Cameron.” I comment.

“Thank you! Spent a little too much of the rookie contract on it.” She responds, pushing me just a tad with her finger further into the kitchen. “Everyone grab a partner, you two will be working together on your pasta dough!” Cameron instructs with her voice full of enthusiasm.

So I look up, and all spaces in the kitchen area are all occupied. All but the one and only spot besides Paige Bueckers herself.

She calls me over with a cock of her head. There’s a smirk on her face, one that she seems to keep in her back pocket. She wears dark wash jeans and a white loose fitting top that’s kinda cropped; of course. There’s a red and white short sleeve flannel over it and a gold cross chain that I can’t seem to remove my eyes from.

“How’re you, ma, you good?” She asks me. I think she doesn’t register the pet name before it leaves her mouth, but it still makes my heart race.

“Look who showed up.”

—

I’m fucked.

I’m so totally, absolutely, fucking fucked.

Maraye is standing in front of me in a short strapless red dress. The top is skin tight but the bottom flows nicely against her thighs and it’s taking everything in me to not stare down at her tits and have her think I’m a perv. It’s like everything that Rickea had told me earlier in the week just went in one ear and out of the other. Just like that. Off of one look.

“Uh, yeah. Couldn’t miss it.” I smile, taking a few steps to my right and allowing her to stand next to me.

Her scent is intoxicating, some sort of Chanel perfume that makes me dizzy in the best way imaginable.

“You ever done this before?” She asks me. I nervously look out over the counter, the eggs and flour and the cookbook of all different types of pasta shapes.

“Yeah, once.”

“And It worked out?”

“You’re not giving me enough credit. I’m a great chef.” I defend.

It only takes a matter of minutes for everyone else to get into their own worlds. Cameron and Ben start giving us instructions, mixing up the ingredients and getting to know each other better. I silently thank God for bringing Maraye next to me right now.

“Unt-uh. I’m not touching those eggs, you got it.” I hear her laugh. There’s flour on the waistline of her dress, a matching smear similar to the one across my jeans and my cheek. It got a little messy.

“Nah, I did the flour—”

“—You got it on my dress—”

“—And you got it on my face. C’mon.” I call out for her. Maraye looks up at me again, with those insanely addicting eyes of hers. She takes a step closer towards me and I take hold of both of her wrists, plunging her hands into the well of flour and eggs.

She gasps, the ingredients splashing towards both of us again and I find great satisfaction in the scowl she sends my way. What is wrong with me?

“You’re a dickhead!” She laughs, followed by a huff as she attempts to blow a strand of hair away from her face. “Paige, there’s shit all over me!”

“You’ll be aight, angel. I’ll pay for your dry cleaning, how ‘bout that?” My hand lets go of one of her hands and naturally finds the hair in her vision and pushes it behind her ear.

“Angel?”

“I gotta call you something, right?” I ask.

Without a word, Maraye starts kneading the dough together. Her eyes met mine briefly before darting back down. “You can call me Raye.” Her voice is quiet, shy almost. I’ve never heard her speak to me like that but for whatever reason I find it adorable.

“Yeah, but that’s gonna get confusing with that one over there.” I comment, pointing to my teammate Rae just a few feet away from us. “And I can’t call you what everyone else calls you.”

I step aside from her, my back flush against the counter and my arms crossed. I reach for the glass of red wine that we had each poured out, grimacing at the taste because I hate wine but if Maraye loves it I might as well pretend.

“Alright. Since you think you’re special.” Maraye rolls her eyes with a tight lip grin. “But keep it cordial, before Kea gets an idea.”

“It’s not an ‘idea’ if you actually like me”

“I’m straight.”

“That septum in your nose says otherwise.”

Then the second those words leave my mouth, there’s more flour across my face. I don’t even have time to register it.

“You didn’t.” I shut my eyes in disbelief.

“Oh I sure did.” Maraye is giggling to herself moving her dirty hands back to the pasta dough in front of her. “Go grab me a towel, please.”

I think I’ve met my match with this one.

“You’re still standing here, and I don’t have a towel.” She jokes, looking up at me with a smirk that damn near mirrored mine.

“You’re not angelic even in the slightest.” I reply. She juts her lip out at me in triumph and I hop off the counter, reaching for the nearest clean towel and tossing it over to her.

“You two having fun over there?” Rickea yells from across the room. Her hands are muddled together with sticky dough strings. She’s eying me intently, basically telling me telepathically to keep it in my pants.

“Yep!”

“So much fun!”

—

I fumble with my keys as I try to enter my high rise apartment. In my left hand, holds the leftovers of all the pasta we made earlier. A container of fettuccine alfredo and another with shrimp scampi. To my chest I clutch the tupperware of empty banana pudding (Paige literally ate it all and made me give her my number to promise to make her more).

I finally get the door open and push it further with my hip. It’s completely dark, except for a yellow haze that comes through my hallway. Did I leave a light on?

I set everything on the nearest table top, and walk deeper into the home.

That’s when I see it. The candles and flowers on my coffee table, and him. Julian. He’s nervously rubbing his palms on his jeans, but he stands up almost instantly when he sees me.

“Ju, what-what’re you doing here? It’s late, and—”

He cuts me off before I can finish my stammering. “Just listen? Okay? I’m-I’m sorry. I’ve been the biggest asshole about everything, about us. It’s not right. It’s your career, I should respect whatever you have to do to be successful.”

I can feel my hands sweat and my knees buckle.

“I want to be with you. At all costs, I want to support you. And I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like I don’t.” He pauses and reaches over for the bouquet of roses wrapped in red paper sitting on the table. “So, this probably isn’t the most romantic way to go about it, but can y— can I be your boyfriend?”

He’s rambling, I know he’s nervous, and suddenly I feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet because I just spent the last four hours shamelessly flirting with Paige Bueckers and here Julian was doing the exact thing I’ve been hoping for, for the last three months.

Except I don’t feel the way I think I should.

I’m not giddy and my stomach isn’t full of butterflies like I thought they’d be. Instead my heart is beating out of my chest so badly that I can hear it. Maybe Paige can hear it however far away she is.

Why on Earth am I thinking about Paige?

“Raye, baby? What d’you say?”

So I nod. My mouth ajar but no words can form on my tongue. I just nod and force a smile to my face as I walk closer to him. He hugs me, arms so tight around my waist that they feel suffocating, but I hug him back.

“Yeah.” I whisper, trying to wrap my head around what is happening.

#sierrale8ne #kalena’s works ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅#paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #uconn wbb #la sparks #lesbian #my fic #40 days and 40 nights

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kit-williams · 4 months ago

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-hands payment type of your choosing-

I'll have one ticket to the 'Lamenters/Blood Angels being able to smell and/or consume menstrual blood, possibly even having a preference for it or maybe just liking that they can get blood without killing their favorite person' please. Feel free to toy with it at your leisure, I will enjoy anything you make even somewhat close to this topic >:D

and of course take your time, I'm just putting this in the box for whenever/if you want to write the idea

And you get the honor of seeing the latest OC... A Khornite Lamenter of the Red Corsairs... Berserker Varial Blood-drinker or also known as Varial the Insatiable.

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

tw: somnophilia, blood, idk do I put slavery and limb loss because that just feels par for the course for 40k

"Cherish?" Varial's rage rotted mind woke up to the smell of sweet blood and instantly called out for his reward.

The maimed slave known as 'Cherish' was asleep next to her master. Varial had to maim her or else she would end up like other Cherish's that did not obey and it would leave him inconsolable. How his jaws clamped down on one of her legs. He did not like it when his Cherished screamed... it brought up painful memories... all their screams did. Her leg was healing up nicely but his room smelt of blood.

He moved over to the locked door sniffing the seams wondering if they were trying to lure him out... no the door was still locked. Panic rushed into his rage rotted mind as he went over to Cherish, her hair kept short to keep it out of the way of his mouth, did he bite her? She whined at his rough handling... then why did he smell Cherish's blood?

A memory floated through the miasma of rage that often occupied his mind. Back upon Badab a slave explaining why she smelt of blood and ways she could relieve it. The dirty threadbare outfit that Cherish wore was lifted up as Varial his nose wrinkled slightly at the smell of old blood... old tissue... mixed with her feminine discharge of that acidic crevice of her body. Moments where words wanted to come to him yet flee him upset the corrupted Lamenter as he could remember poetic songlike prose spilling from his mouth with ease now he struggles to string sentences together... but the price he must pay for the thirst to be quenched and his foul luck kept at bay.

A long slow lick up his beloved Cherish's thighs licking up the smeared blood there before he stuck his tongue deep between her folds. She mewled so sweetly... he always picked good Cherishs' who made such good noises for him... made Varial feel so good... His warped mouth opens up just a little too wide as his mutated black tongue pushes deep inside. Arousal burns in his nose as her fingers grip the bedding tightly as she moans still stuck in a haze of sleep. Globs of sheded lining cling to his tongue as he pulls it back into his maw and snapping his jaws in a pleased motion before repeating his intrusion into her woman hood.

"Cherish!" He trills pleased by her; He cherished her... he cherished her... that's all he could remember at times was his need to cherish a mortal... they only let him have one mortal at a time to cherish. Talons push into the flesh of her thighs as he feasts on the blood offering. "Cherish!" He trills again getting excited.

"Varial!" A voice hisses on the vox causing him to look to the door. It was his handler. "Stupid thing..." he hears the fellow traitor astartes mumble, "We're going to need you planet side to scare the mortals." Varial did not care... his Cherish was bleeding for him and his head dipped back between her thighs to listen to her breathy whimpers. "VARIAL stop acting like some pussy drunk Slaaneshi-"

The cord snapped hard as his body slammed into the door it holding but barely finally startling his Cherish awake as she scrambled to the corner, pleasing Varial as her blood smeared onto his pillow. He snarled and snapped his maw at the vox caster before turning around to grab the splotchy red helm where faded yellow paint could be seen between the chipping red paint.

"Cherish!" He says again reaching out to her and pulling her into a hug and nuzzling her head, "Be good. Stay. Come back soon." His rough unnaturally deepened voice clips out those basic sentences as anymore he turns into a snarling mess. She just nodded weakly as he puts her in his spot in the bed before heading over to the door. At least he had something to quench his thirst. Lest he try to take a bit of his handler... oh... he would eventually run out of luck but Varial was patient... he could wait to taste astartes blood on his tongue.

#warhammer 40k #tw: blood #tw: somnophilia #Oc: Varial the insatiable #x reader #oc? Cherish #warhammer 40k x reader #adeptus astartes #adeptus astartes x reader #astartes x reader #lamenter #chaos lamenter #khornite lamenter #reply #answer

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alphabetboyluvr · 1 year ago

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bad decisions | jjk - series masterlist

title credit: bad decisions - bts

pairing: bartender!jungkook x female reader | strangers-friends-lovers, fwb

synopsis

it's simple: write your deepest darkest fears on origami birds and string them up on jungkook's ceiling. when they fall—which they inevitably will, thanks to his cheap daiso washi tape—you have to face the fear. set it free. the issue? you've a fear of intimacy. jungkook, a fear of rejection. and you've both got the capacity to make some incredibly bad decisions.

genre / tropes: smut, fluff, a lil angst, bartender!jk, student!jk, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers (?), fwb, deal arrangement, undefined relationship (they're just friends! just besties!!), miscommunication, idiots in love, emotional slow burn, bucket list (a.k.a. the birds) - see read more for warnings & authors note

wordcount: 450k babbbbyyyy (on-going)

soundtrack: official | reader suggestions

start date: 2022.08.06

minors dni // originally posted to wattpad

warnings: reader has a fear of emotional intimacy and uses physical intimacy as a substitute, jungkook has a deep-rooted fear of rejection. lots of drinking, lots of cursing, lots of bad decisions (every chapter includes at least (1)), jk and the oc have different styles of communication (woo miscommunication!!), a lot of past relationship trauma on both sides, jungkook is the sweetest angel baby ever, jin is kinda evil, jimin is a shit shag (and you have to experience it not once but twice!)

smut warnings: oc is a lil bratty, both switchy but jaykay definitely leads <3, fingering, oral (m & f), ass play, a looooot of titty sucking, cock warming, vaginal sex, sex toys (m & f), every position ever created, jaykay has a huge cawk <3, filming, lots of showering together, thigh riding, 69, squirting, panty sniffing (and sucking !), mutual masturbation, motel sex, endless orgasms, like, idek what else to add but there's more!! they just fuck a lot!! not my fault!! blame the birds!!

note from holly: i heard bad decisions once, ONCE, and knew i had to write about whiney jaykay and how fucking him would be a bad decision, but then it spiralled and now im 370k words deep into a fic about origami birds, glitter, and the way jungkook thinks he'll die every time he gets horny. of everything I've ever written it's hands down my favourite set of characters. jungkook is good in a way that he isn't in literally any of my other fics. i think it's my most well-received fic over on wp and it's just v v special to me. i hope u enjoy it!

BAD DECISIONS

key: smut 💖 | holly's fave ✨ | reader fave* 🪩 | bird 🕊 | club 🍇 *as per my wp stats all chapters listed below are available on wp, and will eventually be linked here too.

BD #1 - Purple Starfuckers - 3.5k

🍇 | a disco ball walks into a bar...

BD #2 - Park Jimin - 3.2k

💖 | does it count if you don't finish?

BD #3 - Coffee - 2k

message request from justjk

BD #4 - The Gym - 4.1K

just wanted an excuse to write about gym rat jk tbh

BD #5 - The Bet - 6.6k

🍇🪩 | songs that remind you of the past, blissfully unaware you're laying the foundations of your future

BD #6 - Wishing - 6k

🍇| summer goes by in a technicolour haze

BD #7 - Sex With An Ex - 6k

✨| kim seokjin looks like an angel, loves like lucifer

BD #8 - Washi Tape - 8k

enter stage left: origami birds

BD #9 - White - 6k

✨🕊 | old, leering men at waterparks are gross. jungkook is not.

BD #10 - Blonde - 3.5k

in the wise words of maisie peters, there's nothing more frightening than a woman scorned and a box of bleach

BD #11 - Perry - 5.9k

🕊 | it's totally normal to shower with your friends

BD #12 - An Agreement -7.4k

💖🕊 | jungkook has to leave the room cause he gets way too hard (in a platonic way)

BD #13 - Work of Art - 11.8k

💖 🪩🕊 | you discover mirrors. jungkook discovers tits. learning is fun!

BD #14 - New Rules - 8k

💖 🪩🕊 | jungkook's got nice hands and he knows how to use them

TO BE UPLOADED

BD #15 - Paper Planes

BD #16 - Overindulging

BD #17 - Jeon Jungkook

BD #18 - Cake

BD #19 - Send To All

BD #20 - Park Jimin... Again

BD #21 - Doing The 'Right' Thing

BD #22 - Listening To Jimin

BD #23 - Cherry Picking

BD #24 - Resolutions

BD #25 - January

BD #26 - January, Still

BD #27 - Keeping Quiet

BD #28 - Avoidance

BD #29 - 'Daddy'

BD #30 - Evaluating The Meaning of 'Home'

BD #31 - The Photo Booth

BD #32 - Question...?

BD #33 - Boundaries (Or Lack Thereof)

BD #34 - Speed Dating

BD #35 - Saying 'Please'

BD #36 - Denial

BD #37 - Faking It

BD #38 - Delaying The Inevitable

BD #39 - Rooms

BD #40 - Spinning Bottles

BD #41 - Locked Doors

BD #42 - Hitting Where It Hurts

Wattpad | AO3

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makeyoumine69 · 5 months ago

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I Like It Rough

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!OC (Angel💋)

— SUNOPSYS: "There is something special about this girl. Something I have always wanted to unravel."

— CONTAINS: Smut, Patrick's POV, toxic relationship, aggressive foreplay, hair pulling, unprotected rough sex, degradation kink, praise kink and maybe something more :D

— A/N: This is for my beloved @mothhmannn! It was such a pleasure for me to write about your OC! 💕

— SONG REC: Lady Gaga — I Like It Rough

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] 🪓

The roar of the city was barely audible in the opulent interior of the limousine, and I could care less about the angry expression of the girl sitting next to me. Angel, my beloved, but a spoiled brat. Maybe it was not her fault at all, since I was the one who allowed her to feel special. As if she was not just one of the hookers I used to sleep with.

"Darling," I began, placing my warm palm on her knee. "I know things can be complicated between us, but please don't sit there with that face. It doesn't suit you at all."

Angel, sighing in frustration, just crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from me.

"Oh, come on, baby, don't be like that," I urged in a stern voice before grabbing her wrist, causing the girl to whimper in pain. "Look at this beautiful bracelet. Do you think you will ever be able to acquire such luxury without me?"

This time, the blonde didn't dare ignore me and locked her big, sad eyes with mine. "Fuck you, Bateman," she hissed through her white teeth. "If you really think you're the only Wall Street man I sleep with, you're delusional and sick," she spat in my face, forcing the blood in my veins to boil, but I didn't allow myself to hurt her. Not yet. "And pathetic."

"Say it again."

Angel trembled under my grip. I could feel the turmoil inside her, reflected in the way she stared at me, desperate and broken. "You..." she almost whispered, glancing down at the gleaming jewelry around her thin wrist, then raising her eyes to my lips.

"...are so unbearable."

"Oh, I know, little one," I bridged the distance, snuggling into her like a snake in one swift motion, finding that sweet spot on her delicate neck. "And you love it, don't you? You've always loved that about me."

Whereupon, I kissed her hard, letting go of her wrist only to put her arms on my shoulders. Angel didn't respond to my initiative at first, but then, with a muffled moan, she got on top of me, letting me grope her great ass and pull up the hem of her dress.

"Ah, Patrick," she gasped into my ear as I pressed her harder against my groin, making her feel how much I wanted her. Angel squirmed on my lap before she kissed me again, plunging her wet tongue into my mouth, which I gladly sucked without shame. "Mmhm, fuck!"

With a cheeky grin, I relished the way Angel was grinding on me like a fucking bitch in heat. "That's it, sweetheart," I crooned in a husky voice, my cock straining against the confines of my Valentino pants. "You just need a firm hand."

At my words, I noticed that Angel's humping became less and less vigorous until she stopped moving at all. "Tell me," the obvious pain in her voice. "Tell me what happened last night was just an accident."

The lewd memories came to my mind faster than I could actually think about Angel's words. Closing my eyes, I indulged in the obscene image my brain produced: me lying on the bed with three beautiful girls, Angel being one of them. While two of them were busy with my cock, I sat Angel on my face and made her buck her hips towards me as I stuck out my tongue for her to use.

"Patrick!" A stubborn female voice pulled him out of the tantalizing haze. "Why did you do this to me?"

"Did what?" I asked, assuming she meant the way I slapped her face several times until her lower lip began to bleed. "I thought you loved pain, my fallen Angel."

The girl scoffed as I grinned. "Why did you treat other chicks better than me?"

Was she really jealous? Such an idea made my smirk widen and I couldn't help but squeeze her cheeks, forcing her to claw at my large palm. "How many times do I have to say it?" I whispered against her swollen lips. "No matter how many girls I have, you will always be special to me."

That was only half true, or at least I wanted to believe it, because Angel was just a hooker. But a very hot one. At some point I even wanted to tell her that I didn't want her to sleep with anyone else but me. I wanted to, but something inside me stopped me every time I opened my mouth. Angel kept bubbling something in my ear, but my own thoughts were louder.

As the limousine pulled up to a not-too-fancy looking building in Lower Manhattan, we both realized that this was a breaking point, but this time I let her decide if she wanted to be alone tonight or have my company. The blonde carefully got up from my lap and took a moment to fix her slightly disheveled hair, then she adjusted the hem of her short dress and looked at me with hope. But I didn't understand what she wanted.

"See you next week, I guess," I mumbled, pulling out a thick stack of $100 bills. "Buy yourself some new lingerie for the one I ripped off."

Perplexed, Angel took the money but she didn't move, so I opened the door for her, implying that no one was forcing her to stay. A cold breeze blew into my face as I did so, but the girl just clutched the bills in her hands, on the verge of tears—I could smell her desperation in the air.

"I hate you, Bateman," Angel hissed, her eyes devoid of emotion, shimmering like broken glass. "You…you just don't understand."

Annoyed, I looked at her indifferently, then at the pile of bills. "I think I pay you enough. You should be grateful, you know?"

The moment I heard her muffled sob, I knew it was over, so when she grabbed my hand and forced me to follow her, I was not surprised. Not even a little. Everything was going according to my plan, as usual.

In a few minutes we were in Angel's small apartment. Overwhelmed by the consuming last, I didn't pay attention to the surroundings, I only cared about the place I was going to fuck her while I was holding the girl in my strong arms and she was kissing me if I was about to vanish.

"Fuck, you're gonna stain my suit," I grumbled as she wrapped her legs around my waist, her wet panties rubbing against my expensive suit. "You're such a dirty little whore. My little whore."

"Patrick," Angel whimpered as I bent her over the back of the couch I saw in the living room. Being too impatient, I couldn't wait any longer and my hands were already undoing my belt with practiced ease. "Put on a condom-arhhh!"

Her loud moan echoed through the small room as I slammed into her supple body without any preparation, as I was sure she didn't need it, since she was soaking wet.

So fucking needy for me.

"Just like that," I purred with my eyes closed, reveling in the blissful sensation of her warmth enveloping my thick dick. "God, you're so fucking perfect for me, doll."

Blushing, Angel sobbed, but she didn't let a single tear slip down her beautiful but sad face. Even when I yanked her hair, fucking her really hard and forcing her to look at me. Her bright eyes stared at me without any judgment, all I could see was a pure, raw desire that I so eagerly wanted to fulfill.

"Spread your legs wider," my command was obeyed almost instantly. "Good girl," I snaked my fingers between Angel's thighs to tease her blushing clit before pulling down her lace panties and removing them completely. With a guttural growl, I rolled my hips against hers, hitting the most sensitive spot inside her pussy and indulging in the way she screamed for me. "I'm... I'm close, babe."

Arching her elegant back, Angel opened her mouth so invitingly that I couldn't stop myself from sliding a finger inside. "Mhmm," she moaned around my digit as I refocused my attention on her swollen little bud, rubbing it in sync with my thrusts, I could feel her inner channel contracting around me, about to milk me until I was dry. "Pat-Patrick..."

Panting, I pulled my digit out of her warm mouth to wrap both hands around her slender neck, ramming into her with all my might, her small form shuddering with each stroke. Angel was the first to fall apart, she could barely stand on her feet, clinging desperately to the couch, shaking as if from the electric shock.

This girl. She was perfect. At that moment, she was mine, completely mine. And if I ever found the courage to tell her I wanted her forever, I would probably be free of the obsessive thoughts that had haunted me since I met her.

My little fallen Angel.

#american psycho #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x oc #patrick bateman x fem!oc #slasher x oc #patrick bateman fanfiction

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crownedinmarigolds · 2 months ago

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Character inspiration meme! (I was linked this one!) Noa Hidalgo - Giovanni. Now it's not really CHARACTERS that inspire my OCs, but I think the situations and styles and concepts - but these are some that I get an idea of her from! Connie Corleone - Noa is the youngest child and only daughter of a mafia family. When I was first making her family for a server years ago I gave her three older brothers and she was the only girl, and then I realized later I must have subconsciously envisioned the Corleone siblings while making her! Lucrezia Borgia - She would love to rule despite her initial station, and of course... her older brother.... that is my favorite painting of Lucrezia temporarily serving as Pope. Hades - Noa is not the delicate flower, she is no mother or bride, she is King (in her head) - And of course necromancy, housing the dead, commanding the dead. Dolores Haze - She's been put on a pedestal and gawked at from a young age. Her older brother has convinced the both of them they are in love - though Noa starts seeing a bit different when she's finally free of the family compound (this is early in her Kindred life) Laura Palmer - The moodiness of the show, the vibe of seeking angels when you feel so alone and taken advantage of by those you're supposed to trust the most Drusilla - Has such a style I love. Still dressing delicately despite being the most fierce person in the room. Noa is not a doll, she just loves dressing like a cream puff. In a world where it's macho men and sleek dressed Aunties, sometimes it's just as brave to be in your puffy sleeves and soft pink skirts!

Sorry to ramble! Just having fun! <3

#noa #noa hidalgo #character inspiration meme #oc meme game #vtm #vampire the masquerade #world of darkness #vtm oc #hecata #giovanni #clan giovanni

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meowhawkk · 2 years ago

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somewhere, over the rainbow ~ !

#blue drawins #angel haze (oc)#jjba oc #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #2023 #fancharacters #original characters #if you got a keen eye you'll know this is originally from 2020. HJKFfjskd

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jadewolf22 · 6 months ago

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Agent Outcast Pt. 2

Fem!OC (Arania Northfire) x Larissa Weems

Warnings: smut, fingering, eating out, strap sex, orgasm denial, safe word usage, ect…

Word Count: 1,880

A/n: You guys really seemed to like Pt.1 so here's Pt.2...enjoy?

You drove back to Nevermore with your mind in a haze. Adrien was having you stalked; it was the only way to explain how he knew about you and Larissa and, considering he never left the warehouse, he would have to have someone else watching you. You knew you needed to tell Larissa but the thought of losing her held you back. The angelic blonde was the only good thing in your life; you would do whatever necessary to keep her with you.

You got back to Nevermore and found Larissa in the same spot you’d left her in. She had dozed off on the couch, her book open in her lap. You smiled, setting your things down on her desk before gently trying to shake her awake.

“Time to wake up, beautiful.” you whispered into her ear, “Coffee’s here.”

“Mmm . . . coffee . . .” Larissa mumbled, rolling onto her side and ignoring you, continuing to sleep.

“Larissa,” you said a little louder, “come on baby, time to wake up.”

Other than a small groan Larissa gave you no answer. You sighed, pulling your phone from your pocket, activating your alarm and holding your phone to her ear as you set off the alarm, the blood-curdling scream that was your alarm noise waking Larissa up instantly. She snapped up into a sitting position, looking around wildly as you burst into laughter.

“That was not funny!” Larissa gasped laughingly, playfully smacking your shoulder.

“No,” you said between laughs, “it was hilarious!”

Larissa mumbled incoherently under her breath, seething as she pushed herself off the couch, glaring at you while she waited for your laughter to die away.

“I’m sorry,” you said, though you didn’t actually mean it, “but, come on Ris, you have to admit that was kinda funny. “

“I don’t have to admit to anything.” Larissa said coolly, though a playful smile was spread across her lips.

Mimicking her smile, you came up behind Larissa and pulled her against you, planting a kiss on her neck as you said, “I love you . . . Now, let’s drink that coffee before it’s room temperature.”

Larissa chuckled, prying your hands off of her and grabbing both of your coffees off her desk, handing you yours as she began to sip from hers.

“They had your favourite, today.” you said, nodding to the little brown bag as you sipped from your coffee.

“Pumpkin spice?” Larissa asked, her bright eyes glimmering happily.

“Yep,” you said with a laughing smile, watching as your girlfriend tore open the bag, inhaling the scent from the muffins.

“You didn’t have to do this!” Larissa squealed, biting into one of the warm muffins.

“I hoped it might make up for my attitude this week,” you said softly, a sad edge to your voice, “I know I haven’t exactly been acting like myself lately . . .”

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?” Larissa asked, a shadow of concern forming behind her bright blue eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong.” you lied, shaking your head, “I’m just a little stressed this week, and I guess it’s showing more than I thought.”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” Larissa stated, “What’s really going on?” Now was your chance; You had the opportunity to tell her what exactly was happening but you refused to take it, saying instead, “I’m fine. It’s just some personal problems; I told you that.”

Larissa sighed, her facial expression making it clear she didn’t believe you.

“I’m going to bed.” you stated with a small sigh, throwing away the last quarter of your coffee before retreating to Larissa’s bedroom.

You sighed again, heavier this time, as you rid yourself of your day clothes and slipped into a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt you kept in Larissa’s room for overnight stays. Larissa came in after you, kicking off her heels and tossing her blazer onto a nearby chair.

“Can you help me?” Larissa asked, motioning to the zipper on the back of her dress.

“Ya, I’ve got you.” you said, walking over to her.

You ran your hands up the sides of her body coming to stop at the zipper of her dress, slowly unzipping it before sliding it off her body. With a snap of your fingers her bra had been removed and she too stood in a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt.

“Come sit on the bed and I’ll help you take your hair down.” you whispered, planting a gentle kiss behind her ear.

Larissa hummed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, you sitting down right behind her. Soft sighs began to escape Larissa as you unpinned her tight updo, massaging her scalp as you removed each pin until her silvery blonde hair fell past her shoulders in waves.

“There. Doesn’t that feel better?” you teased as Larissa turned to face you.

“It does,” Larissa admitted, looking into your icy blue eyes, “What can I do to help you destress?”

“ . . . You can let me use you however I want,” you whispered huskily, your eyes darkening with lust.

“Done,” Larissa whispered with a smile before moving to lay on the bed the way she knew you liked her.

“Really?” you whispered, your tongue toying with your bottom lip, “Just like that?” Larissa nodded eagerly and you chuckled, whispering, “You love being Mommy’s little whore, don’t you?”

As you watched Larissa continue to nod eagerly , her eyes begging you to fuck her, you felt an ache building up in your heated sex and you growled, taking Larissa up on her offer.

You tore off both of your clothes, peppering Larissa’s body with kisses and hickies, your naked bodies flushed against one another.

"Safe word?" you asked before attaching your lips to one of her breasts.

" . . . Black . . ." Larissa moaned.

You smiled, moving kisses down her body before viciously attaching your lips to her clit, sucking on it harshly as you pumped a finger in and out of her core. Larissa screamed, her hands weaving themselves into your hair. You groaned against her, teasing her bud with your teeth as you slipped a second finger into her.

"Ari–! Ari–! Oh shit, Ari!" Larissa cried arching her back off if the bed, "Fuck–! Ari please, can I cum?!"

"Go ahead, darling." you whispered.

The words had barely left your mouth before Larissa came, her cum milking your fingers and her thighs. You moaned at the sight, hurrying to lap the cum off her thighs and your fingers. Smiling at her, you slid up so that you were straddling her hips again. You reached into a drawer in her nightstand, pulling out a small black vibrator.

"Don't cum until I say you can." you whispered with a dangerous smirk, turning the toy on and placing it on her clit.

Larissa gasped as the toy began to tease her and you smiled, sliding up so that you were straddling her face.

"Eat me out, baby." You commanded.

Larissa groaned, slipping her skillful tongue into your aching core.

"That's it, baby. That's it," you moaned, bucking your hips into her face, "Eat me out– Eat mommy out like the whore you are– Oh, GOD!!" Your whole body was shaking; Larissa already had you on the edge, "Keep going baby. Make mommy cum–!"

With a final flick of her tongue you came, riding out your high on Larissa's face.

You smirked, sliding down and placing more kisses and hickies over her body, the vibrator still attacking her clit. Larissa moaned and whined, squirming beneath you, trying desperately to get some sort of friction.

"You'd best stay still unless you want me to spank you." you growled in Larissa's ear, your hand wrapping around her throat and squeezing gently.

"Ari, please . . ." Larissa whimpered, looking at you with puppy-dog eyes, "Please, let me cum."

"No."

Larissa moaned pleadingly, arching her back off the bed but you weren't going to give in so easily. Sliding down her, you grabbed the vibrator, pressing it harshly against her clit. Larissa screamed, her legs tightening around your head. You laughed, taking the vibrator and sliding it up and down her slit, teasing her entrance.

"Ari!" Larissa cried, her body trembling, "Ari! Ari, please – I can't –"

Feeling her body trembling, you knew she was hanging on the edge so you turned off the vibrator, pulling it from her. Larissa groaned, shutting her eyes. You chuckled, placing the vibrator back in the drawer and trading it for a large, red strap.

"Colour, baby?" you asked, slipping on the strap.

"White . . ." Larissa whimpered, as you began teasing her entrance with the head of the faux cock.

"Good," you hummed before sliding the thick strap into Larissa.

You waited until Larissa had adjusted to the size of the silicone cock before beginning to move, sliding nearly all the way out before thrusting back into her.

Within seconds you had her tethering on the edge again, and this time she couldn't stop herself. With a broken scream, she came, her juices coating the red strap. You looked down and scowled, your eyes a midnight blue due to the lust you felt.

"Get up and bend over the bed." you growled dangerously, pulling out of her.

As much as she wanted to object, Larissa knew she was already in trouble so she obliged, moving as quickly as her body would allow. You snatched the vibrator from the drawer turning on and setting it to go at an incredibly slow and rough pace before shoving it into Larissa's cunt, coming to stand behind her.

"You cum again and I will be leaving handprints on your ass," you growled in her ear, your voice becoming more and more animalistic, "Make a sound and I'll make sure the whole school knows who you belong to. Do you understand?"

Larissa nodded, and you smirked, roughly thrusting into her ass.

Larissa bit down on her lip to stifle the screams and moans in her throat, grasping the sheets as she fought to follow your instructions. She needed to cum so badly but you would not let her, the vibrator torturing her cunt while you pounded into her from behind. Every part of her ached, and her vision was beginning to blur. Her stomach felt as if she had just swallowed coals and her lungs were finding it difficult to take in oxygen.

"Black; BLACK!!" Larissa screamed, tossing her head back as tears spilled from her eyes. You stopped immediately, gently pulling out of her and removing the vibrator.

Picking her up and placing her back on the bed you asked, "Was I too rough, baby?"

"No . . ." Larissa whispered, shaking her head, "I'm just sensitive tonight . . ."

You smiled gently, summoning a damp washcloth and cleaning Larissa and the toys before pulling Larissa into your arms as the two of you cuddled, your arms wrapped around her, her head resting in the crook of your neck.

"Thank you, baby." you whispered, stroking Larissa's hair, "I'm sorry I haven't been acting in the best manner lately."

"It's okay." Larissa mumbled, slowly drifting off to sleep in your arms.

You smiled, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek before snapping your fingers, the covers from the bed moving from under to over you as you slid down on the bed, your head resting against Larissa's as you too drifted to sleep.

#gwendoline christie #wednesday #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems

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