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gloomwitchwrites · 1 month ago

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Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical violence, swearing, angst

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Part Twenty-Five of Ink & Needle

Price reveals three possible locations. Task Force 141 infiltrates.

Chapter Twenty-Four // Chapter Twenty-Six

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Knuckles pop. Joints crack.

Simon is primed—nerves and muscles alive and firing.

Ready for action.

Ready for blood.

His old life is returning. Not as fragments but through muscle memory. The training never left. It still dwells within him, twisting around tendons and bone like vines strangling a trellis, awakening to revive the man that once was.

"Tell me what you see, Simon."

Captain Price's voice comes from behind, drifting around Simon like lingering cigarette smoke and dirty snow. Silently, Simon observes the spread of information before him.

"These are the possible targets?" asks Simon, his gaze moving from picture to picture.

A small burst of air before the balaclava becomes steam. The abandoned barn they’ve set up shop in is fucking cold even with the generator-backed heaters turned on. But the cold hardly bothers Simon. His bad knee might not like it but the ache is easy to ignore.

On the wall is a massive map of the world. There are pictures of people and places pinned in various locations. Some of the people are crossed out—marked dead. Others are untouched or painted over with a question mark.

"Yes," affirms Price. "Anything familiar?"

Simon shifts his attention away from the wall and to the table in front of him. There are more pictures here—more documents.

A muscle in his neck spasms. "No," growls Simon. "Walsh likely abandoned his old haunts."

Price shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Two pictures of Walsh stare back at Simon. One is an old photograph from before. Walsh's skin is perfect here—free from burn scars or blemishes. The second photograph is newer but slightly blurry. Walsh wears a black jacket, hood up, face in profile. Even with the burn scars, his face is unmistakable.

"Walsh is prone to paranoia," says Simon, bringing the newest photograph closer. "He had places even I didn't know about."

"That's my point," replies Price. "Walsh trusted you. And yet he still didn't tell you everything."

We are gardens now.

The two of us.

It's easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.

Simon's fingers twitch with the urge to crush the photograph. Shoving the compulsion down, Simon returns the picture of Walsh to the table. Focusing on the massive board before him, Simon observes each marked location, his mind flipping through the rolodex of information he obtained during his infiltration.

"What makes you think it's one of these three?" asks Simon.

He lightly taps the picture in front of him. It's an aerial photograph of a series of warehouses near the Port of Felixstowe. There are two other ports marked including those of London and Liverpool.

Unease slides like sludge in Simon’s stomach. “Not only are these major ports, two of the three are fucking tourist attractions.” Simon turns on Price, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can tour a naval vessel and then board a cruise ship in a single day at Liverpool. London is the fucking same. Walsh isn’t making moves there.” He points at the picture of Felixstowe. “This is the only plausible of the three. Privately owned. Recent docker worker strikes.” Simon drops his arm. “But I don’t fucking believe that for a bloody second.”

There are other ports marked across Europe and the United States. Walsh likes to move around, never staying in one place too long. Sometimes he’s moving drugs. Sometimes he’s moving weapons. Using the same place of entry is risky with dangerous cargo.

"We have surveillance," replies Captain Price.

Gaz hands Soap a laptop. Johnny takes a seat and taps away at the keyboard, bringing up several video feeds.

"This one is for Felixstowe." Johnny allows the feeds to run for a bit before clicking over to a new set. "Liverpool." He switches again. "And London."

Simon shakes his head, noticing nothing in the grainy footage. "It's too close to home. Too busy. Too regulated."

Price's face remains impassive. “Look closer." He glances at Soap. "Roll them again."

Simon steps up directly next to Johnny's shoulder. Placing one hand on the table, Simon leans in. Johnny pulls up the surveillance feed near Felixstowe first. As it plays, a tiny twist of anxiety curls in his stomach. Are his eyes going to shit?

"You see it now?" asks Price.

"No," says Simon sharply.

Johnny loops the feed and points. "Here, Lt."

Squinting helps but hardly makes things any clearer. "Zoom in."

Johnny pauses the feed and enlarges it enough to give a more focused picture but not enough to render the pixels worthless. From the back of an SUV emerges a man that looks like Walsh. With him is—a woman?

Like a punch to the solar plexus, the wind is knocked out of Simon.

Is that you?

"You see it, Lt?"

"I see it," growls Simon. "Show me the next one."

Johnny repeats each surveillance feed, pausing and zooming in. There is a woman emerging from an SUV in each one, that is unmistakable, but is it you? That part is unclear. The videos aren't distinct enough to show details.

"We think this is her," says Price.

"In three different places?" asks Simon, skeptical.

Hope is a fragile thing. He wants to cling to it, to imagine that this is you he's seeing in all three feeds, but he cannot allow himself to latch onto an idea that may not hold any reality.

The middle of Price's brow creases. "You need to look again, Simon."

Simon slowly straightens himself. All of this feels like a game—Walsh's game.

"The timestamps don't make sense," growls Simon. "They're not even hours apart!"

"Exactly," says Price, stepping closer. "All of them are the same. Except one." Price lightly squeezes Johnny's shoulder. He brings up the first video feed again, the one from Felixstowe. "This one is different," murmurs Price, his gaze focused on the computer screen.

The feed plays and Johnny pauses the image. A small light flicks on in the dark recesses of Simon's mind.

"You see it now, Simon?"

"I see it, Captain."

Of the three, the woman is always alone in the Liverpool and London feeds. In Felixstowe, she isn't. In Felixstowe, there's a man grabbing her upper arm. A man that looks very much like Simon's enemy.

"We don't have confirmation," continues Price, already seeming to know exactly what Simon is thinking.

It doesn't fucking matter if they have confirmation or not. This is a lead. This is something.

"We've already sent recon teams," adds Kyle, breaking his silence.

The pity isn't there anymore. There is only grim determination. They've seen Simon at his lowest, and yet that doesn't matter. They're doing this to take Walsh down but they're also doing it for him.

Gaz glances at the map but he addresses Simon. "Walsh wants us to focus on Felixstowe." He turns attention to Simon. "Which is why we sent recon."

"And recon said different," replies Simon.

Kyle winks. "Exactly."

"Felixstowe is staged." Price moves toward the map. "But Liverpool?" Price turns back to Simon, with a smirk. "Want to know who funded that little transfer for Walsh?"

Walsh has always moved behind the scenes. He always lurks in the dark. Pockets are lined and Walsh obtains what he wants. At its core, big business is greedy. They’ll happily look the other way if they can get what they want and get away with it.

Some of the earlier unease melts, adrenaline replacing the anxiety.

Simon’s question is immediate “Did you bag the fucker?”

“I have a tail on them as we speak.”

“Good,” growls Simon. “Walsh with them?”

“No.”

Even better. It means Simon can deal out his own justice.

Simon exhales, trying to find a sense of calm amongst all this new information. "All I want is Walsh.”

I just want her back.

Simon wants that fucking wanker alive. He wants Walsh to squirm. To suffer. To feed the man his own teeth before making him choke on them.

But even that won’t satiate what Simon truly desires.

You. Only you.

In his arms again. Warm and safe and all his. To know that you will never come to harm again.

Price’s smirk becomes a genuine smile. They’ve been after this man for fucking years, and now Walsh is truly in their grasp.

Nodding toward the map, Price gestures toward it. "Our best guess is this warehouse near the Port of Liverpool."

"Why?" asks Simon. “It’s a haven for tourist.”

“It caters to tourist and occasionally houses the Royal Navy just as much as it brings in and sends out goods.” Price exhales. “It’s busy, yes. But it’s unsuspecting.”

"It's also the only place we've seen Walsh arrive to and leave from," adds Kyle.

Simon shrugs. “Could be a distraction. Make it obvious so we aren’t looking at other possible targets.”

“Could be,” replies Price casually.

“We’ve got him, Lt. And not on surveillance footage.”

"The recon team did," continues Gaz. "Real subtle, too. Like he didn't want to be seen."

Diversion has always been Walsh's specialty. His most devoted followers will do whatever he asks from shooting up a corner store to acting as a body double. The man is a manipulator. A friendly face that says exactly what you want to hear to reinforce your own confirmation bias.

He does it all in the name of power and personal superiority.

Simon turns toward Price. "Are we going after that warehouse?"

Price nods. "Tomorrow."

Darkness is a friend.

A companion. A trained beast. A silent killer.

Simon looks into his scope, checking and rechecking the perimeter of the building. Soap has already disabled the surveillance camera on the western side of the building. To the person watching, they're seeing a continuous loop of nothing.

The building itself isn’t one of those boxy metal buildings you find all over the States. This warehouse is old, made from brick and stone, built when ships were still only made of wood. Marked as a historical location, and yet currently closed to the public.

How bloody fucking convenient.

While the night is cold, the port isn’t empty. There are no cargo ships unloading but there’s a docked Destroyer all lit up across the River Mersey. Tourists and locals move along pedestrian areas, and the nearby arena is awash with light as some musical artist performs.

Life moves. Uninterrupted.

As it should be.

And not one of those souls realize what lurks in the dark.

“Soap. We ready to breach?” comes Price’s voice over comms.

Johnny’s answer is laced with slight static. “You have five minutes until the loop ends.”

Price turns back to look at Simon and Kyle, silently pointing in the direction of the door they’re entering the building through. Johnny is on the roof with two members of the recon team sent earlier.

With rifles raised, the trio move silently across the concrete. Price forms the front while Gaz and Simon take the sides and back. They stay on a swivel, watching Price’s rear as he approached the door.

“Three minutes, Captain,” comes Johnny’s voice over comms.

Behind Simon, there’s a clink of metal meeting metal. Something rattles. Then a soft creak as the service door opens.

“We’re in,” replies Price.

Price eases the door open. He keeps his gaze forward, hand coming up to signal that everything is clear. Simon enters behind Price with Kyle on his heel.

“There are three down the hall,” crackles Johnny’s voice over comms.

Price, Gaz, and Simon move silently down the tight hallway. One side is solid brick, the other treated wood. They pass breakers and switches but no doors. There are a few wall hangings but they’re for the workers who would handle the upkeep.

At a tight turn, Price presses himself against the wall. Simon and Kyle crouch as Price eases a small handheld mirror around the corner. There are only a few feet of hallway remaining before it meets a door that says “EXIT.”

“Where are they, Soap?”

A pause. “Just outside the door. Left.”

Price turns the corner and stops at the door. They form a line, switching off night vision. The door opens, and Price is moving. Simon is right behind him, blood roaring in his ears as he follows his captain.

Simon’s finger hugs the trigger.

A muted pop leaves the chamber.

Dark red bursts in the dim light, painting the wall and nearby mounted lamp. The three men never had a chance. They don’t even make a sound as the lead penetrates their heads and explodes in their skulls.

Price’s voice greets Simon in his earpiece. “Clear.”

“Two near the entrance. Follow the lights.”

The building is utterly silent. It’s all exposed brick and pipes. Distantly, Simon hears water dripping, but it is otherwise quiet like a slumbering monster.

Walsh is here. He fucking has to be. Simon senses it in his gut.

Price takes the two out near the entrance, Simon following behind with an extra bullet for each just to make sure.

“We’re coming up on your right, Captain.”

Johnny appears with one member of the recon team. The other remains on the roof, keeping an eye for any incoming vehicles.

“The bunker is through here,” says Johnny, aiming his weapon at the floor.

“The door is in the bloody floor?” asks Kyle.

Johnny crouches, his gloved hand gently probing the wood. They all watch until his hand pauses, his fingers lightly pressing downward.

There’s a hiss, and then Johnny is lifting, revealing a ladder and a dimly lit hall that Simon cannot see the end of.

Price squeezes the shoulder of the soldier from recon. “Keep a lookout here. Radio if you hear or see anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

Price releases his shoulder and descends first. Johnny heads down next followed by Simon and then Kyle.

They’re going in blind. They do not have the plans or layout of this part of the building. The strangest thing is that it looks brand fucking new. It doesn’t make any sense.

Walsh doesn’t build. He utilizes what’s available and goes from there.

There’s only just enough light to see by and there are no doors except the one at the end of the short hall. They might find a maze. They might find a singular room. There could be walking into a trap or nothing at all.

Simon isn’t sure what worries him more.

But you have to be here. Somewhere.

Price counts down starting with three fingers. At one, he raises his rifle and kicks in the door, charging forward. Heartrate spiking, Simon heads in after him, finger tight on the trigger, ready to burst skulls and shatter bone.

The adrenaline peaks, swarming Simon’s senses.

And then it comes crashing down.

As if falling from a great height, Simon is presented with an entirely different outcome.

The firing end of the rifle drifts downward, his gaze focusing on the singular object in the entire room. It’s a box. A metal tackle box like you’d take on a fishing trip. Above it is a bulb hanging from the ceiling. The light it emits is warm and low like it’s been on for years and is just about ready to give out.

Price, Johnny, and Kyle all walk the perimeter of the room.

“It’s solid fucking concrete!” shouts Johnny, his steps increasing as he drags one gloved hand along the wall.

Price slowly spins. “What the fuck is this place?”

“It’s not a storage warehouse,” says Kyle. “There’s nothing here.”

“A hideout, then?” suggests Johnny. “A bunker?”

“Then where’s the bloody bed?” replies Kyle, voice rising slightly. “There isn’t even a table!”

Simon’s focus is narrowing to a pinpoint.

The tackle box is a deep forest green, the handle black, the latch gold.

He takes a step toward it.

“Don’t touch that, Simon.”

Simon ignores Price’s command. He moves closer.

“Simon!”

“Lt! Don’t touch it!”

It’s a game. This is all Walsh’s game.

Simon comes down to one knee beside the tackle box. It’s old—a little banged up. Somehow, he recognizes it.

His gloved thumb brushes over the metal latch.

“Simon!”

It’s Johnny, but Simon is already moving—already releasing the latch and lifting the lid.

Memory resurfaces, and cold dread twists Simon’s stomach. Scratched into the interior of the lid is a name.

It’s Simon’s father’s name.

The tackle box is his father’s, a relic from a time when there was no abuse and no alcohol. Simon remembers going on fishing trips as a young boy carrying this exact box even though he was far too small to hold it properly. He’d always walk leaning to one side due to the weight.

Then it collected dust in a closet as his father became a monster.

But the box isn’t empty.

There are no fishing hooks or plastic dividers. All of that is gone.

In its place is your hair.

Not much, just a cleanly cut portion no larger than Simon’s pinky. It’s neatly tied with red string. Beneath it is a filmy scrap of paper.

The words face him. Clear and obvious.

She’s not here. Try again, friend.

“Simon.”

A crater in the Earth opens up, swallowing Simon whole. He is descending, falling through an endless hell. Spiraling down, down.

“Simon.”

Johnny’s voice is a distant thing. It’s trying to penetrate, to worm inside and pull Simon out but his mind is flipping.

She’s not here.

Your lock of hair is delicately tied, a regretful solace that rings out into Simon’s subconscious.

Try again, friend.

“Simon!”

Following his name is a rattling of gunfire. It’s not distant. Just over his shoulder. In Simon’s earpiece, someone is rattling off a series of numbers and positions, but Simon isn’t paying attention.

You are not here.

You are—elsewhere.

Lost.

In a place where Simon cannot tread.

An instant passes. Then another. The darkness around him transforms, flipping end over end until everything that Simon knows about himself slips away.

You were supposed to be here. He’s supposed to find you. To bring you back.

But this is a task that Simon clearly cannot handle.

Fingers claw up his esophagus, creep over his tongue, and press against his teeth. It emerges, breaking joints, allowing the darkness Simon feels to burst forth and wrap around him, enshrining him in a bloodlust he hasn’t felt in years.

The rifle tip rises. Simon is running on autopilot, allowing Ghost to take over, to consume every ounce of sanity.

Price, Soap, and Gaz are holding down the door, firing at an enemy that Simon cannot yet see.

His feet are not his own. His hands belong to someone else.

Charging forward, the firing end of the rifle explodes. The enemy on the other side are surprised by his sudden appearance. They faulter for a second, their eyes widening slightly in fear. But it’s enough.

It’s enough.

They are cut down, reaching out, hands pressing against the holes in their bodies as blood pools on the floor.

Simon unloads until he’s empty. Reloads. Empties again.

“Simon!”

The rest of his team follow, but Simon is hungry. A blood beast.

When the lead isn’t enough, he uses his hands.

There are bodies all around him, a trail for Price, Gaz, and Soap to follow.

On he moves, devouring. Slicing and gutting until the blood of his enemies begins to soak into his clothes.

He doesn’t remember ascending. Doesn’t remember resurfacing only to dive right back into the void. With ears ringing and a hint of metal on his tongue, Simon destroys everything in his path.

He is aware of Price, Johnny, and Kyle. They move around him, guns high, picking off everyone they can. Simon moves from enemy to enemy, uncaring of how he kills them. He breaks bones. Breaks teeth. Breaks soul. He stabs and slices, relishing in every anguished sound they make.

It is only when so many have fallen that Simon digs in, wanting to draw out a final blow as if the man before him is Walsh and not a nameless crony. The man sobs, his eyes replaced with Simon’s burrowing thumbs.

“Where is she!” screams Simon. He doesn’t even recognize his own voice. “Where the fuck is she!”

The sob becomes a garbled cry. Bloody. Crimson pools and dribbles from the man’s open mouth.

“Tell me where she is!”

Unresponsive. Dead.

Simon slams the man’s head against the floor.

But it isn’t enough. It will never be enough.

A strangled scream is ripped from Simon as he repeatedly bashes the man’s head into the floor.

Hands are on him, grabbing at his arms, tearing him away. Simon swings, clipping Johnny in the chin.

“Enough!” Price wrestles Simon to his feet, pushing him hard against the wall. “They’re dead, Simon.”

His head pounds, the balaclava moving rapidly into and out of his mouth as he gasps for air.

You’re not here.

It’s all slipping away. Piercing and sharp and yet so dull that Simon begins to feel numb.

“Simon,” murmurs Price, the middle of his brow creasing.

Try again, friend.

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dontbelasagnax · 7 months ago

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accidentally wrote another longer-than-a-drabble somft codywan drabble the other day and thought I'd share <3

The morning after their first time, Cody wakes up first and just... stares at Obi-Wan. They didn't close the drapes the night before so the artificial Coruscant sun illuminates Obi-Wan who's lying prone beside Cody, one arm thrown over Cody's belly. He wants to touch him. All his freckles. Scars and blemishes. Areas where his skin folds up. The hair that covers him from head to toe.

He doesn't know if it's okay. They did an awful lot of touching last night. They said a lot of things and somehow nothing at all. So he doesn't know if this is okay. If he can touch now. The morning after. If maybe he could touch... forever.

When Obi-Wan wakes up, it's with an undistinguished snort and a long yawn that cracks three times. He stretches through it and folds himself into Cody, seemingly searching him for warmth the sun and blankets are not providing. Or maybe... he wants to touch too.

"Mrrgm," he says intelligibly against Cody's neck and then inhales deeply, fingers curling around Cody's ribs.

Cody's own fingers itch.

He refrains.

"'kay?" Obi-Wan asks. Half asleep and voice rumbly deep, he's somehow a mixture of adorable and unbearably sexy. Cody's heart throbs.

"Could I," Cody swallows, "touch you?"

He can feel a smile curl against his neck. "Already wanting to go for another round?"

"No. I mean yes but- no." He might be blushing. He does want but that's not- "I meant- touching. Just. Could I?"

Obi-Wan seems to wake up considerably at his bumbling. "Touch me," he says earnest and soft.

Cody does. Oh, he does. He finds Obi-Wan's hand with his own. Gently cups slender but square, worn fingers in his own. Rubs his thumb down the grooves of skin. He knows these hands. He's watched them do a million things a million times. And now he's holding it. He's holding him.

Obi-Wan seems to sense that he needs a moment to his thoughts. But the moment comes and goes with his soft breathing. "Alright?" he says.

Cody nods. Emotions are churning in his chest loud and muddled and distinct all the same. He knows what they're saying.

He said it last night, out loud, probably a few times. The euphoria of it is blurred.

That was different.

And this feels different.

Softer. Gentler. More... vividly earnest.

"I love you."

Obi-Wan exhales shakily then kisses his neck two lingering times. "And I love you. My Cody."

#i am diseased.#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #my writing

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theambitiouswoman · 3 months ago

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4 ways to use ginger 🫚 to heal blemishes

Ginger can be used in several ways to help with blemishes due to its anti inflammatory & antioxidant properties

🫚 Topical Ginger Mask

Fresh ginger, honey, and lemon juice.

Ginger reduces inflammation & redness, honey hydrates and heals the skin, while lemon juice brightens dark spots

Instructions: Grate a small piece of fresh ginger. Mix with 1 tbsp of honey & a few drops of lemon juice, apply to affected areas and leave for 10-15 mins

🫚 Ginger Toner

This helps reduce inflammation and prevents breakouts due to its antibacterial properties

Ingredients: Fresh ginger juice and water

Instructions: Extract the juice from fresh ginger by blending or grating & then squeezing through a cloth. Dilute the ginger juice with equal parts water. Using a cotton pad, gently apply the solution to blemish-prone areas. Let it sit for 5-10 mins

🫚 Ginger Tea for Internal Benefits

This helps reduce inflammation internally, which can improve skin clarity over time

Instructions: Boil a few slices of fresh ginger in water for 10 minutes. Strain and drink as tea, optionally adding honey or lemon for taste

🫚 Ginger Essential Oil

Ginger essential oil can reduce inflammation & fight bacteria on the skin

Instructions: Mix a few drops of essential oil with a carrier oil (like jojoba or coconut oil). Apply to blemishes as a spot treatment

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 10 months ago

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Scars

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1.3K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: mention of smut but nothing too vivid, Tav history but nothing horrible, kinda funny in some ways, really enjoyed writing this one and if you don't like it - I hate to tell you but you are wrong (I don't make the rules here sorry (I def do make the rules)), I'm so sleep deprived lord help me

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You laid across from Astarion, enjoying each other's company as the early morning rays of golden sunshine cascaded into the tent. It was the first night you had slept together of Astarion’s own volition. After defeating Cazador, he decided to try living again and he wanted to indulge in every way possible, including indulging in you. It was sweet, gentle, thoughtful lovemaking. Ensuring you were both comfortable and consenting was at the forefront of both your minds. You laid on your combined bedrolls nude, your lower halves covered by a thin blanket. Astarion traced over your face deftly, his fingers subconsciously tracing over the scars that crossed your eye, cheek, and lips.

“How did you get these?” he asked suddenly.

Your eyes opened completely, waking from their sleepy haze to find his.

“Forgive me, that was rude… you don’t have to tell me.” he said, shaking his head.

You smiled at him, kissing him briefly. “I’m just as old as you, I have quite a few scars if you’d like to hear the many tales.” you smirked.

He let out a relieved sigh, worried he had offended you somehow. He nodded at your question, finding the raised blemishes to be quite beautiful against your skin.

“These,” you said gently moving his fingers across your eye and cheek, “are from a devil. My very short stint fighting in the Blood War gave me these.”

“And this,” you said tracing over your lips, “from a dog. Bit me when I was 7.”

You moved his hand to trace over the large scar that spanned across your neck, “A near death fight with a Bhaal spawn. Nearly took my head off, thankfully I had quite the healer with me.”

Astarion grimaced at this scar. He couldn’t imagine that kind of pain. Being bitten by Cazador had felt like a shard of icy glass being plunged into his neck. Having your throat sliced open by someone as vicious as a Bhaal spawn, he could imagine the immense fear seeing all the blood seeping from you, your life slipping away slowly. He thanked any gods who were listening for the healer who saved you long ago.

“How old were you?” he whispered.

“For my neck?” you asked, “I was 80, my first time in Baldur’s Gate actually. Quite the welcome.” you chuckled.

You carried on with your little tour of your body. “This one,” you said, tracing a very faint scar of three little dots on the top of your chest, “I gave to myself. Turns out forks are quite dangerous if you trip with them in your hand.”

Astarion scoffed, a breathy laugh coming out after. As gifted of a fighter as you are, you are also the most accident prone individual he has ever met.

“Lets see…” you continued moving his fingers to your upper ribs where a deep, jagged scar lay, “A worshiper of Loviatar “blessed” me with that one.”

“Blessed you?” he said, quirking an eyebrow with a hint of confusion in his eyes.

“Let's just say Loviatar worshipers enjoy all manner of things in the bedroom.” you blushed. “It was truly a blessing though, the knife they so graciously stabbed me with was infused with magic. Makes me harder to kill since I “embraced” Loviatar.”

Astarion smiled at that one. He had noticed how slashing didn’t seem to have much effect on you in battle, now he knows why.

“This one,” you said, moving his hand to a scar that spanned from your belly button to your hip, “Particularly brutal - a Lolth sworn drow and a drider came after me while I was knocked down. Turns out spider legs are sharp as fuck. And the venom? Lord, I have yet to feel a sting quite like that again.”

Astarion frowned, he always despised spiders. Now he has even more reason to dislike them.

“This,” you moved his hand to your upper right thigh, “Another self-inflicted accident. Swam in the Black Lake, which is forbidden and for good reason too. Giant eels leave quite the electric burn.”

“Why were you in a forbidden lake?” he asked, thumbing over the patchy scar.

“Why not?” you winked at him with a smirk.

Gods he loved your rebellious spirit, quite matched his own. Trouble seemed to find you both all too easily and yet, you always managed to make fun out of it.

“This,” you said as you dramatically slapped his hand to your ass cheek. He felt for a moment before feeling a raised “X” shape. “An arrow of Ilmater from a particularly pissed off dwarf.”

“And, pray tell, why was he pissed off?” he said with a smirk of his own.

“I may or may not have been trying to steal a particular magical necklace.” you grinned.

Astarion hooked his finger under the golden chain around your neck that always had a slight ethereal glow to it. “I’m assuming you managed to steal said necklace?” he said before tugging on it to pull you into a kiss.

You giggled when you pulled away as his lips followed yours, you pecked them again before continuing. “Yes. Well worth it though, it prevents me from being poisoned. It’s come in handy more than once.”

You moved his hand to your knee but not before he gave your ass a final squeeze. You squealed as you leaned into him. He would never get tired of your toothy grin, it was like sunshine to him, he loved to bask in it.

“This one,” you said as you moved his hand to feel over two parallel scars, “from a mermaid. She tried to drown me so I kicked her off, but not before her scales dug into me.”

“Why was she trying to drown you?” he asked.

You gave him a sarcastic look, “Have you ever met a mermaid? They don’t need a reason, they do it for sport.”

Astarion nodded, making a mental note to not venture too far into mermaid infested waters.

“Kept the scales though! Worth a fortune since they make elixir of water breath.” you said jovially, finding the positive in said situation.

“Elixir of what?” Astarion asked, searching his mind for this unknown elixir.

“Water breath; you can breathe underwater for quite some time once you drink it. Rather rare though, getting scales off a mermaid is a pretty deadly task.” you shrugged.

“Any more?” Astarion said, his eyes running over all the scars that littered your body. So many stories, so many emotions.

“Just two…” you said as you raised your foot up so his hand could feel over the top of it. A “Z” shaped scar. “This one is from a Zhentarim, hence the “Z” shape. Got caught trying to break into one of their hideouts. Left me with a lovely little scar to remind me not to try again.”

Astarion traced the shape, you jerked away at the ticklish feeling.

“Finally,” you said moving his hand between your legs right where the plush of your thigh meets your groin, “this one is from the best lover I have ever had.”

Astarion felt for a moment but couldn’t feel anything. He looked up at you confused, “There's no scar here?” he said, waiting for you to guide him to the proper spot.

“Not yet. I suggest you get to it, fangs.” you smirked at him.

Astarion gave you a wicked smile when your words clicked in his head, “I’d be honored to add to the collection…” he said as he trailed himself down your body, leaving feverish pecks and little nips as he descended before licking over your thigh and sinking his fangs in.

You arched your back while you carded your fingers through his white curls. You never wanted to leave this bed, this tent, or him. And luckily, you didn’t have to, not now. Not ever. He would alway be yours, and you his.

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

Naboo's Note:

Hello! :D I am so fucking tired but also very awake right now working this overnight. I fucking love this piece so I hope you all do too! Fun fact, the fork scar is an actual scar I have because I am, in fact, a clumsy bitch lol. This felt very fluffy to me and just generally made me feel better so I hope it was comforting to ya'll as well. Talk soon, thanks for everything!!!!!!!! TTYLXOXOXOXOXO!!!!!!!!!

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mintygal411 · 4 months ago

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Niacinamide: The Magical Ingredient

Innovations in skincare have been all the rave. As someone who considers myself a skin-intellectual, (courtesy of Cassandra Bankson on YouTube), I pride myself on learning about ingredients that would work the best for my skin. One of those ingredients is niacinamide, which boasts a multitude of skin-boosting benefits. Whether it is hyperpigmentation, support for a compromised skin barrier, or…

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iconhub2023 · 2 years ago

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Nonacne is a product supporting acne skin.

Nonacne is a product supporting acne skin. Product ingredients help eliminate acne and prevent its reappearance. Taking this supplement regularly leads to beautiful and smooth skin. HELP FOR SKIN ACNE!

The product is very popular with teenagers and adults who also have to face the problem of acne.

If you run a website dedicated to acne or targeted at teenagers, Nonacne can be the perfect way to monetize this traffic. Do not hesitate and publish Nonacne promotional materials on your website today Order Now!

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kosmodermaresearchcentre · 1 year ago

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Dermatologist Recommended Tips for Teenage Skin Care

We all know the importance of skincare routine in an individual's life. But the question arises at what age is it necessary to start a proper skincare routine? Beginning a routine when you're a teenager can allow you to develop good skincare habits that you'll keep as you age. Also, it's essential for preventing skin disorders like acne, breakouts and pimples.

Understanding Teenage Skin

Your body goes through a number of transitions when you enter adolescence. Teenage skin is more resilient and persistent than child skin. It has plenty of collagen stored inside. But due to hormonal changes in teenagers, the sebaceous glands in the skin are stimulated to produce more oil and sebum. When this excess oil and hair follicles combine, blackheads and whiteheads form. The other skin issues that occur are outbreaks, acne and clogged pores. We will discuss in detail about common skin concerns during adolescence in the next section.

Common skin concerns during adolescence

Some of the most common skin conditions that are prevalent in teenagers are:

1. Acne:Acne is the most common skin concern of any teen. It occurs when skin pores get clogged due to excess oil or sebum, trapping dead skin cells and forming pimples. The area gets red and inflamed and when bacteria goes deep into the skin, it results in formation of acne cysts and nodules. Teenage acne usually occurs on cheeks and forehead.

2.Eczema: Eczema is a medical term for itching, rashes, irritation and swelling of the skin. It is most commonly present on the face, elbows, knees, feet and hands. In teens, eczema could occur when they play rough games or wear any sport equipment.

3.Sunburn: Teenagers are at a high risk of sunburn as they spend a lot of time playing outdoor games. Sunburns occur due to overexposure of sunlight. Therefore, teenagers should apply sunscreen to reduce this effect and protect their skin from sun damage.

4.Excessive sweating: Everyone sweats when the body regulates its temperature. However, teens experience more sweating than others, especially on the face, underarms, palms and feet.

Factors affecting teenage skin health

There are several factors that influence skin health of a teenager. Some of them are:

Diet

Teenagers usually like to have foods rich in fats, sugar and carbohydrates. With the intake of these foods, issues like acne, pimples and oily skin prevails among teens. Therefore, dermatologists recommend having a balanced diet to keep skin healthy. Take more vegetables, proteins and antioxidant rich food items. Also, it is important to drink plenty of water.

Hormonal changes

During puberty, teenagers usually experience hormonal changes. The levels of testosterone rises in males and females start their menstrual cycle. Therefore, the levels of hormones fluctuate that affect the moisture balance of skin. Thus, leading to more acne and oiliness on the face.

Sunlight

Teenagers spend the majority of their time playing outside in the sun. The rays of sun may cause serious skin damage, sunburn and sun spots. Therefore, dermatologists advised to apply sunscreen whenever the children go outside to play.

Stress

Teenagers usually deal with peer pressure and stress related to their studies and career. Dermatologists say that stress could worsen the acne among teens and trigger more production of sebum in the skin. Therefore, it is advised to practice meditation, yoga and do exercise to manage stress.

Tips for Teenage Skin Care Routine

Teenagers should follow a proper skin care routine to keep their skin free from acne and other issues. Here are some skincare tips for keeping the skin of teen healthy and glowing:

Step 1: Cleansing

To wash your face, use a gentle cleanser that suits your skin. Avoid vigorous scrubbing, instead, use soft circular motions to thoroughly clean your face. Cleansing helps in removing dirt from pores of skin and also reduces oil production. Thus, leading to less acne and pimples. It is advised by dermatologists that teenagers should not use soaps on their face as it might cause irritation to the skin and may worsen acne

Teens may use Kosmoderma Gentle Skin Cleanser in their skincare routine. It is crafted with unique formulations and provides an oil-free glow to your skin. The presence of cocoyl taurate in the cleanser helps in keeping your skin smooth and soft without drying.

Step 2: Moisturising

Dermatologists recommend moisturising your skin twice a day to keep it hydrated and supple. Teenagers face the problem of oily skin, therefore apply an oil-free moisturiser to avoid clogging of the pores.

You may use Kosmoderma Moisture Boost Cream that is formulated for all skin types. It is a gel based moisturiser that soothes, refreshes and moisturises your skin. The presence of hyaluronic acid and ceramides prevents dryness by locking moisture in the skin. It also protects skin from environmental damage.

Step 3: Sun Protection

As teenagers are fond of playing outdoor activities, dermatologists advise to use a broad-spectrum sunscreen with a SPF more than 30. Also, use a non-oily and non-greasy sunscreen for your skin due to oiliness present in the skin itself. This will protect your skin from UV rays of the sun.

You may use Kosmoderma Photo Protect Sunscreen Gel with SPF 40 in your daily skincare regime. The sunscreen contains ascorbic acid and propylene glycol that prevents water loss and results in smooth skin. Also, it is non-oily and lightweight in nature and provides protection from UV light.

Step 4: Acne Treatment

Acne may occur at any age, but teens are more likely to have acne breakouts due to changes in the hormones. Also, they eat lots of sugary and oily food which may trigger acne and worsen the situation. You may use benzoyl peroxide creams and gels that are applied directly on the affected area.

You may use Kosmoderma Acne & Blemish Control Serum that helps in unclogging the pores and diminishes whiteheads, blackheads. The serum is a unique mix of botanical ingredients that helps in curing acne breakouts. It also soothes the skin by preventing irritation caused due to acne.

Other Dermatologist Recommended Tips

Apart from following a proper skincare regime, dermatologists recommend some other tips too that may be followed by teenagers to help keep their skin healthy:

Dietary Recommendations for healthy skin

At any age, eating healthy is vital, but teenagers need to pay particular attention to this. As your body is still growing, you must consume nutritious food like fruits, green leafy vegetables, eggs, nuts, legumes and grains that provide a healthy skin. The skin of teenagers is affected by food items like chocolate, junk food and other sugary drinks. Therefore, try to eat less of these processed foods.

Lifestyle modifications for healthy skin

Acne problem is the most common one in teenagers. Therefore, it is recommended not to pick or pop pimples on your face as it may lead to scarring and also take pimples longer to heal. Also, manage stress by practising yoga and meditation as stress may worsen your skin issues. Furthermore, wash or change the bedsheets and pillowcases frequently as dirty ones may clog your pores of skin, leading to breakouts.

Importance of Seeking Professional Help for Persistent Skin Concerns

If your acne persists after taking precautions, then it is time to talk to a dermatologist. They will offer you a range of treatments that will heal your acne scars, reduce itchiness and prevent further spread. They will look at your skin type and provide the solutions accordingly. Also, they will give you useful tips on how to deal with teenage skin problems.

Conclusion

Practising a proper skincare routine in the early stage is crucial for maintaining a healthy teen skin. Teenagers are more prone to breakouts due to stress and changing hormones. By following the tips mentioned in the blog, a teen may keep their skin glowing.

#skincare #skincare tips #serum for acne prone skin #acne control serum #vitamin c serum for skin whitening #skin whitening serum #blemish serum #Moisture Boost Cream

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samfkiszka · 4 months ago

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A Hard Day's Night

★・・・・・・★

It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping like a log, But when I get home to you, I find the things that you do, Will make me feel alright…

or… An enemies to fuck-buddies Sam x Fem!Reader One shot

Word Count: 6,493

WARNINGS: SMUT!! 18+ ONLY! Oral (female receiving), dry humping, unprotected PIV sex (wrap it before you tap it i guess), maybe some shitty editing… not sure what else but if i’m missing something feel free to let me know!

a/n: listen… the enemies to lovers sam fics are probably over done and i KNOW he’s a little sweetie pie and i adore him deeply and i know he’d never be mean but i just… needed to write a little silly bit… anywho…

★・・・・・・★

Heat lightning flashed against the sky, splitting the inky black in two as Josh drove ridiculously fast down the dirt road that led to the apartment he shared with his twin brother. The warm air weaving through the open windows brought in the soapy scent of the dogwoods that were beginning to bloom all around town. These weekly drives had become a bit of a tradition. Every Friday, Josh would pick you up from work, his voice carrying loudly over whichever song he had chosen to blare from his worn out speakers that night. He would greet you with an enthusiastic grin, asking you about your day and then proceeding to tell you about his own. He’d drive you to his place, and you’d share a poorly cooked meal with his brother. And then the three of you would sit through some old movie, while he explained every single behind the scene facts he knew off the top of his head.

And this had gone on for almost three years. Three years with two of the kindest, happiest people you had ever met. You had even met their parents– equally as loving and wonderful. You had gone on weekend trips with them, gone to every short film showing that Josh orchestrated, every shitty party they would throw in their cramped apartment. You’d listen to Jake play the guitar late into the night, to Josh hum along even when he didn’t know the song. You’d grown to love the two of them, deeply. They were more than friends at this point– they had become your family.

Speaking of their family… there was just one blemish on your relationship with your two favorite people in the world. Their brother, Sam. You hadn’t quite understood what happened when the two of you first met. The… dislike was almost immediate. Josh had been so excited for you to meet his baby brother, rambling for weeks about how much the two of you had in common and how easily you were going to get along. And why would he expect any differently? You had already gotten along well with them, his sister, his parents– who would have thought Sam would be the one outlier.

You didn’t quite hate each other. No, hate was entirely too strong of a word. But on the rare occasions that you crossed paths it was definitely less than pleasant. Josh had been correct about one thing: the two of you were eerily similar. Equally stubborn, though you’d never admit it outloud. Prone to bickering, him more than you. Likely to hold a grudge. He brought out all the things you dislike most about yourself.

So they kept you apart. Jake had begged Josh to schedule the two of you around each other, especially after the last time the two of you were in the same room at the same time.

Which is why you were surprised to see Sam's entirely too expensive, entirely too shiny, burgundy car sitting in Josh’s usual spot. This explained why Josh had been slightly dodgy when you asked about his day earlier.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” You asked, turning to Josh while he parked the car and cautiously took the keys out of the ignition.

“Don’t get mad. He got here a day early. I mean, you can’t still be upset about last time,” Josh rushed out, flinching when he finished.

“I’m not going to hit you Josh. And of course I’m still mad about last time. He called me a-”

Well. You weren’t in the mood to repeat it.

“In his defense you did say he-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” You interrupted, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to stop remembering the last time you and Sam were in the same room.

“Seriously, can you just try? We already talked to Sammy, and he promised to be on his very best behavior. As long as you promise not to throw anything.”

“I’m mature enough to keep my hands to myself. As long as he does.” You stuck your pinky out, waiting on Josh to accept your silent promise.

He wrapped his around yours, grinning softly up at you, “I'm glad you’re gonna try. I love you both so much. It would mean the absolute world to me if you guys could just… coexist. That’s all I’m asking for.” He gave your hand an extra squeeze before letting go and throwing his seat belt off hurriedly.

He practically skipped with enjoyment to his walkway, wiping his feet off against the worn welcome mat you had gotten him so long ago. You followed behind, decidedly less excited for the night that lay ahead of you. He ushered you to the front, pushing you through the chipped door. You were welcomed by Jake’s beaming face, the wonderful aroma of whatever they had decided to make for dinner, and… Sam.

His back was turned away from you, his hair piled at the base of his neck in a wild bun. He was chopping something on the wooden cutting board you had gotten Jake for his last birthday– the one branded with his initials and a pirate ship in the corner. This apartment was riddled with you. Your clothes left in their laundry room, your extra toothbrush laying on their bathroom sink. Hell, you even had a half empty bottle of body wash stuck in their shower. Little gifts you had gotten them for birthdays, and Christmas, and just because littered their entire living space.

You were sure Sam hated the constant reminders of your existence. Just as much as your stomach churned when you were reminded of him. His bass, often left in Jake’s room. Pictures of him exploding over the fridge, every once barren shelf. His sweatshirt, the one he constantly seemed to forget, the one that smelled so much like him that it was intoxicating.

Whatever. You were going to be fine! You promised Josh, and you had yet to break a promise to your best friend.

Jake welcomed you instantly, pulling you into a rib crushing hug. No matter how often you saw him, he always greeted you like you had spent years apart.

“How was work?” He mumbled into your neck, his ear splitting smile evident in his voice.

“Awful, but isn’t it usually?

He pulled away, his brow furrowed with worry. “I’m sorry, sunshine. Hopefully dinner can make up for it, huh?”

“Your cooking? It might make my night worse,” you laughed, plopping down on the same sofa you had spent many a night occupying.

“Hey! I’m a fantastic chef,” he complained, ruffling your hair indignantly, “plus, I’m not the one cooking. Sam is.” He shrugged towards Sam, who was busying himself with whatever meal he had decided to make.

You watched him intently, admiring how swiftly he worked with a knife. You bit your tongue, not wanting to insult him with a possible murder weapon in his hand.

He turns to face you at the mention of his name, and all you could do was wave awkwardly and ignore the buzzing anger that filled you when he refused to respond. Jake and Josh didn’t miss the moment, but they too decided not to dwell on it. They chose instead to sit next to you, flipping through channels until Jake landed on an old pirate movie that was already halfway through airing– one he had seen a million times.

It was almost a normal night– if you ignore the burning urge to make a quip at Sam, to egg him on to do the same. Sure, if anyone asked you’d swear up and down that the man was the bane of your existence. But on a much deeper level, in a way you would never admit outloud… you actually enjoyed the banter. The teasing. The way you could feel him staring at you across the room, even when his gaze was angry. Even when his face conveyed a range of emotions you could never quite pinpoint.

Yes, it was undeniable– you did in fact miss the usual biting conversation the two of you shared. It was all it took to remain normal while Sam continued cooking, silently, Jake and Josh joked around beside you. You were abnormally quiet as well, at least quieter than you ever had been with them. Something about Sam’s refusal to speak to you was starting to drive you insane.

Maybe he had nothing nice to say… so he said nothing at all. As childish as it was, it was all you could think to explain away his unusual silence. And maybe that was better than anything.

At least that’s what you told yourself. That’s the mantra you repeated over and over again as he continued to ignore you. Sure, he had no problem talking to Jake and Josh. All through dinner, he didn’t shut up. Talking about his new job, his new car, his new bass, something funny Danny did, something that happened in his astronomy class– seriously, it was non-stop. You couldn’t get a word in edgewise. In fact, the only time he actually went silent was when you opened your own mouth.

“Sam, can you pass me the salt?”

Nothing. Cue Jake begrudgingly reachinging across the length of the table to slide you the shakers.

“You really did a great job cooking, Sam.” Surely a compliment would fuel his ego enough to garner a response.

Nothing yet again.

“So, are you staying over?”

“Yep.”

Finally, Something.

You were used to spending the night at Josh and Jake’s place. You’d fall asleep on their couch, and one of them would take you home the next morning with the promise of seeing you again soon.

Well.. you’d try to fall asleep on their couch. Not like it was awful; Josh did everything he could to be a good host. And Jake would regularly shell out extra blankets when you complained about the insanely cold temperature they insisted on keeping their shared living space. You never quite figured out what stopped you from enjoying a good night’s sleep. Truth is, it happened everywhere you went. Even your own bed imposed the same struggle, the same sleepless nights spent tossing and turning until the sun came out. You had tried everything short of asking Jake to physically knock you out. It was something you had to deal with, something that was entirely your own problem.

Yet, you had never spent the night at the same time as Sam.

You didn’t miss Josh’s smirk.

“He’s crashing in my room,” he explained, “Jake and I are bunking it. Pulled out the air mattress and everything.”

“Yeah, it’ll be just like middle school,” Jake laughs.

“How come you guys never bunk it when I spend the night. Your couch is ridiculously uncomfortable,” you whine, feeling annoyed when all three of them laugh back at you.

“Unless you and Sam want to share the so-called ridiculously uncomfortable couch, this is the arrangement. Sorry sunshine.” Josh stretches as he stands up, gathering the empty dishes from their secondhand dining table. A small part of you wished Sam was here to cook every time you were over; this had been better than the plethora of somehow burnt freezer meals that his brother’s tended to fuck up.

“I’ll bring you some blankets,” Jake offered while trailing behind his twin, leaving you alone with Sam.

And the two of you sat in silence once more. No yelling. No bickering. He didn’t even glance up from his hands as he absentmindedly picked at the calluses around his fingers.

And it drove you crazy. Sure, you had promised Josh no conflict, But did no conflict mean he couldn’t even spare you a passing glance? Couldn’t bother to acknowledge your simple existence?

Jake rushed back in, eyeing you two worriedly while he tossed a handful of blankets and lone pillow onto their worn couch. You thank him quickly, sliding up from the table with a huff while you make your way to their bathroom to get ready to struggle to fall asleep for the rest of the night.

You admired the way they had made it feel homely for you: your red toothbrush resting next to their blue and green one, a bottle of your almost empty face wash nestled in between their own. It was just as much their bathroom as it was yours at this point. You didn’t miss the fact that a new toothbrush had joined your previously perfect trifecta– Sam’s identical red toothbrush lay on the opposite side of the sink, a lone tool, separate from you three. Maybe Josh was right. Maybe you and Sam were just too similar. Maybe you were both too stubborn to get along.

You hadn’t realized how aggressive you had been with your brushing until you pulled our toothbrush back, the bristles almost flattened out completely. You just had to get through the night. And was his ignoring you all that bad? Sure it irked you, how he could so easily behave like you just didn’t exist. But you supposed it was better than fighting, better than potentially destroying your relationship with Jake and Josh. After all, Sam was their brother. You were just a friend, just some girl that Josh had met on a whim just a few years back.

So you’d keep the peace. You’d ignore the nagging feeling in you begging to do something to get a reaction, the feeling you had never ignored before. The feeling that pushed you to tease him, to start and continue arguments. The feeling that sent shivers up and down your whole body when he’d angrily retort back.

Whatever. Who cares?! It’s not like he’s going to be a part of my life forever… just as long as I’m friends with his brothers.

So, forever. At least that’s what you intended when you met the twins. You can’t imagine not being a part of their lives, and in turn this meant you had to be a part of Sam’s life. No matter how small that part was. No matter if he never uttered a word to you again.

You made your way back to the now silent and empty living room, sighing with relief when Sam was nowhere to be found. You could vaguely hear Jake and Josh talking in the next room, but about what you didn’t know. Sam’s room was eerily quiet, much like himself just moments before. You flopped down on the couch unceremoniously, cringing when it groaned under your weight. Jake had left a plethora of blankets from you, even slipping in a tattered old sweatshirt depicting his old high school logo. You pulled it on, fluffing the flat pillow he kept mostly for you. You had become all too familiar with their ceiling over the years. Every bump, every discoloration, every bit of peeling paint. Even the faded glow in the dark stars the three of you had stuck on the ceiling in a bout of drunken childishness. Exactly twenty seven– the last three had fallen off.

The crickets that chirp in the small patches of grass surrounding their apartment complex sounded louder than usual. The ticking clock that Josh insisted on hanging on the wall seemed jarring. You felt wide awake. You weren’t sure why you insisted on spending the night. It was miserable, begging your body to fall asleep, waiting impatiently for someone else to wake up and keep you company. But it pleased Josh, having you over, knowing you felt safe enough to spend the night. You’d never tell him about your failures to fall asleep, how impossible it was to feel restful. It wasn’t his fault– this was something you struggled with your entire life. There was nothing he could do to fix it.

And so you lay there, counting the ticks, adjusting every few moments. It felt like hours passed of you just listening. Listening to the sounds of the snores Jake swore didn’t belong to him. Listening to the soft patter of rain outside.

Listening to a door click and softly swish open.

You lay still, steading your breathing, not wanting to worry whoever came out. The floor creaked softly under light footsteps as whoever they belonged to padded to the kitchen. The fridge door opened slowly with a groan, the light illuminating the room with a blue glow.

“Can’t sleep?”

You nearly jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.” You lean up, taking him in. He was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers that hung low on his waist, and a too big white t-shirt that clung to him in odd areas.

“Sorry,” he laughed, shutting the fridge with a thud.

“Why are you up?” You glanced at the clock, wondering how the hell you had managed to be up this late.

“Same as you, I suppose. Can never sleep right.” He shrugged, so casually it was like the two of you had never fought once.

Yet another thing the two of you had in common.

He pulled a drawer open, grabbing a lighter and bringing it up to his face, where a cigarette was dangling precariously off his slightly parted lips. The flame danced in the darkness of the kitchen before he quickly let it go, inhaling deeply and blowing a thick cloud of gray smoke out. You shifted uncomfortably for a moment, not quite knowing how to fill the silence. The warm, familiar smell of his particular brand of choice slowly infiltrated your senses.

“Josh will kill you if he finds out you were smoking in here,” You proclaim, matter-of-factly.

“How is Josh going to find out? You gonna snitch?” He smirked, taking a step closer to where you sat.

“Maybe. If you piss me off.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“Not unless you plan on pissing me off.”

“I never plan on it, it just sort of happens.” He shrugs, a smug look washing over his features. He sat down next to you with a huff, holding his half-smoked cigarette out to you.

“I don't smoke,” you reply plainly, turning your head away from the steady stream of gray smoke billowing out of the lit object.

It was a lie. A secret you had kept for quite a while, a bad habit that you only partook in occasionally.

“C’mon…”

You knew he knew. He had caught you smoking outside of the twin’s birthday party last April. You were shocked he never told anyone, never held it against you. And you couldn’t deny that you had been itching for a smoke all week.

You reach out your hand, awaiting the feel of it between your fingers, but it never happens. Instead, he cups your cheek, turning your face towards him. He carefully brings the cigarette closer to you, placing it between your partially open lips. You inhale deeply, the cherry red color illuminating the space between the two of you.

“You know, you aren't half bad when you aren't being a complete brat,” He whispers, his eyes studying your face.

“A brat?” You laugh, passing the cigarette back to him. “If anyone’s a brat, it’s you.”

He turns his head to the side, blowing smoke away from your face with a grin. The two of you sit in silence for a beat, yet this silence lacked the hanging awkwardness from earlier. It was suddenly comfortable, the both of you wordlessly passing the cigarette back and forth before it reached the butt. He stood, tossing the dead cigarette out into the twins' trash, shoving it far enough down that they’d be none the wiser.

“That couch is really fucking uncomfortable,” He groans, stretching his back out, “I can’t believe they make you sleep on that.”

“It’s not that bad.”

It really wasn’t. Sure it dipped in odd places, the fabric was wearing off in patches, and it tended to be a bit scratchy… but anyone else could fall asleep on it easily.

“You know… Josh’s bed is pretty big. If you want, you can come sleep with me.”

“What?” You sputter, taken entirely off guard by his proposal. Sleep in the same bed as him? Was he insane?

“Just an offer.” He shrugged, “Probably be a hell of a lot easier to sleep on than a couch they found on the side of the road.” He rolls his eyes at your almost disgusted expression, “Nothing gross, freak.”

He had a point. But still, this went against everything you had ever thought about Sam. Well… maybe not everything. Of course, there had been the rare occasion where your eyes would linger on his hands, his lips, his eyes. You’d mentally chastise yourself for it, ignoring the burning urge to keep looking, choosing instead to provoke him and start some immature argument.

“Just thought I’d ask,” He sighs, turning towards the hallway.

“Wait, Sam,” you start, gripping the blanket Jake had loaned you, “Fine.”

He chuckles, watching as you hop off the couch, dragging your blanket and pillow behind you, “You know Josh’s bed has blankets. And pillows.”

“Oh, yeah.” You drop what you were holding unceremoniously, letting it hang off the couch haphazardly. You follow behind Sam, feeling a rush of heat flare up on your face. Were you really about to sleep next to him? In Josh’s bed?

You knew there was no deeper meaning behind it. You were definitely overthinking it. He was just being nice, extending an olive branch of sorts. Maybe whatever Josh had said to him had worked.

He opens the door quietly, revealing Josh’s perfectly cleaned room. Decorated sparsely, yet so utterly like him. Sam’s bag lay raggedly in the corner, the contents spilling out onto the floor. The bed was still made, like he hadn’t even attempted to sleep yet. He sighed, flicking off the lamp that rested on the bedside table.

He tugged the white shirt off, tossing it near his back. Your eye raked over his exposed torso, his chest, his abdomen, his thighs. Your own pajamas suddenly felt restrictive, too tight, too warm. You toy with the hem of Jake’s loaned sweatshirt, feeling increasingly awkward. He flopped down onto the bed, ruffling the perfectly tucked in top cover. He folded his arms behind him, leaning propped up against the headboard.

“You gonna lay down or you just gonna stand there?”

You roll your eyes, climbing over to the other side of Josh’s monstrously oversized bed. You pull down the blankets, struggling a bit with how tightly Josh had shoved them into the corners. Sam was right– the bed was a whole lot comforter than that couch. No wonder Josh had been holding out on you.

“Goodnight,” Sam mumbles, turning to the side and giving you a wide berth.

The rain had picked up outside, beating against the window loudly, echoing around the room. Sam had left the fan on, and you were thankful for the chill against your way too hot skin. Sure, the bed was a lot easier to lay on than the couch, but you suddenly felt twenty times more uncomfortable. You shifted once, pushing some of the covers away from you. You shift again, pulling the pillow parallel to your. You move once again, and–

“Quit squirming,” he bites. He turns over to face you, eyes heavy with sleep.

“Sorry, I can’t get comfortable.”

“Really? Wanna go back to the couch?”

A bolt of thunder interrupts his quip, shaking the whole of the apartment. You move closer to him without thinking, ignoring the quizzical look he gives you.

“Guessing that’s a no. Just stop moving around so much.” He turns back on his side, his face hidden again.

“I’ll just go back to the couch, I don’t want to-” Another boom outside, closer this time.

Sam jumps a bit, inching even closer, hiding the movement with a cough, “It’s fine.”

The heat of his body, the closeness of his bare skin, sends jolts of electricity through your body.

What the fuck was going on?

You squeeze your thighs together, embarrassed by how desperate you were for any sort of friction. If you had told yourself, even yourself from an hour ago, that you’d be in bed with Sam Kiskza of all people… who knows what you would’ve thought. Much less that you were in bed, images racing in your brain about ways he could be touching you, ways you could be touching him.

“Seriously, why the fuck can’t you sit still?” He sits up, his face flush with irritation. God, why was that so hot?

Your cheeks instantly turn a deep red, your eyes locked into his. You didn’t have an answer, at least not one suitable to speak aloud.

Something like, I can’t stop thinking about the way you furrow your brow when you're angry. Or, They way your hands look when you do literally anything. Or, The way you’re staring down at me now, like I’m in trouble-

“I- I don’t know,” you whisper, unsure of what else to say.

“You don’t know?”

You shrug, trying to ignore the way his hair frames his face, the way you can still make out his chiseled features even in the dark.

“Just- C’mere.” He reaches out, pulling you into his body. You’re flush with his bare skin now, a position you never thought you’d find yourself in.

“Sam, what are you-”

“Shut up. Lay still,” He sighs, stretching out just a bit and adjusting his grip on you.

But something about him directly ordering you to do something makes it even more impossible to sit still. Makes it even harder to ignore the persistent ache in your core. You were sure it was painfully obvious now, how increasingly desperate you were for anything, any kind of touch. Attempting to imperceptibly move again, garner any kind of relief, anything, was probably a death sentence.

But you did it anyway. Moving slowly, trying not to budge too much, trying not to wake him up again.

“You know, it’s pretty obvious what you’re trying to do,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, arm still wrapped around you.

“What is it that I'm trying to do?” You ask, hoping to sound innocent enough to avoid suspicions.

“Moving against me like that. Looking a little desperate,” He teases.

“What the fuck, Sam?”

He was painfully correct. Not like you’d admit it.

“I’m just saying, I can help with that problem. If you wanna go to sleep. Probably be a lot easier if you just let me take care of you.”

Seriously, what the fuck was happening.

“Offers on the table,” his voice was husky with exhaustion, “until I fall asleep.”

Your mind races, filled with inappropriate thoughts– things you probably shouldn't think about your best friend’s younger brother. Things you shouldn’t think about the guy that you swore you… strongly disliked.

“If you’re joking, I’m going to kill you,” You whisper again, too afraid to speak at full volume.

“Seriously?” His eyes fly open, and he nearly pushes you off him out of surprise.

“Wait… what if they hear us?” The idea of being caught shoots waves of panic up your spine.

“I have an idea. Just trust me, I promise we won't get caught.” He pushes his pinky out, and memories of your earlier promise to Josh come flashing in your mind.

“A pinky promise?” You ask. The two of you definitely did have a lot in common.

He shrugs, not knowing the full weight of the movement. You link your pink around his, avoiding his eyeline.

In one motion, he flips you over, leaning directly over you. He pulls a stray hair tie from his wrist, twisting his long hair up into a messy bun at the base of his neck. He leans down, his lips mere centimeters away from yours.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is barely audible, so sincere and sweet that your heart skips a beat.

You nod, failing to come up with any semblance of response. When he doesn’t move right away you find yourself lifting up your head to meet him. But he moves before you get close enough, earning an agitated whine from you.

“Mm-mm, need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you huffed.

“So impatient. Relax, okay? That’s the whole point.”

He leans down, closing the distance between you two. His lips are soft, tinged by the taste of smoke and mint toothpaste. His calloused hands roam down the sides of your body, toying with the hem of your– Jake’s– sweatshirt . For a second he was tentative, slow and calculated in his movements before behaving with a bit less restraint. You feel his tongue swipe against your lips, and without a second thought you find yourself parting slightly to let him inside. His heartbeat hammered against your body, causing yours to race even faster. Warmth spread across your chest, seeping into each limb as he moved slowly under your shirt, inching closer and closer to your chest.

You arch into his touch, letting out a quiet whimper as you feel him brush against your breast. He takes this as a signal to grab what he wants, kneading the soft flesh between his rough and calloused hands. He moves down your body, placing warm, open mouth kisses along your jawline and neck.

You absentmindedly roll your body against him, drinking in the soft whine that slips past his parted lips.

“Fuck, I want you on top of me,” He mumbles, flipping you around again so you were positioned on top of him. He grips your hips, grinding you down against him. You feel drunk already, the sensation of his hard-on against your clothed core making you dizzy. He whines again, his fingers digging into the bare skin where your shirt had rode up.

“Come here,” He orders, tugging you down again so that you were face to face once more. You nearly slam into him with how desperately quick he pulls you in to meet his lips. “Take this shit off.” His hands fly to Jake’s sweatshirt, making fast work of ripping it off your body. Barely a second passes before the two of you are pressed together again, working hurriedly against each other..

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” his voice is so barely above a whisper you wonder if the comment was even meant to reach your ears. “Look a lot better when you aren’t in another guy’s clothes.”

His hands are back at your hips, nails digging rough half-moon marks into the exposed flesh. He moves you at a steady pace against him, working your hips in circular motions. You should feel embarrassed by how disgustingly wet you feel, your underwear sticking uncomfortably to your skin. If this was Sam’s genius idea to keep quiet, it definitely wasn't going to be enough to keep you from squirming around. In fact, all it had done was increase your need, your burning desire to feel him closer.

“It isn’t enough,” You whine, a bit louder than you had wanted.

“Not enough? Jesus Christ, I’m about to cum in my pants,” he rasps, bucking his hips underneath you. The sudden movement has you clamoring to silence yourself, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. “Shit, nevermind, you’re right. Fuck, do- do you think you can be quiet?”

You nod quickly, goosebumps prickling up all over your bare torso.

“Lay down.”

You climb off him, lying beside him expectantly. He’s positioned on top of you once more, quickly working down your body. He leaves a sloppy trail all the way down to your navel, where he pauses for a moment before hooking his pinkies into the waistband of your shorts.

“Can I take these off?” He asks hurriedly.

You nod again, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him better.

“No, I told you. Use your words, or I’ll stop.”

“Yes, please, just take them off, fuck” You choked out.

He tears the rest of your clothes off in one fell swoop, leaving you completely exposed. Any other night, any other person, you might have shied away, turned your head and avoided eye contact. Yet, in this moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care. You didn’t care that you were seconds away from fucking Sam in his brother’s bed while said brother slept across the hall. You didn’t care that you were definitely going to regret this in the morning. You didn’t care that there was no way you’d be able to keep this a secret from everyone, much less Josh. None of that mattered. All you could think about was the fact that Sam’s mouth was a breath away from where you had needed him the most all night.

“Just say the world and I’ll stop, okay?”

Again, with genuine sincerity. With care.

“Of course.” You bring your hand down to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear. His skin felt warm, a soft pink radiating off his cheeks.

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, his golden brown eyes boring into your own. He continues at a tantalizing slow place, a smug smirk gracing his kiss-swollen lips. You wait in anticipation, holding a bated breath while you watch him finally settle right in front of your aching clit.

“Gonna make you feel good, just need you to relax,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your core,”Just need you to stay quiet for me, angel.”

Angel. Your heart flutters at the pet name. You were used to all the to all the others; sarcastically calling you princess, calling you a brat, calling you a bitch in your most heated moments. But angel? This was new.

He barely gives you the time to think about it before he’s delving in, his tongue working against you expertly. Your hands fly to his hair, lacing in between the loose waves he had pulled back. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, mentally pleading with yourself to remain silent as he laps at you. If he wanted you to be quiet, this certainly wasn’t the way to go about it. Any and all self-control had flown out the window the second he had kissed you.

Your hips move at odds with his face in a desperate rush, working in tandem with his mouth. His nose bumps against your clit, adding another level of intoxicating pleasure.

He pulls back, the sudden loss of contact making you whine loudly. His face is drenched with a mixture of his spit and your own wetness.

“Can’t wait anymore, need to be inside you.” He pulls his boxers off faster than you’d ever seen anyone move, “I wanted to take my time, but-” He shook his head, cutting himself off.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his body. His cock was leaking, the tip looking painfully red and flushed. You watch in rapt awe as he spits in his palm, pumping the length for a moment before lining himself up with your center. He pushes himself in slowly, a loud groan tearing through the both of you. He’s quick to slap a hand over your mouth, effectively silencing you. You groan as he bites down hard on your shoulder in his own attempt to be quiet. He stalls for a second, allowing you to adjust to his size. The two of you breathe together, sharing the same still moment.

“Gonna move now,” he warns, bracing himself.

He starts slowly, burying himself so deep inside you, you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck,” You whine against his palm. You savor the quiet grunts that pass seamlessly through his lips every time he moves, the whimpers that come through when you rake your nails down his back.

“So fucking perfect. Been thinking about this ever since we met. God it was driving me crazy,” he babbled, each word strained against your ear, “You were driving me crazy. Have- Goddamn- have no idea how badly I wanted to put you in your place.”

If his hand wasn’t gripping your face hard enough to leave bruises you were sure you’d be screaming right now. Who gave a fuck if Josh heard you? If Jake knew what was going on?

He maintained his agonizingly slow pace, pushing you right up to where you wanted to be, yet not close enough. You wanted to beg him to fuck you harder, to go faster, to do literally anything else.

As if he knew you needed something more, as if he could read your thoughts, his hand snaked its way in between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. He works in quick circular motions, this speed contrasting almost painfully.

“I’m close,” he chokes out, his movements becoming increasingly sloppy. He pulls his hand from your mouth and you gulp in air, panting his name as he brings you closer to the edge, “Where do you want me to-”

“Inside.”

He picks up his pace, the bed squeaking slightly underneath the two of you. You silently thanked God for the fact that the twins were heavy sleepers when the headboard began to dully thud against the wall.

“Sammy, I-” you gasp, finding it difficult to speak.

“I know.” He nods, meeting your eyes. He cups your face and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, the motion so utterly intimate and calm that you felt your heart swell.

You tug him down for another kiss, this one deeper, filled with more passion as he swallows every moan that rips through you. His hips stutter, and he groans into your mouth as he finishes inside you, the sensation pushing you right over the ledge. You could’ve sworn that you saw stars, much like the ones littering the living room ceiling. He falls against you, his breathing ragged and his chest heaving. The two of you lay like that for a beat, your hands softly rubbing the expanse of his now scratched to hell back.

He lifts up, panting still as his eyes rake over your body.

“Think you can sleep now?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs drily, staring down at where the two of you were still connected. You wince as he pulls out, slowly rubbing your thigh in a small act of comfort as he watches your face slightly contort. It’s hard to miss the way he smirks as you feel his cum leak out of you and onto Josh’s previously pristine sheets. He slides off the bed, reaching down and coming back up with his discarded t-shirt. Using gentle motions, he slowly wipes away the mess the two of you made off your skin before tossing the shirt back once again. With a relaxed sigh, he lays back next to you for the final time that night. He tugs you back into his arms, humming as you nuzzle into his chest.

“Hopefully this time you can stay still, huh?”

#sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka smut #sam kiszka x reader smut #sam kiszka x y/n #sam kiszka x fem!reader #greta van fleet fic #greta van fic #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #dry humping sam kiszka #lord save me #i bet he’d be a great kisser

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