#crimsonwrites

[nitewingbabi]

↳ a pretty mouth             ⚤ ghostface x female!reader  【 18+ ONLY — Minors DNI 】 warnings ⇢ drinking, sexting, knife play, fingering, oral (m receiving), swearing, orgasm denial, pinning, mentions of blood/killing, degrading,  ✉ taking requests first part  ▻  please respond…i showed you my cock

It had been days since any kind of attack or sign of ghostface. You almost believed he had disappeared, but it was still in the back of your mind. You never responded to his messages that he sent, and he never came to see you. Not that you really wanted him too. 

He was psycho. But there was something about his voice and not knowing who was behind that mask that just made your stomach flip the right way round. 

You had multiple missed phone calls from a private or blocked number. You had the upper hand for once.

➤ you can’t ignore me ➤ i’m not going to stop  ➤ you can try to shut me out, but i’ll find a way to get back in ➤ and when I do, i’m going to bury myself in that sweet pussy

His texts turned you on the more he sent them. All laced with dirty things you tried not to enjoy. 

Clearly you needed to give him something to make him chase you harder. Your parents would start to get suspicious of the large water bills coming through, and the last thing you wanted to give up was your shower head time every night. You felt possessed almost, turning yourself on as you dreamt of him climbing through your window of the night, holding a knife to your throat as he fucked you in ways you haven’t experienced before. 

Your legs began to rub to get friction, you needed to stop putting these thoughts in your head. He was a serial killer. The last thing you needed was to be fucking the town’s killer who had threatened your life countless times as well. 

When you finished school you went over to your friend’s house to get ready for a party that was happening over the weekend. All day you had multiple messages from him. Nothing new, that was until. 

🟪 Gfce23 sent you a snap 

The purple box told you everything you needed to know. It was video, with audio. You excused yourself from her room, heading into the bathroom. Opening the video it was once again his cock in his gloved hand, his body more in view this time for you to get a better look. Eyeing over his pale skin. 

“Ughnf—this is all for you.” Your clit throbbed at the sudden moaning that came from your phone. Walls tightening at his words. ‘This is all for you’. You licked your lips at the sight of the red tipped cock on your screen that thrusted into his leather glove. 

“F-f-fuck y/n.” Hearing him say your name mixed with a whimper as he pumped himself, stomach flexing every time he gasped and his movements picked up just a little more. You found yourself with your fingers dancing between your legs again, toying with yourself. The video ended there. No big finish for you. Your flustered state calmed down when you returned to reality and remembered where you were. 

“Jesus, fuck!” You hissed, running fingers through your hair as you tried to finish getting ready. You knew it was wrong but you couldn’t help lusting after him. Evening came finally and it was time to get drunk and enjoy your weekend. No school, no studying, no homework. Just alcohol and boys. Walking into the house it was already crazy, everyone dancing and rubbing themselves up against each other. 

A few mindless games of spin the bottle, truth or dare, and many more kids games. You found the keg, pouring yourself a drink before feeling a tap on your shoulder. It was the same guy whose been chasing after you since the first grade. 

“Hey y/n, long time no see. Feel like we never talk anymore babe.” You cringed at the pet name he gave you. You liked princess better anyway. 

“That’s because we aren’t even friends, I don’t talk to people who aren’t my friends.” You snipped back, walking away from the over-confident jock that didn’t want to take no for an answer it seemed. You swung your head back and downed the drink in the red solo cup. 

“Look, y/n. Just give me one chance and if you aren’t into it then I’ll leave you alone.” He chased you. But not in a ‘I’m gonna kill you’ way that you for some reason missed. You felt bad that you never did give him the time of day, and the alcohol was already going to your head. So what was one dance? You allowed him to grab your hand and take you to where everyone else was dancing, rolling your hips against him and allowing yourself to just relax. 

It was hard too when you were so sexually frustrated, after what felt like forever of dancing you found your friend. Letting her know you were leaving and going home, she was too busy dancing with a group of guys to care. You thought about walking home but chose to Uber instead. 

It was just up the road but in your tipsy state, in a short skirt and with a killer on the loose? What could go wrong? 

Your parents were once again gone for the night, using the time away to connect and get their marriage back on track. You didn’t turn on the lights, leaving the house dark and making your way upstairs to your room. Opening the door you didn’t know what you were expecting, but seeing it dark and just as you left it was disappointing. You walked over to your vanity, turning on the lamp and eyes looking into the reflective surface. 

Your eyes shot open and you sobered up at the sight of a white mask and dark cloak leaning against your clothing dresser. Your heart began to race and you stood up, turning around to face the masked figure who had been on your mind day and night. 

“Surprise princess.” His familiar voice had you buckling at the knees. You wanted to drop to them and suck the one thing he had been teasing you with the last few times you spoke. 

“Get on the bed. Now.” A sharp piercing feeling was against your leg, looking down you saw the knife he held in his hand against the flesh of your exposed thigh. Hard enough to indent your skin but not to actually pierce you. 

You nodded as you walked backwards, sitting on the soft surface and using your elbows to keep you elevated. Eyes looking into the dark black mesh that hid your mystery killer’s eyes. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see you dancing tonight princess. Open your legs.” You did as you were told and audibly gulped. You never saw ghost face at the party, you wondered where he could have been for him to be able to watch you in such a crowded house. Your thigh was met with a cold, metal against it. His knife slowly dragging up from your knee all the way to the crease where your pubic region met your leg. 

He looked down between your legs, eyeing off the cute short skirt and red panties you had on. The same ones he loved seeing you in when you first tried them on. He let out a low groan before swiftly flicking his wrist so his knife teared at the delicate lace. 

$60, down the drain. But you didn’t care. You just wanted to feel him against you, touching, rubbing, sucking. Your breath hitched as he lowered himself, the mattress dipping on each side of you as he positioned himself between your legs and removed the lacy garment blocking his view. He tilted his head to the side, muttering a ‘fuck’ as he saw your creamy hole gaping. How he wanted to fill it. His leather covered fingers reached out and began to rub at your wet folds, moving the creamy arousal over your clit and labia. Teasing your core with soft, slow touched. You gasped as he dipped a finger into your cunt, a thick ring of cream engulfing his finger as he entered you. 

He began pumping, curling his finger each time to graze against your sensitive walls. You began letting out soft mewls at the sensations in the pit of your stomach. A sensation you had only been able to get from a shower head and your own touch. Without warning, he added another two fingers, thrusting harder and quicker now and watching your hips bucking to meet his every movement. 

“Look at you, this pink pussy is aching to be touched. I’ve barely started and you’re almost unravelling under my fingers. How many can you take before I have you begging for more?” He hissed as he added his thumb to your clit, watching you let out a squealed whimper and jerk your body under his touch. He chuckled darkly at your reactions, watching your fingers grab at the blanket comforter underneath you.

Your orgasm was building quickly and you wanted to let go. But ghostface, had other plans for you. Before you could even mutter a ‘I’m gonna cum’ he removed himself completely. Hearing you almost cry from pain at the loss of pleasure. 

“Oh no, you don’t get to cum yet princess.” You let out a whine at his words, squirming under his arms. He grabbed your wrists, pinning you to the bed and grinding his cock against your core. It was hard and only made you beg for more. 

“I want to hear you say you would���ve been honoured to have been killed by me. That it makes you wet and turned on that I could kill you right here, right now. And no one could stop me.” Excitement mixed with panic filled your stomach as you thought about how he would react if you didn’t say it. 

“It turns me on, that I’m so helpless and weak, that you could kill me right now and no one would help me…or stop you.” You had to admit to yourself sheepishly, that it was erotic. 

“Such a pretty princess, with a pretty pussy. And a pretty mouth. I think we should see how good it feels.” He pulled you to the floor with a loud thud, your wrists hurting from being held in place for so long. He undid the black cloak, the velcro ripping and revealing black jeans. His member pushing against the rough material just dying to get out. 

You decided to unbutton his jeans and pull his dick out. It was just as you remembered, pink, swollen and veiny. His tip ached to be touched, a drip of precum oozing out his slit and and running towards the edge of his head. Your eyes met his mask, his hand came to your head and pushed his member past your lip and into the warm embrace of your mouth. 

He moaned loudly for the first time, and it made you ache all over again. He thrusted his hips, fucking your throat feverishly and throwing his head back in pleasure. Muttering all kinds of vulgar words under his breath at the sensation he had been chasing since the first time he saw you. You gagged and coughed at the sharpness and uncomfortable feeling of him hitting the back of your throat. 

Spittle running down the corners of your lips and chin as he relentlessly unleashed his strength onto you. 

“Fucking take it princess, don’t forget how many people had to die for me to feel your pretty lips around my cock. Take it all. Fucking cock-slut.” His degrading words only sparked you to work his member harder, bobbing your heads in rhythm with him now and swirling your tongue around your mouth in no rhythm at all. He didn’t chase his orgasm, your pussy was his endgame. 

“On the bed and get on your hands and knees.” He growled, annoyed at himself for not reaching his own high. 

“What should I call you?” You asked innocently, big eyes batting at him as you stood to your feet and moved back onto the soft, plush mattress. 

“Call me your master.” You moved onto your hands and knees, feels his gloved hands curl around your ankles and pull your legs further apart, in response you also arched your back even more. 

“This is gonna be fun.” 

[crimsonvictory]

Emergency

MINORS DNI

Word Count: 8.2k

Tags: simon riley x reader, self-reader insert, simon riley x you

Warnings: SMUT, p-in-v, overstimulation, pain kink, mature, voice kink, fingering, oral sex, fluff

Looking up at the building's sign above your head, you were starting to think that this was a mistake. Maybe driving yourself to a sketchy address texted to you by your friend wasn't the best idea, and there was the possibility that she may be planning your funeral next week. The tan brick building was old and crumbling, but somehow still standing after all the weathering over the years. You pulled your phone out, double-checking the address from your messages, and yes, 869 Elvie Street was the correct address.

The events leading to this scenario started a couple of weeks ago when you mentioned to a friend that you were having some stress-induced pain due to your job.

"Have you tried getting laid?" was her first question.

After exclaiming to her that not every problem is fixed with sex, she provided the option of possibly seeing a chiropractor or massage therapist. You had gone over the suggestion in your mind, waiting a few days before texting her and asking for recommendations. She had a tried and true place she had been going for years, so you trusted her judgment.

"Now, don't be put off immediately. Simon doesn't have a lot to say, strictly work. Not the friendliest type but I swear he can pinpoint exactly where my pain is coming from and I feel like I'm on cloud nine when I leave his place. He's a private practice, so only one-on-one with him."

The issue with going there was that Simon’s hours conflicted with your work schedule, and it was extremely difficult to get time off. It took you a while to message him, but when you finally did work up the courage, you asked if there was any possible way he could stay a little late to work you into his schedule. You were met with the blunt reply of,

"No. - S”

And that was that. You didn't dare message again, determining that your pain wasn't actually that bad to manage and that you could deal with it. To be honest, you had forgotten all about the text and went back to work, keeping busy for the next several weeks. That is until the sharp pain shooting from your hip down into your groin was unbearable and you could hardly walk. You were never one to call off of work, but there was no possible way you would be able to get through the day in the state that you were currently in. Teeth gritting in pain, you called your friend, begging her to talk to Simon - put in that it was an emergency.

"Can you get yourself there by 10?" she had texted.

You shot a glance at the clock - 8:47. A soft groan left your lips, you had texted a short reply that you would be able to. Maybe you should have thought about it for a moment before sending an immediate reply. Typing in the address that your friend had given you, you were pleasantly surprised that it was only a few minutes down the road from your apartment. Slowly sliding to the edge of the couch, you grit your teeth in pain once again as you try putting your weight on your good hip. The sharp jabbing pain raced like fire down into your groin, causing you to cry out softly. You huffed in annoyance, slowly making your way to the bedroom to get dressed for your appointment.

It took a lot longer than you wanted, the attempt to put on a new pair of pants almost sending you into a fit of hysterics. You limp over to your bathroom vanity, taking a moment to brush your hair and then your teeth. Your eyes are a bit bleary with tears, so you blink them away, attempting to not look deranged. This is the best that you can do in your situation. Taking one final look at yourself, you huff yet again and make the long and painful route (typically a less than 2-minute walk down a short flight of stairs) to your car.

Shutting the door behind you, you lean on your good hip as you lock the front door to your apartment. It's a bit chilly out, the sun is not quite over the clouds this morning. A quick glance at your watch lets you know that you have about 15 minutes until your designated appointment. The familiar wash of anxiety starts from the crown of your head, making you shutter slightly as it passes down your shoulders and into your stomach. Everything would be okay... you told yourself (almost unconvincingly).

The ride over was quiet, opting to not listen to any music as you were already overstimulated. You followed the little arrow on the map, almost missing your turn because your thoughts were elsewhere. A quick parallel park of your car and you throw it into Park, letting out a deep breath before attempting to pull yourself out. You have your keys and phone in one hand, using the other to grab the handle above to use as leverage. Your good foot makes contact with the asphalt, digging in slightly as you hoist yourself up, careful not to jerk too quickly.

You stumble for just a moment, leaning against the now-closed car door before righting yourself once more and slowly making your way over to the sidewalk. Nervousness pulls in your stomach again. A glance to the left and right of your surroundings shows there are no other cars on the street that you're parked on. You tilt your phone up, opening up your messages to let Simon know that you're here.

A few moments go by in silence, and you shift your weight again, taking a look at your surroundings. A bell chiming grabs your attention and you look back towards the front door, surprise etching itself along your features as a man - you are guessing Simon, fills up the entrance. He appears almost out of nowhere, still as a statue as he stands there. He crosses his arms, stretching the grey t-shirt he has on to the point where they might almost bust out of the sleeves.

You blink rapidly, taking him all in. His dark eyes lock onto you, gaze unwavering. Brows furrowed slightly, the only available space you can see are his eyes. The lower half of his face is covered by a black surgical mask. Mysterious. You're at a loss for words, not knowing what to say. His gaze has you pinned to the spot, almost as if you were caught doing something particularly naughty.

A soft grumbling noise comes from his chest, a noise of annoyance as he rolls his eyes and turns back to walk back inside, letting the door fall back into its previous closed state. A frown tugs your lips downward, confusion whirling a spiraling pattern into your thoughts as you slowly hobble towards the door. You push it open, the bell chiming once again before the rush of the wind pulls the door shut quickly behind you, causing you to jump. Taking a look around the office, it's - as expected. Neat, white walls and grey wooden flooring. Nothing is decorating the small area, but surprisingly there are a few well taken care of monsteras by the front door. The air smells like eucalyptus and mint, a relaxing scent that causes your tightly drawn shoulders to droop just a bit.

You're not sure where Simon went so you stay by the front door, not wanting to be caught snooping around the office. He comes back just a few moments later, still silent as he steps forward and crowds your space. You inhale sharply, the faint smell of cigarettes and Earl Grey filling your nostrils. He reaches beside your head, flipping the deadbolt to the left - locking you both inside.

Heart fluttering in your chest, you grip your keys a bit tighter, watching as he turns quickly on his heel and disappears down the hallway.

"Down here, love," he calls, his deep voice reverberating off of the walls.

It takes you by surprise, a warm heat spreading in your belly. You somehow get your feet to move, brain short-circuiting as you try to actively process what the hell your friend got you into.

The room at the end of the hall is much cozier than the front office. Light grey walls and a carpeted floor, shelves full of herbs and salves, a long black bench, and a rack of towels are inside. Simon's sitting on a black rolling chair, legs spread out on either side of him. The soft glow of a lamp casts a variety of shadows in the room, making it a bit hard to see his face.

You are hesitant, but trust your friend and step forward into the room. Your eyes bounce around, taking everything in before landing back on Simon.

"Your friend said this was an emergency?" he asks coolly, eyebrows raising slightly.

You nod, pressing your lips together in a slight grimace, the pain of your hip dully radiating at the moment.

"What's bothering you?" he asks again, eyes flicking quickly over your form before landing back on your face.

You feel your cheeks flush, the rush of embarrassment hitting you quickly. A quick clear of your throat before you answer timidly.

"M-My hip."

His brows furrow for a moment before relaxing back on his face. He didn't pry, which you were grateful for. God only knows the thoughts running through his head at your answer. Simon beckons you closer and you oblige, trying your best not to put too much weight on your leg. He hums softly, almost as if confirming to himself what to do with you. You're standing rather close, the scent of him filling your nostrils again. It makes your stomach flutter.

"Can you sit?" he asks, dark eyes catching your gaze.

You nod, almost dumbly as you shuffle forward, turning and placing the back of your lower thighs flush with the black table. Leaning back slightly, you go to sit down when that flash of pain shoots down your leg again, causing you to gasp sharply.

Simon's hand wraps itself around your waist quickly, holding your weight for a moment while you try to steady yourself. Your brows furrow in pain, tears welling up as you look past him, staring at the wall and willing the moment to pass. Your body trembles slightly and you let out a huff of air, closing your eyes for a moment before opening them again. The moment has passed.

You notice his dark eyes on you again, cheeks flushing with the scrutiny of his gaze.

"Alright?" he asks lowly, eyes scanning your face again for any sign of pain.

You nod slowly and he helps you lower yourself on the table. You're seated now, resting for a moment as you tell him.

"Thank you..."

He hums softly again, the sound rumbling around in his chest. Simon steps forward, pushing himself up from the small stool he was sitting on. You sit there wondering how it manages to hold his weight. A light press on your shoulder from him, wanting you to lie on your back. The plushness of the table is comfortable, and you wiggle for a moment before deciding that you're comfy. It's hard to resist looking at him, large frame taking up your entire field of vision. You can't even see the door anymore.

Your eyes flutter closed, willing them to stop for a moment. Simon’s standing by your side, and you feel his large hand circle your ankle, pushing your knee up toward the ceiling. There's a slight pull again from your hip and you tense, wary of the oncoming pain.

"Relax," he murmurs.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and tell yourself to calm down. Blood rushing in your ears, you hear the familiar whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

"'M gonna try and stretch your hip flexor before I adjust you, alright?" he explains and you nod.

With one hand on your knee and the other circling your hip he starts with a small range of motion, moving your knee towards your chest and back out again. So far so good, minimal pain. His fingers squeeze into the fat of your hip, keeping it stable as he goes through a few motions for mobility. It's only when Simon moves your knee out parallel from your body that you cry out involuntarily, the sharp sensation pulling the breath from you.

You watch as his brows furrow once more and he squeezes your hip gently - an apology. Your breath quickens, eyes widening as he slowly moves your hip back to its original spot before doing it once more. The pain is there again, but not as sudden. You let out a shuttering breath, the anticipation of the imminent pain causing you to sniffle.

"There we go..." he murmurs.

His voice causes a wave of relaxation over your body, and you go pliant in his grip. The motions are becoming easier, less and less of the pulling pain as he stretches your hip out. It's become more of a dull ache, something that you could manage. He moves to your other hip, repeating the motions from just moments earlier. This one causes no problems at all. Your gaze flits up to the ceiling, watching the shadows of the light bounce as it reflects off of his movement. He releases your hip, and you immediately miss the contact. Simon shifts down to the edge of the table, holding both of your feet together as he examines the natural alignment of your hips.

"One's a bit shorter than the other," he explains, crouching down to look at which one to adjust through one squinted eye.

"Good news, it's not the injured one," you hear a hint of a smile in his voice.

You smile back softly in return, watching as his two large hands wrap around your right foot after letting your other leg drop gently to the table. He wiggles your foot slightly, loosening up your hip.

"Relax f'me," he instructs (and how could you with the sound of his voice making pleasure burn deliciously in your stomach).

Wiggling your foot one more time, he yanks back towards himself suddenly, a sharp crack! from your hip filling the room.

"Woah," you gasp out quietly.

He grabs your shoes again, checking the alignment before dropping them gently, satisfied that the adjustment did the job. Simon's large hand reaches out, an offer to help pull you into a seated position. His hands are calloused, but not super rough against your own skin. He gently lets go and whirls around to his shelves of salves, rummaging through before he finds some BioFreeze. It's in a small aluminum tin, the sharp smell of medical tincture burning your nose.

"Apply this once you get home, you're gonna be sore for a few days. Helps relax the muscles," he explains.

You pluck it gently from his fingers, twirling the tin in your own.

"I can't thank you enough..." you murmur, looking down in your lap.

He tuts softly, placing a hand on the small of your back and helping you up and off the black table. You look up at him once more, eyes focused on his mask as you ask,

"How much?"

"Consider it a favor for a friend," he says.

You're walking down the short hallway now, looking over your shoulder at him. He follows you to the door, reaching over to unlock the deadbolt before leaning back at a respectable distance once more.

"I can't just not pay you," you argue softly.

He shakes his head, a soft huff of a laugh falling from his lips.

"Heal that hip up and I'll think about it."

With that, he gives you a wink and opens the door for you, ushering you outside. Your mouth drops slightly, blushing at his words before you click your key fob to unlock the car. You grab the handle, missing it a few times before you finally yank the door open and hop inside, throwing your belongings in the passenger seat. The first thing you do is grab your phone, furiously typing your friend's phone number into the dial box. She picks up in two rings.

"Well...?" she prods, an obvious grin in her voice.

"Well-" you huff, putting your seatbelt on in a hurry as you start to drive, not even fully clicked in before you speed off. "I feel a lot better."

She laughs on the other end. "I told you! He's amazing! And sooo handsome too, even behind the mask.”

You laugh softly at that, nodding your head even though she couldn't see you.

"He wouldn't let me pay," you pout, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel as you drive home.

"Really?" she asks incredulously.

"Mhm..." you answer, thinking back to the conversation. "He told me to let my hip heal and that he would think about it." you continue. "He also-,"

"What? He what?" she prods, so excited it sounded like she was trying to jump through the phone.

"H-He winked at me when he said it," you blush deeply, thinking about his dark eyes staying glued to you the whole appointment.

"Oh my god!" she squeals. "You know what that means right?" she asks.

"No?" you answer, genuine confusion in your voice.

--

What it meant was that he wanted to fuck. Unbeknownst to you, Simon could barely keep himself appropriate when he opened the door to you that day. A client of his, your friend, had practically begged him to get you in. She declared your situation an emergency. It was an emergency all right, the emergency being that he wasn't stuffing your pussy full of his cock at this very second. It took all of his composure not to strip you down in his office and have you begging for more. Your little whimpers and cries of pain turned on that wicked part of his brain that got off on it. He kept replaying them in his head that night, thick fingers wrapped around the base of himself as he bucked into the tight fist he had made. Simon was seriously fucked up. He knew it but couldn't help himself. Couldn't help dipping into the temptation of the possibility of having your soft body underneath his own.

He wanted to know what you tasted like, what you felt like under his rough hands. He'd treat you well. Pulling every last little noise out of you that he could. The thought alone had him crying out hoarsely, covering his hand in the sinful act of imagination.

Good god.

Simon groaned, shame filling his stomach as he rolled off the side of the bed, strolling over to the bathroom in just a few steps to clean himself up.

What was he going to do?

--

The salve Simon had given you was a godsend. As he had told you, your hips were super sore over the next few days, but having the cooling salve helped ease the tense muscles. You had gone back to work, your friend pestering you every second about him. Simon...you sigh, shaking the thought of him from your mind. Something about him...

You had thought about texting him, but that would be weird. There was no absolute reason for you to have to see him again. Your hip was doing better, the overstretched ligament finally healing with the help of his hands. Oh, his hands... You reminisce on the feeling of having his long fingers wrapped around your hips, the gentle squeezes of comfort, the sure way he knew what to manipulate on your body to make you feel better.

God. You were fucked.

--

Things were going well for a couple of weeks until one Sunday evening, you had decided to take a bath and treat yourself to a nice evening. The water was scalding, just how you liked it, as you slid into the water, a long sigh escaping your lips as you soaked your weary muscles. You close your eyes, thoughts drifting to a certain someone... imagining what he would do to you. A soft moan escapes your lips, hand sliding down your torso to gently brush against your clit.

An exasperated laugh left you, applying more pressure at the thought of his hands sliding down your body. Your hips jerked up suddenly, and to your horror, the sharp pain came back instantly. Oh no...

Dread filled your body as soon as it happened, already knowing that you were going to have to message him again. Maybe you could try to get out of the bath...

The sharp pain pulled again, causing you to curse in frustration. Looks like you were stuck for the time being. You grab your phone, open up to your contacts, and send Simon a quick message.

Another emergency.

...

Silence. You huff, knowing that he's not obligated to answer you. It was his day off after all. You might as well enjoy the hot water as much as possible. The warmth envelops your body, providing a little bit of comfort as you relax.

--

You must've dozed off because when you wake, the bath is lukewarm. A groan falls from your lips, rubbing a hand down your face before blindly reaching over for your phone. You blink blearily at the bright screen, looking at your notifications. Simon had replied. Oh shit. Your fingers shake as you open the notification.

Hope it wasn't because of something naughty. ;) - S

You nearly scream, cheeks ablaze with emotion. How the hell did he know?

Ha. Ha. You reply quickly.

You see the ... floating back and forth as he types, thoughts in limbo.

Can you walk? He asks.

You weren't sure, not having tested before because of the pain. Easing up slowly, you're able to pull yourself into a seated position. The water drips down your body and into the water, rapid descent of the drops making a soft tinkling noise. You reach for your towel, slowly starting to dry yourself off and wrapping it around your damp body. It takes a moment, but you're able to pull yourself up and over the tub, staying in a small crouch. If you're in this position, it's not too bad. You grip the counter, sending a quick text back.

Barely.

It takes a few moments for him to respond, and by that time, you have your towel dropped around your feet and are attempting to put on your panties.

I can stop by.

Your stomach flutters after reading his text. Fingers grip your phone as you respond.

I wouldn't want to bother…

Maybe you could make it until the beginning of the week. Tilting your hips back, you push yourself up, throwing an oversized shirt on quickly before bunching back over in discomfort.

Address?

Is all he asks. You huff, knowing you're not going to be able to argue, so you send it to him.

—

He arrives at your apartment in 20 minutes. In that time, you had slowly made your way to the living room so that you could sit on the couch and wait for him. A sharp rap of his knuckles notifies that it is indeed him. You groan when you sit up again, slowly shuffling to the door. Your fingers fumble with the lock, twisting the metal bar to the side before you pull back, allowing the door to open.

It's a bit hard to see him from the angle that you're bent at, but you tilt your head to get a quick look at him.

Simon opted for black scrubs this time, his pants pulling deliciously taut against his thick thighs. His shirt is just a thin white tee, doing little to hide his broad chest. You notice a smattering of ink crawling up his forearm, as it’s closest to your field of sight.

Your eyes catch his, noticing the softness of his gaze. You realize you must look like a wounded animal to him - pathetic.

“Can I come in?” he asks politely, voice rumbling with deep timbre.

“Yes,” you sigh out, catching the way his eyes fall to your lower half.

His mask crinkles up against his face, he's smirking. It's only then that you realize that you forgot to put on pants. How embarrassing. Heat flushes hot up your chest, staining your cheeks pink.

“I’m sorry,” you half apologize. “I couldn’t-.”

“S’okay,” he soothes.

You nod, slowly stepping back and allowing him in. He looks odd in your apartment. The hulk of him taking up most of your entryway. He has to duck to step through the threshold, kicking his shoes off by the door. What a gentleman.

You swing the door shut, mimicking his actions from a few weeks ago, and locking the deadbolt behind you. The air is a bit awkward, mostly due to your own insecurities. You attempt to pull your shirt down farther to cover your bare legs.

“Don’t have to hide from me, lovie,” Simon murmurs. “Let’s get you sorted out, yeah?”

You nod, looking at him for direction. He takes a step forward, crowding your space with his presence. Simon’s paw of a hand flexes at his side, clearly restraining to the best of his ability to not touch you.

“Where’s most comfortable?” he questions, taking a look around your small apartment.

You hum, thinking…the bed would probably be the most comfortable, but also very intimate. The couch could work too, but being only one-sided due to the back of it. There was also the floor…but you didn’t know if you could get back up from it afterward. Bed it was then.

“The bed…” you murmur shyly.

His mask crinkles again, pulling against his face as he smirks again.

“After you,” he gestures with a slight nod of his head.

You turn then, stomach twirling with anxiety as you lead him into the bedroom. Slow, deliberate steps to not flare up your injury. The air is a bit cooler and you shiver, goosebumps crawling up your skin. Your clock reads 0442, the golden rays of sunshine confirming the time.

Your bedroom isn’t messy, but a bit eclectic with the clutter - a few books stacked on your nightstand, a jewelry tray, and a few odds and ends from your purse scattered on your vanity. You always leave a lamp on, along with an essential oil diffuser. Eucalyptus and mint - your favorite.

Simon pads silently behind you, almost forgotten until you catch him out of the corner of your eye. You watch as he takes in the small space, a soft hum as his eyes dance around the room.

You had, for once made your bed today, a fluffy black duvet and a grey throw stretched across the queen size. You didn’t particularly need such a wide space, but it was a luxury of yours, being able to spread out on your own.

Walking (limping) around to your side of the bed, you take it slow when sitting down. You laugh suddenly, imagining what Simon must think of you - an old lady.

“Somethin’ funny?” he questions, a smile in his voice.

“I must look be a sight, hobbling around like this,” you laugh breathlessly.

A slight shake of his head, eyes nearly shut. He’s cheesin’. Simon steps around to meet you, mimicking his movements from a few weeks prior. Two of his thick fingers push into the rivet of your shoulder - a silent plea to lay on your back. Obviously, your bed is much comfier, plush pillows surrounding your head as you sigh. Eyelids fluttering, you look directly up at him, a blush dusting your cheeks as you wait for him to move.

A large hand slides down your side, settling in the crook of your hip. His fingers squeeze at the fat there, stabilizing the joint as his other hand slowly brings your knee up to point to the ceiling. The movements are much slower now, remembering from the first incident that he had caused you pain.

Your body is tense, waiting for the sharp ripple that travels down your thigh - it does, as soon as your hip flexor is tilted to the side.

A sharp cry punches out of your lungs, eyes immediately filling with tears.

“Sorry, love…” Simon murmurs, voicing genuine concern.

You sniffle, taking a deep breath as he makes the rotation back to the first position.

“You’re too tense,” he grumbles, releasing the hold on your knee before sliding his fingers down your bare leg, erupting goosebumps along their wake.

He allows his fingers to unfurl from your hip, pushing the hem of your shirt just above it, so that he can see the bare skin there.

Your eyes flicker down to the exposed spot, desperately wanting to yank your shirt back down.

“Where’s the salve?” he questions.

“Hm?” you hum, thoughts drifting again to his hands.

“The salve?” he questions again, eyebrows raising towards his hairline.

“Oh,” you sigh. “Bedside drawer.” you point to the nightstand to the right of you.

He rummages around for only a moment before the metal tin is in his large hands. Spinning the lid off, he dips two fingers down into the tincture before gently rubbing it into the skin of your hip. You whine softly, the cooling sensation a relief to the flared injury.

Simon huffs softly, eyes flitting over your near-naked form before settling on your own.

“Can’t be making noises like that, bunny,” he warns lowly.

A tingling sensation pulls in your stomach, desire pooling at the base of your spine. Only then do you notice his cock is straining against his pants, clearly turned on by your involuntary noises. You bite your lip hard, turning your head away to not look at him. He was doing you a favor - that was all. A favor for a friend…right?

“Simon,” you sigh softly. “I’m sorry.”

You roll your head back to the other side, blinking before looking up at his face. His brows furrow, confusion etching them into place.

“Don’t apologize,” he huffs, just a faint hint of frustration in his voice.

You can’t tell if he’s frustrated with himself or you. A frown turns your lips downward. His fingers have stopped rubbing the rest of the tincture into your skin, frozen in place as if he’s afraid to touch you again. His other hand is at a fist at his side, fingers clenching together in restraint. Simon’s chest rides and falls languidly as the moment passes, silence lingering in the shared space.

You take a deep breath before you speak,

“Is everything okay?”

His dark eyes flit to yours, pupils dilated to the point where they melt into his irises. Another unblinking gaze makes you a bit uneasy. A familiar flutter of panic itches at the back of your skull.

“No,” he finally answers, slicing the tension of silence with a verbal knife.

“Why?” you breathe out, entranced in his gaze, the rise and fall of your chest quickening.

“Because I want to touch you,” he admits, words so soft your ears are straining to hear them.

Your brain short circuits, a flood of arousal filling your panties. You tense slightly, an unwarranted reaction - before slowly relaxing and letting your legs fall open - an invitation. You’re still mindful of your injured hip, Simon’s fingers still slightly brushing the top of your thighs.

He groans then, a delightful noise that rattles around in his chest before spilling from his lips. Simon places his knee on the bed, slowly leaning his weight forward as he crawls up in between your legs. Your head was spinning, trying to catch up with what was unfolding before you. His touch is featherlight, fingers lightly brushing the bare skin of your calf closest to him. Sitting up on your elbows, you watch quietly, curious as to how this was going to play out.

The sun was starting to set, golden hues splaying across Simon’s form. A particular ray hit his eyes, revealing the brilliant ochre that spiraled within them. He looked like something of a god, on display for you and you only. Simon leans down then, pulling his mask down just a bit to place his lips on your skin. You shutter, the feeling of them erupting goosebumps. They were surprisingly soft, slightly chapped, and full. He slowly moves up your thigh, gentle kisses placed on your skin, nearly afraid of breaking you.

—

You were fragile in his eyes. Something that he wouldn’t dare to shatter. But yet, something in him wanted to, wanted to break and bend and manipulate you with his bare hands. Simon wanted to pull every ounce of pleasure from your body, to take away the pain that was lingering. He wanted to hear your pretty whines, watch your body react, and flush to his touches. Mold you into his own body, fitting the two as one. Dip his fingers into your soaking cunt. He opts for placing soft kisses first, warming you to his touch.

To his pleasure, you’re extremely reactive, soft sighs and hums of approval are music to his ears. His large hands slide up your bare thighs, admiring the smoothness of your skin. You answering your door in your underwear was not on his radar and completely threw him for a loop.

Things had moved quickly and now…now he was wanting to taste you. Mouth watering at the thought. Simon looks at you now, trembling under his touch, anticipation etched onto your pretty face. He’s resting on his stomach, broad shoulders causing you to stretch your good hip out almost near exertion. A slow lean down and…

His warm mouth makes contact with your clothed pussy, tongue flattening against the fabric and sliding up achingly slow. A low moan falls from your lips, head falling back against the pillow. Simon repeats the motion, slowly mapping out your folds to memory. A shudder of pleasure makes its way down your body and you reach a hand out, placing it on his bicep. You give it a light squeeze, fingers curling tight.

Soft moans of yours fill the air, along with the smell of your arousal. You’re dripping wet, soaked fabric of your panties clinging to your folds. Simon hasn’t let up since he began, your slick dripping down his chin. His mask is long forgotten, but his face is hidden between your legs, so you can’t see what he looks like in his entirety.

His long fingers brush against the side of your panties, causing your hips to jerk upwards suddenly. A sharp gasp punches out of your chest, pain radiating down your thigh once again. Tears spring up in your eyes - frustration causing them to bubble up and over onto your cheeks. Your eyes flutter closed and you are jostled by Simon moving. Cheeks burning hot with shame, you turn your face away.

Your lip trembles despite you trying your best to keep it still. This was a mistake, and now he was going to leave. Your hand curls itself into a fist at your bare side.

A touch to your face startles you, causing your eyes to flutter open in shock. Simon is still there, mask placed back on his face as he gazes down at you. He’s half leaning over you, hand placed by the space near your shoulder, eyes glittering with concern.

“Let’s try something different, yeah?” he suggests.

It takes a moment for your brain to process the words, still in shock that he is still here. He still wants to even though you ruined the moment. You nod slowly, still frozen and afraid to move due to the pain. Simon snakes his right hand down to wrap his long fingers around the fat of your hip. He squeezes tightly, holding the aching muscle in place as he climbs onto your bed yet again.

Simon’s straddling your left leg, taking the quick movement to switch your positions in one fluid moment. You yelp, hands flying out to land on his chest as you try to steady yourself. He’s still got a grip on your hip, the pressure keeping it from overextending itself as you sit in his lap. You can feel his length through your soaked panties.

He’s resting comfortably back against your pillows, eyes half closed as they lazily scan down your body. His chest rises and falls languidly, a sound of contentment rumbling throughout. It almost sounds like he’s purring. An experimental shifting of his hips has the tip of his cock brushing against your clit, sending fire licking down your spine.

A pathetic noise crawls up your throat, falling from your lips on its own accord. You watch as his mask crinkles again, eyes nearly closed as he smirks. Simon rolls his hips up towards your own, keeping you locked in place. All you can do is take it, his vice-like grip preventing you from moving. Your stomach flutters with arousal, slick dripping down your thighs as his cock slides against the sticky fabric of your panties.

“Look ‘atcha,” he praises. “Makin’ a mess and I’ve barely touched ya.”

Your lip trembles and you bite down hard, willing it to keep still. His eyes catch your own and you watch his pupils dilate. You can see a blurry reflection of yourself in them, watching your face contort in pleasure as Simon presses up into you. Another whine pulls from your throat, the friction not enough. You needed more - you tried to wiggle in his grip but to no avail.

“What’sa matter?” he mocks, tone almost turning mean. “This not enough for ya?”

You shake your head, a hot flush running down your neck and into your chest.

“N-No,” you gasp as he thrusts his hips upwards again. “I need you, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” he coos, squeezing your hip lovingly.

Simon doesn’t even bother to move you, just pushes your panties to the side and brushes his fingers through your folds. Your slick pools down onto his fingers, making it easy for him to press two inside. They’re thick, causing you to tense for a moment before relaxing and letting him in.

“‘Atta girl,” he praises again before sliding his fingers back out to the tips before thrusting back in your warm heat.

You moan, releasing your grip on his shoulder as he fucks you with his fingers. His other hand keeps you steady as he lowers you down and back just a bit, almost seated at an angle on his lap. Both of your legs are spread on either side of his hips, hand braced on the bed to keep yourself steady. Simon curls his long fingers towards himself, pressing that spongey spot that has your knees going weak.

“S-Simon,” you gasp, knees buckling inwards towards themselves.

His hand leaves your hip momentarily to push them gently back to their original position, keeping your glistening folds on display just for him. A laugh punches itself out of his chest, almost restrained. It’s a beautiful sound, one you wish you could’ve heard sooner. Simon takes the pad of his thumb and swirls it around your clit. Pleasure burning in your stomach and down your legs, you cry out, orgasm squeezing a moan out of your lungs. You tremble as it ignites your nerves, breath quickening as the pleasure wrecks your body.

He doesn’t slow his fingers, keeps milking every last drop until your body has settled. There’s a slight sheen of sweat on your skin, illuminated by the golden hues of your bedside lamp. A low whistle carries out, faintly hitting your ears as you try to push yourself back up into a sitting position. Your legs are like jelly and Simon laughs again before helping you up.

His fingers absentmindedly brush back and forth on your hip as he hums, giving you a moment to recollect yourself. Pleasure has your joints relaxed, and your hip no longer burning with discomfort. Your eyes roll languidly, almost as if floating in syrup, to meet his own. He’s watching you again, taking you all in. You try to get a good look at him - a slight furrow in his brows, almost as if he’s always in thought. The mask hides most of his face but you can tell his nose is a bit crooked - possibly broken? You fight the urge to reach out and run your fingers across the bridge. There’s a small spattering of freckles peaking out from underneath the mask and you smile.

“What?” he asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, smiling.

He huffs out a laugh, a small smile on his lips as he shakes his head. Hesitantly reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder, you give it a soft squeeze before you slide your hand down his chest and over the tented part of his scrubs. His eyes follow the trail, locking onto where your hand is slowly stroking up and down his length.

A shudder of a breath leaves his lips and his eyes fall shut. Touch-starved and desperate for more, Simon restrains himself from reaching out and flipping the two of you, wanting nothing more than to have you under him. He reminds himself to be careful with you.

You slide your hand into his pants, stroking him through his boxers. He’s fucking huge, filling your hand with his girth.

“Jesus,” you huff out in astonishment, a small laugh escaping past your lips.

“Too much to handle?” he quips, peeking one eye open to look at you.

“No!” you huff, biting your lip as you try to plan on how to begin.

“Here,” Simon sighs, taking both of your hands in one of his own while he shimmies out of his scrubs.

His cock strains against the confines of his boxers for a moment before he pulls them down too, finally letting it bounce against his stomach.

He’s oversized, pretty - creamy skin with a lush pink tip. It curves to the right just a bit and is leaking from being neglected for so long. You want to bend down and have a taste, mouth watering at the thought. Simon still has your hands on his own when he settles back down. You wriggle them free, wrapping your fingers around the base and stroking slowly up to the tip.

A low rumble of pleasure starts low in his chest, so you keep going, swiping your thumb over the tip. He’s super sensitive, length twitching in your hand as you tighten your grip. Simon’s lids are half closed, watching you languidly.

His hips act on their own accord, bucking into your hand to chase more pleasure. You’re transfixed - watching over and over as he fucks into your hand. The action has you clenching around nothing, wetness creeping down your thighs again. A whine creeps up your throat and you roll your hips slowly against his clothed thigh - unable to stop yourself.

“Just can’t get enough, can you?” he laughs, the sound getting interrupted by a moan as you squeeeeze your fingers tight around the base.

“Not fair,” he wheezes softly, hips stilled for a moment.

His thigh twitches, bumping up into your pussy, causing a spark of pleasure to pull in your core. Simon moves then, pulling his mask down and smashing his lips to yours. He leads the kiss, licking into your mouth with slow swipes of his tongue. You moan into his mouth, eyes falling closed and hands coming up to rest on his forearms. He tastes like Earl Grey and lingering tobacco. Simon moves his thigh up and down, the slick from your pussy drenching his pants. You whine against his lips, hips stuttering as pleasure overcomes you yet again.

“You comin’ again?” he asks with a laugh, smirking against your lips.

Your cheeks blaze furiously, tears pricking at your eyes as you come again. Simon kisses down your neck, biting down at the soft flesh above your collarbone. His arms wrap around your back, burying his face into the crook of your neck, and begins rolling your lower half up and down, up and down as you ride out your second orgasm against his thigh. You’re gasping for air, breath stuttering as pleasure squeezes your chest. All the stress forgotten as it washes over your body. You feel euphoric, the overwhelming release causing tears to fall down your face.

Simon shushes you quietly, rubbing soothing circles into your back as you come down again.

“There you go,” he coos. “Good…so good f’me.”

You sniffle, a laugh bubbling up and over your lips.

“Should’ve called you a lot sooner,” you joke.

He laughs loudly - the melodic sound filling the air.

“Mhmm…” he agrees, placing soft kisses on your overheated skin.

You tilt your head back, allowing him more access. Soft presses of lips to skin. It lights you on fire, desire tingling down to your toes. You arch up into his touch, sighing when his large hands caress your skin.

His thumbs brush across your nipples, stiffening them into peaks.

“Needy little thing…” he murmurs, sliding his hands down to the hem of your shirt to pull it up over your head.

Your shirt lays forgotten on the edge of your bed, you, bare except for your panties. A shiver runs down your spine, the cool air biting your skin. Simon shifts slightly, wrapping his hand around his cock and brushing the velvety tip through your folds. It catches on your entrance, slowly sinking into your pussy.

You moan, breath catching in your throat. His size stretches you open, causing your thighs to shake with exertion. Simon’s slow, allowing you to adjust before sliding you down another inch. His large hands keep you steady, squeezing the fat of your hips. There’s a moment of silence and that’s when you notice you’re trembling.

“S’okay,” he soothes, rolling his hips experimentally.

The tip bumps against your cervix - a mix of pain and pleasure.

“O-Oh,” you gasp, grasping at his shoulders for leverage.

Just like earlier, he has you pinned, stuck in pleasure as he slowly thrusts up into you. Your head falls back, arching your chest forward. Simon takes this opportunity to latch his mouth over your nipple. His tongue expertly runs over the bud, stiffening it yet again into a hard peak.

The sound of your bodies meeting echoes in your small room, the smell of sex heavy in the air. You clench around his length, wanting him even closer than physically possible.

“Bunny…” he warns, nipping at your jaw.

You laugh, pleasure blurring your mind’s worry. You can feel him in every thrust, thick cock bullying its way into your cervix. Simon’s pace has picked up, a steady motion of in out in out in out. You know he’s chasing his pleasure, large hands grabbing at your body ravenously. Itching to touch every part of your body, nothing left undiscovered by him.

He flips you quickly, your mind whirling from the sudden change of position. Simon steadies your hip, still so mindful as he pushes back in, the new angle causing your toes to curl.

“Ohmygod,” you cry out, breaths punched out of your lungs with every thrust.

Simon’s pace falters, growing sloppy as he chases his release. You clench around his cock and his hips stutter.

“Don’t ya fuckin’-“ he starts before you ignore him and do it again.

He curses, hips jolting as he comes.

“Fuck,” he moans, filling your pussy full.

You whine, the feeling overwhelming as he thrusts a few more times before slowly pulling out. A mixture of slick and him leaks down your thighs, cooling in the air. You grimace, going to sit up but Simon pushes you down. He gets up, walks to your bathroom, and grabs a washcloth to run under the warm water. It feels good on your skin as he cleans you up. He then grabs your shirt, picking you up to pull it over your head before gently laying you back down.

Your breathing has started to even, eyes closed as sleep threatens to pull you away. A cold feeling on your hip has you yelping - the salve. Simon has placed a generous amount on your skin, rubbing it in gently. Your eyes crack open to peek at him, he has his mask on again and you frown slightly - sad you weren’t able to see his face.

“Rest up dove, you still owe me,” he winks, leaning over and crawling back into bed with you.

As you start to drift, Simon pulls you close to his chest, warmth causing a slight shiver as you shift to get comfortable. He pulls a blanket over the two of you, warmth breath brushing your neck. His mask off once more. You smile, eyes fluttering shut as you snuggle down into the blankets, and the thought of how you were going to explain to your friend suddenly pops up. Shit. You couldn’t hide this from her.

“What should I say if she asks?” you mumble, almost half asleep.

“Hm..?” Simon rouses, nearly dozing himself.

“What do I tell her what happened this weekend?” you ask him.

“Tell her it was an emergency,” he laughs softly, pulling you closer as he rests his face into the crook of your neck.

[crimson-luna-writes]

My first work for Monsttober 2024! I stayed up til 12am finishing this lol 😭

[lapseinrecs]

Loyalty, Family, and Snarkiness

By CrimsonWriter @rubythecrimsonwriter

On Archive of Our Own

Status: Complete; Oneshot; 3,841 words; 3rd part of Fury’s Stresses series

Summary: Demigods are protective of their own. It's a fact of life. It's not one that Director Fury really appreciates, though. Especially not when there's a Norse demigod in the midst of all of this.

My thoughts: Very tell not showy because it mostly focuses on trying to explain demigods and the mythological world to Fury, but it’s also pretty funny.

[freddie-77-ao3]

fic recs!!! mainly bc @ebony-reine-vibes is getting an ao3 account now and some of these fics really add to my personal headcanon or i reference them a lot

writers (as in i read EVERYTHING they write, adore it all, highkey rec but that would add like. 150 bullet points to this post):

caffienatedflumadiddle,

IzzyMRDB,

WardofWinters,

TheTimeTraveler24,

JustALilSnail,

and

shelfthe_reader

Short fics (under 30k):

Godly Parenting 101 series by Azei,

Thalia Grace's Foolproof Guide To Punching Luke Castellan In The Face by melimarron,

the miscalculations of lightning girl by stopiwanttotalkaboutcheese,

our ceiling is your floor series by mallsthemyth,

faces, voices, memories; by sobremesavpetrichor

The Ghosts Can Sing and They Ache to be Heard by skatefast_eatgrass

i'm the one you tell your fears to; there'll never be enough of us by anthropologys

In the Amber of a Moment by Rynna_Aurelius

War and Death aren't synonyms (but they're not antonyms either) series by miniongrin

fractured chesspieces by nerdling_queen

and

the anatomy of a hurricane by barbarianprincess

medium fics (30-100k)

the darkness of the depths is forgotten in the surf by poisedwalrus

camp counselors au series by buoyantsaturn

trading tomorrow by darkmagyk and loosingletters

Argonauts by RainKiss

Long fics (100-300k)

the grace of the gods is a grace that comes by violence series by californiannostalgia (have to have ao3 to view)

All Together, Cousins by CrimsonWriter

Trade of Trickery by Faeriekit

PJO Arranged Marriage/Royalty AU by Gates_of_Ember

the grace of the gods is a grace that comes by violence series by californiannostalgia (have to have ao3 to view)

All Together, Cousins by CrimsonWriter

Trade of Trickery by Faeriekit

To Preserve Or Raze 'Verse series by FoxyAtlas (again, have ao3 to view)

Extra long fics (over 300k)

august by cordeliarose

constellations series by liketolaugh

so collect your scars and wear them well series by yrbeecharmer

[suresha]

@crimsonwrit​  //  script  starter.

                       You  reek  of  vampire.  New  in  town?

[wistcrias-arch2]

@crimsonwrit​ said : ❛   god ,  it’s  brutal  out  here .  ❜ janis sarkisian ➵ cady heron 

          ❝ 𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬... 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞, ❞ cady said tentatively. she glanced around the cafeteria, wincing as a seat was stolen out from under a sort of nerdy looking kid with oversized glasses. he swallowed and tried to laugh it off, but the blush across his face sold him out.

❝ but... yeah. you’re right. it is. ❞ and she was glad then, to have janis. and more so... to have regina. the plastics. even if they were apparently not to be trusted... they did keep her safe. and cady liked being safe. it was a dog eat dog world here in high school –– could you blame her for wanting to be at the top of the food chain? 

[spectrophobias]

“I wonder if I still have that ouija board…” rosalie @ alice

"you do!" alice says after only a fraction of a moment, her eyes lighting up with excitement. she tries not to get too ahead of herself, finding the mystery of things like that to be a big part of the fun, but her power does come in handy for finding lost things. she's willing to cheat there, at least. already bouncing a little, it's clear that there's no way for rosalie to get out of this now, and she grins as she grabs one of rose's hands to squeeze in both of her own. "top shelf of your closet, behind the brown sweater. i'll get some candles, meet me in my room in five!!"

and with that, alice dashes off and up the stairs to commandeer a few of esme's candlesticks and holders and set up in her room, because if they're going to do this, they're going to do it right. this house is so fucking haunted, just look at it, and alice will prove it if it's the last thing she does.

@crimsonwrit

[moonshinaes]

✨

Send ( ✨ ) if we haven’t interacted yet, but you want to.

hey, babes! feel free to tag me in any starters or send memes! <3

[aladysweapon]

"I've never met a royal like you before." -sansa for janei

@crimsonwrit

"Most likely because I am not a royal.", Janei pointed out, her lips forming a thin like while her gaze lingered on the young lady. "Queen Cersei has married into the royal family, meaning her kin does not belong to it." It also meant that she was stuck serving her cousin in the Red Keep, instead of constantly enjoying its luxuries.

[nitewingbabi]

see you there

[crimsonvictory]

The Bet

MINORS DNI

Word Count: 8.2k

Tags: Simon Riley x Reader, Ghost x Reader

Warnings: mature, p-in-v sex, sexual tension, overstimulation

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

It had all started with a bet. A stupid bet fueled by the desire to slice the Achilles' of one another. The rules were simple. First to make contact loses the bet. Easy enough, right?  

The first few days were no problem for you. Thinking of him was the least of your worries – at least, until you were alone with your own thoughts. The constant spiral of want pooling your thoughts and your panties. There were no rules on touching yourself, though. You spend the next twenty minutes getting your body to its well-known peak, almost over the precipice when there’s a heavy succession of pounding on your barracks door. Throwing your head back in exasperation, you adjust your sweatpants back around your hips before getting up and opening the door, glaring up at the very tall shadow blocking the hallway light. 

“You forget ‘bout sparring?” he asks, tone apparently bored due to having to come and get you. 

He’s sans mask and grease paint, a softer balaclava covering his features. His eyes bore into your own, gaze unwavering. 

“Shit, give me just a minute-” you start, but he’s already disappeared out of sight. 

Grabbing your gym bag, you throw it up over your shoulder with a huff. Stumbling into your gym shoes, you pad down the long hallway, adjusting your falling sock on the way. The gyms across the courtyard, so you push the rollbar on the door to start that way, relieved that the cool night air hits your flushed skin. The strap on your bag is digging into your shoulder on the way over. You adjust it a few times before you arrive. It’s later in the evening, not many in the vicinity. That’s how you like it. Either early in the morning or late at night – depending on your schedule. 

He’s already warming up in the ring, large hands wrapped in tape. You can’t help but watch the dip of the muscles along his back as he brings his chest close to the mat before pushing back up again. Dropping your bag on the bench next to his own, you pull your tape out and begin to wrap your wrists snugly. Doing an experimental roll on your right wrist, you test the flexibility of the tape, deeming it acceptable. Mimicking your left hand, you rewrap a few times until you feel it’s comfortable enough. 

Work related touching did not count for the bet. You both had to practice your sparring techniques, considering the two of you were anticipating an upcoming mission that was only two weeks out and Ghost did not deem you worthy of holding your own. You were damn determined to show him. Gaz had been helping you when both of you had free time. You had subtly improved in the past couple weeks, able to get Gaz pinned under your grip the last few tries of the night. 

There was no way in hell you would pin Ghost. He was way too fucking big for that. So, you had to use other techniques to bring him to his knees. Not that you would mind seeing him that way. 

“C’mon then, don’t have all night,” he barks out, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

You step through the ropes, crouching so as not to disturb them. Straightening up, you step back to your corner of the mat. Despite sparring together numerous times over the past few weeks, you’re still intimidated by him. Ghost brings a whole different level to sparring. Broad shoulders rolling back and setting up in their comfortable fighting stance. You mimic, planting your feet squarely on the mat. 

“Show me what you’ve got bunny,” he says, balaclava contorting against his skin. 

Bastard’s smiling. 

You take a deep breath, calming your racing heart as you determine what would be the best starting point for breaking him down. Faking left, you quickly spin right, bringing your foot up and swinging out to contact his upper thigh. His large hand wraps around your foot, easily stopping it from making contact and knocking you off your balance. You land on your back with a thud, air hissing out of your lungs, making it hard to breathe. 

Taking a few seconds to regain yourself, you move just in time to miss Ghost’s open palm contacting your face. You position yourself quickly, squaring your feet and planting them solidly. While he’s recovering from his swing, you take this time to go for the back of his knee. Contacting a swift kick, you get him down. He stumbles forwards, attempting to right himself when you land another jab in-between his ribs with an open hand, thumb tucked under your four fingers. 

He huffs in annoyance, swatting blindly to try and grab you. You lash out and grab his arm, twisting up and back behind his head. You’re not able to hold for long due to the mere size and strength he musters. He taps the mat three times, signaling you won that round. You grin with pride. 

“Not bad,” he winces, rubbing his ribs right where you jabbed your pointer and middle fingers through. 

You roll your shoulders, adjusting before squatting back down in your fighting stance.  

“Not gonna go easy on ya’,” he clarifies, lurching forwards before his sentence is even finished. 

It nearly catches you off guard, but you can move faster than him. Spinning on your left foot, you are out of his reach and now must recover before he lunges again. He lands a kick to your shin, causing you to crouch in pain. Through gritted teeth, you quickly somersault to avoid another swift kick. He grabs you by the ankle, dragging you close to him. You wriggle in his grip, rolling once again to try and loosen his fingers. It’s no use, his grip is like a vice. You lean up, trying to pry his fingers off you. You take a halfhearted swipe at his arm, throwing your head back in frustration when it’s apparent he is not letting go. He takes your other leg in his left hand, twisting it up and off the mat. 

Gritting your teeth, you angrily tap the mat three times. He releases in an instant, your legs slamming to the mat with a thud. He gives you a moment, allowing you to pull your leg to your body and rub your ankle. There’s no doubt you will have bruises tomorrow. You huff in frustration, a light sheen of sweat on your skin now. Brushing your hair out of your eyes, you ready up again. 

It's your turn to start once again. You slide on your left knee, swiping at Ghost’s feet. Your shoes encounter his shins, but it barely affects him. He just side steps and readies his stance again. Trying not to get aggravated and let your emotions swallow your focus, you slide again, swiping at his shins and then kicking up into his hip. You’ve got to get him down. Remembering your training with Gaz, your main goal was to distract. Especially with a bigger target. You throw your arms up, deflecting a jab straight to your ribs. Throwing them back down, you knock his arm out of the way. Ghost’s tattooed arm. Ink splattering up and hiding under the cuff of his tee. You shake your head, honing your thoughts on winning this sparring match. You couldn’t be the one getting distracted. Biting your lip, you throw an open palm forward, you make steady contact with his sternum. It takes you by surprise. You look up at him in shock. He stumbles a bit – you take the opportunity. 

You strike again, and when he stumbles yet again, you swipe your foot under his feet, knocking him to the ground. What you weren’t expecting was Ghost to pull you down on top of him. You land on his chest with a thud. Both of you are breathing heavily. You feel sweat dripping down your back. 

“Not bad, bunny,” he huffs, hint of a laugh in his voice. 

You muster a halfhearted grin, trying your best not to acknowledge the position the two of you are in right now. Does he even know what he does to you? Ghost shifts under you, placing his foot firmly on the ground. This action lifts his hips upwards, bumping them against your own. You bite back the desperate noise clawing up the back of your throat. 

“Somethin’ the matter?” he asks languidly, not a care in the world, what a prick. 

Your panties say otherwise. 

“No-“you bite out quickly, shoving your palms against his chest and pushing yourself into a sitting position.  

His gaze lazily follows your form, his eyes take a moment, almost as if they were swimming in honey. Pupils blown wide, nearly black with Desire? Want? You didn’t want to finish the thought, an uncertainty pooling in your belly. 

Taking a deep breath, you go to stand up, but his hand reaches out lightning fast, gripping onto the fat of your hip. 

“Where ya, goin?” he asks, a predatory smile in his voice. 

You can’t look away, almost entranced by his gaze. He’s fucking terrifying. Your breath hitches in your throat, almost choking you. Ghost was always an uncertainty; you never knew what cards he had within his deck. Unpredictability is what made him a valuable part of the team.  

He squeezes your hip once, a warning. Watching for your reaction. Touching was off the rules, but this was still a part of the sparring session, right? You feel a blush bloom wildly across your cheeks and down your chest, the heat from your desire pooling straight to your core. A soft shudder emerges from the moment. His thumb brushes back and forth over the skin peaking from under your training shirt. A sliver of vulnerability that has you desperately grabbing at what little restraint that you had left. 

A wild card was always hidden and used within the most vulnerable moment. And that’s what he was doing. You recognized it almost immediately. He was falling apart faster than you were and tried using it to his advantage. You internally curse yourself for almost falling under his spell. Losing this bet was off the fucking table. Gritting your teeth, you loosen his grip from your hip and stand up. 

“Not losing this bet is what I’m doing,” you huff, adjusting your hair back into the loose ponytail that had fallen down on your shoulder. 

He laughs then, a sound almost punched out of his chest. An odd, but melodic thing. 

“Damn,” he curses. “Almost had ya.” 

“I’m not that easy to break,” you huff, top lip curling up in frustration. 

“We’ll see about that, bunny,” he warns. 

— 

The next few days passed with no incident. In fact, Ghost was nowhere to be found. Guess he lived up to his callsign after all. You kept yourself busy – to the best of your ability. Studying up on the upcoming mission took up most of your time. Especially when you needed a distraction from the physical want that was etching itself in your body. You were being ridiculous, you knew that. Plenty of years had passed before you had even met Ghost, but there was something about him that you could not stay away.  

He was alluring in the way he presented himself. Using his body language to convey his point. He made you pay attention to him. Small, minute movements that almost had you second guessing if you had even seen them. A roll of the eyes, ticking of the jaw under his balaclava, the clenching and unclenching of his fists to hide his struggle with restraint. You became a master at reading him. 

He wasn’t one to let others close, but you had somehow managed to squeeze through. You didn’t take his bullshit, always confronting him and holding your ground. To be honest, you believed you intimidated him. A power play that always worked to your advantage. The two of you butted heads often, a sign of similar thinking. He was a solid partner to have in the field, but it was hard to think straight when said partner caused you to have unsolicited thoughts when you were at work. 

The temptation of what could be was the main culprit. You took pride in yourself, not making your way to bed with just anyone. They had to earn you. And you were damned sure to make Ghost beg for you. It would work. You could already see him unraveling at the seams. It wouldn’t be long now. But you were a little uncertain on how you would hold up.  

He had a way of unwantingly getting under your skin. Ghost knew how to push your buttons and for some ungodly reason, you liked it. Did he know how much you daydreamed of him? How his mouth felt…his hands…his… 

Another intrusive thought breaking knock had your head whipping upwards a little too quickly. A sharp crack popping the top of your neck. 

“Ow, fuck,” you wince, reaching up and rubbing the sore spot. 

Again, you make your way to the door, slowly opening it. To your surprise, it’s not Ghost. It’s Gaz. 

“You forget about sparring?” he asks, almost a complete mirror of your conversation with Ghost a couple of days ago. 

You shake your head quickly, the crick still there from moments earlier. Grabbing your shoes and gym bag, you follow Gaz down the hall. Unlike Ghost, he waits for you as you readjust the weight on your shoulder.  

“I’ve got a couple of new maneuvers we can try this evening. I don’t think Ghost will see them coming,” he grins, white of his teeth flashing at you. 

“Oh really?” you ask, eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise. 

He nods, excitedly talking with his hands, demonstrating the move as you make your way to the gym. It’s late in the evening, just how you like it. Gaz pulls his sweatshirt off from over his head, revealing a tight fitted task force issued shirt. You set your bag down, starting to tape up your hands as he flicks the rest of the lights on. 

What you weren’t expecting was the behemoth of a shadow to appear under the last flickering light. 

“Fuck!” you shout in surprise, dropping your roll of tape onto the floor. It lies forgotten. 

“L.T., respectfully what the fuck?” Gaz questions, also a little unsettled that he was just standing in the dark. 

He says nothing for a moment, silence stretching thin with discomfort. You shoot a glance over at Gaz and he shrugs his shoulders in confusion.  

“I’ll be takin’ over this sparring session,” he finally comments, breaking the thick silence. 

You immediately protest, harsh words flying from your lips before you can stop them. 

“Like hell you are! Gaz and I are doing just fine without you. You’re just pissed you couldn’t pin me Tuesday morning,” you huff, the feeling of frustration pulling your eyebrows together. 

Ghost crosses his arms.  The fabric of his t-shirt is stretched thin over the bulge of his muscles. He nonchalantly rolls his head to the side, a non-verbal “try me”.  You nearly scream in frustration. All the pent-up energy from your little bet is starting to eat at you. Whether you want to admit it or not. You couldn’t stand the constant yo-yoing of Ghost being gone and then suffocatingly all up in your space. He treated you like a child, unable to handle things on your own. You’ve proven yourself to be a valuable team member to everyone except him. 

“I’m sparring with Gaz,” you repeat, standing your ground. 

You stand defiant, chin raising upwards towards the ceiling. You weren’t backing down. He didn’t scare you. Ghost drops his arms in mock defeat, sauntering quietly closer to you. Your eyes flit to the ticking of his jaw. He’s frustrated with you. Good. Serves him right. His height takes him no time to fill up the space you were defending. Nearly blocking out the sight of Gaz with his broad shoulders. You grit your teeth, finally making eye contact with him. 

His pupils are blown, nearly taking up his entire iris. It makes your tummy flutter with want. You internally curse yourself, trying your best to stand your ground. Your resolve is failing.  

“Easy,” he warns, thick accent turning your insides to molten honey. 

Your breath catches, mind racing to respond to him in a way that won’t make you look like a lovestruck idiot. But then, an almost sinister thought pops into your head. One that could work either way – to your advantage or to your disadvantage. You decide to try it. Looking up at him from underneath your eyelashes, you flutter them almost lovingly in his direction. 

“Pretty please L.T.?” you almost beg, dropping your voice into a sultry tone. 

He shifts almost immediately, your words having an extreme effect on his resolve. You can see it in the way his fists clench tightly against his sides. He’s physically restraining himself to not touch you. It makes you blush furiously, heat spreading rapidly across your cheeks. 

“Get on then,” he barks out, turning quickly on his heel and leaving the gym with a slam of the metal door. 

You turn back to Gaz, eyes wide in surprise. You really didn’t think that your idea would work. 

“What-?” Gaz starts to ask, but you dismiss his question with a halfhearted wave of your hand. 

Your sparring session goes quite well. Gaz is a great partner to work with. His new routine makes you finesse your limbs in a way that you had never tried before. The new techniques take some time to get the fluidity down, but by the end of your session, you’re dripping with sweat, exhaustion seeping into your overexerted muscles. You feel accomplished enough, ready to take a shower and call it a day. Gaz walks you back to your room. Congratulating you on your accomplishments and how easily you picked up his well-thought out maneuvers. The two of you make plans to go out this weekend before your mission the following week. 

-- 

Your limbs are trembling with exhaustion as you step into the shower. The hot water hitting your muscles makes you moan in relief.  Suds from your favorite body wash make the room smell pleasant and you move slowly to relish the delicious feeling from the water. You’re hesitant to step out, the cold air biting at your overheated skin. It’s late, you note as you brush your teeth and apply the steps of your skincare routine. Overworn pajamas caress your soft skin, and your damp hair frames your face as you make your last rounds to make sure everything is set up for the next day. This way, you can sleep in a little later. You’re not much of a morning person. 

-- 

You don’t remember falling asleep. Eyes blearily blinking open to the annoying drone of your alarm. You smack it haphazardly, snoozing for another couple of minutes. It’s Saturday. A slower day that you can appreciate. Today is mostly a paperwork day. Last couple of hours before your mission on Monday. Nerves set your body alight, twisting your stomach and making a lump appear in your throat. You do your best to keep yourself calm. An unpredictable environment is part of the job. You just have a hard time pre-adjusting to the fact. Once you’re in the field, you adapt rather quickly. However, this stupid bet with Ghost needs to either come to an end or be forgotten for the time being until the mission is over. You cannot afford to be distracted while out in the field. 

Your day goes by rather quickly. You spend most of the morning running and deciphering reports before dropping them off to Price later in the afternoon. On your way, you run into Gaz, who regrets informing you that your plans must be postponed, as he has training hours to make up for an upcoming performance review. It sours your mood a little, pulling a frown onto your features for a little while. You were looking forward to a distraction for the evening. 

Price is in his office talking with Ghost. You could tell his silhouette from any shadow within the facility. Not wanting to interrupt, you sneak up to the dropbox, laying your papers in the spot as quietly as possible. You can’t help but overhear their conversation, cursed by a lingering curiosity. 

“Don’t think she’s a good fit for this mission,” Ghost grumbles. 

His arms are crossed in annoyance, picking at the sleeve of his sweater almost nervously. But you know him. He’s not nervous. It’s out of boredom. 

“Sparrin’s not her strong suit. Barely got me down last week. She’s fuckin’ strugglin’,” he continues. 

Your body heats with anger, shame flushing hot down the back of your neck. You swallow your pride, nearly choking on it as you turn hotly on your heel and make your way back to your office. Packing up your things in a rush, you knock your laptop to the floor. It clatters loudly against the tile. 

“Fuck,” you grumble, reaching down to pick it up and place it in your tote bag. 

Heavy sounding footsteps echo down the hallway. You know by the pacing of the gate that it’s Ghost. It only makes you angrier. You were trying to get out of here in a hurry before he saw how his words affected you. Panic surges in your limbs, making your fingers quiver. You try your best to swallow the lump that is forming in your throat at the thought of having to talk to him. He walks right past your office, not even looking at you. 

You could have screamed. With a huff, you slam your door shut and fumble with the key a few times before getting it successfully in the lock. Your room isn’t far from the office building, so you quickly cross the yard and walk down the hallway. The sounds of your footsteps echo and bounce, sounding out your anger. Unlocking the door, you throw your bag down on the end of your bunk, yanking your shoes off and throwing them down as well. You sit on the edge of the bed, smoothing your hair down in a self-soothing motion. 

The anger still swirling in your chest, you feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill over. This was fucking ridiculous. You were acting like a spoiled child. Price had not said anything to you about the mission, nor anything about plans changing at the last minute. So, you don’t understand why you were getting so upset. Probably over the fact that you thought of Ghost highly, especially because of his status, but because of your personal feelings as well. Those, you needed to get ahold of before things turned sour. 

You couldn’t believe that he would go behind your back and say what he did to Price. The bet was getting the best of him and with your little stunt you pulled, you had no doubt that was what sparked him to even bring it to Price’s attention. You were a goal-driven individual, someone who took pride in their work and accomplishments. Someone talking behind your back on your performance is not something you would take lightly. 

So, you decided to do something about it. Walking over to your small fridge, you pulled out a bottle of liquid confidence (raspberry vodka) and took a big swig before slamming the door shut. You feel the warmth of the alcohol settle quickly in your tummy. Feeling this gave you the determination you needed to make your way down the hall, across the yard, and up the stairs to Ghost’s room. Never have you ever been to the Lieutenant’s corridors. You had no reason to be here, except for now. Taking a deep breath, you set your shoulders back and knock loudly on his door. 

The rattle of your knuckles against the metal echoes loudly in the hallway. Not a soul was there. You were starting to doubt yourself. What you didn’t think of was the fact that he might not even be here. This was stupid. A stupid, rookie mistake that you didn’t even begin to think through because you were upset. A sinking feeling pools in your stomach. 

Then, the door opens.  Revealing a slightly disheveled Ghost. You notice he’s still in work attire, tactical pants, steel toe boots, tight black shirt stretching deliciously across his broad chest. No grease paint, softer balaclava as opposed to the hard skull mask. 

You swallow, unable to look him in the eyes. You focus over his shoulder instead.  

“What?” he asks rather rudely, accent clipped, not in the mood for whatever you have brought him. 

Your upper lip pulls upwards in annoyance, the fire igniting in your belly once again. 

“Can we talk?” you ask. 

“Already are,” he deadpans. 

You huff at that, rolling your eyes. 

“Fucking forget it,” you say, turning on your heel and stepping to leave. 

Large fingers encircle your wrist, tugging you backwards. You stumble, attempting to stable your footing as he releases you just as quickly as he grabbed you. There are still rules to follow. He’s leaning up against the doorframe, looking as bored as ever as he crosses his arms over his chest. His gaze is unwavering, dark eyes watching you in a way that makes you borderline uncomfortable. Your heart is pounding steadily, you can hear the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh in your ears. 

“What’s the problem?” he asks nonchalantly. 

It takes all the courage you can muster, but you finally reply. 

“You,” your voice shakes, a wobbly sounding thing. 

It reminds you of when you were a younger girl, no confidence backing your statements. It makes you want to curl up into a ball. You feel tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You’re humiliated, sniffling as your lip trembles with emotion. He’s gotten the best of you. You’re so frustrated, pent-up desires digging hard into your insides, making it almost unbearable to be around him.  It’s hard to see him through the glassy tears in your eyes, but you notice his eyebrows shoot upwards towards his hairline. 

You’re making him uncomfortable. You can tell his demeanor changes. A furious flush of embarrassment spreads wildly across your face. Quickly twisting your head to the side, you use your hair to cover your face. A gentle touch on your wrist startles you. His grip is gentle, almost concerning. You can’t bear to look at him, shame turning your stomach sour. 

“Hey,” his voice is quiet, much quieter than you’ve ever heard it before. 

Almost as if it was reserved for someone special. You’re not special to him. At least, not in your own mind. He was your Lieutenant, and you, his inferior. This little game you decided to delve into wasn’t the best idea. It seemed fun at first, almost like a challenge, but now, you wanted to kick it under the dark recesses of the rug and never look at it again. You knew you didn’t have a chance with him, which is why you played the game. It didn’t have the chance to come to fruition. Unless? 

You take a chance and look up at him. His gaze has softened, usually dark eyes almost the color of honey.  

“Such a dense, little thing,” he tuts, hint of a smile in his voice. 

You frown at that, confusion apparent on your face. He steps closer to you, invading your personal bubble. Popping it with the irony of an invisible needle. Leaning down, his covered lips almost touch the shell of your ear when he speaks. 

“You don’t realize what you do to me.” 

A full shudder makes its way down your body, goosebumps prickling along your skin. You’re speechless, His confession clung to your thoughts like a persistent melody, haunting and insistent. It couldn’t be true, there was no way. You try finding the words, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Ghost is still lingering by your ear, soft puffs of air tickling your skin. 

“You don’t mean that,” you whisper. 

“I do,” he answers almost instantly. 

You close your eyes, lip getting caught on your teeth. You take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders before taking a glance up at him. He’s back to his towering height, must’ve moved when your eyes were closed. Swirls of desire are present in his eyes. Gaze unwavering as he stands before you. 

“Do I need to prove it to ya?” he questions, stepping forwards before stopping himself and staying rooted in his spot.  

The bet. The stupid, stupid bet. He’s fighting the restraint, barely holding his resolve. Ghost’s nearly trembling before you. You hold the power in this situation. He’s offering you the reigns. You decide to take a leap of faith and go for it. 

A small smile appears on your face as you nod slowly. You watch as his eyes grow dark, almost predatory. Frozen in your spot, your heart starts to race. A chill of adrenaline runs down your spine, causing a shiver. Your eyes are locked on his unwavering gaze. Trying to analyze his every thought, every move that he might make. 

He steps forward then, taking up your space. It’s almost suffocating. You remind yourself to take a deep breath through your nose. His large fingers spread themselves over the fat of your hip, pulling you flush to his broad chest.  

Bet broken. 

You don’t know where to place your hands so you lay them across his chest, absentmindedly stroking the fabric of his black shirt. His fingers mimic your own, brushing the fabric of your shirt up to make contact with your skin. He’s burning hot with desire, his warmth leaching into your exposed skin. 

You look up at him, the blush furiously warming the skin on your face. He’s a lot more intimidating up close. Your eyes scan his face, noticing the soft spattering of freckles threatening to peak up over his balaclava. Freckles! His gaze has softened, eyes flitting around your face, taking you all in. 

You watch as his dark eyes flicker down to your lips and back up again. 

“You wanna kiss me, L.T.?” you whisper. 

He makes a soft noise at that. It crawls up his throat and makes its way out before he can stop it. You watch in awe as he quickly flips the black balaclava up and over his nose, folding it haphazardly across the bridge. There’s a small scar splitting his upper lip. He’s smiling, a crooked thing. Makes him human. Your stomach flutters with want. 

His large fingers caress your jaw, sweeping a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. Ghost’s thumb brushes your lower lip, pulling it down slightly before letting it bounce back to its normal position. He makes another soft sound, one that makes your heart lurch. He leans down then, tilting your chin up to meet his lips. 

They’re surprisingly soft. You brush your lips together, testing the water. He tastes of chamomile and a hint of a long-forgotten cigarette. Your eyes flutter closed, and you relax, letting him take the lead. You follow blindly, stumbling alongside in the dark, letting touch take the forefront. Relaxing your lips, you let them fall open, allowing his tongue to slither its way into your mouth. Your hands are still on his chest, clutching the dark shirt between your fingers. 

His tongue dances with yours, an unfamiliar tango, but it works, nonetheless. You’re clumsy, a bit out of practice. He doesn’t seem to mind. It’s only when he pulls away that you realize that you’re both still out in the hallway. A soft sound of disappointment falls from your lips. Your turn. Ghost steps backwards, beckoning you into his room with crook of his fingers. You follow faithfully, keeping as close to him as you can. Once the door is shut, he’s on you in an instant. Pressing you up against the cool metal frame of the door. 

It feels good on your heated skin. You reach up on your tippy toes, looping your arms haphazardly around his neck. Ghost buries his face in yours, using his nose to tilt your chin up for better access. His lips brush against the thin skin of your pulse point before a sharp pinch causes a yelp to fall from your lips. Just as quickly as it was there, it’s gone, soothed by the swipe of a masterful tongue. Your breathing quickens, a familiar wetness pooling in your panties. You cross your legs, trying to relieve it with friction. 

He’s tugging at your shirt now, almost frantically. You help by untangling your arms from around his neck and lifting them over your head. Once your shirt is gone, you feel a bit vulnerable. You swallow, eyes down casting to the floor. You take a moment to look at your surroundings. It’s dim, the room lit by one small lamp. Military neat as well. No personal items on display. You don’t know Ghost at all. In the room with a stranger.  

His deep voice brings you out of your thoughts, refocusing your attention in front of you. Your shirt is still in his hands, arms resting at his sides. 

“You alright?” he asks, trained eyes watching your every move. 

You nod a little too quickly. He notices immediately. Your shirt is dropped to the floor, forgotten as he slowly steps backwards, sitting down on the edge of his bed. His legs spread, inviting you to fit perfectly inside. 

Stumbling forwards, you slowly step forwards until you’re in between his legs, locked in, no turning back now. He lured you in yet again and you didn’t even hesitate. His dark eyes watch your every move, slowly scanning up and down your body. They stop at the bruise blossoming along your hip. 

His eyebrows scrunch in curiosity, large hand darting out to investigate. You momentarily flinch at first contact, but he is as gentle as can be. 

“Where’d this come from?” he murmurs, eyes focused on the spot, almost as if he could erase it with sight alone. 

“Oh,” you awkwardly cough, adverting his gaze yet again. “Just from sparring...” you mumble. 

“I did this?” he asks incredulously.  

You can’t look him in the eye, gaze focused on the plain wall in front of you.  

“’M sorry...” he murmurs again, and to your surprise, you feel soft lips brush against your exposed skin. 

You shiver at the sudden contact, hands gently resting on his covered head. His touch is so gentle, as soft as the brush of a butterfly wing. Your eyes flutter closed again, relaxing your body against his own. He takes his time, lips exploring the exposed skin of your torso. You’re not used to him being so gentle with you, almost afraid that he might break you. 

You want him to. 

The heat radiating off his body lures you closer, a moth to the flame, desperate for warmth. You slide your hands down to his broad shoulders, squeezing them gently. The muscle is rigid under your touch. You feel a slight tremble, nervousness or restraint? 

“You’re not going to hurt me, L.T.,” you sigh. 

He huffs at that, the air from his lungs curling around your hip.  

“Already did, and y’ didn’t tell me,” he grumbles. 

It’s your turn to huff. You glance down at him, searching for his eyes. They’re closed, letting his hands commit you to memory. 

“L.T. Look at me.” 

His pretty eyes are on yours in an instant. The velvety circles of brown take your breath away. His gaze is intent, laser focused on your mouth. Something about the way that he follows orders immediately flips a switch inside of you. 

“You’re a good listener,” you murmur, almost to yourself. 

Nothing slides past Ghost though. 

“I can be,” he utters. 

You look at him then, really look at him. A smile threatens to pull the corner of your lip up.  

“Would you listen to me?” you question. 

His brows furrow again, not in confusion, but in consideration. His eyes dart around your frame for a minute before landing back on your face. 

“I don’ see why not, where do you want me?” 

Your stomach tugs at that. 

“On your knees.” 

-- 

A choked sound leaves his lips and he’s down before you in a flash, knees spread and hands resting comfortably on the tops of his large thighs. Oh, he’s pretty. Ghost waits patiently, almost in anticipation of your next command. Your thoughts are racing, a jumbled mess of what if’s and then if’s. You weren’t expecting the night to turn this way, but you wouldn’t change it for anything. The pool of wetness in your panties was growing noticeably larger, threatening to spill down your leg. 

“Do you like being on your knees?” you genuinely question. 

“Not opposed to it,” he answers coolly. 

Almost as if he’s been here before. You wonder how he keeps himself so calm. You’re nearly a blubbering mess, not used to being in control of anything. You take a step back, really soaking in the moment. The soft amber glow from the single lamp on his desk illuminates his figure, casting a soft glow on his body. He’s all hard ridges though, nothing soft about him, except the noises that crawl up his throat. 

“How far are you willing to move the balaclava?” you ask, not wanting to push. 

“Nose bridge,” he answers with a sigh. 

So, no moving that. You frown a little but respect his decision. Making your way back over to him, you place a hand on his shoulder.  

“Okay?” you ask. 

He nods, however his eyes are wide, almost like a frightened animal. You gently pet his shoulder, sliding your thumb up to his pulse point. Strong and steady. Ghost leans into your touch, aching for attention. 

“Good,” you murmur, stroking his pulse point with your thumb for a couple of moments. 

His eyes flutter closed, a sign of trust. He’d let you do anything to him. You step even closer, bringing your feet together so you can bend at the waist. Both of your hands cup his face, leaning down to place soft kisses around the corner of his mouth. Ghost smiles, a shudder running through his body. You place your lips on his own, sliding one of your hands to the nape of his neck. Swiping your tongue over his bottom lip, you ask for permission. 

He’s a little hesitant, so you tug at the back of the balaclava, which causes a gasp to fall from his lips. This allows you to slip your tongue inside, exploring the tresses of his mouth. A deep rumble comes up through his chest, a pleasant noise. You took him by surprise. The kiss ignites a fire in your belly, causing your knees to wobble. You drop onto your own, tilting is head down to prevent the kiss from breaking. His hands still rest on his thighs, as obedient as ever. 

A small laugh escapes your lips. 

“Touch me L.T.” 

His large hands slide to the small of your back as he leans forward. He guides you back onto the cool floor, placing his hands on either side of your head. They act as a cage, keeping you safe. One brushes your hair from your face, allowing it to fan out like a halo.  It follows the path down the side of your face, your neck, and down to the valley of your breasts. Your chest rises and falls, arching up into his touch.   

Ghost’s fingers trace the lace of your bra, fingers itching to dip below the fabric. You whine softly, eyes growing a little heavy with desire. His dart up at the sound of your whine, eyes shining with want. The look in his eyes is ravenous. He could devour you whole if you’d let him.  

“Ghost,” you whine his name softly. 

He shudders at the sound of his name, eyes never leaving your face. His touches so deliberate to drive you crazy. Your nipples stiff into little peaks, rubbing against the fabric of your bra. His fingers slide under the fabric, brushing the peak of one. You’re so sensitive, arching up into the attention he devotes to it. The rough pad of his fingers gives the friction that your body needs. You feel another wave of wetness pool into your panties. 

Ghost leans down then, pulling the fabric to the side and darting his tongue out to swipe across the bud. You moan, hand finding the back of his head to keep him there. While his tongue swirls around one, his fingers slide up and down your torso, squeezing the fat of your hip. You can’t keep still, body arching into his touch on its own accord. You want him closer closer closer. Any thoughts you were having were gone, replaced only by want of your Lieutenant. 

You lift your hips up, shimmying out of your pants, leaving you in just your underwear. Spreading your legs, you let him fit as close as he can to you. It’s not enough, you want more. Insatiable, you are. He switches to kissing down the valley of your chest, teasing around the hem of your panties. Frustration growing in your chest, you shift gears, giving him control again. 

“You want me to beg?” you ask breathlessly. 

“Wouldn’t hurt,” he laughs softly against your skin. 

Shame heats your face, but you’re desperate. You’re a lot louder than you expected to be. A loud noise falls from your lips, a mix between a whine and a moan. 

“Pretty please L.T.,” you beg, words reminding you of the other night with Gaz. 

Your hips arch up against his face, begging him to taste. He takes the bait; words affect him quicker than you thought they would. He’s nearly rippling with restraint, resolve crumbling. 

“Since y’ asked so nicely,” 

He hooks a finger in your panties, pulling them to the slide and flattens his tongue to swipe it up through your folds. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, throwing your head back in pleasure. 

Ghost switches between a swirl of figure eights through your folds and wrapping his lips around your clit. Of fucking course he’s good at this. He’s fucking exceptional. His tongue has your orgasm peaking in a matter of minutes. 

“L.T-” you warn, voice sultry with lust. 

He moans against your pussy, eyes rolling up in the back of his head. You can feel his length against your leg, growing more and more hard with each swipe of his tongue. Ghost dips his tongue into your entrance, and that’s what sends you over the edge. You gasp, breath punched from your lungs as waves of pleasure pool throughout your body. He doesn’t let up, eating you out like a man starved. 

Your juices paint his face, dripping down onto the floor. The smell of you fills his room, leaving a permanent reminder of what happened this evening. You feel his fingers brush your entrance, testing the waters and dipping two inside. They slide easily due to just how wet you are. You feel full, stretched by his thick fingers. Involuntarily, you clench down, feeling your toes curl in pressure. 

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he groans against your thigh, placing kisses and nips to the skin there. 

You can only whine, brain molded into putty from your first orgasm. Another one is approaching, you can tell by the burning sensation in your belly. Thighs shaking, you lean into your next orgasm, sobbing out in pleasure. You feel your eyes roll back into your head, nerves set align in ecstasy. Thick fingers curl against the spongey spot that has you seeing stars.  

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” you sob, body trembling with exhaustion. 

“There we go, that’a girl,” Ghost murmurs, voice rumbling within the barrel of his chest. 

The deep timbre of his voice has you clenching around his fingers. 

“You like when I praise you?” he questions, smirk in his voice. 

He stills his fingers, pulling a whine up your throat. 

“Y-Yes,” you gasp, grinding your hips in an attempt to relieve the friction. 

Ghost pulls his fingers out completely, lifting them up to his lips. He wraps them around the thick digits, nearly moaning at the taste of you. 

“Fuckin’ heavenly,” he groans, unbuckling his pants and shimmying them down his slender hips. 

They rest around his thighs, leaving him in only his underwear. His cock is straining against the fabric, threatening to escape at any moment. You watch him through hooded eyes, pleasure making you feel heavy. 

“So are you,” you murmur, eyes following his every move. 

He smirks at that, blush burning under the roll of his balaclava. It’s pretty on him. Ghost slides his hand down his torso, brushing his fingers over the band of his underwear. A shiver goes down his spine, delayed pleasure bound to escape at any moment. Your hand reaches up, beckoning him to come closer. He shimmies closer to you and you lean up on your elbows, a little wobbly from your previous orgasms.  

“C’mere,” you murmur, getting up on your knees. 

You dip your fingers into his waistband, brushing the velvety tip of his cock. He shudders at your touch, eyes fluttering closed. You wrap your fingers around his length, slowly starting to stroke up and down. 

“Fuck,” he grumbles, large hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder. 

You’re not too experienced on this, but you try your best. Slowly having your fingers curl a little tighter as you move them up and down. He’s very big. And thick. Grumbles of pleasure rumble in his chest. You notice that his breathing changes, chest rapidly falling up and down with your ministrations. A pretty blush spreads across his pecs. You bite your lip, eyes trailing up to his face. 

His eyes are on yours in an instant, molten honey swirling with pleasure. A soft sound falls from his lips. You lean forward and kiss him, nibbling on his lip. Pushing him back on his knees, you settle yourself in his lap. Dipping your hips down you brush your folds over the head of his cock. He shudders, gripping your hips and continuing the motion. 

“You feel so good,” you whine, holding on to his broad shoulders. 

He pushes his face into your neck, biting at the soft point between it and your shoulder. You gasp, hand reaching up to his covered head. Ghost soothes the bite with his tongue, angling his hips before pushing inside your wet heat. 

“Ghost!” you gasp, the thick girth of his cock spreading you open. 

“Fuck, bunny,” he groans, voice full of restraint. 

You slowly sink down until your hips are flush. Both of your bodies trembling. You’re nearly babbling, pawing at his broad shoulders. His large hand pets your side, attempting to soothe you. 

“Relax,” he murmurs, placing soft kisses on the inside of your bicep. 

“You’re s-so big,” you gasp, involuntarily clenching around him. 

He shifts then, holding you close as he stands up. Ghost moves slowly, laying you gently on his bed, careful to keep you close. You’re engulfed in the smell of him, arching upwards onto the sheets before relaxing against him. He takes this moment to pull back slowly before pushing into your heat again. A moan rips out of your throat as you stretch your hips to accommodate his wide ones as he shimmies close. 

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the stretch. A mix of pain and pleasure as he rolls his hips into your own. Ghost brushes your hair from your sweaty face, eyes trained on your own. 

“So beautiful. Taking me so well,” he murmurs. 

You moan, eyes never leaving his. Pleasure swells in your belly, rendering you nearly immobilized to the bed. All you can do is lay there and take it, which is exactly what Ghost wants for you. You reach up to rest your hands on his biceps, squeezing. 

“I'm-” you warn. 

“Come on bunny. Let go for me. Give me another.” he praises, soft voice music to your ears. 

His rough fingers find the pad of your clit, flicking it in time with his thrusts. Your eyes roll up into your head, another orgasm punching a groan out of your lungs. Arching into his touch, you let your pleasure roll in waves. It’s overwhelming and the tears pooling in your eyes finally spill over. You’re sobbing, clenching around his thick length as it continues to punch your cervix. 

“G-Ghost, I swear-” you gasp out. 

He laughs then, a melodical thing that turns into a moan as you feel his hips falter. He’s close, rapid thrusts stuttering as he finally unloads into your cunt. It’s hot, painting your walls white as he finishes. You are completely spent, unable to move due to exhaustion. He’s careful not to put his full weight on you, pulling out slowly with a groan. 

“That was-” you start. 

“Well deserved,” he finishes. 

You laugh breathlessly, a smile breaking out on your face. He’s smiling too, already up and walking to the bathroom to get something to clean you off. The warm cloth feels good on your cooling skin. 

“You definitely lost,” you joke. 

“I beg to differ,” he quips.

[crimson-luna-writes]

A little (late) thing I wrote for DimiDue fest! I'm glad I was able to get this out before just abandoning it in frustration 😅

Hope yall enjoy 🙏

[kingalfrcd]

@crimsonwrit asked: “ i’m going to miss these little talks of ours. “ from sansa

it was common knowledge in king’s landing and beyond that alfred was dying. his illness had gotten progressively worse since he’d been crowned king, and he knew he didn’t have much time left. it was depressing to think about, but nevertheless, it was reality, and he just prayed to the gods that his death would be painless.

“so am i, sansa,” alfred replied truthfully. ever since her father was executed, he’d been sort of a father figure to her. a hand came to rest on her shoulder. it was hard to say goodbye; what was he supposed to say when he knew he’d never see her again? “you have come so far. i am so proud of you, and your father would be, too.”

[kingalfrcd]

alfred had seen her from afar. he wasn’t stupid; he could spot suspicious activity from a mile away. she was probably one of cersei’s spies. she was looking to usurp his throne, and had been looking for years now. saving her from the cart was the perfect opportunity to find out who she was.

as soon as she spoke, her accent stood out to him. a northern accent. when the breeze blew off her hood, revealing her red hair, he knew exactly who she was. but what was she doing here? “lady sansa.” alfred quickly reached for her hood, pulling it back over her head. “you must not be seen here. queen cersei longs for your head.” he looked into her eyes. they were so bright, almost brighter than any he’d ever seen before. it was a telltale sign. how long until she was recognized? “you should not be here.”

@kingalfrcd​ asked:  push :   my  muse  pushing  your  muse  out  of  the  way  of  danger.

Sansa cried out in reflex more than any genuine pain as she was shoved aside, away from the cart that had just nearly ran her over. Pulling her dark hood lower to hide every telltale lock of red hair she could, she turned to thank the person kind enough to save her life. Surprise momentarily stunned her into silence, seeing the King standing before her, after a beat Sansa remembered her manners and sank onto the sidewalk in a low curtsey. 

“Thank you, your Majesty, for saving me just now. I was careless. I deeply appreciate your kindness.” Sansa looked back up, still curtseying, before a breeze drifted by, blowing her hood down and exposing her face and hair, known well as the last remaining Stark. Freezing, forcing herself to keep composure, her lips turned upward in a tight smile. “My name is Lady Sansa of Winterfell, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

[suresha]

[ @crimsonwrit​ ]

      UNLIKE  HER  BROTHER  VISERYS,  Daenerys  had  never  expected  some  royal  fanfare  after  arriving  in  the  West.  In  fact,  aside  from  the  people  of  Dorne,  no  one  had  sent  so  much  as  a  raven  welcoming  her  to  Dragonstone.

     It's  fine,  she  thought.  At  least  I  know  where  I  stand.

     And  where  she  stood  was  a  far  cry  from  where  her  brother  proclaimed  they  might.  No  one  gave  seven  hells  about  the  young  dragon  queen  and  if  her  scouts  had  heard  correctly,  the  only  whispers  upon  their  tongues  was  fear  that  she  might  finish  what  her  father  started.  Not  the  start  she  was  hoping  for,  but  it  was  what  Barristan  had  prepared  her  to  endure  all  the  same.

     Conquering  Westeros  had  never  been  her  dream  and  yet  after  Viserys'  death,  she  felt  obligated  to  carry  on.  His  death  and  that  of Rhaego's  would  have  been  in  vain  were  she  to  switch  courses.  That  along  with  her  team's  unwavering  loyalty  was  why  she  found  herself  making  a  home  out  of  the  old  family  keep  of  Storm's  End... at  least  for  now.  Her  dragons  came  and  went,  but  were  content  to  be  at  a  place  suited  especially  for  them.  Drogon  was  perched  high  upon  one  of  the  towers  when  a  scout  came  calling.  It  was  from  the  North  which  surprised  all  parties  in  the  room.

     ❝ A  Lady  Sansa?❞  Dany  asked.  "Is  she  Queen  in  the  North  or  merely  acting  in  the  wake  of  her  brother? ❞   Because  there  had  been  rumors  that  the  north  named  the  bastard  of  Ned  Stark  as  king,  something  Dany  found  odd  if  he  was  supposedly  Lord  Commander  of  the  Night's  Watch.

     ❝ We  have  a  lot  to  catch  up  on,  your  grace, ❞   Barristan  noted,  ❝ but  for  now,  you  must  accept  her  invitation  to  Winterfell. You  have  no  other  allies  and  the  north  has  every  reason  to  be  disgruntled  with  Queen  Cersei.  They're  honorable  people  your  grace.  She  would  never  pull  a  Walder  Frey. ❞

     With  Jorah  also  in  agreement,  a  hastily  written  letter  was  sent  by  Raven.  In  three  day's  time,  Daenerys  along  with  a  small  entourage  of  her  people,  ventured  north  for  a  meeting  she  hoped  would  not  begin  with  a  icy  reception.