#done stepped back into this reality but it took a second | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

makoodles · 1 year ago

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ミi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!

part one | part two

🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, inexperienced!reader, first time blow jobs, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, riding, jealous ghost, some communication issues!

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

The problem with sleeping with a man like Ghost, you’re coming to realise, is that now that you’ve experienced the reality of sex (and good sex) you can’t stop thinking about it.

In the week following the night you’d spent together, you swear you can feel his phantom touch on your hips, your thighs, your back. It feels like he’s carved a space for himself inside of you, something you’ll never get back – not that you want it back in the first place.

Realistically, you know that the whole ‘loss of virginity’ thing doesn’t have as much to do with how you’re feeling as the fact that it was Ghost who had taken it. You had long bullied your hymen out of the way with your collection of silly dildos, but nothing could have prepared you for the scorching hot heat of Ghost’s massive cock splitting you open, or his clever tongue licking at you, or his thick calloused fingers rubbing torturous circles into your clit and fraying your nerves apart.

The worst part is, you don’t know if anything is ever going to live up to the way he made you feel again. You’ve tried to replicate his touches, his rhythm, the way he had split you open, but your fingers are too small and none of your dildos can imitate the way he had worked you stupid. To your immense dissatisfaction, you don’t even come close to coming again.

It feels like something inside of you has cracked open, and you don’t know how to stop all of this new yearning, how to stuff it all back inside and pretend that nothing has changed.

The problem is that while you feel as though you’ve been changed from the inside out, you don’t think Ghost feels the same way. Maybe the most infuriating thing is that Ghost seems entirely unaffected. Other than a couple of lingering glances and knowing stares, there’s no indication that he had done anything more intimate with you than grappling at training.

All you can do is attempt to follow his lead, to be as casual as possible.

It’s harder than it sounds.

You find your whole body straining towards him when he’s close to you, though you try to keep cool. You fail miserably. You can’t even look in Ghost’s direction without thinking of his big fingers hooked inside you, rubbing at your clit, squeezing at your tits. You can hardly look him in the eye without thinking of the way he looked when he was squeezed between your thighs with his mouth on your cunt, the way those big brown eyes watched as you writhed on his tongue.

And yet, you can hardly tear your eyes away from him. You look at him in a completely different light now. He’s the first man to take you, the first one to touch you so intimately, the first one to make you come. He’s still your lieutenant, but it’s like all of a sudden your eyes have been opened to a new aspect of him. He’s no longer just your untouchable superior, the man who’s always so cold and distant behind that death mask – now he’s the man who was gentle with you, the man who kissed you sweetly when he took your virginity, the man who gave you the first, second, third orgasm of your life.

But despite the way you had been offered that new little glimpse into Ghost, he still remains an enigma to you.

You can feel his eyes on you throughout the week, though it’s never at the same time as when you’re looking at him. And maybe you’re imagining it, but it seems as though he’s gotten freer with his touches, too. A big palm on the small of your back as he steps past you, a quick squeeze to the shoulder. It’s subtle, and you can’t be sure that he’s actually touching you anymore than usual.

But other than the subtle glances and the light touches, Ghost doesn’t make any genuine effort to approach you again. He still treats you like just another member of the squad, no different to Soap or Gaz.

If anything, he gives them more attention than he gives you, delivering his deadpan jokes and exchanging quips during training. You end up standing to the side, sending infrequent glances their way in the hopes that he’ll give you something.

You’ve never been the fittest or the strongest, but your level of distraction in those few days following your night with Ghost is absolutely mortifying. You’re slow, you’re clumsy, you mess up everything.

You don’t think you can be blamed when you’re working in the same space as Ghost. You can hardly bring yourself to look his way when he’s lifting weights, unable to handle looking at the flex and curl of his muscles under his long-sleeve black workout shirt. It clings to him, letting you see every little shift of muscle and tendon beneath that stupid top as he works, and your mind very unhelpfully provides a slideshow of memories of him between your spread thighs.

You know it’s obvious. You glance at him, then glance away, then back again. Your eyes linger, bright and too interested, before you’re able to hide it. You wonder sometimes if your yearning is obvious on your face; you hope not.

But if Ghost sees it – any of it – he gives no indication.

If you have to be honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you’re disappointed. You had hoped that– well. You’re not sure you can bear to admit what you’d hoped, even just to yourself. It feels silly to admit that maybe you had hoped that Ghost wouldn’t be content with just being your first, that maybe he’d want to be your second, your third. Silly. Almost blasphemous.

You don’t technically have to show up to training, so after only two days of your awkward and uncertain pining in the gym, you stop showing up. The role you fulfil as part of the 141 is a non-combat one, so you know you won’t be missed in their ongoing training. You’ve mostly been working in communications; maintaining secure communication channels and ensuring that information is transmitted accurately and securely. The boys rely on you in the field, and you feel like you owe them a certain level of physical fitness just in case things go frighteningly wrong when you’re out there with them.

There’s just something so mortifying about the whole situation. It feels as though Ghost had peeled back the layers of you and taken a peek at your soft unprotected insides. You’d been vulnerable in front of him in a way you’d never been in front of anyone before, in a way that you can hardly stand. You had thought that you’d been okay with it being a one time thing, but you weren’t exactly doing a whole lot of thinking at the time.

So yeah, every time he glances away from you, or when he doesn’t even bother to look in your direction at all, it feels like you’re being rejected anew. It’s…. It’s not ideal. But you’re a big girl, and you’ve dealt with repressed desire and stifled yearning for years now. At least now you have a real experience to add to your reserve of imagination the next time you try to get yourself off.

It’s fine. You convince yourself that you were being ridiculous in the first place. He’s Ghost, after all. You feel a little foolish for even having the brief hope that something more might happen between the two of you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You manage to keep to yourself for most of the week, and the rest of the squad is kind enough not to say anything about it. But when Thursday comes around, you realise it’s not going to be possible to avoid Soap and his persistent insistence that you join them all in the moderately-sized cantina for drinks that night.

Truthfully, it doesn’t take too much persuading to convince you to go. Avoiding training with the squad had resulted in a week of isolation that had left you lonely and wishing for some social interaction. Besides, you’ve never quite been able to say no to Soap, and so you’re dragged to the little cantina for the second Thursday in a row.

To your absolute bewilderment, you find yourself in the exact same position as you had been in the last time you shared drinks with the squad, exactly one week ago.

Despite hardly speaking to you all week, Ghost had so confidently taken a seat next to you on the same fucking squishy little couch that you had shared last week. You end up partially squashed into the arm of the sofa, with Ghost’s massive hulking body brushing against you with every slight movement.

It’s galling to admit it, but you feel like you’re on fire. He doesn’t say much other than a soft murmur of a greeting when he first settles down beside you, but then he throws his arm around the back of the couch in a move that’s unexpectedly intimate.

You try not to read too much into it. While Ghost may be fairly aloof and menacing to those that don’t know him well, to you and the squad he’s always been subtly territorial. His eyes flick around the room semi-regularly, never at ease even in the middle of base. When Gaz goes to get drinks, Ghost’s eyes follow him until he gets back as though he’s expecting something to happen in the few minutes and couple of feet that he’s gone. He does the same when Price steps out for a smoke, and when Soap steps out to the toilet.

So the arm behind you (technically resting on the back of the couch rather than your shoulders) doesn’t actually mean anything. The curious look that Soap sends you doesn’t mean anything either, and you studiously ignore it as you force yourself to relax at Ghost’s side.

You drink the vodka soda Gaz hands you a little quicker than you mean to – maybe it’s because your nerves are already set on edge, but the alcohol goes to your head. Quickly.

It’s a pleasant floaty feeling, and it eases some of the anxiety that’s been bubbling thanks to the heat that sinks into your skin from his side pressed up against you. By the time you drain your glass, you’re leaning against his side. He doesn’t react, for better or worse; you wish he would give you some indication of where you stand, whether he likes you bundled up by his side or if he’s just tolerating it.

When Ghost’s eyes finally slide over to you from behind the dark pits of his mask, you nearly jolt. His gaze is lazy and half-lidded, but he reaches out to take the glass from you. His gloved fingers brush over yours, and you can’t stifle the embarrassing little judder that runs down your spine.

“Slow down.” He murmurs, setting the glass aside. “It’s still early.”

You had been hoping all damn evening that he would just look at you, but now that you finally have his eyes on you it feels as though you’re pinned down by them. You try not to squirm, once again remembering the way those dark eyes had watched you so darkly as he had hunched over you, rutting into you until the tears were streaming down your cheeks.

Your mind goes blank under his attention and his closeness, the ambient noise of glasses clinking and loud voices laughing and joking and muffled old eighties tunes fading to nothing until the sound of Soap’s loud voice brings you back to yourself.

“Let the lass drink, LT.” He crows, grinning, and you realise that he already has another couple of drinks in his hands. You hadn’t even noticed him leaving for the bar. “She deserves to have fun tonight. Don’t you, bonnie?”

“Sure.” You agree easily, relieved by the distraction and already reaching for the new drink. You’re still all fidgety and distracted, eager to drown yourself in it. “I deserve fun.”

It feels as though Ghost’s gaze is burning right into the side of your head, but you fixedly ignore him. He’s so intense, you’re pretty sure that you look like a dazed idiot under the weight of his attention. It’s the most he’s looked at you all week, and you attempt to hide your face behind your glass as you take a sip of your fresh drink.

He’s drinking too, though he’s foregone his usual whiskey in favour of a dark lager that he’s barely touched. The glass is sweating with condensation, and he swipes a thick gloved thumb over the fog on it absent-mindedly as he watches you.

You watch Gaz and Soap as they joke with each other, trading jibes and jabs and stories that you hardly even hear. It feels a little as though your ears have been filled with cotton wool, as though everything around you is just distinctly muffled. You feel like you’re on another planet, awareness tethered only by the hot, hard line of Ghost’s muscular body pressed against your side.

Over the last week, you’ve tried very hard not to be a stereotype.

You’ve heard men laughing about girls they’ve slept with who’ve become too clingy, who’ve wanted too much, and wasted their time searching for something that those guys aren’t willing to give. Maybe it’s because you’re so conscious that Ghost has taken several of your firsts, but you’re so determined to not be that person.

Ghost isn’t exactly a big talker anyway, unless it’s the odd sarcastic comment or ribbing with Soap, so it’s not like you’ve talked about the situation. You had just awoken the morning after with a deep ache in your core and a sore back, though the pain was soothed by the warm embrace you were all wrapped up in. You had been nervous, but you needn’t have been. Ghost had given you nothing. He just rubbed your back with one shovel-sized hand and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder (through the mask, so you don’t know what to make of that) before he rolled out of your bed to pull his trousers back on, grunting that he’d see you later.

So, you don’t talk about it. Not with him, and not with anybody. It feels like so much has changed, yet everything stays the same. The deja vu you’re experiencing from sitting on the couch drinking with him like this is overwhelming, and experiencing him staring at you like this after a full week of distance is making you feel hot and fuzzy and stupid.

While Soap is in the midst of a loud and enthusiastic retelling of a story from his basic training days, you build up the courage to glance up at Ghost. He’s already looking at you, as though anticipating your attention.

“You’re staring at me.” You mumble, your fingers clenching compulsively around your chilled glass.

Ghost shifts, and you feel the thick muscle of his bicep roll behind your head. He grunts in quiet agreement.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything else, uninterested in justifying or explaining himself. It’s like he thinks that he doesn’t need to; he just keeps watching you, his light blond eyelashes drawing low over his eyes as his head tilts.

Self-conscious under his intensity, you glance away again. Soap is still talking, but you can’t focus. Despite the fact that Ghost is big and warm and so frustratingly attractive beside you, it’s hard to ignore the subtle prickle of irritation that’s growing under your skin.

After all, he had taken your virginity and then proceeded to act as though nothing at all had changed between you for the rest of the week, and now he’s sat next to you with his gaze that heated? What the fuck?

The second drink goes down even easier than the first thanks to your awkwardness. You’re not sure what to make of his attention – you’ve spent the whole week keeping a sense of distance, determined to stay cool and casual. The last thing you want to do is freak him out by seeming like an over-eager idiot that’s gone and fallen in too deep with him, unwilling to lose whatever meagre respect Ghost has developed for you since you started working with the 141.

“I’ll get the next round.” You blurt suddenly, pushing yourself up off the couch.

It’s too abrupt to be casual, and you pointedly don’t look at the half-full glasses in your squad mates’ hands as you hurry away. You probably could have played that off better, but you need a moment to collect yourself away from Ghost’s relentless stare.

You take the opportunity to breathe at the bar, rubbing at your eyes and sighing. The bartender is busy, so you just stand there for a long moment, mentally chastising yourself.

God, this is just embarrassing. You’re a grown fucking woman, and here you are getting so ridiculously flustered over your lieutenant. You never thought that you’d be the type to turn into a silly little mess over the first man you ever sleep with, but maybe it was inevitable. The little embers of that crush you had been harbouring on Ghost since you joined the team have been fanned into a full on flame and you hardly know how to handle yourself.

It takes a significant effort to keep your attention away from the table; you can’t help but want to look, to see if Ghost is still looking your way, but you keep your eyes to yourself.

When another body appears at your side, you jolt in surprise. You hadn’t expected to be followed, and your first thought is that it must be Soap. But when you glance to your side, you find a stranger standing closer to you than you expected.

Well, he’s not a total stranger. You know him to see around the base, sandy-haired with a too wide smile. You think he might be a second lieutenant, but you’ve never actually had any dealings with him and you can’t think of a name… Daniels, maybe?

“Hello there,” He says, and even with those two words his intentions are unmistakable. His tone is suggestive, as is the way his eyes scan over your body. “How you doing?”

It’s far from the first time you’ve been hit on by men; it comes with the territory of being a woman in a male-dominated environment. They look at you like they want to eat you sometimes, in a way that sets your teeth on edge. You’ve always danced around the subject of intimacy, embarrassed about your lack of experience and too anxious to actually seek out anyone to change that. What happened with Ghost was unexpected, and just about changed your entire outlook on sex and physical pleasure for life.

Your first reaction, as always, is to shut him down or ignore him. But something makes you pause, and glance back at him.

He’s sort of cute. A charming smile, at least. When he sees you looking back, he only smiles wider and steps closer.

“Let me get this next one for you,” He says, gesturing at the bartender to catch his attention. “What’re you having?”

“Uh..” You hesitate a moment, biting your lip. “Vodka soda.”

He orders, then leans against the bar and turns to face you fully. His gaze is appreciative, and for once you don’t shy away from it. You so rarely return male attention that you hardly know what to do, but you manage to muster up an awkward smile.

When the bartender returns with your drink, you feel a momentary pang of guilt. You had almost forgotten that you were meant to order drinks for the table, and you send a swift glance over your shoulder.

The boys are still engrossed in their conversation, hardly even noticing your absence. All but Ghost.

The lieutenant has half-turned, his arm still slung over the couch where you had been sitting as he stares. The realisation that his eyes are still on you has your spine straightening, self-conscious now about your posture and your body language.

You look away swiftly, and try not to feel guilty. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all. He hasn’t spoken to you all week despite the fact that he’d nearly done your back in fucking you.

Your experience with Ghost may have been a one-time thing, no matter what you might have been hoping for, but there’s no reason that it has to be a one-time thing for you with anyone else. Even with your stupid vibrators and dildos, you haven’t been able to come close to coming in the week following your night with your lieutenant. You’re starting to wonder if maybe you’re not capable of coming without someone else’s hands on you.

“I’ve seen you around, been meaning to talk to you,” Daniels is saying, and in your distraction you almost miss it. “But it’s, uh… it’s a little difficult to catch you alone.”

You almost scoff, but you manage to swallow it back down. You know exactly what he means; the 141 sticks together and looks out for each other, but it also sometimes feels like you have a couple of overprotective guard dogs. They take watching you seriously, probably due to your non-combat role on the team, and you’ve never discouraged it because you like the way they make you feel safe.

“Yeah, the guys can be a little protective.” You laugh a little weakly. “But don’t mind them.”

Even now, you can feel Ghost’s dark eyes burning into you from across the room. You wonder how on earth Daniels remains so unaware of it.

“Mm,” Daniels leans in, his white teeth glinting. “Can’t blame them, I suppose. Why don’t you come and join me and some of the lads at our table for a bit? Spend some time with some new people.”

You shift on the balls of your feet, thinking. Admittedly, you’ve never been big on socialising when on base, other than the usual minor exchange of pleasantries. You hardly even know what to do in the face of a man’s interest in you now.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” You demur, reaching up to scratch absently behind your ear. “I don’t think the boys would appreciate me abandoning them for the night.”

Daniels’ smile widens, and you feel your cheeks heat. You feel clumsy with your socialising, as though you’re stretching muscles you’re not used to using. Since you had joined the 141, you hadn’t done too much mingling outside of the squad; they’ve been your only friends and confidantes, ribbing and supporting you in equal measure. In the face of a stranger in the on-base cantina, you find yourself floundering.

“I think they get enough of your time,” He murmurs, leaning against the bar in such a way that his body is angled towards you. “C’mon, I’ll buy you another few drinks and we can get to know each other, huh?”

Maybe the vodka was a bad idea. It’s lowering your inhibitions, making you actually consider his offer. You’re pent up from a week of unsuccessful touching yourself, and you crave physical intimacy.

If you can’t get a repeat performance from Ghost, then maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if you looked elsewhere, with someone who might be interested in more than a one time thing.

You glance down at Daniel’s hands where they’re wrapped around his beer glass. They’re big, with strong slender fingers and calloused knuckles. Nice hands, you think, but you can’t help but compare to the enormous thick paws of your lieutenant. Still, you think they’d do the job.

“Well–” You start to say, your tone wavering and uncertain as you consider his officer.

But you don’t get to give him an answer before a massive hand settles on your shoulder. It makes you jolt, startled, recognising Ghost by touch alone. It feels as though it sears straight through your clothes, and your eyes widen.

For a moment, Ghost says nothing at all. He just stands at your shoulder, so close that you feel the muscle of his chest and stomach brush against your back, and stares at Daniels from over the top of your head. The glare isn’t even directed your way, and yet you find yourself wilting from it.

“On your way, Sergeant.” Ghost drawls, lifting his chin and gesturing at him dismissively.

Despite Ghost’s obvious intimidation factor, Daniels doesn’t immediately do as he’s told. He huffs out a short breathless laugh instead, as though he can hardly believe what he’s hearing.

“We’re only talking, Lieutenant–”

Ghost doesn’t even respond. His glower just intensifies, until Daniels trails off and his mouth snaps shut. You get the impression that if anyone else tried to intimidate him just by staring and posturing, Daniels might actually square up and fight. He seems like the type to make poor decisions while drinking – maybe you were going to be one of them.

But as it is, Ghost has an intimidation factor unmatched by anyone else you’ve ever known. It goes beyond his giant hulking physique and skull mask and low gravelly voice that can sound like a clap of thunder when he’s angry. It’s like he has an aura, something that radiates off him in dark waves saying ‘Don’t fuck with me’. Any sensible person would back the fuck off when faced with his full, unwelcoming attention.

And sure enough, Daniels is no exception. He raises his arms to his shoulders and gives Ghost a mocking sort of smile before retreating backwards. To your mortification, he doesn’t so much as glance your way even as he turns his back on you.

Irritation settles over you like a blanket. It makes your skin itch and your teeth grind, and you turn to scowl at Ghost.

“What the hell was that?” You demand, and your voice comes out sharper than you had technically intended.

Ghost’s head tilts, and those sharp dark eyes find you from behind the mask. The eyeblack is beginning to fade in patches around the inner corners of his eyes – bizarrely, it serves as a reminder that Ghost is just a man, not just a massive wall of muscle with a terrifying glower.

“What was what?” He says. His voice has dropped a notch, deep and rumbling into you even as you step away and turn so that you’re facing him head on.

“You– I was just–” You flounder for a moment, searching for words as you gesture uselessly with your hands.

You’re indignant over his interruption, and your frustration grows as you find yourself unable to articulate yourself. Where the hell does he get off interrupting you talking to another man? He hadn’t spoken to you all week, and now he feels confident enough to cockblock you?

“Mm.” Ghost grunts. “What were you doing?”

Your jaw clenches. “I was talking. Is that a crime now?”

Jesus, you sound like a brat. You don’t even know where this insubordination is coming from; he’s your lieutenant, regardless of that one night you had spent with him. You’re being too bold talking like this, but it’s like you just can’t help yourself.

His eyes darken, lashes blocking out his irises as his gaze narrows at you. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, to keep your spine straight and shoulders back despite your impulse to crumble.

“Watch that mouth, doll.” He warns, his voice low, and you feel your stomach tighten at both his words and his tone.

But your self-preservation instincts are still missing.

“You can’t ignore me all week and then get annoyed at me when I–”

He cuts you off as though he’s not even listening to you. “Not here. Come on.”

And with that, he wraps one big hand around your upper arm and begins leading you out of the cantina. He’s not harsh, and he doesn’t drag you or anything, but judging by the tense set of his shoulders arguing with him would be a really bad idea right now.

You’ve pissed him off, and you don’t want to make his mood worse so you allow your feet to move automatically as he leads you out of the room.

You can feel eyes on your back as you leave, and you feel yourself grow squirmy with embarrassment. No doubt the rest of the squad is watching you get hauled off by Ghost right now.

Oh god, the Captain is watching you get hauled off — how mortifying. You pray they didn’t catch your little exchange with Ghost at the bar, but you have a feeling that hope is in vain. The 141 are close-knit and protective over each other, but they’re also terrible gossips.

“Let me– Sir, let me go–” You start to complain, testing his grip. His hold on you is iron-clad, and yet still somehow gentle enough to avoid bruising.

When you realise where he’s leading you to, you stop complaining very quickly. You had figured that he was just going to drag you into the corridor outside and give you a talking to, but he doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, until you realise that he’s leading you all the way back to your own damn room

“What are you doing?” You demand in a hiss. You’re so incensed that you swear your hair is standing on end.

After all that, is Ghost seriously hauling you back to your room like you’re a bold child? Is he angry because of your insubordination at the bar?

A cold trickle of anxiety enters your stomach, and you steal a worried glance at his face. The hard-shell mask he uses on missions has been traded for the softer black woven balaclava that he usually wears when he’s not in the field, but it doesn’t make him any easier to read.

He doesn’t answer until the two of you have crossed the threshold of your room, the door shutting behind you with a firm click.

Now that it’s the two of you, alone once again in your tiny shitty room, you find your indignant confidence waning rapidly. He’s just so big, the huge masculine frame of him making you feel more ridiculous than ever for your momentary flash of brattiness. Even worse, having him in your space like this is only making your brain go into overdrive, as though your body remembers what happened the last time he was here like this.

You decide that the best defence mechanism to prevent yourself from looking like a fool is to cling onto those last little dregs of anger.

“You’re unbelievable.” You snap, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me all week! And then as soon as another guy speaks to me, you’re over to me like a light. I mean, what the fuck?” And then, remembering the chain of command, you add a very sullen, “Sir.”

Throughout your mini little rant, Ghost has just watched you. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t know how to read, unable to get a feel for what he’s thinking through that inscrutable mask.

“‘S not true.” He grunts after a moment, and you realise that his eyes have creased in a way that suggests he’s frowning.

You feel like you’re going to explode. “Yes, it is! Daniels was barely speaking to me for two minutes before you scared him off–”

Bizarrely, your words make Ghost snort. You hadn’t even realised how tense his shoulders were until he relaxes, and you stare at him in confusion as he steps past you towards your bed. Your anger fizzles out, leaving behind self-conscious confusion as you watch your lieutenant settle down so that he’s sitting at the edge of your bed with his legs spread wide.

“His name is Davidson.” He says, and his voice is missing the somewhat dangerous edge it had only moments earlier. “And that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

Embarrassment flares, though you try to stifle it. So you didn’t know the guy’s name – whatever. You would have learned it by the end of the night, you’re certain. You open your mouth, defensive and prickly, but Ghost speaks again before you get the chance to.

“I haven’t been ignoring you.” He says, watching you like he’s trying to figure you out. When you just blink at him, he sighs. “Jesus, sweetheart, just sit down for a second. Tell me what I did wrong, yeah?”

You’re left feeling a little wrong-footed, hesitating in the middle of the room. You had expected him to be a little angrier than this, to chide you for your behaviour. Or maybe you had expected him to be cold, or dismissive.

Slowly, you take a few steps towards the bed. He watches you approach, those dark eyes watchful and sharp, but says nothing as you nervously perch on the bed beside him.

Despite the fact that this is your room, you’re stiff when you sit next to him. Your brain is in overdrive, providing you with very unhelpful memories of the last time Ghost was on your bed and flooding your body with mortifying heat.

“You’ve barely spoken to me since we–” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, averting your gaze and staring at some point past his shoulder. “Since last week. If you wanted to keep it professional, that’s– that’s fine–”

Ghost’s spine straightens, but he doesn’t speak yet. He just watches you, and lets you flounder awkwardly as you struggle to articulate yourself.

“I don’t want to make things awkward, I just–” You’re tripping over your words, wincing when they come out all clumsy. “I’ve never done this before, so I’ll follow your lead, but I don’t understand the point of sending Dan– Davidson, whatever, away like that if you’re clearly trying to keep things between us professional–”

Finally, Ghost speaks, though it seems like he’s suddenly developed incredibly selective hearing.

“He’s a wanker. Chases around any woman that stands still for too long in that damn cantina every time we’re in there.” His voice is a low earnest rumble, but you’re too agitated to properly hear him. “He didn’t have anything to offer that you’d be interested in.”

“That’s not–”

“Besides,” He cuts clean across you, but so gently, so much so that it surprises you. “I think we long surpassed professionalism when you asked if you could use my cock like a dildo.”

Blood rushes to your head so fast you feel a little light-headed. Right, so he’s decided to cut straight to the chase then. You swallow, and your dry throat clicks audibly.

“Right.” You say. “Yeah, that– um… that’s made things awkward, I suppose.” A brief pause, and then you sheepishly add, “Sorry, LT.”

Ghost just watches you, his brown eyes inscrutable beneath the fan of his pale eyelashes. Under the dark fabric of the mask you see his jaw flex, as though he’s considering his next words carefully.

“C’mere.” He says.

You had been expecting him to say more, and you hesitate a moment before reluctantly shuffling over a few inches. Though he had invited you to move closer to him, you’re suddenly so conscious of crossing any possible boundaries.

You had never slept with anyone before, and you don’t understand what’s expected of you now. How are you supposed to act, now that you’ve had a one-night stand with your lieutenant?

“Haven’t been ignoring you,” Ghost says, and he reaches out to place a hand on your knee. The touch makes your eyes widen, gaze darting down to stare at his thick fingers where they wrap around the underside of your knee. “You jokin’? Been watching you all week. Thinkin’ about you all the time.”

That’s a bold enough statement that all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You can’t deny that he’s been watching you – you had felt his eyes on you regularly, but always from a distance. But…

“You never–” You start to say, before swallowing again so you don’t say something stupid. “You haven’t spoken to me.”

“Spoke to you during training, before you stopped showing up.”

That’s a little galling, and all you can do is scowl.

“Stop that. You know what I mean.” You snap defensively.

Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think Ghost might be confused behind that stupid mask. His head has tilted just slightly to the side in the same way as it usually does when he’s trying to figure something out.

“I was trying to give you space, doll.” He murmurs. “It was your first– I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Wanted you to make your own choices.”

The uncertainty in his voice is unexpectedly endearing, but you’re not ready to let go of your irritation with him just yet. Admittedly you’re losing steam, but you struggle to straighten your back and affect a scowl nonetheless.

“I didn’t want space.” You say, and it comes out a little more childish than you had intended it to. You try not to cringe at yourself. “You just– we never talked about anything, you just woke up the next morning and left and then all week you hardly spoke to me.”

You curse your inexperience even as you speak, feeling like a total idiot. You just wish you knew what was expected of you, what Ghost wants. Was he put off by the fact that he had to guide you, fumbling and clumsy, through an experience that was absolutely mind-blowing for you but probably sub-standard for him?

And oh, that thought makes dread curl in your belly. What if Ghost wasn’t impressed with your… performance? You had no idea what you were doing, only that the way Ghost had touched you felt so good, so much better than you’ve ever managed to make yourself feel with your fingers or toys. And when he had brought you to orgasm, you had lost yourself completely. You hadn’t made any attempt to return his attention, too lost in all the new pleasure you were experiencing.

There’s a pause, the silence between you stretching taut. Ghost doesn’t rush to reply, instead apparently thinking hard before he speaks.

“I go for a run in the mornings.” He says at last, his voice low and rumbly.

It takes you a moment to process that.

“You– what?”

Ghost shifts, and the cheap standard issue mattress beneath the two of you squeaks. “That morning, I… went for a run.”

He must realise how that sounds – maybe the expression on your face tips him off – because he hurries to add on to it. “Creature of habit, love. I didn’t– I don’t do this often either. I stayed the night, we cuddled. I thought–”

He stops rather abruptly, and doesn’t finish so you don’t quite know what he thought. Your confusion has gotten the best of you, and you’re staring at him in agitated confusion. God, he’s bad at communicating.

“Should have stayed.” He says gruffly, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds a little chagrined. “Thought we were fine, until you started avoiding me. And then I thought you just needed time to yourself.” He gives a jerky shrug, clearly out of his comfort zone. “‘Cause it was your first time. Dunno.”

Oh. Well.

Now you’re the one blinking at him. That’s… not what you had been expecting.

While you thought Ghost had been giving you the cold shoulder, he had thought that he was being considerate. Jesus. You’re not sure how to even begin processing that.

“I didn’t need time to myself.” You say, and you sound pathetic.

There’s a beat of silence during which you feel thoroughly examined. Ghost hardly even blinks as he watches you, his scrutiny making you sweat.

“No,” He rumbles after a moment. “Apparently you didn’t.”

You roll your eyes, honestly a little irritated with him. Even after it’s been made clear that your miscommunication has caused issues this whole week, he’s still so hesitant to just fucking talk to you.

“Right, well–” You start to say, a little sharp.

He grabs at you before you can retreat, his enormous hand comically large around your wrist. He’s not holding you harshly, his grip just loose enough that you could break out of it if you tried. But instead of pulling away, you allow him to tug you closer. His free hand reaches for your hip, and quicker than your tired mind is able to follow he’s tugged you up into his lap.

“Jesus–” You blurt, grabbing at his shoulders for balance.

Ghost is built like a brick house, all thick and sturdy with all that solid muscle. He’s broad too, and your legs are forced wide as he encourages you to settle in his lap. You try not to let your reaction show on your face, but Ghost is watching you so carefully that you’re certain he can read every micro-twitch anyway.

“Last week wasn’t enough?” He asks, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds hungry. Maybe you could even delude yourself into thinking there’s an undertone of hope, too.

But maybe that’s a step too far. This is the Ghost, after all. He’s veritably a human weapon, every inch of him battle-scarred and solid beneath the heavy clothes and thick mask. You’re pretty sure that any kind of yearning you hear has been prescribed by your own imagination. But you can’t help yourself.

You shake your head, your breath catching in your chest. No, last week wasn’t enough.

“Then why bother with that idiot at the bar?” Ghost asks, his big hands folding around your hips. “If you wanted to be fucked, you could have just asked me.”

You swallow thickly, your throat clicking audibly. For some reason, you hadn’t expected him to speak so bluntly, but it’s typical of Ghost to get straight to the point without beating around the bush.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to do that with me again.” You say, your voice edged with insecurity.

There’s a long moment of silence during which Ghost just stares at you. It’s borderline uncomfortable, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. Even with the mask acting as a barrier, he’s still so intense.

“What made you think that?” He asks, his voice low.

You find yourself quite abruptly aware of the position you’re in. You’re sitting perched in your lieutenant’s lap with your legs spread wide, after a week of pining after him like an embarrassing little puppy. You’ve been craving physical contact, yearning desperately for that same kind of pleasure he had introduced to you ever since your night together.

“You’re difficult to read.” You whisper awkwardly, shifting. You’re hyper-aware of your weight in his lap; even though you know he’s strong, the thought of being too heavy for him is a little mortifying.

But his hands tighten around your hips, keeping you securely in place across his thighs.

“You think so?” His voice is low, a little rough, and the gravel of it causes a little frisson of heat to trickle down your spine. “You been trying to read me? Can’t have been doin’ a very good job, darling, since you’ve been avoiding me all fuckin’ week.”

Your breath comes out tremulously, and you pray he can’t hear the shake in your voice when you speak. Judging by his darkening gaze, he hears it loud and clear.

“I just– Didn’t know if you would want me again.” You whisper, feeling foolish and inexperienced and clumsy.

Ghost watches you, his dark eyes flickering over your face, before he finally hums. Then his grip tightens around your hips and he pulls you so that your clothed crotch grinds against him. You gasp, your eyes widening when you feel the thick ridge of his cock in his tac trousers, unmistakably hard as your clothed cunt slides over him.

“Feel that?” He asks, his voice dropping into that deep, hungry register that you’ve been hearing in your dreams all fucking week.

“Yeah.” You choke, fighting the urge to grind on him like a fucking slut. If your hips twitch, just a little, you think you could be excused.

You are already intimately familiar with his cock, considering how eagerly he had fucked you open on it a week ago (several times, too), but the way it fills his trousers makes it seem ridiculously big and you wonder, a little wildly, how the fuck it ever fit in you in the first place. It presses against the seam of his trousers, right between your legs, and then Ghost grinds up into you and you swear your vision sparks out for a moment.

“Oh!” You blurt out in a wavering whisper, clutching at his shoulders. “Oh, god.”

“Still think I don’t want you?” He grunts. His hands are like fucking shovels, and he takes a grip of your ass and squeezes until you squeak.

Your head is swimming. Your trousers are too tight, the crotch of them pressing into your clit, and you feel like you can't get enough air in your lungs.

“I don’t know.” You say stupidly.

It’s like your cunt knows that Ghost is near, because you’re fucking drenched. You can feel your underwear stick uncomfortably to you beneath your clothes, slick and wet as you feel the shape of Ghost’s cock press into you.

He sighs beneath you, his big palm stroking over your ass affectionately.

“You think too much, doll.” He mutters, his finder squeezing into the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a stress toy. “Way too fuckin’ much.”

He’s probably right. God, you want to stop thinking. Want to return to that stupid, dazed, fucked-out state of mind he had sent you to when he had stuffed you full.

Hesitantly, you grind yourself down onto the thick bulge beneath you. It feels good, that familiar pleasant little spark jolting up your spine as you hump yourself against him.

“Yeah,” Ghost grunts, his voice thick with unmistakable want. “That’s it. You’ve been wanting this, havent’cha?”

“Yeah.” You admit, so quietly that it’s almost inaudible. “Yeah, I want it.”

But Ghost hears. Of course he does. He lets out a low sound that has your thighs squishing closed around his hips, overwhelmed and running far too hot.

He has you on your back so quickly that your head spins, and you end up staring at the ceiling for a moment in bewilderment, trying to figure out how you’d gotten there. Ghost is already leaning over you, his dark eyes intent on your face as he settles between your thighs.

You think you should probably be embarrassed about the ease with which you spread your legs, eager to feel his bulky body between your thighs. But you’re already running hot, your chest tightening with want, and you find yourself mercifully relieved that he’s here. The miscommunication between the two of you is going to be solved, Ghost wants you, and you’re about to get what you’ve been craving all week.

He pulls your own pants off effortlessly, leaving you in the underwear that you’ve fucking ruined. You try to shut your legs, face burning hot with embarrassment as you try to hide the sight, but Ghost doesn’t have any intention of letting you hide yourself.

He pushes your legs back open, then presses his masked face to the inside of your thigh. You’re not sure what he’s doing; you remember, with a little thrill, the feeling of his red hot mouth against your pussy, but you don’t think that’s what’s happening here because he’s still got his stupid fucking balaclava on.

“Did she miss me?” He asks, his words muffled by both the mask and the pudge of your thigh.

“What?” You ask breathlessly, thinking for a moment that Ghost is talking about you in the third person.

But then he nuzzles his masked face against the sodden seat of your knickers, and you realise that he’s talking about your fucking pussy.

“Oh my god, you weirdo–” You choke out, but you don’t get any further than that before Ghost is tugging impatiently at your underwear, trying to reveal your cunt.

He hushes you, almost absent-mindedly, and you hear him take a breath when he finally manages to get your knickers off. He tosses them aside, his dark eyes focused intently on your bare cunt now that it’s been revealed. It’s embarrassing, but you can’t bring yourself to try and hide again. He’s touching you so reverently and looking at you so hungrily that you’re not brave enough to try to deprive him of the sight.

“My fussy girl,” He mutters, low enough that you almost don’t hear him. “Have you been touching yourself? Using your toys this week?”

You shiver, a little embarrassed. You have been using your stupid toys, but they haven’t been working. No matter what you do, you can’t replicate the feelings that Ghost had managed to elicit in you with such ease, and you have a sinking feeling that he knows that.

But the mention of your toys reminds you of something else, too. A recurring thought that’s been practically haunting you, that’s had you imagining Ghost up above you and around you as you’d sucked experimentally on your dildo, sliding it into your mouth just to see how much of it you could take.

“Wait–” You say, and though your voice wavers, Ghost sits back immediately, eyes on your face. It’s like he’s just waiting for your word, an order, a direction. Something in your belly warms, and you take a breath.

“I want to try something.” You tell him before you can lose your nerve. “Sit back down.”

He sits at the edge of your bed, his bulky frame moving far more gracefully than you’d expect for his size if you hadn’t already seen him in action. He’s almost patient, until you catch the way the fingers of his right hand drum against his thigh as he waits for you to do something.

Since you’re already stripped from the waist down, you see no point in remaining clothed on top too. When you pull your top and bra off, Ghost makes a low appreciative rumble deep in his chest that you swear you can feel run down your spine.

“Promising start.” He says, and you want to smack him.

You shoot him a little scowl, before deciding to just ignore him. You’ve fancied him for an embarrassingly long time, probably since the very first time you had laid eyes on him upon joining the task force, and now he’s sitting on your bed, willing and hard and admitting that he wants you. It takes your breath away a little, especially the way that he doesn’t seem put off by your inexperience at all.

Slowly, you sink to your knees in front of him and watch his eyes widen beneath the balaclava. It’s somewhat gratifying to see his surprise; like you’ve finally got one over on your big bad lieutenant.

“Very promising start.” He says, and this time he sounds a little husky. “D’you know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”

The answer is, very obviously, no. You have no idea what you’re doing, you’re learning as you go along. But Ghost hasn’t judged you yet for your clumsy fumbling exploration, so you can only hope that he’s willing to put up with this too.

“Sort of.” You say evasively. “I’ve seen it in porn, and I’ve… I’ve been practicing.”

Ghost’s groan sounds like it’s been punched out of him, and it’s rough enough to have you glancing up in surprise from where you’re trying to get his stupid trousers unbuttoned. Your hands are unsteady and unsure, and it’s slow-going.

“Yeah?” He asks, sounding a little out of breath himself. “Which one?” “What?” You’re a little distracted, not paying full attention to his question as you tug at his trousers. You’ve finally got them unbuttoned, and you pull impatiently in an effort to get them off. Ghost lifts his hips to help, though your eager impatience seems to amuse him.

“Which one of your toys’ve you been practicing on?” He asks, the barest undertone of a groan in his voice. “The pretty little pink one?”

You feel embarrassed heat prickle in your face because yes, it had in fact been that one you had been practising with. You’re not quite sure what to make of the fact that you’re apparently so predictable that Ghost can guess which dildo you’ve been sucking at, imagining it was him.

“Maybe.” You mutter evasively.

Ghost lets out a low chuckle right as you manage to wrangle his cock out of his briefs, and then you have to pause for a moment because oh. You had known, of course, that he was big. You had felt him for days after that first time, like a fucking internal bruise that ached at you every time you moved. He was bigger than any toy that you owned, you know that, you’ve felt it, and yet now that it’s in front of your face it seems so much bigger than you remember.

You’ve watched porn with so-called ‘monster cocks’ and it isn’t like that. It’s just… bigger. Than average, that is. At least, as far as you can tell, because it’s not like you have enough experience with dicks in real life to have any idea of what average really is.

Ghost must recognise the momentary flash of panic that crosses your face, because he reaches out and strokes a gloved thumb over your cheek. The fabric is rough against your skin, but you relax at the feeling anyway.

“You don’t have to.” He says quietly.

“I want to.” You insist, swallowing that swell of nerves.

Now that his cock is bobbing in front of your face, you have to fight the sinking feeling that you’re in over your head. But you’re not willing to back down; not when you’ve been thinking about this all damn week, and especially not when you’ve got the man that stars in all of your fantasies sitting on your bed with his legs spread.

You shuffle forward a little, and try not to feel intimidated at the fact that Ghost’s thick thighs twitch when you reach to take hold of his cock. He’s so big that it feels like he’s dwarfing you beneath him, his bulky form enveloping you in shadow when he leans forward to make sure he has a good view of what you’re doing.

You stroke experimentally over his cock, your fist a little clumsy. Despite your frenzied and very pleasurable tumble with him before, you had never actually gotten the chance to touch him in return. You had been too overwhelmed by the sheer onslaught of sensation he had delivered upon you to even think about returning any favours, and the fact that you’re getting the opportunity now to reciprocate and explore fills your tummy with butterflies.

“Grip it harder, love.” He grunts, shifting his hips so that he can fuck his cock into your fist. “It ain’t gonna break.”

“Shh,” You admonish him, glancing up with a frown. “Let me do it myself.”

Ghost snorts quietly, probably finding your determination silly, but he still his hips and lets you go at your own pace. His dick is big, and you stare at it with some level of wonder as you stroke your fist over him. You can’t help but compare the feel of him to your dildos, only because they’re your only real point of reference; his skin is velvety soft and hot to the touch, yielding despite how hard he is, and you admire the slide of his foreskin pulling down over the crown.

It’s not the size that really catches your attention though. No, what you really notice is how fucking perfect it is. Pretty and pink, flushed more red towards the tip, the head shiny with just a hint of smeared pre-come. It curves, slightly, to the left, and it feels nice in your hand. You feel a little light headed as your eyes dart over the pale blond downy hair that covers his thighs and the base of his cock.

You gather your courage, then lean in and lick tentatively at the rosy pink crown of his cock. You had been a little worried about the taste, having no idea what to expect, but you needn’t have been. He‘s a little salty, but nothing inoffensive; he just tastes like skin, and you relax a little in relief.

He groans, his head tilting back to stare at the ceiling. You pause, hoping for some sort of direction, and as the moment stretches out he looks back to you and tilts his head.

“Thought you wanted to do it yourself?”

Bastard, you grumble in your head, before steeling yourself. You know that your grip on him is clumsy, that your stroking is unpracticed, and you can only pray that he doesn’t mind.

You take his cock into your mouth, jaw hinged wide as you try to avoid using your teeth, and attempt to suck with no finesse. You go too fast, try to take too much too quickly, because all of a sudden the head is tickling the back of your throat and you’re coughing, choking, and sputtering.

You pull back, blinking rapidly as your eyes sting with tears and drool drips unattractively down your chin. You go to wipe your face, but Ghost catches your wrist before you can.

“Slow down,” He murmurs, pulling your hands away from your face so he can look at you. “You in a rush?”

“No.” You grumble, and your voice comes out a little hoarse from the choking. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Even though you’re quite certain that Ghost already knows that, it’s a little humiliating to admit.

Ghost just hums, his eyes tracking over your petulant expression and the stringy spit that’s trickling down your chin, falling in thick globs above your tits.

“Don’t matter, love.” He rumbles, reaching out to thumb at your chin. You think for a moment that he’s wiping you clean, but then he just ends up smearing your spit all around your mouth. “Play with it as much as you want to. Don’t think too much.”

You swallow, the sound a little too loud in the quiet of your room, before nodding. This is what you wanted – the chance to touch him, to explore his mouth with your hands and mouth just like he had done with you before.

You readjust your grip on his cock; it looks so stupidly big in your hand. You can tell that he notices too, because he lets out a gruff sort of groan before he reaches out, one hand winding around the back of your neck to cup at the base of your skull.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He breathes, his eyes locked onto you.

His eyes are dark, almost completely blacked out by the thickness of his pupil, and he stares down at you with an air of such anticipation that you couldn't dream of keeping him waiting. Gripping him in your hand, you give an exploratory sort of stroke — the skin is velvety soft and smooth, and he lets out a short groan of appreciation when your fingers caress the head of his cock.

You start moving your hand again, adjusting your grip and stroking him off. You wish you were better at it, or at least more confident, but Ghost doesn’t seem to have any complaints. He just grunts quietly, flexing his hips once before apparently remembering what you had said and going still.

It takes a moment before you work up the confidence to bring it anywhere near your mouth again, but finally you lean forward and press a gentle little kiss to the head of his cock. You’re rewarded with a quiet puff of laughter, and his thumb strokes a soothing circle into the back of your neck.

Encouraged, you dip your head and lick the tip of him properly. He tastes salty on your tongue as you take him carefully into your mouth. This time you just suckle at the head, not wanting to push yourself too fast. His taste isn’t nearly as strong as you had been expecting; you hardly notice, really, enjoying the weight of his cock on your tongue and the feeling of being encircled by his big thighs.

It sounds stupid and maybe a little paradoxical, but you feel safe like this; Ghost towers over you even sitting down, and when you’re on your knees for him like this with his thick thighs bracketing you and his clean musky smell in your nose, you swear you never want to leave this moment.

You let out the most pathetic little whisper ever when you suckle at his cock, your tongue licking insistently at the underside of his glans. Ghost is always fairly stoic beneath that mask (other than his occasional bursts of humour and arrogance), so managing to pull out the soft but heavy breaths from his mouth when you suck at him makes pride swell in your chest, warm and syrupy sweet. It also makes something else twist in your belly, tight and hot enough to have your thighs squeezing tight together.

You used to have so many stupid, virginal plans for what you’d do the day you got your hands on some real, non-plastic cock, but everything you’ve ever heard about dicks and oral sex immediately flies right out of your head. You have no technique, and all you do is suck, gracelessly, trying to get as much of Ghost in your mouth as you can. You’re making loud, embarrassing slurping noises, and you’re certain that you’re drooling.

Judging by the grunts above you, Ghost has got no complaints about your technique (or lack thereof). One of his big hands reaches down to cup your face, fingers probing, testing at your jawline as it works.

“Fuck,” He snarls, tilting your chin up so he can see the way your lips are wrapped around the tip of his massive cock, “Knew you’d be good at this. Look at you, messy little thing. Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

That makes you shiver, an electric jolt that shoots right to your clit. You’re not sure what feels better; whether it’s his fat cock in your mouth or the hot wanting intensity in his eyes or the low filthy praises he’s growling.

God, you want to be good at this. You’re definitely no natural, but you fight so hard to push past your uncertainty to make this feel good for Ghost.

You’re pretty sure he’s lying about you looking gorgeous, though. You’ve never felt less sexy than you do in this moment. Your eyes are streaming over-stimulated tears, your brow is scrunched in concentration, you’re gripping onto Ghost’s thick thighs for both balance and emotional support, and it’s taking everything you have not to choke on him again.

Who the fuck gave him the right to have a cock like this? Complaining about it feels borderline blasphemous, especially when you have first hand experience of just how good he is at using it. You’re making a mess of yourself, slobbering all over him in a way that’s definitely a little gross, but you’re surprised by just how much you’re enjoying this.

You get a little too eager, because you take him a little too far down your throat and gag. You pull off quickly, choking lightly and still gasping for breath. Maybe your brain is a little oxygen-deprived, because you feel stupidly hazy.

You take a moment to recover, nuzzling dazedly into the curls of his pubic hair. Blond, of course. God, that shouldn’t be cute but it is.

The thick length of his dick might be intimidating (as proven by the ache in your throat right now), but the velvety balls nestled below seem almost paradoxically vulnerable. You’re fascinated by the sight of them; you might have been amateurishly familiar with cocks from your dildos alone, but his balls are entirely new to you.

You spend some time lavishing them with tiny licks and kisses. Ghost hums in surprised pleasure, the sound swelling to a rumbling purr when you start caressing his thighs and hips with a tender, shy touch.

Encouraged by his reaction, you return to his cock. It’s jutting proudly up, flushed a lovely pink colour, as though it’s just waiting for your attention once more. It’s already covered in a lather of foamy spit from your attention before, and when you sink your mouth down on him once again you do so with a bit more confidence.

“Like a pro, baby.” Ghost grunts appreciatively. A calloused thumb rolls over your cheek, under the fan of your lashes, and wipes away the moisture that’s gathered there.

You most certainly are not sucking his cock like a pro, but you appreciate the encouragement all the same. It’s nice to know that you’re not doing a horrific job, at least.

You spare a glance up, half-expecting Ghost’s eyes to be closed. Instead his gaze is avid, sharp, practically electric through that thin window of his balaclava. He’s watching you closely, taking in every detail like it all might be snatched away from him. It’s too intense, and you look back down, focusing on his dick again.

An outraged, possessive noise escapes you when Ghost forcibly tugs your head back, pulling his cock out of your mouth. It twitches a little once it’s been removed from the wet heat of your mouth, all shiny wet and pink, and you lick your lips. God, you want to get back on that, and you don’t understand why he’s taken it away from you.

Ghost lets out a low, breathy chuckle, reaching out to thumb at your spit-slick lower lip before reaching for your elbows and bodily hauling you back up onto the bed.

You practically bounce, falling back on the mattress and squirming to try and get your bearings again.

“No,” You say, and to your bewilderment it comes out on a sob. “I wanted you to come on my face–”

You can tell that Ghost’s expression does something strange beneath his mask because his eye twitches and he takes a deep breath. But he doesn’t put his cock back in your mouth. Instead he reaches back and pulls his shirt off, and you take a broken little inhale because last time he had fucked you, he’d hardly gotten undressed at all. But now you’re being blessed with the sight of scarred pale skin pulled taut over the thick swell of muscles that turn to a softer belly, that pale trail of curls starting just below his belly button.

“Next time.” He says, and it comes out on the ghost of a groan. “Fuck, love, next time.”

He’s quick to hook his hands under your thighs and haul them apart. You just about have time to spread your legs before he’s muscling his way between them. He tugs impatiently at his balaclava, tugging it askew to reveal his mouth, then he presses his nose into your humiliatingly slick pussy and starts sucking at your clit like it’s a hard candy.

You shriek, your thighs clamping shut around his ears as you writhe, but he clearly has no intention of stopping. The muffled moans he lets out into your cushiony cunt vibrate in the best way, and he’s so brazen about it that it just about takes your breath away. You don’t even know if he can see anything, considering his mask is completely lopsided and his eyes aren’t lined up with the holes anymore, but he’s working with such enthusiasm that it doesn’t even matter.

And honestly, his enthusiastic pussy-eating combined with the sheer visual stimulation he’s providing is really doing it for you.

You’re probably going to get a crick in your neck from the way you’re craning your head just to watch him hunch over you, that tongue of his peeking out from beneath the edge of his mask just to lick you. He’s built like a fucking god; thick muscles, soft tummy, and cushiony pecs. It might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh god, fuck–!” You choke out, your cunt clenching down hard as Ghost slides a finger into you.

Of course, Ghost’s fingers are also thicker than average. A single one of them feels like what would have been two of your own and you gasp a bit at the sudden stretch. You open up easily, your body welcoming him greedily and bearing down hard around his digits. Maybe it’s because you’re used to controlling the depth, speed and angle of penetration completely when you’re playing with your toys, but relying on Ghost for pleasure feels so damn exotic and exciting. Now you can only tilt your hips and go with Ghost’s pattern of movement; a bit harder, a bit deeper than what you would have done on your own.

He pushes another finger inside and it’s snug in your cunt, two fingers squished together nicely by your pulsing walls, hot and wet. It makes a sticky sound when he pushes them knuckle-deep, and then he sucks at your clit again, hard.

You’re honestly taken aback when your stomach tightens up and a wave of white-hot pleasure washes over you. Your back bows off the bed, you cover your mouth with a balled-up fist, your chest heaves.

It’s exactly as good as you remember it being the first time, maybe even better, and the noises you make are broken and pathetic as you whine and cry.

Ghost licks you through it, big long laves of his tongue punctuated by sweet little suckles on your clit that feel almost fond. All you can do is lay there and take it, your head spinning a little as you catch your breath and try to figure out how the fuck he managed to make you come so damn quickly when you’ve been failing so spectacularly for a week.

You’ve barely finished coming, still shaking with the aftershocks, when he climbs up your body. At some point he’s shucked his trousers off, and the fact that he’s naked sends a little zing of excitement through your tired body. Or at least, as naked as Ghost tends to get. He’s still got the damn mask on.

He’s breathing heavily; his mouth is slightly ajar, mask tucked up around his crooked nose as he settles on his haunches between your thighs. He’s still staring hard at your cunt, his eyes glued to the way your clit is still twitching. He’s still so damn quiet, and you have no idea what he’s thinking.

When he reaches out to thumb at your clit again you whine. You’re sensitive, and his thumb is calloused and rough. You wiggle, lift up your leg and press your foot to his broad chest to stop him. You may as well be pushing against a brick wall for all the good it did.

Ghost just exhales a quiet laugh, capturing your ankle in his massive fist. He turns his head and kisses your ankle; the gesture is unexpectedly tender, and makes something in your chest tremble dangerously.

He uses his hold on your ankle as leverage to raise your leg, spreading your thighs out wide until your hips ache. You feel so exposed, the lips of your cunt parted ever so slightly, and he’s quick to press his cock against your still-twitching clit.

“Oh, look at her,” He breathes, low enough that you have to strain to hear. “Shite, she missed me, didn’t she?”

His hand is steady as he strokes his cock, dragging it through your sticky folds. The pretty pink head catches on your clit each time, and you let out a quiet whimper. Ghost doesn’t even notice; his eyes are zeroed in on your spread pussy, watching how you flutter around nothing.

“Fuck, she’s been waitin’ for me all week,” He coos, his cock notching at the entrance of your cunt and pressing in just enough for you to feel the stretch as his thumb rolls against your clit. “I know, baby, been waitin’ for you too.”

Jesus, you feel like you’re gonna die. You’re taking all these big deep shivering breaths, still trembling a little from your orgasm and eager for him to just fuck you already, but his filthy talk in your ear is sending you spiralling. You’re so wet it feels like you’ve sprung a leak; you can feel moisture running down your ass and under your thighs, and you burn with both mortification and desire.

Ghost presses his cock in a little further, and your back arches as you groan. Despite the orgasm and the fingering and the fact that you are so fucking aroused right now, the stretch is intense.

“Yeah, she’s beggin’ for me.” Ghost is still talking – at this point you think his words are meant just for himself, because they’re low and a little slurred, his eyes glassy as he stares at the way his cock spears through the slick folds of you. “Listen; it’s like she’s talking to me.”

For a second, you have no goddamn idea what he’s talking about. But then, in the silence, you hear the squelch of your drippy cunt as he squishes his cock against it in shallow little thrusts, barely even pressing the tip inside.

“Oh god,” You whine, high and needy. “Just– stop teasing.”

The bastard laughs, all low and gritty and a little breathless.

“It’s not teasing, lovie.” He says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your jawline. “You’ve been avoiding me for a week straight. I’m just reacquainting myself.”

Then he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth in a move so sweet that it honestly takes you aback. Every complaint in your head flies out the window, and you turn eagerly in an attempt to deepen the kiss. His mouth is so hot, his lips plush and hungry and a little salty. It occurs to you that you’re tasting yourself in his mouth, and your body draws up tight and tense in response.

“Simon,” You breathe, intending to tell him to get a move on and just fuck you already, but you don’t even get as far as finishing the order.

He groans as though the sound of his given name is a signal, and before you know it you’ve got a huge wall of muscle hunched over you and around you as Ghost holds himself up by his elbows on either side of your head. You feel his cock prodding at the entrance of your cunt and your legs fall even further open, until your hip joints ache.

When he starts to push in, the stretch burns in a way that makes your mouth fall open as you choke on the air in your lungs. You’re wet and pliable and eager, your pussy sucking hungrily at Ghost’s dick in an effort to take him deep quickly, but you had almost forgotten what this felt like. You can’t stop the way your cunt tightens eagerly as he rocks in an inch.

He laughs lowly in your ear, has to swallow back a groan when you clench tight around him, “C’mon, stop pushing me out, darling.”

“Wait,” You gasp, reaching down to place your hand over his belly. “Wait, oh my god, you’re too big–”

His stomach muscles are tensed with the effort he's putting in to keep from rocking into you all in one go, and you spare a moment to admire his patience and his sheer resolve to make things good for you. But even though he’s obediently paused to let you catch your breath, he chuckles quietly at your reaction.

“It’s only the tip, baby.” He murmurs, cooing softly to you like you’re something easily spooked. “You’ve taken it before. This pretty little cunt of yours is so hungry, gotta let her have it.”

You nod, hesitantly. He’s right; he may be big, but you’d taken him before. Only last week. And you had been a virgin then. Well, technically. Not physically, maybe, since you’d long stretched out your hymen on your dildos, but mentally. Though at least last week you had stretched yourself out on your vibrator, and then Ghost had spent so long opening you up with his mouth and fingers.

Ghost rocks forward another inch, and the stretch makes you squeal like a fucking stuck pig. It’s mortifying. How the hell did he ever manage to fit that fat cock inside you?

You slap at his belly hard, writhing away.

“No, nope, not gonna fit.” You wheeze.

Ghost pulls back, and you can read the disappointed slant of his mouth and he reaches down to grip the base of his cock. Now that you get another look at it, you take a deep breath. It’s still well-lubed with your spit and the pink cockhead is shiny with your slick.

It’s big, but you know you can take it. You just… you need better leverage.

Your jaw clenches in determination. “I need to be on top.”

There’s a moment of silence as those words settle between you, as though Ghost’s brain is buffering. Then his lips start curving up into that semi-familiar smug smile, and he rolls the two of you over so that he’s laying on his back in your bed with you perched clumsily atop his thighs.

His cock juts up proudly, practically bobbing as it leaks prespend down his length. He settles back, folding his arms behind his head as he watches you – the position makes his biceps bulge in a way that is very appealing and also most likely unintentional.

“Go on.” He encourages, as hungry and wanting as you’ve ever heard him. “All yours, gorgeous.”

All yours, your brain repeats, the words echoing around your skull until you’re certain that your head is empty but for that. You want him so much it makes you feel dizzy.

You shuffle forward until your pussy is hovering over the blood-flushed head of his cock. The cute pink blush has started to darken into a red that looks painful, and you take a little breath at the idea of helping him out with his little problem.

You lower yourself down so that the tip of Ghost’s cock is lined up with your entrance and begins pressing in, stretching you wide and slipping in inch by inch. You gasp desperately as you’re speared open inexorably slowly, tears pricking your eyes as your mouth drops open.

Though you’re the one controlling the pace, it still seems overwhelming, all-encompassing. You can feel your cunt stretching wide and taut around the width of him, fluttering as Ghost groans in dazed appreciation.

You glance up at him, to see that his eyes are a little unfocused, missing the intensity that they’ve had all night. His gaze is flickering from the way your cunt is sliding down on his cock to your breasts to your face, so fast as if he’s trying to take it all in before it disappears.

His oversized hands come to rest on your hips, and you half expect him to pull you down impatiently on his cock. But he doesn’t, they just rest there as though he needs to ground himself. His stomach is tensed so tight you know that his abs will be sore in the morning, and to your delight you can see a lovely pink flush climbing across his lightly-haired chest.

You keep your eyes on his half-masked face as you slowly rock your way down onto the length of him, your breath occasionally hitching. Though he doesn’t rush you, you can feel the way his fingers twitch on your hips and the way his jaw grinds, and all those little tells only increase your excitement.

You’re so full you feel like you’re about to break in half, and Ghost’s gaze on you feels like a physical weight, but you don’t stop. You wiggle clumsily, trying to take him deeper and unintentionally pulling gruff groans out of him every time your body tightens.

Then, finally, you take him to the hilt. He groans, his eyes half-lidded as he watches the way your body sits perched on his lap, little tremors rocking through you as you adjust to his size inside.

“That’s my girl.” Ghost says, and the praise comes out on the edge of a growl. “Fuck, it’s like you were made for me.”

Tingling heat is growing alarmingly quickly in your lower belly and at the apex of your thighs, and you tremble over him as you use your grip on his shoulders for leverage. The soft sounds of pleasure that are pulled out of his throat every time you roll yourself against him send sparks through your entire nervous system – you’ve never heard Ghost sound so soft and wanting.

One of his hands reaches between you, one big thumb settling right over your swollen clit. You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you try to rock your hips against his hand even as you try to ease the feeling of his girth inside you.

“Would you have gone back to his quarters?” He asks, and the seemingly non-sequitur is too much for your dazed, cock-stupid mind to keep with.

“Huh?” You breathe, tentatively rocking your hips and moaning softly as his cock hits just right inside.

“The guy at the bar.” Ghost clarifies, his voice deep and a little irritated. “The one who was all over you. Would you have gone back with him?”

Oh, you think a little wryly. You should have known that he’d be a big possessive bastard.

“I don’t know.” You say, but you’re barely paying attention. You’ve started to rock for real now, and it feels good. Your rhythm is barely more than a slow grind – you think, distantly, that you should be lifting yourself up and down and fucking yourself properly, but grinding so that he hits deep and your clit rubs up against his pubic bone just feels so fucking intense.

“Waste of your time.” He grunts, his grip tight on your hips as he watches you hump lazily. “Jesus, look at the way you’re sucking me in. Cunt’s so fussy, she was just waiting for me.”

The worst part is, you think he might be right. You had been touching yourself every night this week, trying and failing to recreate the high he had brought you to. The touch just wasn’t the same, and no matter how close you got you just couldn’t fall over that damn ledge.

“Yeah,” You whine, hardly even aware of what you’re agreeing to. The sweet ache of the stretch has almost disappeared now, and you hump back onto his cock with abandon. Your chest is heaving as you pant, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely.

You tip forward, grabbing clumsily at his shoulders for balance as your face smushes against the cushiony softness of his pecs. God, he’s so strong, it’s like your body weight is nothing to him – he just accepts your whole body leaning into him, humming in satisfaction.

Tentatively, you lift yourself up a few inches so you can ease back down. You repeat the movement a few more times, and then you’ve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock.

“Simon,” You gasp, and it comes out in a whimper that’s far more pathetic than you had intended. “Am I– am I doing good?”

He’s gritting his teeth – you can see the tense line of his jaw as he tilts his head back, watching your face as you bounce stumblingly on his cock.

“Like I said, lovie, you’re a natural.” He says, exhaling harshly through his nose. “Gimme a kiss.”

When you lean forward to kiss him, the angle shifts and all of a sudden he's hitting the spot that makes your knees go weak. Your thighs are already burning from the exertion of riding him, but you whine desperately.

“There.” You moan into Ghost’s mouth, the two of you sharing air as you pant against each other’s lips. “Oh god, please–”

The muscles in his thighs ripple as he lifts his hips to meet yours as you bounce down, and then all of a sudden he’s fucking into you from below. The strength in his hips almost bodily lifts you every time he fucks up, though you almost thwart his every thrust as you try to grind on him again, trying to get his cock to hit just right again.

Fuck, your legs are tired and your knees are aching, but you can feel that glorious build up in your tummy again. Ghost has taken over most of the heavy lifting now too; instead of relying on you to bounce up and down, he’s drilling into that one spot inside you that sends liquid heat shooting up your spine.

Your mouth is hanging open and you’re pretty sure that you’re drooling all over his lovely, soft chest, but it just feels so good. You don’t understand how he does this, how he makes it feel so good for you. You think, a little wildly, that maybe your cunt was made for him.

“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight,” Ghost grunts, and his chest rumbles beneath your smushed cheek. “Gonna come again for me, sweetheart? Go on, cream on me.”

You didn’t actually think you were that close to another orgasm, despite how good it feels, but maybe Ghost knows you and your pussy better than you know yourself because you feel yourself go tight and gushy, nonsensical gasping and babbling spilling from your lips. The soft squelching noises your pussy makes as his cock fucks up into you is obscene, enough to make your nipples go tight and tingly.

Then his thumb rolls hard against the swollen bud of your clit and you’re gone. You think you might actually scream, but it’s muffled against the now drool-covered expanse of his thick, bulging pecs.

You let out a choked out wail as your orgasm rips through you like an electric shock, leaving you trembling madly in its wake. You swear you come apart completely, unravelling at the edges as you writhe in his lap, grinding wildly even as he continues to fuck you through it.

You don’t get even a moment of reprieve, because Ghost keeps going through the waves of your orgasm. He pulls you up to kiss you, sloppy and dirty, and then starts thrusting for all he’s worth. You’re put in mind of bull-riding, and your thighs clench hard as you try to stay seated as he bucks against you.

It's the most unravelled you’ve ever seen him. Ghost is always cool and in control, always meeting everything with smug, arrogant confidence. To see him glowing with sweat, his mouth lolled open under his rumpled balaclava as he snarls and grunts and fucks into you like an animal feels like a drug so heady you know you’re already addicted.

This is not the lazy rhythm of before; he’s uncoordinated and frantic, kissing you hard and messy as he shoves his cock up into you so hard that you’re sure it’s going to leave a permanent impression inside you. Maybe that’s what he’s aiming for. You take it easily, split open and pliant and soft and wet.

You’re oversensitive and shivery, breathing hard and whimpering on every other thrust, but you don’t complain. It only takes a handful of thrusts before Ghost finishes with a bitten off snarl, his jaw clenching and head tipping back as he pulls you off him just in time for his cock to spurt several thick ropes of creamy cum between you. Most of it lands on your belly, dripping down onto your pussy like icing on a cake, but some of it spurts onto Ghost’s own soft belly too.

It makes a mess, but you don’t care. You feel so dreamy-floaty happy right now, your limbs floppy and rubbery as you slump down onto his chest. He catches you easily, and lays you down gently onto the bed.

You grumble when he moves, but you remember this part from last time. You don’t bother opening your eyes; you know he’ll come back.

Sure enough, he returns within moments, and you feel a warm, wet cloth wiping at your belly and inner thighs. You part your legs, pleased with the feeling of being looked after. When you blink your eyes open again, you see that he’s pulled the mask back down to cover his lovely, talented mouth. You try not to be too disappointed over that. His eyeblack is smeared too; it gives the impression of total debauchery.

“You alright, love?” He asks, and you realise that you’ve just been staring blankly at him.

“Yeah.” You mumble, stretching your body out like a cat. Now that you’ve been given a moment, you can feel all those little aches flare to life between your legs, around your hips, and up the base of your spine. You wince, but don’t complain.

To your delight, Ghost climbs back into bed with you. He’s a little too big for the standard issue frame, but you’re more than happy to roll on top of him and cuddle close to conserve space. He seems similarly happy to have you all laid out on his chest, because he presses his masked face to the top of your head and inhales slowly.

“Are you staying, this time?” You ask quietly. You think you know the answer after your conversation earlier, but you can’t quite help the little pulse of insecurity.

“As long as you’ll have me.” He says, low in the quiet of the room. His tone is thick with significance, like he’s talking about more than just staying the night, and his fingers are sure and steady as he traces absent-minded little patterns down the length of your spine.

You swallow, heart racing, and rest your cheek against his chest. The steady thump, thump, thump of his own heart soothes you, and you bite your lip. He’s so solid, reliable. You’d trust him with your life, with anything.

You glance down, your eyes curiously seeking out his now softening cock. It’s laying in a bed of his blond curls at his crotch, and it looks so unthreatening when it’s flaccid. You admire the shape of it absently, feeling a little thrill of excitement at the sight of it. You can’t lie to yourself and say you don’t feel a little possessive, either.

“Are we dating now?” You ask quietly. You’re not able to look him in the eye when you ask it, so you keep your face turned down. You don’t think you could handle seeing his expression if his answer is no.

There’s a pause. His hand halts the sweet patterns he’d been drawing on your back.

“Was that a question for me, or my cock?” He asks. He seems to be aiming for his usual sort of dry humour, but his tone comes out a little guarded, as though he’s actually not sure.

You raise your head, stifling your insecurity, and make eye contact with him. Those pretty brown eyes, so warm when they’re looking at you like this.

“You,” You say.

There’s another pause, and then his hand starts tracing its way over your bare back again.

“Yeah,” Ghost says, and the corners of eyes crinkle. “Stuck with me now, lovie.”

#okayyyy here we go!#simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod smut

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sttoru · 2 years ago

Note

Could you do a scenario where megumis daycare teacher is hitting on y/n and toji and meg get really overprotective about it <3 love you parenting series sm

⟣ tags. dad!toji x female reader. fluff. themes containing jealousy / protectiveness.

you were stunning. that much was known and evident to toji and others around you. your looks were captivating — however, you always seem demanded to deny that fact. even when you have a husband who reminds you of how good you look on a daily basis.

but with good looks comes male attraction; something toji greatly dislikes since you’re his wife. it isn’t like he’ll be mad at you about it — no, not at all. in fact, toji feels a surge of pride every time someone tells him how lucky he is to be your husband.

the thing is: he gets a little. . . too jealous and overprotective every now and then when the harmless compliments turn into blatant flirting.

“oi, megumi,” toji grumbles as he holds his son in his arms, looking out in the distance. specifically at you talking to megumi’s daycare teacher for a bit way too long to his liking, “ya see that? mommy’s being hit on right in front of us.”

the little boy stops chewing on one of toji’s hair strands, seemingly understanding whatever his dad had said. megumi lets out a small ‘oh!’ noise and stretches his arm out in your direction, pointing at you, “mama.”

you were too busy answering the questions megumi’s teacher asked you to even realise that your husband and son were looking at you from far away. toji’s menacing aura, however, only seemed to intensify the more you talked to that man.

“tsk. . . all right, kid—listen up.” toji narrows his eyes at the scene before putting megumi down on his feet, crouching down to be at eye level with the boy. he puts a hand on megumi’s shoulder and whispers a plan in a ‘baby-language’ his son could understand;

the two are being the perfect partners in crime right now (they always have been; since megumi’s birth to be precise).

megumi’s daycare teacher was telling you a fun story about what your son had done to which you politely laughed at. in that same moment you could feel someone tugging at your pants lightly — as if wanting to catch your attention,

“oh — hi, my baby.” your face lights up as you see megumi standing behind you. his big eyes were staring up at you, fingers curled around the fabric of your trousers still — not a clue of what he wanted of you,

you tilt your head to the side in slight confusion and when you wanted to crouch down to be at eye level, the little boy suddenly starts to scream and cry as if he just experienced something traumatic. when in reality, nothing in the current scenery had changed to provoke such a dramatic reaction.

“woah, woah, hey. .” you were startled by the sudden switch in megumi’s mood — his face going from a neutral expression to one of pure despair as he (fake) cried. not only you, but also the daycare teacher seemed to take a step back from the sudden screams echoing in the area.

you immediately pick megumi up and try to calm him down, not pressing him for answers on why he suddenly decided to have an-almost-mental-breakdown-like outburst.

another switch was flipped in the toddler once your attention was diverted from his daycare teacher to him and him only. your eyebrow raised at how easily megumi shut up and went from a state of distraught to one of content in your arms.

that’s when you glance over at your husband who stood near the exit of the daycare, leaning against the wall with his bulky arms crossed, a proud and smug grin on his face — his plan seemed to have succeeded. all credit goes to his son for succeeding in catching you off guard.

“damn, seems like the brat needed his mama’s attention, eh?” toji calls out with an ‘innocent’ shrug, snickering after that, “like father, like son — they say.”

it took you only a few seconds to realise that toji had probably asked megumi to catch your attention by faking to cry near you — knowing you’d drop anything to comfort your child at any time, no matter what you were doing.

“oh, you little . . .” you bite your tongue to refrain from scolding your childish husband out in public. you look down at megumi, seeing him stare back at you with happiness in his blue eyes. you certainly couldn’t be mad at him, “you. you’re lucky you’re cute, ‘gumi.”

you chuckle and kiss your son’s forehead, bidding the teacher farewell quickly (leaving him disappointed by the rushed ending of your conversation), before walking to toji.

megumi squirms in your arms and when you put him down, he instantly runs to his dad, expecting something in return for his performance. toji did seem to have promised him something in exchange for accomplishing his mission—

“papa! papa! candy!”

you raise an eyebrow as toji takes out a piece of candy from his pocket, reserved just for his son. toji was beaming with pride, ruffling megumi’s hair before handing him the delicacy, “here ya go. good job out there, kid.”

you roll your eyes, as that was the only thing you could do after walking right into their trap like that. as per usual.

the cherry on top was that your husband was mocking you like an annoying manchild on the way back home — recalling how worried you reacted when megumi successfully acted like he was crying.

megumi giggled along with his dad, leaving you entirely defenceless. at least you could laugh with them as well.

they got you good.

#ෆ : parenting 101.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #jjk x you #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk fluff #toji fluff #toji fic #jjk fic #toji x you #jjk x y/n #toji x y/n

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mintyys-blog · 10 days ago

Text

NOT YOURS | mark grayson x kyptonian! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: attempted kidnapping, fighting

a/n: this was a request but I couldn’t directly reply to the ask.

The skies were torn apart by chaos.

The Invincible War raged over the horizon—alternate versions of Mark Grayson raining down across the globe, bringing bloodshed and horror with them. The air smelled of smoke and ash, screams echoing between crumbling buildings.

And Y/N?

She was in the thick of it.

A blur of red and blue as she flew through the chaos, her eyes locked on a single target—one of the Marks hovering above the battlefield, watching the world burn with a chilling sense of detachment.

This one was different.

No mask. No bloodlust in his eyes. But there was something colder—quieter. Like the weight of entire galaxies rested on his shoulders.

Then his gaze met hers. And he stopped.

His eyes widened. “Y/N…?”

She hovered in place, fists tight, the wind whipping her hair behind her. “How do you know my name?”

His expression cracked, something fragile just beneath the surface. “You’re alive. You’re—you’re Kryptonian here.” His voice shook with something dangerous—wonder, obsession, grief. “My Y/N was human. She… she didn’t make it. I wasn’t strong enough. But you…”

He took a step forward. “You can survive. You can come back with me.”

Her face hardened. “I’m not yours.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, voice nearly desperate. “We were everything. She believed in me when no one else did. And I let her die. But here—here you lived. Stronger. Faster. You can’t expect me to just walk away from that.”

She glared. “I’m not a second chance for your mistakes.”

“You don’t have to be. You just have to come with me.”

Then he moved.

Fast.

But she was faster.

Her fist collided with his face mid-lunge, sending him crashing into the pavement below. She didn’t hesitate—diving after him, pinning him down with her forearm across his throat.

“I’m not her,” she hissed. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

He laughed, blood in his teeth. “You fight like her. Always so stubborn.”

“You mean always trying to do the right thing?”

He flipped her, slamming her into the ground with brute force, but she kicked off him, launching them both into the sky again. The battle tore through clouds and shattered the sound barrier, each blow shaking the earth.

This wasn’t just a fight.

This was survival.

He tried again to grab her, to plead, to reason—but she wasn’t listening. Every punch she threw was a statement. Every strike, a refusal.

She would not be taken.

And there was no one here to save her—not Nolan, not Eve, not even her Mark. It was just her and this warped version of the boy she’d grown up with—the one she’d fallen for when they were sixteen. The one she’d trusted with her heart.

But this wasn’t him.

This was someone else.

This was a man shaped by grief and desperation. A man who would steal another reality’s version of someone he’d lost—because he couldn’t let go.

And she was going to make damn sure he had to.

Finally, with one last devastating uppercut, she sent him crashing down through several city blocks, dust rising in a pillar behind him.

She hovered there, breathing hard, arms trembling slightly as the adrenaline cooled.

Sirens wailed in the distance. The battle still raged on elsewhere. But her part? Her part was done. He wasn’t getting back up.

The dust was still settling when she dropped to the ground, boots crunching against broken pavement. Rubble surrounded her. Flames crackled in the distance. The air was heavy with smoke, blood, and silence.

Viltrumite Mark lay unconscious in the crater she’d created. He didn’t stir.

But she didn’t relax.

Not until she heard the whoosh of familiar wings slicing through the air.

And then— “Y/N!”

Her head snapped toward the sound—her heart leapt before her body did. In an instant, her Mark was there, crashing to his knees in front of her, his arms wrapping around her like he was afraid she might disappear if he blinked.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. God—” His voice cracked as he held her tighter, hands running along her back, her shoulders, checking for wounds.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and melted into him.

“I’m okay,” she whispered into his neck. “I promise.”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, his brow furrowed deep with worry. “I felt the shockwave halfway across the city. I heard it. I thought—when I saw him—when I saw you—”

“He thought I was his,” she muttered bitterly. “Said his version of me died because I was human. But here, I’m Kryptonian. So I was his second chance.”

Mark’s jaw clenched, eyes darkening. “That son of a—”

“I took care of it,” she said simply, stepping back and looking down at the broken version of him in the crater. “I didn’t hold back.”

Mark stared at her—really looked at her. Scuffed, dirt-smeared, battle-worn. And still absolutely, terrifyingly unstoppable.

He swallowed thickly. “I’ve always known how strong you are, but seeing you like that… fighting someone who looks like me? I don’t know if I could’ve done what you did.”

She looked at him, her expression softening. “You’re not him, Mark. You never will be.”

He stepped closer again, voice gentler now. “But what if one day I am? What if I lose myself like they did? What if—”

She silenced him with a hand to his cheek. “You won’t. And even if you ever tried, I’d beat your ass before you got the chance.”

He blinked—then huffed out a quiet laugh, resting his forehead against hers. “That’s comforting.” They stood there for a moment, just breathing each other in. The world was still falling apart around them, but in that moment, nothing else mattered.

“Y’know,” Mark finally said, “you’ve been punching alternate versions of me all day and still managed to look hot doing it. That’s kinda unfair.”

“Shut up.” She playfully rolled her eyes at him, slapping his arm. “I’m serious.”

She grinned, nudging his chest. “You’re lucky I love you.” He grinned back. “I know.”

Then his expression softened again. “I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she promised. “Because I’m not going anywhere. And if another version of you ever tries to take me again…” Her eyes glowed faintly. “I’ll break their ribs. And maybe their spine.”

Mark blinked. “You’re really hot when you threaten violence.”

“Mark.”

“Right, sorry.”

She leaned in and kissed him—soft, grounding, everything the chaos had tried to tear away. And for just a moment, time stilled. This was her Mark. And she was his. No variant, no multiverse, no twisted echo of the man she loved could ever change that.

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson #invincible x you #invincible variants #invincible x reader #viltrum mark x reader #viltrum mark #viltrumite mark

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paucubarsisimp · 1 month ago

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smitten

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: in which lando norris is absolutely smitten by you

warnings: none

tagged: @barcapix, @universefcb, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

the paddock was busy, as always. the usual hustle and bustle of drivers, engineers, and media people filled the air, but despite the noise and chaos, lando’s focus was entirely on one thing. or rather, one person.

you.

he tried to be professional as he moved between interviews, signing autographs, and chatting with his team. but every now and then, his gaze would shift to the side, and there you were, standing just out of the way, a soft smile playing on your lips as you watched him.

there was something about the way you looked at him that made everything else fade away. you weren’t the type to scream his name or chase after him. you were calm, composed, and just… there. supporting him without words, with nothing but a glance that made his heart skip a beat every time.

today was no different.

he was in the middle of an interview, answering questions about the race weekend when his eyes, almost instinctively, drifted toward the spot where you were leaning against a barrier. your arms were crossed casually, but it was your smile that took his breath away. you weren’t even looking at him directly, but the small, knowing grin you gave him made him feel like the entire world had stopped moving. it was one of those smiles that spoke volumes—one that said, “i’m proud of you.”

“lando?” the interviewer’s voice snapped him back to reality.

“huh? sorry, what?” he stuttered, blinking quickly.

the interviewer chuckled lightly, clearly aware of what had happened. “i asked if you’re feeling confident going into tomorrow’s race?”

lando quickly cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “yeah, uh… i’m feeling good. the team’s done a great job, and i’m just focused on putting everything together tomorrow. should be fun.” he smiled, but it was a little distracted.

“you sure? you seem a little… out of it.” the interviewer raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

lando glanced back at you, and that was it—he couldn’t help it. he just couldn’t stop looking at you. the way your eyes met his for a split second, the slight tilt of your head as you gave him a small wave, just a flicker of movement—but it was enough to send his heart racing. he could feel his cheeks heating up, and no matter how hard he tried to focus, all he could think about was you.

“uh, i’m fine,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding a little more high-pitched than usual. “just… uh, i guess i’m just really excited about the weekend, you know?” he laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

the interviewer didn’t buy it. “mmhmm, sure. well, we can let you get back to it, lando. good luck tomorrow!”

lando mumbled a thank you, barely registering the words as he hurriedly walked away from the interview area. his heart was still racing, but not from the pressure of the race or the interviews—it was because of you.

as he neared where you were standing, he couldn’t stop the goofy grin that spread across his face. you raised an eyebrow, noticing how he was practically bouncing on his heels, trying to suppress the excitement bubbling up inside him.

“you good there, baby?” you teased, your voice light and playful, yet filled with warmth.

lando didn’t even try to hide it. “yeah. just… you. you looked so cute back there.” he couldn’t help the blush that crept up his neck.

you laughed softly, the sound so genuine and effortless that it only made him fall even harder for you. “i just smiled at you. i didn’t do anything that special.”

“no, no,” he protested, stepping closer to you, “it was everything. just… everything. i can’t focus on anything when you do that.”

your smile widened as you gently reached up to fix the collar of his team shirt, fingers brushing against his skin. “you’re so sweet,” you murmured, your eyes soft with affection.

he took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “i don’t know how you do it,” he confessed, almost embarrassed by how easily he became a flustered mess around you. “you just… you just look at me, and i forget how to function.”

“i think that’s kind of the point,” you whispered, your smile turning into something more intimate. “i want you to focus on me, lando.”

he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “you’ve got my full attention,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

before you could say anything else, a call from his engineer broke the moment. “lando! we need you to get to the car for the setup check!”

he groaned but couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “guess i’ll have to go. but i’ll be thinking about you. as always.”

you gave him a soft kiss on the cheek before he turned away. “go win, baby.”

“for you,” he said with a wink, before jogging off toward the car, still floating on the cloud of your smile.

the race weekend was in full swing, and the tension in the paddock was palpable. cars zoomed by, engines roared, and mechanics scrambled to get everything in place. but in the midst of all the chaos, lando couldn’t help but feel like he was living in his own little bubble whenever you were around.

it wasn’t that he didn’t love the racing, the adrenaline, or the buzz of the weekend—he did. but when you were nearby, it all just faded into the background. your presence was like this soft, warm light that made everything else feel insignificant in comparison.

today, however, was proving a bit more challenging than usual. lando had just finished a long meeting with the team and was walking down the paddock toward the garage when he spotted you again, standing by the side of the track. your phone was in your hand, and you were reading something, your brow furrowed in concentration.

he tried to focus on the conversation he was having with oscar, but every word, every sentence was drowned out by the overwhelming urge to walk over to you and kiss you right then and there. you weren’t doing anything special—just standing there, looking effortlessly beautiful as always—but to lando, it was enough to send his heart into a complete frenzy.

“lando, mate, you okay?” oscar asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

“what?” lando blinked, snapping back to reality. he had been staring at you the whole time, hadn’t he?

“you’ve been zoning out, mate. what’s going on?” oscar grinned, clearly noticing the direction of his attention.

lando felt his cheeks flush, but he wasn’t even embarrassed anymore. he was used to being this way with you. “uh, nothing,” he mumbled, trying to brush it off. “just thinking about the setup for the car.” he hoped oscar would buy it, but judging by the raised eyebrow he got in response, he knew that wasn’t convincing.

“right… thinking about the setup,” oscar said, clearly not buying it but choosing not to press. “anyway, good luck with everything. we’ll be cheering for you.”

“thanks,” lando said quickly, before giving one last glance toward you. and there it was again—your smile. it was small, but it was directed straight at him, and it had the same effect on him as it always did. his heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, he thought he might just lose it and walk over to you right then and there.

but he didn’t. instead, he turned and walked toward the garage, telling himself he needed to focus. focus, lando. it’s only a few more hours. you can do this.

except, every time he turned a corner or passed by a team member, all he could think about was you. how you looked at him like he was the only person in the room. how your presence seemed to ground him, to remind him of what was important, even in the middle of a race weekend.

the final practice session was coming up soon, and lando knew he had to give it his all. but as he walked into the garage to put on his helmet and get in the car, his mind wandered again. his eyes darted to the small set of bleachers just outside the paddock area. he knew you’d be there, watching, waiting.

he grabbed a towel to wipe off some sweat and caught sight of your figure through the glass window. there you were again, standing with your arms crossed, your lips curved into a soft smile as you chatted with a few other team members. he couldn’t stop himself from staring at you, his chest tightening in that way it always did when he saw you.

he was so distracted by the sight of you, so lost in the way you made him feel like the luckiest guy in the world, that he didn’t notice oscar approach until the man cleared his throat.

“lando? we’re ready to go,” oscar said, giving him a look that was both impatient and understanding.

“oh, yeah, right,” lando stammered, snapping out of his daze. he could feel his cheeks burning, but it didn’t matter. not when you were still in the back of his mind, your smile still echoing in his thoughts.

“you’re not even listening, are you?” oscar asked, half amused, half exasperated.

lando grinned sheepishly. “sorry, mate. i’m just a little… distracted.”

oscar raised an eyebrow. “yeah, i can tell. just focus on the track, alright? no more daydreaming.”

lando nodded, though he didn’t really hear him. his eyes were already searching for you again, and when he caught sight of you walking toward the pit wall, he felt that familiar surge of warmth.

“got it,” he mumbled, giving oscar a quick nod before pulling on his helmet and heading toward the car.

the session went smoothly, but lando couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was still thinking about you. every turn he took, every lap he pushed, he had a feeling you were watching him, rooting for him. you always did, but somehow, today, it felt different.

when the practice session finally came to an end, he pulled the car into the pit and stepped out, immediately scanning the crowd for you. and there you were, standing by the barriers again, waiting for him. your eyes locked with his as you flashed that signature, soft smile. just the sight of it made his heart flutter, and he couldn’t help but grin back at you, unable to control it.

oscar came over to him as he unbuckled his helmet, patting him on the back with a wide grin. “you were a little out of it today, huh?”

lando laughed, his heart still racing from the sight of you. “yeah, maybe. but i think it went okay.”

oscar raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing. “yeah? or maybe you were just thinking about your girlfriend again?”

lando shot him a knowing grin. “you know me too well.”

“mate, you’re obvious,” oscar said, shaking his head with a smile. “it’s cute, but you really need to focus more when you’re out there.”

lando couldn’t argue with that. “yeah, i know. i’ll try to focus more. but seriously, when she smiles at me like that…” he trailed off, his thoughts wandering again.

oscar chuckled, clearly entertained by how whipped lando was. “just don’t crash, alright? we need you in one piece.”

lando grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. “don’t worry, i got it.”

as he scanned the crowd for you again, he noticed that you were already making your way over toward the pit wall. he couldn’t help but make his way toward you, ignoring the rest of the paddock around him. as soon as he was close enough, he reached out, gently grabbing your hand and pulling you toward him.

“hey,” he said, his voice softer now, a little more serious, “you were amazing today.”

you looked up at him, an amused glint in your eyes. “me? i didn’t even do anything.”

he chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “yeah, you did. you looked at me. that’s all it takes.”

your eyes softened as you reached up to touch his cheek, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen loose from his helmet. “you’re such a sap,” you teased, but there was affection in your voice.

lando grinned, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “maybe, but it’s because of you. you always get me like this.”

you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. “i love you, you know that?”

his arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you close. “i love you more than anything,” he murmured. “you’re the reason i can’t focus on anything else, even when i’m out there racing.”

you pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his. “then promise me something.”

“anything.”

“promise me you’ll stop getting so distracted. i don’t want you to crash because you’re thinking about me.”

he laughed, a light sound, and kissed your forehead again. “i promise,” he said. “but honestly, i don’t think i could ever stop thinking about you. you’re always with me, whether i want it or not.”

and in that moment, as the world buzzed around them, lando couldn’t care less about anything else. because with you by his side, everything else just seemed… right.

don’t forget to leave a request!

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 angst #f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando x you #lando x reader #ln4

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freaktoru · 2 months ago

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summary: plug!eren yeager x fem!reader -finding a plug was hard these days—let alone a reliable one, so you took matters into your own hands and found yourself in the hands of eren yeager. warnings: drug use (marijuana), unhealthy drug habits (using it to cope), plug!eren yeager, big dick eren, use of pet names, size difference, praise, dirty talk, degradation, cunnilingus, literal filth, unprotected sex, spanking, pnv, porn with a little bit of plot, do not try this at home. wc; 4.8k authors note: having severe plug!eren brainrot.

you unlocked the door to your apartment, finally stepping inside its warmth after a long, rainy, miserable day. you were greeted by your roommate, sasha, who you found sitting on the couch in your shared living room. as a broke university student, you couldn’t afford to have your own place so you lived with your childhood best friend. she was a pretty good roommate, a little messy at times but a great cook. she loved baking, especially when the two of you got high together, a habit you both developed earlier this year in an effort to battle the stress of school. usually, you were the one responsible for getting the weed—sasha claimed that she didn’t trust herself to get a good deal but in reality you knew she was just too shy to go pick it up herself.

and that's exactly how you found yourself going to jean kirstein every week, to get your shared weekly stash of weed. jean however, was a terrible plug. he was the first one you had found and it turns out that he was known for his inconsistency and terrible attitude. and that’s also why last week was the last time you ever picked up weed from jean kirstein.

“and what are we supposed to do now?” sasha exclaimed, eyes wide with confusion after you told her that you were finally done with jean’s bullshit.

“i’m going to find a new plug. connie told me his roommate eren yeager sells” you replied, joining her on the couch with a steaming cup of tea. you and connie were friends, having went to high school together. apparently, eren was one of his 4 roommates but you hadn't actually been to connie's new place since he moved in so you’ve never seen any of the guys he lived with.

“i’ve heard of that guy. apparently he picks and chooses his clients, and doesn’t deal to just anyone. good luck getting on his list” she answered, clearly annoyed with your news.

“don’t worry. i already texted him, connie gave me his number. i’m sure he put in a good word for me” you explained, taking slow, small sips of your tea in an effort to warm up from the rain you got caught under on your way home.

“okay, whatever you say. i still think you shoulda just stuck with jean though. so what if he’s flakey? at least his weed is good” she responded, her eyes fixed on some stupid show that was playing on the tv.

“of course you’d say that sasha, his weed is the only weed you’ve ever smoked” you shot back, followed by a chuckle. sasha only started smoking recently, but you had dabbled in it before, so you knew your way around things better than she did.

she shifted her gaze from the screen to you, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly to make sure you noticed. “yeah yeah whatever, just let me know if this eren guy replies” she said, fixing her gaze back on the tv.

you lingered on the couch a little longer until you finished sipping your cup of tea. it had been a long day. you had class all day, somehow managed to forget to pack a lunch and got caught in the rain without an umbrella on your way home. some weed would have been nice to relax after a day like this but you and sasha had run out just a few days ago. you decided that a long hot shower sounded like the second best way to wind down after your miserable day. 15 minutes later you were out of the shower and in front of your fogged up bathroom mirror doing some skincare when you heard your phone buzz on the counter beside you. a slow smile crept onto your face as you checked the message. eren had replied.

[8:16PM] you: hey, i’m y/n. connie gave me your number. i heard you sell?

[9:03PM] eren: depends. what do you need?

you finished applying your moisturizer and picked up your phone to reply.

[9:04PM] you: i need some 🍃.

[9:04PM] eren: alr. when do u need it?

[9:05PM] you: as soon as possible

he stopped replying after the last message which had you wondering what he was up to. connie hadn’t told you much about him, only that he was picky with who he sold to and that he was one of his roommates. however to you, he seemed quick to get you weed. eren must’ve known you knew connie. another 20 minutes later, you were sat in your pj’s on your bed, finishing up some homework when your phone buzzed again.

[9:26PM] eren: can u come tn?

your eyes widened at the text. that was quick you thought. it was getting late and you had just showered and done all your skincare, but you couldn’t help yourself. a joint would have done wonders for you right now.

you walked out into the living room, deciding to consult sasha. “sasha, he replied, he’s asking me to come pick up tonight” you told her. she was still fixated on her tv show.

“no way. he’s already asking you to pick up? damn y/n what did you say to this guy?” she joked, eyes darting in your direction.

“nothing, i just asked him if he sells and he asked me to come. let me ask him where to pick up and then i guess ill decide” you replied, pulling out your phone to send eren a reply.

[9:30PM] you: depends. where should i pick up?

[9:32PM] eren: my house. i’ll send the address.

he sent you the address and you put it in your map. you were shocked to find out that he lived not even a 5 minute walk from your apartment, you knew roughly where connie lived but you didn’t know it was this close. jean lived a good 20 minutes away so this would be so much more convenient for you.

“he lives like 5 minutes from here. i didn’t know connie lived that close, he still hasn’t invited me to see his new place” you explained to sasha, annoyed that you’d be meeting connie’s roommate at his house before him.

“you should totally go then. do you want me to come with?” she replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. the rain had stopped while you were showering and you thought you could use some fresh air.

“it’s cool, i’d like a walk to clear my head anyways” you responded, confident that you can handle it by yourself.

“if you say so. stay on the line though and call me if he tries some weird shit with you” she reassured you. you knew sasha didn’t do well in situations like these, so having her on the phone would be much easier than having to ease her anxieties the whole walk on your way to some guy’s house for weed.

“i’ll be fine, connie said he’s a chill guy. i’m gonna go get dressed” you said, as you walked back into your bedroom and put on a pair of comfy sweats and a hoodie. it wasn’t too cold outside, and now that the rain had stopped, a hoodie would do just fine. you walked towards the front door and grabbed your keys while putting your shoes on. before you left, you shot eren a text.

[9:45PM] you: i’ll be there in 5.

you were hoping connie would be home so you could kill two birds with one stone–seeing connie who you haven’t seen outside of class in months and getting weed from eren since they conveniently lived in the same house. after a short refreshing walk to the given address, you found yourself planted on his porch, standing right before his front door. you weren’t sure whether to text him first or not, but you opted to ring the doorbell when you noticed almost all the lights on in the house. the door swung open a moment later, revealing a tall, broad shouldered guy with brown hair tied back in a lazy man bun. he wore a black t-shirt which accentuated his biceps and grey sweats. he looked like he worked out. you weren’t expecting him to be so attractive.

“uh hey, i’m y/n, connie’s friend, i’m here to pick up?” you said awkwardly, breaking the silence. he looked you up and down, his eyes studying every part of your body.

“yeah, connie told me about you. i’m eren. come in” he said quickly, and stepped aside, making room for you to come in. jean had never really asked you to come inside before so this was kind of weird, but you felt safe knowing connie lived here, so you decided to follow him in. you stepped inside the house noticing it looked exactly like your typical frat house. you looked around, noting all the chipped furniture and stupid posters on the walls.

“is connie home?” you asked, pulling yourself back to the present moment after observing all the small details of their living room, noticing eren leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets, eyeing you.

“nah, i think he’s out with some girl” he replied casually.

“oh, okay” you said awkwardly, waiting for him to either say something else or finally give you the weed you came here for.

“you want a smoke before you pick up? it’s on me” eren asked moments later, pushing himself off the wall.

“oh um, are you sure?” you replied nervously, not sure if he was being serious. jean never offered you a free smoke. the one time you smoked with him, he made you pay.

“yeah for sure” he replied. his eyes were such a dark, vibrant green, his gaze alone was enough to send blood rushing to your cheeks, making you suddenly feel very aware of yourself. “come on out back, we can smoke in the backyard” he added, walking out of the room, expecting you to follow him. and that’s how you found yourself in the backyard, watching him hold a perfectly rolled joint between his lips, with a lighter in his hand. he brought the lighter to the joint, lighting it and took two puffs before passing it to you. puff puff pass.

“thanks” you mumbled before taking it and bringing it to your lips. you only took one drag before passing it back to him.

“is this your first time smoking weed?” he asked, eyeing you with an indifferent expression on his face.

“no, i usually smoke alone at night or with my roommate, we just dropped our old plug for being too flakey” you replied, watching him smoke the joint. something about him standing there, joint hanging between two fingers, stray hairs falling out of his bun, was so damn attractive.

“i bet it was jean wasn’t it? that dude’s the flakiest fuck i know” he said, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. it must have been the weed making your body react this way.

“yeah, his weed wasn’t great either. yours better be good or i’ll find another plug” you joked, chuckling awkwardly.

“you’ll find that i don’t give my good shit out to just anyone princess” he answered, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a slight smirk. the pet name shocked you, pulling you back to reality. you were with a random (hot) stranger. smoking weed. in his house. at 10pm. fuck.

he took his puffs, and passed the joint back to you. he was clearly amused by the surprised look on your face after calling you princess. “we’ll see about that eren” you replied confidently a few moments later, making sure to drag out the last syllable of his name. his eyes were fixed on you, watching the way you effortlessly took a pull and brushed your fingers against his when passing it back to him.

the two of you fell into easy conversation while finishing the joint, and talked about everything from university to your future goals. he was an easygoing guy which was refreshing for you, considering all the guys you’ve dated or spoken to before always had something negative to say about how you lived your life. not to mention, eren was also extremely attractive with his slightly messy dark hair and his piercing green eyes which you caught looking at you a little too often.

the high was finally kicking in, you noticed yourself feeling lighter and the tingling sensation you usually felt was coursing through your body. you and eren started laughing about something stupid together toward the end of your conversation which told you that you weren’t the only one feeling it. you couldn’t help but notice how eren would re-tie his man bun when it fell loose, or how he skillfully held his joint between two slender fingers. his gaze was always fixed on you, rarely breaking eye contact. after finishing your shared joint, eren gave you a tour of the house, and invited you up to his room to hang out and eat some snacks. you protested at first, claiming you needed to go home but you couldn’t lie to yourself, you were having a really good time with him. it felt so easy with him, like you had known each other for ages.

you were sitting on his bed snacking on some chips that he gave you. there was no denying it—the guy was stocked with snacks. his room was surprisingly clean, contrary to what you expected. it was obvious that he was a gamer from the expensive looking setup on his desk and the red and purple led lights lining the perimeter of his room. he was standing in his doorway, leaning against one side, his forest green eyes once again fixed on you.

“what do you think of the weed? better than jean’s?” he asked suddenly. you turned to face him and noted how he almost fills the entire door frame with his height, his broad shoulders barely fitting within the frame. it must have been the weed talking because wow, did he always look this good?

“i suppose so. i guess yours will do for now” you teased, enjoying watching his face twist at your sarcasm.

“oh yeah? you suppose?” eren raised his eyebrows, taking a couple of steps towards where you were sat on his bed, the tone of his voice bordering on seductive. you felt your whole body tense, your thighs pressing against each other from just that one sentence alone. had the temperature gone up? the room suddenly felt so much hotter. his muscular arms were crossed over his chest, his demeanor cool and alluring. you stood up from the bed to face him and even at your full height he towered over you. “mhm” you hummed in return, crossing your arms to match his stance and looking up at him with glossy eyes. whatever this was, it felt like a game— one you knew you wanted to play.

using his index finger and thumb, he tilted your chin further up towards him, making you crane your neck back to look up at him. "if you were to ask me, i'd say you're enjoyin' it veryyy much princess. don’t ya think?" he whispered, voice low and husky, his face so close to yours that you could feel his warm breath practically dancing over your skin. the proximity, the difference in size, the nickname, and the intoxicating smell of his cologne, it was all too much for you to handle at once. you felt a fire burning low in your gut, begging for something you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge just yet. the thrill of the whole situation had you absolutely buzzing, waiting for what was next to come.

“answer me” he ordered when you didn’t respond, his tone making your whole body tense up with a mix of fear and something a little too close to what felt like pleasure. “i suppose i am enjoying it” you teased, playing right back. you felt an invisible line snap, something in the air had changed between the two of you. and that’s when you did something sober you would have never done. you licked your lips, and kissed him. you didn’t need to touch eren to feel his whole body go stiff. you paused momentarily, lips on his, and just as you were about to pull away, eren dove right in. one hand moved to your waist, grabbing it and pulling you closer, and the other was tangled in your hair, pulling at it. he kissed you impatiently, as if he were running out of time. you felt his tongue glide along the inside of your mouth, mapping, and learning every inch of it.

you pulled away for a moment to take your chunky hoodie off. the room felt too hot, the kind of heat that made you want to undress entirely. eren looked down at you while you undressed, his eyes clouded with lust. but disappointment washed over him quickly when he noticed that the hoodie was all you were planning taking off. that wouldn’t do. he stepped around you, and sat down on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. you were about to join him but before you could, he purred, his voice low and seductive, “strip for me beautiful”. your eyes widened at the request, the order mixed in with the compliment had your core throbbing, silently begging for more. you chose to do as he asked without so much as a word, and slowly began taking off your shirt, followed by your sweats and finally your bra. your cheeks felt warm, embarrassed at the nudity you displayed for him, especially while he was still fully clothed.

“leave them on. i wanna take em’ off myself” he said when he noticed your fingers playing with the lace on your panties. eren groaned at the sight before him, lazily palming himself over his pants. you were so fucking hot, and ready to do anything he told you. “c’mere” he added, admiring you through his lustful gaze. you walked over to him, and planted yourself between his thighs. without another word, he placed one hand on your waist, and the other snaked up to your breast. he took hold of one of your tits, kneading its soft flesh with his calloused hands, his gaze still fixed upon you. you whimpered at the sensation, feeling that same fire impatiently burning in your gut. “aah-“ you moaned, unable to hold yourself back. you could almost feel the weed circulating in your bloodstream, making you so much more sensitive to eren’s touch. “you’re such a fuckin’ slut” he murmured against your skin before pulling you into his lap, and locking his mouth over your nipple. you bit your lip, attempting to hold back sounds, only to fail once you felt him bite.

this almost sent you over the edge. you let out another lewd sound, feeling eren harden beneath you. he pulled his mouth away and in one swift motion, wrapped his arm around your waist and flipped you over, making you bounce on the bed from the impact. you were now laying on the bed, propped up on your elbows, while eren stood hovering above you. he finally pulled his shirt over his head revealing the toned muscular skin it was covering. wow. it must’ve taken him years in the gym to build the physique you were currently looking at. the sight of his abs and biceps made you want to drool. “you like whatchu see princess?” he asked playfully, noticing the way your eyes scanned every part of him, memorizing every vein and muscle. “i guess” you uttered sarcastically, waiting to see his reaction. you saw annoyance flicker through his eyes. “mmm now that just won’t do, baby” he said and gave you no time to reply as he lowered his head to the lace on your underwear, grabbed it with his teeth, and slowly began pulling it down, only using his mouth. fuck. you had never experienced something like this, let alone with your friends roommate— who you had just met.

heat pooled in your lower stomach, and your pussy throbbed yet again, begging for attention. eren waited no time to grab hold of your thighs and position himself between them. he blew lightly, sending chills through your whole body. “eren, please” you moaned, unable to wait any longer. and that’s when you felt his mouth at your core, licking and sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves that formed your clit. your hand flew to his hair, pulling on it and gripping it so tight you felt your knuckles turn white. he paused briefly to rasp, “you’re so fucking wet for me princess” before his mouth was back on your opening, exploring every inch of it with his tongue in a way that had your toes curling and your back arching off the bed. the air was thick and hot, and you felt your pulse quicken as eren skillfully inserted his tongue in you, licking and cleaning every part of your drooling pussy. the sensation was maddening, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your release by the second.

eren removed a hand from your thigh, and easily slid two fingers in, pumping them in and out slowly as he sucked on your clit. you moaned at the sensation, pleasure coursing through your body. “e-eren, i’m gonna c-cum” you stuttered, unable to form a proper sentence. “mmm cum for me baby” he mumbled, high not only on the drug coursing through his veins, but also on you. and mere seconds later, you clenched around his fingers, feeling your body convulse with pleasure as you released your sweet juices all over his fingers, finally reaching your highly anticipated climax. eren lifted himself from between your thighs, sliding his fingers out of you. giving you no time to recover, he easily flipped you over with one hand, placing you on your hand and knees, and pushing your head into the mattress so your ass was up high in the air. you then felt him run his cum soaked fingers down your asshole. you felt the bed dip, watching him position himself in front of you from the corner of your eye, your head still pressed into the mattress. you felt his tongue travel from your still pulsating core all the way up to your ass, causing you to whimper incoherently, feeling him licking up all the juices he smeared on you moments earlier. this man was filthy— that you could say for sure.

you wanted, no— needed eren inside you, the pleasure from the climax finally subsiding in your body, and turning right back into that burning need. “ ‘ren please” you whined the plea, your voice breathless and erotic. “please what?” his mocking tone sent a humiliating thrum of pleasure through your body. even his mocking made you so fucking wet. “please eren, i need you inside me” you muttered in response, annoyed with his teasing. you felt him shift off the bed and do something that sounded a lot like taking off the rest of his clothes. finally. you felt the bed dip again, and you lifted yourself back onto your hands to take a peek at his cock. you couldn’t help it— you had to see what it looked like. and the sight sure didn’t disappoint, as his long, thick cock had you practically drooling. eren smirked, noticing the wide-eyed look on your face. but he let you look no longer because soon you felt your head being pushed back down into the mattress while he used his other hand to spank you, making you yelp with a mix of pain and pleasure in response. “aah- w-what was that f-for?” you asked, voice muffled by the sheets surrounding you.

“that’s for being such a fucking slut earlier” he replied, voice heavy with desire. he spanked you a couple more times, sending sharp stings into the flesh of your ass. you felt his fat tip prodding at your entrance, gliding up and down in a slow tortuous way, coating himself in your slick . he gave you no warning before he slammed into you, making you cry out. “nngh- e-eren fuck” you babbled, inhaling sharply while trying to adjust to his sheer length and girth. he was big—bigger than anyone you’d ever fucked before. he gave you a minute to adjust, relishing in the warmth of your tight walls desperately clenching around him. this is what heaven must feel like, he thought. he heard your panting slowing into longer breaths, indicating that you were mostly adjusted. he began thrusting into you with long strokes at an agonizing pace. he was teasing—you quickly learned that nothing came quick with eren, he was going to make you wait whether you liked it or not.

the pace was absolutely tantalizing. he pushed himself in and pulled himself out entirely before pushing back in again. he progressively quickened his pace, pounding into you mercilessly. eren took a hand off your hip, and entangled it in your hair pulling hard enough to lift your head off the mattress. a sob tore through your throat, the pain causing wet tears to roll down your cheeks while the intoxicating pleasure of his cock had you feeling lightheaded, almost as high as the weed made you feel. he groaned, speeding up his pace, hitting that sweet spot inside of you over and over again. the only sounds filing his room were the shallow breaths you both let out and the lewd sounds the two of you created as your bodies moved against each other, over and over again. it felt like you were being split open, his frantic pace enough to fuck you stupid. "e-eren, nngh i'm gonna- ah" you whimpered, unable to form a single coherent sentence. you heard him groan followed by him leaning close to your ear, still holding your hair and growling "what's that baby? couldn't hear you", the feeling of his hot breath on your ear sending chills down your spine.

" 'm gonna c-cum" you croaked, breathlessly. he let go of your hair, letting your head fall back to the mattress. he slowed himself down a bit, returning to that same agonizing pace from before. "come for me baby. i want to see you come all over my cock" he ordered, and you felt yourself snap free. your toes curled as you felt the familiar flame spread through your body, sending waves of pleasure through to your core as you clenched around his cock. "fuck" eren rasped, inhaling sharply and you felt his cock twitch while his body shuddered from pleasure, his release following yours. he pulled out, plopping down on the bed beside you while you flipped over to lay on your back. you were both panting, both glistening with sweat under the red-purple light of his LEDs. you spent a few minutes there in brief silence, breathing shallow breaths and coming down from the high of your orgasms.

moments later, eren got up, walking into his bathroom. he came back out a few minutes later and brought out a warm towel to clean you up. he was surprisingly gentle with you, compared to the almost feral side of him you saw mere minutes before. "you did good, princess" he said, the praise sending a warm rush of pleasure through your body. he cleaned you up, put his grey sweats back on, and picked your clothes up off the floor, bringing them to where you lay on the bed, propped up on your elbows. "do you treat all your clients this way?" you asked sarcastically, but with a hint of curiosity. you couldn't help but wonder if he did this to every girl he sold weed to. the thought of that made you feel something a little too close to jealousy. "only the ones i reallyyyy like" he joked, his tone playful. when you didn't respond, he added "you're the only one" his tone shifting to serious. "yeah okay" you replied, eyeing him suspiciously, but somehow you knew he was being serious. you sat up finally, slowly pulling your clothes back on. meanwhile, eren walked around his room, grabbing things from some of his drawers. you saw he pulled out a rolling tray, some papers and a jar of weed.

"so, how many grams did you want?" he asked, turning to look at you. right. that's why you were here in the first place. to pick up weed. and you had just fucked your new plug on the first pick up.

a/n 2: if you made it this far, thank u so much for reading. i had so much fun writing this. i'd love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to send me any thoughts or ideas into my inbox! - may

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leona-hawthorne · 7 months ago

Text

AURORA. mattheo riddle

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary ; in the aftermath of the second wizarding war, mattheo is sent to azkaban for his crimes. when released and faced with the harsh reality that you had, unbeknownst to him, had his child and had been raising her alone all these years, he falls apart. based on this lovely request right here!! @isntthatsweetiguessso words ; 4.6k warnings ; angst, mom!reader, dad!mattheo, swearing, sad but happy ending

navigation mattheo riddle masterlist part two

The world outside Azkaban had always felt like a distant memory to Mattheo. The walls, the cold, and the constant torment of his own mind had been his reality for six long years. But now, walking the streets of Diagon Alley as a free man, the memories felt sharper, more painful. He had imagined this moment so many times—stepping back into the life he'd left behind, finding you, and maybe, just maybe, picking up the pieces of what you two had.

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

It was supposed to be a simple walk—an aimless stroll to ground himself, to remind himself that he was no longer trapped in that hellhole. But as he turned the corner, there it was: Brews and Stews. The same café you both used to sneak away to when the world got too loud. His heart clenched at the sight, and before he knew it, his feet were pulling him closer, as if some invisible force was guiding him back to the past.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting at one of the outside tables, sunlight bathing you in a warm glow that made you look almost ethereal. His heart stuttered in his chest as he stood frozen on the cobblestone street, staring at you like a man starved. Six years, and you were still the same. Beautiful, captivating. You were reading a book, the furrow of your brow as mesmerizing as ever.

For a moment, he considered turning back. He didn’t belong here. Not anymore. You had probably moved on; you had to. Six years was a lifetime. But just as he was about to retreat, the small figure next to you caught his eye.

A little girl, her brown curls bouncing as she laughed, sitting beside you at the table. She was a blur of motion—happy, full of life.

"Mama, look!" the child giggled, holding up a small trinket, her voice full of excitement. "Isn't it pretty?"

You smiled, reaching over to stroke her hair, and that’s when Mattheo felt the world collapse around him. Mama. The word echoed in his head, ripping through his chest like a knife. His stomach twisted painfully as he watched the scene unfold before him.

You had a child.

For a split second, his mind couldn’t process it. A child. A little girl. With you.

His heart thundered in his chest, and his fists clenched at his sides. It wasn’t possible, was it? You had moved on. Of course you had. Six years was too long for anyone to wait, especially for someone like him—a man who had done unspeakable things, who had been imprisoned for it. Why would you wait for him? And yet, the thought of you with someone else, of you having a family, was enough to suffocate him.

He took a shaky step back, the weight of the realization crashing down on him. He wasn’t ready for this. He hadn’t prepared himself to see you like this. But just as he was about to turn away, you glanced up.

Your eyes locked with his, and the world seemed to stop.

"Mattheo?" Your voice was a breathless whisper, as if you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. The expression on your face shifted from shock to something else—something he couldn’t quite read.

His breath caught in his throat as he stood frozen, every muscle in his body tensing. You were staring at him, those eyes he had dreamed of every night in Azkaban now filled with confusion, and something else... regret, maybe?

But then the girl looked up too. She had your eyes, but the rest of her—the wild brown curls, the soft slope of her nose—it was like staring into a mirror. She had his features.

He couldn’t move. His gaze flicked between you and the girl, heart hammering in his chest as his mind screamed for answers. The question hung heavy on his lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask it.

"Come on, Aurora," you said quickly, standing up and gathering your things. Your voice wavered, the panic evident as you scooped the girl into your arms. "We have to go."

You brushed past him without another word, holding the little girl tightly as you hurried away from the café. His body moved instinctively to follow, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He watched you walk away, the weight of the unanswered question heavy in the air.

Aurora looked back at him once, her big, curious eyes staring into his, and then she was gone, disappearing down the street with you.

He stood there for what felt like hours, his mind spinning. That girl—Aurora. She was his. He could see it now, clear as day. He could feel it. The brown curls, the shape of her face, the way her eyes had stared at him with that same intensity he’d seen in his own reflection.

His daughter.

The realization slammed into him, nearly knocking the wind out of his lungs. How could you not have told him?

With heavy steps, he set off down the street, following the path you had taken. His heart pounded in his chest, each step bringing him closer to the confrontation he had dreaded but needed. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure how you would react.

But one thing was clear: he wasn’t going to lose you again. And he wasn’t going to lose his daughter. Not after everything he had already lost.

Mattheo’s heart pounded in his chest as he strode through the narrow streets, the weight of what he’d just seen pressing down on him with every step. The world felt suffocating, spinning around him in a blur of emotions—anger, betrayal, heartbreak. His hands shook at his sides, clenched into fists as he tried to keep his mind focused on the only thing that mattered now: finding you.

You couldn’t have gone far.

Aurora. Our daughter, the thought kept repeating in his mind like a relentless drumbeat. His daughter—his little girl, and you had never told him. He hadn’t known, hadn’t been there for anything. The rage simmering inside him was barely contained as he searched the crowd, every face blurring together until he finally saw you, ducking into a quieter street with Aurora still in your arms.

His legs moved before he could think.

“Y/N!” His voice was a shout, desperate, raw. You didn’t stop. “Y/N, stop!”

You glanced over your shoulder, eyes wide with panic, but you didn’t slow down. Mattheo’s breath was ragged as he pushed through the crowd, forcing his way closer. He wasn’t letting you run from this. He wasn’t letting you run from him. Not again.

Finally, you reached a quiet alleyway, and Mattheo caught up to you just as you were fumbling with your wand, trying to Apparate. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

“Mattheo—” you started, but he cut you off, the fury burning in his chest.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” His voice boomed through the narrow alley, raw and loud. “Is this what I think it is, Y/N? Is that my goddamn kid?”

Aurora flinched at his raised voice, her small body shrinking into your arms. You immediately shifted her to your other hip, turning her face away from him.

“Mattheo, not here,” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced down at your daughter. “Please.” And the first conversation you’re having after six years is going to be an argument.

“Not here?” he spat, eyes blazing with fury. “That—That’s my daughter,” he sputtered. “You fucking kept my daughter from me. Don’t tell me to calm down.”

You winced at the venom in his voice, but you didn’t move, your eyes pleading with him to lower his voice. “You don’t understand. Let’s just talk about this. I didn’t know how to—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he repeated, louder this time, his voice trembling with rage. “You didn’t know how? You knew damn well how to keep her from me! You didn’t even try, Y/N.”

“I…” You hesitated, the guilt written all over your face, but Mattheo wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?” he forced out, the pain bleeding into his voice now. “I fucking rotted in Azkaban for six years, thinking I had nothing left. And all this time, you had her? I—I had a kid? ”

Aurora shifted again in your arms, and Mattheo’s heart wrenched as he saw her big, curious eyes peek out from beneath your hair. She didn’t know him. She had no idea who he was, and that realization broke something inside him.

“How could you?” His voice cracked, his eyes burning as he stared at you, searching for some explanation that would make any of this hurt less.

You closed your eyes, breathing deeply as if steadying yourself before meeting his gaze again. “I didn’t know what to do, Mattheo,” you said softly, the edge of panic still there but buried beneath layers of hurt. “You were in Azkaban. I didn’t think you’d ever get out.”

“That’s bullshit!” he snarled, his hands trembling as he ran them through his hair. “You could’ve written. You could’ve found a way! You could’ve let me fucking know I had a daughter!”

Tears welled in your eyes, your lips trembling as you looked away, the guilt eating at you. “I… I was scared,” you whispered, barely audible over the sound of his labored breathing. “I was scared she’d grow up without you. That she’d grow up knowing what you were forced to be… and I didn’t want that for her.”

Mattheo’s chest heaved with the weight of your words, but it only stoked the fire of his rage. “That’s not your decision to make, you had no right to keep her from me!”

You blinked, tears spilling down your cheeks as you clutched Aurora tighter. “I didn’t do it on purpose. You weren’t here. You literally couldn’t be here. I was trying to protect her—”

“From me?!” he shouted, the words scraping from his throat like broken glass.

Aurora’s tiny whimper cut through the air like a knife, and Mattheo’s heart shattered. He hadn’t meant to scare her, hadn’t meant to let his anger bleed into his voice, but it was too late now.

You stepped back, rocking Aurora gently in your arms, trying to soothe her as you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Mattheo.”

“Then what the fuck were you trying to do?” he spat, his voice low now, hoarse with emotion. “Because it sure as hell feels like you didn’t give a shit about what I’d feel. I missed everything. Everything, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, and the weight of his words settled over you like a blanket of regret. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” you whispered. “I didn’t know if I could. And by the time I thought about it, too much time had passed. I thought… I thought maybe it was better this way.”

Mattheo let out a bitter, hollow laugh, his eyes wild as he stared at you. “Better? Better?! How the fuck is this better? I lost all six years of her goddamn existence! Six years! I didn’t get to see her first steps, didn’t hear her first words, didn’t even know she existed. And you think that was better?”

You sobbed, clutching Aurora close to you as if the little girl could shield you from the onslaught of his anger. “I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Mattheo.”

But sorry wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to undo the years of pain, the years of loneliness and anguish he had endured in that cell, thinking he had lost you, lost everything.

He took a deep, shaky breath, forcing himself to look at the little girl—Aurora. His daughter. She was watching him now, her big eyes wide and confused, her small fingers gripping your shirt. She looked so much like him.

“Aurora,” he said, his voice a broken whisper.

She blinked at him, tilting her head slightly as if she didn’t understand why he was looking at her that way. Of course she didn’t. She didn’t know him. He was a stranger to her. And that hurt more than anything else.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Mattheo whispered, his voice barely audible now. “You kept her from me.” He shook his head, tears of his own threatening to spill over. “You took everything from me.”

You wiped at your eyes, shaking your head. "I didn’t want her to grow up around this—around what we were part of. I didn't want her to know the darkness.”

“But that darkness is a part of me, Y/N,” Mattheo snapped, his voice breaking. “It's who I am. I can’t escape it, no matter how much you want to pretend it’s not there. And you—you kept my baby from me because of it?”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of your decision hanging between you. “I made a mistake, Mattheo. I thought I was doing what was best for her.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time since you’d left the café, Mattheo’s anger began to ebb, replaced by something even more painful—regret.

Mattheo stood frozen, his chest heaving with the weight of all that had just transpired. His gaze shifted between you and Aurora, trying to piece together the shards of the life he thought he’d lost. His anger still simmered beneath the surface, but as he watched you, tears streaming down your face, and saw Aurora clinging to you with wide, confused eyes, something inside him softened.

But the more he looked at you, standing there with Aurora in your arms, the more the anger started to unravel into something deeper, something rawer.

Because it wasn't just about Aurora. It was about you. You, the woman he'd loved so fiercely before everything fell apart. The woman he had held onto in the darkest hours of Azkaban, when hope was the only thing that kept him from losing his mind.

He had missed you— fuck, he'd missed you— and now you were here, standing in front of him with his daughter. And as furious as he was, as shattered as he felt, that love hadn't gone anywhere.

He hadn't seen you in six years, but you still made his heart race in ways he couldn't control.

“Y/N,” he whispered, the anger in his voice beginning to crack, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

"I used to run my fingers through her hair every night," you whispered suddenly, your voice cracking as you glanced down at Aurora's curls. "Because she has your curls. And it made me feel closer to you."

Those words hit Mattheo like a punch to the gut, his chest tightening as the reality of it all began to sink in. You hadn't forgotten him. In all those years, despite everything, you had tried to keep a part of him with you-through Aurora.

He swallowed thickly, his throat constricting. "Why didn't you write me?" he asked, the question soft now, almost a plea. "I could've—hell, I don't know what I could've done, but I would've known. I would've been there in some way. Anything but this."

You sighed, wiping another tear from your cheek. "I didn't think you'd ever get out. I thought..." You took a deep breath, struggling with your words. "I thought it'd be easier if she didn't know. If you didn't know. And I was wrong. I see that now."

He falls silent for a while, his eyes trained on the beautiful girl in your arms.

“She’s really ours?” Mattheo asked, his voice softer now, though the tremor of rage still lurked. “That’s her name? Aurora?”

You nodded, wiping at your cheeks as you pressed a kiss to Aurora’s head. “Yes,” you whispered. “That’s her name.”

Mattheo let out a shaky breath, his heart clenching at the sound of it. Aurora. His daughter. Aurora’s wide eyes met his, so innocent, so big and full of wonder, but also a little shy, hiding in the safety of your arms. She didn’t know him. How could she?

His heart broke even more.

“Well, you do look like quite the princess,” he murmured, his voice soft and careful as if speaking any louder would scare her away.

Aurora’s brow furrowed, still unsure, but Mattheo could see the curiosity shining in her eyes. She stayed pressed against you, her small fingers clutching your shirt.

“Mama,” she whispered, looking up at you, her voice trembling. “Why are you crying?”

Your breath caught as you tried to answer, but words seemed to fail you. Instead, you simply stroked Aurora’s hair, trying to steady yourself. Mattheo watched, helpless, as Aurora’s small hand reached up to touch your cheek.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m just—just a little sad, baby.”

Mattheo could feel the weight of everything pressing down on you both. He had a million questions, a million things he wanted to yell, but none of it would make sense right now. Not with Aurora watching, her innocent eyes darting between the two of you, trying to make sense of something so much bigger than her little world had ever allowed.

“Who is that, Mama?”

"Remember when you asked me where your Daddy was and why he wasn't here?" you whispered to Aurora, your voice shaking as you cradled her close. "Remember how I told you your Daddy loved you, and that he'd find us one day?"

Aurora’s gaze flicked back to Mattheo, her little forehead creasing in confusion.

“That’s him, sweet girl,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “That’s your Daddy.”

Mattheo’s breath caught in his throat as those words hit him like a tidal wave. That’s your Daddy. For all these years, that’s all he should have been—her father, her protector, her everything—and instead, he was a stranger. He blinked back the sting in his eyes, trying to keep himself together for her sake.

Aurora’s little fingers clung tighter to your shirt as she processed what you’d said. She looked back at Mattheo, her eyes wide and uncertain.

Mattheo’s heart ached with the silence, with the lost years that could never be undone. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, but he knew he couldn’t—at least, not yet. She didn’t know him, and that hurt more than anything else.

You looked down at Aurora, gently prying her small hands from your shirt before setting her down on the ground. “It’s okay,” you whispered softly. “You can say hello.”

Aurora hesitated, her little body leaning toward you, and then slowly, cautiously, she moved to hide behind your legs. Mattheo’s heart squeezed painfully at the sight of her shy little face peeking out at him. His own daughter was scared of him.

He crouched down to her level, making himself as small as he could, hoping it would make him seem less intimidating. He had no idea how to be a father, no idea what to say to this little girl, but he had to try.

“Hey there, Aurora,” he murmured softly, trying to keep his voice gentle, steady. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She didn’t respond, just kept her wide eyes on him as she clung to the back of your leg. Mattheo’s heart shattered further, but he swallowed hard, forcing a shaky smile.

But Aurora, as shy as she was, was still a child. And as she looked at him again, her small voice broke the silence. "Are you really my daddy?"

Mattheo's throat tightened, the words lodged there, unable to come out. He was scared—terrified, really— of what to say, of how she would react. But he nodded, his voice breaking as he whispered, "Yeah. That's me."

Aurora stared at him, her eyes big and full of questions, her small hands clutching onto your shirt as if grounding herself. But after a long, silent moment, she seemed to relax, her lips parting into the tiniest smile.

"I always wanted one," she said softly, her voice full of innocence. "All my friends at school have daddies. I wanted one too."

His chest ached. He was the stranger here, and yet, in her little mind, he was still the man she had been waiting for. The man you had told her would one day come for her. He could see it— the confusion, the shyness— but there was something else in her eyes too.

She'd been missing him. She just didn't know who he was.

Mattheo's chest ached, the guilt and sorrow clawing at him from the inside. "I wanted to be there," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I wanted to be with you, with both of you. I didn't know."

Aurora looked at him for a moment longer, and then, to Mattheo's shock, she smiled a little wider, still shy but no longer fearful. She reached out tentatively, her small hand gripping his for the first time. The warmth of her touch sent a wave of emotion crashing through him, and for the first time since seeing you again, something inside him shifted. Maybe this wasn't all lost. Maybe he hadn't missed everything.

Aurora giggled softly, her small hand still wrapped around his. She brought her other hand to his face, pressing her palm to his cheek. "You're my daddy," she said again, as if testing out the words.

Mattheo's throat tightened, tears stinging his eyes as he smiled-truly smiled-for the first time in what felt like years. "Yeah, princess," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm your daddy."

Aurora's little laugh was music to his ears, and when she finally released his hand, she took a step back, hiding behind your legs again but peeking out from around you with a shy grin.

“You know, when I look at you…” He trailed off, his throat tightening as he swallowed down the lump that had formed there. “I see so much of your mum in you. But I see me too.” He let out a soft, shaky laugh, blinking through the tears that threatened to spill. “You got my curls, huh?”

Aurora’s wide, curious eyes flicked between the two of you, her tiny fingers gripping the fabric of your pants. Mattheo felt a surge of protectiveness, an instinct that told him to reach out, to hold her, to assure her that everything would be okay. But he hesitated, unsure if he even had the right to touch her after all this time. She had been a stranger to him just moments ago, and now… now she was his entire world.

Her small voice broke the silence again, tentative but filled with the kind of honesty only a child could muster. “Do you love my mama?”

Mattheo’s heart lurched at the question. His gaze snapped to you, meeting your teary eyes. The question hung in the air, heavy with expectation. You quickly glanced away, biting your lip as you tried to keep your composure.

Aurora blinked up at him, waiting for an answer. “All my friends’ parents love each other,” she continued, her voice soft, innocent. “They kiss and hold hands. Do you love her?”

Mattheo’s throat tightened, and he felt his pulse quicken. How could he even begin to explain the depth of what he felt? The years apart hadn’t dulled it—if anything, the ache had only grown sharper. You had been his world before Azkaban, and every lonely, torturous day behind bars had been filled with memories of you, of your laugh, your smile, the way you used to look at him as if he was the only person that mattered.

He had loved you then. He loved you still.

But now, standing before you, the mother of his child, the weight of everything left unsaid between you was crushing.

He swallowed hard, his gaze shifting back to Aurora. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I do.” Mattheo’s eyes softened as he glanced at you again, his heart aching with everything he wanted to say. “I’ve always loved her,” he admitted, his voice low but firm. “I’ve never stopped.”

You looked at him, your lips trembling as another tear slid down your cheek. You were trying so hard to be strong, but the years of separation had taken their toll on both of you. And now, with Aurora standing between you, the bond that had once been so unbreakable felt fragile, like it could snap at any moment.

Aurora, still holding onto your pants, tilted her head, watching the two of you with that same curiosity. “Mama,” she said softly, “why are you crying again?”

You let out a shaky breath, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “I’m okay, baby,” you whispered, brushing a hand through her hair in a soothing gesture. “It’s just… a lot.”

Mattheo stood up slowly, running a hand through his curls, trying to compose himself. He felt a swell of love for you, something he had been suppressing in his anger. You had raised this beautiful little girl all on your own, carrying the burden of their absence in silence. You had done it for Aurora—for him. And even though he was furious that you had kept it all from him, a part of him understood. You were protecting her, protecting yourself.

He took a deep breath, his voice soft but unsteady as he spoke again. “I missed everything,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “Her birth, her first words, her first steps... all of it. I wasn’t there.”

You flinched, guilt flashing across your face. “Mattheo, I—”

“No,” he cut you off gently, shaking his head. “I’m not trying to blame you. I just… I missed it all. And I don’t know how to make that right.”

Aurora, sensing the tension, leaned into you, her arms wrapping around your leg. “Mama, is Daddy staying with us?”

Mattheo’s heart clenched at the word. Daddy. He had never thought he would hear it—never thought it was even possible. But now, hearing Aurora say it so casually, so innocently, it hit him all over again. This was his daughter. His family.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, crouching down again to her level, his voice gentle as he tried to meet her eyes. “I’m going to be here. I’m going to make it right, okay?”

Aurora blinked, processing his words, and then her lips curved into a small, shy smile. She still seemed a bit confused, but there was a trust forming, something fragile but real.

She looked up at you, her tiny voice full of hope. “Does Daddy love me too?”

You sucked in a breath, your eyes flicking to Mattheo, waiting for him to answer. His throat tightened, but he didn’t hesitate this time.

“More than anything,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he held her gaze. “I love you, Aurora. I loved you before I even knew you were here.”

so sorry to the person who requested this for taking so long :( i hope this is something like what you had in your head. its very long, and a fluffy part 2 is out now!

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #slytherin boys #harry potter #slytherin #x reader #benjamin wadsworth #mattheo riddle angst #angst #— 𝐥𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ༯

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yinemw · 3 months ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫

context: doing your bf Katsuki’s eyeliner (gender neutral reader)

warnings: none

character: Katsuki Bakugou from MHA

m.list

“Can I help you?” You ask, standing in front of the mirror, watching the blonde from the reflection. His arms crossed over his chest, as usual, and a frown visible between his brows.

“Your eyes look nice” he compliments, something that had gotten more and more common the longer you had gone out with him. Usually they were followed by an insult right after, but not this time.

“Want me to do yours too?” You wave the eyeliner in your hand, hoping your excitement could rub off on him as well and he wouldn’t just roll his eyes and leave. “I’ve done it on others before so if you’re worried I’ll mess up, don’t be”

“Oh yeah?” He quirks up an eyebrow, taking the liner from your fingers and opening the cap to inspect it closer. Going as far as smelling it. “Who’s eyeliner have you done before?”

“Oh you know” you take a step closer, hands behind your back and innocently looking up at him. “Just Momo, Mina, Tsuyu” you pause, trying to hide your smirk. “Izuku and Denki”

“Hah?” His eyes grow wider, fingers grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him to his bed. Swearing and mumbling under his breath of how you should have done it on him first if you wanted to experiment, not two losers like them. Mentioning Izuku worked like a charm every, single, time.

Giggling, you sit down on his lap, feeling the muscles in his thighs flex a little under your weight. You brush some of his soft hairs away from his forehead and use a hair clip to keep them in place. His back was comfortably resting against the headboard, letting you do whatever you wanted to him. He loved moments like this, just the two of you enjoying each others company and not having to do anything special. He could lower his guard and relax for once. Your touch always seemed to calm him down as well, so having you secured in his arms only made his heart flutter more.

“Do you wanna try anything special?” Your voice brought him back to reality, blinking a few times to register what you had just asked him.

“Do whatever you want”

Humming to yourself, you tell him to close his eyes. But before you started your work, you took a couple of seconds just to admire his face. His soft cheeks you always loved to poke whenever his mouth was stuffed with food after a long day of hero work, his slightly chapped lips that always pressed against your forehead before drifting off to sleep, the tip of his nose that was always the victim to your quick kisses he said he hates (obviously a lie).

“You gonna do something or what?!” He blurted out, tired of the waiting. Squeezing your thigh to try and get your attention.

“So impatient” you mumble, placing one hand on his jaw to keep him in place as the other started to work on his left eye. Doing gentle strokes on his eyelid and under his eyes with the tip of the pencil. “Stop moving your eye”

“You’re the one touching it! I can’t do anything about it!” He immediately hissed back, eyebrows furrowed and only making the muscles in his face move more and almost mess up the liner.

You move your hand from his jaw over to his mouth, “just, shhh, I need to concentrate”

Easier said then done, because the next few minutes Katsuki made it impossible. Biting and licking your palm, squeezing your thighs out of the blue that made you jump, saying stupid things like ‘I’m going to sneeze’. He of course thought it was hilarious, didn’t need to see your face to know you had a frown he always found adorable.

“I’m hungry—”

“Kats!” You yell for the tenth time, letting out an annoyed sigh as the eyeliner was put on the bedside table. “I’m done, though it’s definitely some of my worst work” you say as Katsuki opens his eyes again, taking out his phone and using the camera as a mirror.

“Not half bad, but why’s one eye smeared?”

You don’t even say anything, just staring at him with a deadpan expression. Arms folded over your chest as your right eye twitches.

“Quit starin’ at me like that! You’re the one who poked my eyes—”

“Kacchan! Oh, Y/n you’re here too” Izuku opens the door to the dorm room, catching both of you off guard.

“Deku what did I tell you about not knocking?!” One second you’re on Katsuki’s lap, the next you’re thrown on the bed as the mentioned man stands up and walks angrily over to Izuku.

“I’m sorry, I- Kacchan, are you wearing eyeliner?” The green haired boys eyes widen, looking over Katsuki’s shoulder at you “Y/n I’ve always wanted to try some makeup to see if it would suit me, could you do my eyeliner too?” Izuku asks innocently, not realizing why all chaos broke lose after his request.

“You little minx! You told me you had done his eyeliner!” All of Katsuki’s attention was now focused on you, turning on his heel and taking slow steps to the bed. “Now I have this stupid shit all over my eyes for no reason! Get back here! Running is useless!”

You were already out of the room, running past Izuku as fast as you could. Katsuki’s shouting and your giggles filling the UA dorms.

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literally-12 · 2 months ago

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DPxDC Summoning Gone Wrong

Hi! Long time reader, first time writer. Please don't hate me if it's not super in character. Also I know this trope is overdone but oh well. I was inspired by a text post by @phiniusandjelly

Constantine felt the shift in power instantaneously and all at once. It manifested itself in the form of a cold shiver that started at his hairline and seeped throughout his body bringing with it goosebumps and a cold sweat. Something was deeply wrong. No. Something had changed and unfortunately, as the Justice Leagues’ resident expert on the supernatural, he felt as though somehow he was going to be responsible for getting to the bottom of it.

Getting all the right information and sigils took longer than he wanted and convincing the rest of the Earth’s mightiest that he hadn’t finally slipped and cracked the fragile state of his already questionable mind took nearly as long. Luckily, Constantine knew if he needed to, he could get tall, dark, and spooky to back him.

“I’m telling you, Bats, there has been a very large and significant shift in the forgotten realms and it is in your best interest that we follow up with all the gravity that this situation requires”. Constantine took a deep drag of his cigarette, pointedly ignoring Bruce’s scowl as the tip flared in front of him. Magically stepping into the Bat Cave was not something any wise man would consider doing on even their worst days, but Constantine had never claimed to be wise.

“Explain”. Grunted Bruce, never one to put too much stock in the occult.

“Here’s the thing, Brucie, we’re talking a massive shift in power, like king of the infinite realms being dethroned type of power. The forgotten realms operate on a combat inheritance and I had the misfortune of meeting Pariah Dark once and he was about as unpleasant and violent of a bloke as they come” he flicked the ash onto the cave floor, beginning to pace, he hoped his unsettled demeanor would enforce the severity of the situation. “The one good thing about Dark was that he tended to mind his own business and stick to his dimension but now we’re dealing with an unknown. An unknown and immensely powerful being who could, if they wanted to, unravel the threads of our very reality”. He sensed more than saw Bruce’s eyebrows furrow, just a fraction of a centimeter, he was sure, but that was enough to let Constantine know that he was being taken seriously now.

“I propose we bring this new king in and figure out their whole schtick. It’s going to be dangerous but it’s better to know what we’re dealing with in this sort of situation, maybe we can even make a deal, plead for our continued existence and all that.”

“You want to bring an exceedingly powerful, extra dimensional being into our universe and trap them to try and make a deal?” Batman grunted, his mind already racing through the many, many ways that this plan could go incredibly sideways.

“Think of the children, Bruce, that’s your whole thing, right? You don’t want your gaggle of deplorable orphans growing up and adopting even more sad and blue eyed children in a world that no longer exists”.

“What’s the probability that you can actually contain this all powerful being?” Constantine tossed the butt of his cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his heel, pulling out a second and bringing it to his lips. One look from the Bats and he sighed, putting it back in the carton.

“Optimistically? Eighty percent”.

“Realistically?”

“You’re such a buzzkill. Sixty five at best”. The dead-pan he received in lieu of a reply told him that even though the plan would be going forward, Bruce was anything but happy.

When the summoning came about, it was an all hands on deck situation. The sigils were drawn and checked and rechecked and then checked a third time just for giggles. The writing was done in some viscous red liquid that Bruce was hoping was paint. The red circle was about five feet in diameter and smack in the middle of the conference room at the watchtower. The symbols were not in any language that Bruce could recognize but even without a magical bone in his body, he could feel the power radiating from them.

“Everybody ready?” Asked Constantine, gesturing for them to stand back, he held a thick, weathered tome in his left hand, flipped to a seemingly random page. At confirmation from the gathered heroes, he began to chant.

The atmosphere changed immediately. The first thing that Bruce noticed was the sudden drop in temperature. Ice crystals began to form in the center of the now glowing circle, snaking their way lazily out towards the perimeter in hypnotizing patterns, the very air in the room also changed dramatically, becoming charged with the smell of ozone and the feeling of lightning about to strike. Every hair on his body stood at rigid attention. He looked at Constantine who now sported a grimace but did not halt his chanting, his tone began to take on an echo, seeming to come from all around him, words overlapping as his face was lit up by an eerie red glow. Bruce had half a mind to call the whole endeavor off as all their shadows began to defy logic and stretch towards the glowing sigils. His teeth gritted, he tried to move, tried to say anything but found himself powerless to move, beginning to drastically regret his choice of allowing Constantine to invite this being into their universe, he debated closing his eyes as a sense of unease washed over him and with the electricity in the room seeming to reach a breaking point, with a loud pop, suddenly everything stopped.

The quiet and the light that returned to the room was almost as jarring as the whole summoning ritual and when Bruce’s eyes refocused on the circle in the center of the room, he was shocked to see a teenage boy floating there. He had snow white hair that seemed like it couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to gravity, floating as though he was underwater and being pulled by a gentle current. His glowing green eyes were wide and he looked almost as shocked as the team by him appearing in the room.

“Who are you?” demanded Constantine, never once putting down his thick book. The teen tilted his head, seeming to consider the question.

“Shouldn’t you know that? Considering you’re the one who called me here and all that. These sigils don’t just say 1-800-dial-a-ghost, you know” his voice further enunciated his youth, however it had a weird, echoey quality, sounding almost as if he was talking directly into Bruce’s ear. He pulled his legs up underneath him, sitting criss crossed midair, looking entirely too relaxed at the situation.

“Answer the question, specter” Constantine demanded, “we’re not fooled by this guise you put on”. To this, the being frowned and flipped upside down.

“You mean my outfit? I thought it was pretty chic but then again, I wasn’t necessarily given the opportunity to pick out my death day fit, it was just sort of chosen for me”. He gestured at the black and silver jumpsuit he was wearing that betrayed his slight frame.

“Constantine…” Superman spoke up for the first time, taking a step closer to the man. “He’s just a kid”.

“That’s what the bugger wants you to think.” the man grit out “you think a being this powerful can’t do something as minute as changing his appearance to try to get us to drop our guards?” Clark looked torn but resumed his place in the line of heroes behind the occultist.

“Listen to big blue, I’m just a harmless kid!” said the floating being, flashing a pearly white set of teeth that were just on the wrong side of being too sharp.

“Bullshit! We know you’re the new king of the infinite realms. Play nice and we’ll let you go back to doing whatever it is you do in your dimension. We just want to know what the terms of your rule are.”

“Oh, that” he flipped himself back upright and floated closer to Constantine, as he approached the perimeter of the trap, the sigils on the floor glowed brighter at his presence. Hesitantly, with one hand he reached out a finger, jerking it back a red spark zapped the tip. Sticking it in his mouth, in pain, he managed to talk around the digit saying “you know, this meeting could’ve been an email” pulling his finger out and giving his hand a test shake, he narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him. “Plus, isn’t it only polite that you introduce yourself first? I am a guest.”

“While you are here, you are our guest,” said Batman diplomatically, “we intend to extend all proper grace to you while you are in our presence. They call me Batman”.

The teen snorted.

“Yeah, I sort of gathered that by the whole bat symbol and pointy ears thing you’ve got going on”. He held his fingers up on either side of his head in a mimicry of Batman’s cowl. “I was talking about Mr. all powerful British magic man over here”. He stuck his hand out again, clearly not having learned his lesson, he withdrew it with a hiss as the invisible barrier sparked again.

“There’s no escape for you, your highness, these sigils are specially made to contain any ghost within them” Constantine sounded smug. “You’re just going to hurt yourself by trying”.

The child in the circle mouthed ‘any ghost’ mockingly, but floated backwards towards the center of the circle. Batman sighed, seems like he’s going to have to have all the manners around here.

“John Constantine, Superman, Wonder Woman” he pointed at each of his teammates as he went. “And what name should we refer to you with?”

Without moving his eyes from the man in the trenchcoat, the kid began to smile, just a little too widely for Bruce to feel comforted.

“They call me Phantom”, he said off handedly, “Constantine, you say?” The man in question narrowed his eyes. “You know I have a full file cabinet stuffed with paperwork for you, I was hoping we would get the pleasure of meeting. I would’ve gotten it to you sooner but there's surprisingly a lot of work that has to happen in the first few days of a new reign”. He put his feet back firmly on the conference room floor. “If you’ll just allow me to go grab that, we can get started post haste!” He was way too chipper for anyone to be talking about paperwork.

“So you are the new ghost king then” Constantine said accusationally, narrowing his eyes. “And we’re not letting you leave until we know what your intentions are with this dimension”

“Yeah, yeah” said Phantom. “You don’t have to ‘let’ me do anything. I know how you occultists work. You made one mistake though in this whole summoning slash kidnapping scheme”. With that, a blinding white light overtook the teen, forcing everyone to look aside to save their sight. When they looked back, Phantom had changed his appearance, gone was the ethereal floating white hair, replaced with normal, albeit messy black. His jumpsuit was also gone, replaced by a deceptively normal looking NASA hoodie and jeans with tears in the knees.

Constantine’s eyes widened as he took in this new sight, he began to flip rapidly through his spell book, as Bruce watched the boy take one step forward, and then two, and then with a graceful hop, he was outside of the circle.

“This circle only holds in ghosts” and with a devilish smile and another flash of brillant light, he was gone. On the floor where he had been standing only moments before, was a thick stack of loose leaf papers written in a language Bruce couldn’t decipher, text glowing an eerie green. On top of the stack was a post it note with messily scrawled handwriting. ‘Please return completed paperwork to the infinite realms ℅ Phantom at your earliest convenience’ another flash and another post it note ‘also I come in peace- Phantom’.

Batman, as well as the others turned to Constantine to watch him drop his head into his hands, his large book tumbling to the side. He didn’t even protest when the man pulled out and lit another cigarette.

“You have a lot of explaining to do” was all he said.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dp fanfic #dp x dc crossover #batman crossover #john constantine #fanfic #my writing

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hyuniemyunie · 2 months ago

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Beneath the Masks

obey me boys x gn!reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): reverse comfort.

is the fandom dead cuz😭😭😭 I MISS THESE BOYS SO MUCHHHH UGHHH. whos ur fav cuz i cant choose between mammon and asmo..(its mammon)

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

The Weight of the Crown

The House of Lamentation was unnervingly still.

Normally, Lucifer’s presence was a constant force—measured footsteps in the hall, the quiet rustle of papers in his study, the occasional exasperated sigh whenever Mammon did something idiotic (again). But tonight, the silence felt heavy, pressing down on the walls like a storm waiting to break.

You found him at his desk, as expected, but something was wrong.

His usually pristine posture was absent—he was hunched over, elbows on the desk, head resting in one hand. The other gripped a glass of Demonus, but he hadn’t even taken a sip. His brows were furrowed, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The candlelight flickered against the sharp angles of his face, making the tired lines around his eyes more pronounced.

Lucifer was rarely unguarded. Even in moments of quiet, he held himself like a statue carved from obsidian—elegant, untouchable. But right now?

Right now, he looked tired.

"Lucifer."

He didn’t react immediately, only inhaling sharply through his nose before straightening, his usual mask slipping back into place as if it had never cracked.

"You should be in bed." His voice was smooth, steady. But there was something strained beneath it.

"So should you." You stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. He tensed—just for a second—before exhaling and leaning ever so slightly into your touch.

"There’s still work to be done."

"Lucifer." Your fingers brushed against the back of his neck, gentle. "You say that every night."

His silence spoke louder than any excuse.

Carefully, you reached down and took the glass from his hand, setting it aside. He didn’t resist, just watched you with those sharp crimson eyes, searching.

"What happened?" you asked softly.

He sighed, tilting his head back slightly. The shadows under his eyes were deeper than usual.

"Diavolo has entrusted me with another task. A delicate one. And my brothers…" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "…continue to be themselves."

You almost smiled. Almost. But the weariness in his voice was enough to keep your expression soft.

"You don’t have to do everything alone, you know."

"Yes, I do." His answer was immediate.

"No, you don’t," you countered, shifting to kneel beside his chair so you could look up at him properly.

Lucifer’s gaze flickered.

"Who else will?"

That was the heart of it, wasn’t it?

For thousands of years, Lucifer had been the protector. The eldest. The one who took the fall, who bore the punishment, who carried every burden so his brothers wouldn’t have to. It was ingrained into him, a duty written into his very bones.

But even the strongest pillars cracked under too much weight.

"You don’t trust anyone else to help." Your voice was gentle, not accusing, just understanding.

Lucifer sighed again, closing his eyes. "It is not a matter of trust. It is simply reality."

You hesitated before reaching out, taking his hand in yours. His fingers were tense, cold from exhaustion, but he didn’t pull away.

"Then let me be part of that reality."

His eyes opened, startled. You squeezed his hand.

"You carry so much, Lucifer. Too much. You hold up the Devildom, the House of Lamentation, your brothers. But who holds you?"

Lucifer didn’t answer. He just stared at you, something unreadable in his expression.

"Let me be that person," you whispered. "Even just for tonight."

Something in him broke.

Not in a dramatic way. Not in some grand display of emotion. But in the way his shoulders slumped just a little, in the way his fingers slowly curled around yours, gripping you like a lifeline.

"You are too good to me," he murmured.

"You deserve it," you countered.

Lucifer exhaled, a slow release of tension, and for once, he let you guide him. You tugged him gently up from his chair, leading him away from his desk. He hesitated, casting one last glance at his unfinished work, but ultimately followed as you pulled him toward his bed.

He sat at the edge, and you stood between his knees, running your fingers through his hair. He melted under your touch, leaning into it without resistance.

"Close your eyes," you murmured.

Lucifer obeyed.

For a long moment, you just stood there, combing your fingers through his dark locks, letting the weight of the day slip away from him. His breathing steadied, and the tension in his body slowly eased.

"Stay," he murmured, barely above a whisper.

"Always."

And that night, for once, Lucifer let himself rest.

Golden, Even in the Dark

The first sign that something was wrong was the eerie silence.

Mammon wasn’t yelling about some new scheme. He wasn’t bragging about his latest purchase or complaining about his brothers. He wasn’t even trying to drag you into some get-rich-quick plan.

He was quiet.

Too quiet.

When you found him in his room, he was sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed with his knees pulled up, staring at the wall. His D.D.D. lay forgotten beside him, the screen dim. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be seen.

This wasn’t his normal sulking after losing a bet or getting scolded by Lucifer. This was different.

"Mammon?"

He flinched slightly at your voice but didn’t look up.

You didn’t wait for an invitation. Instead, you sat beside him, close enough that your knees brushed. He stiffened for a second before sighing, running a hand down his face.

"You shouldn’t be here," he muttered. "Ain’t exactly good company right now."

You bumped your shoulder against his. "Too bad. I like your company."

Mammon let out a humorless laugh.

"Yeah? Well, you’re probably the only one."

That was what made your stomach twist. The way he said it—flat, resigned, like he truly believed it.

You stayed quiet, giving him space to talk.

It took him a moment, but eventually, he sighed again, running a hand through his messy white hair.

"I just... I dunno." His voice was quieter than usual. "Some days, it just feels like��like everyone’s right about me."

Your chest tightened.

"What do you mean?"

He scoffed. "C’mon, ya know what I mean. I screw up all the time. I owe Grimm to half of the Devildom. I mess up every job I get. No one takes me seriously, and maybe they shouldn’t."

His hands clenched into fists.

"I get called a scumbag so much it’s startin’ to sound like my damn name."

You reached out, gently prying one of his fists open to hold his hand. His fingers twitched but didn’t pull away.

"Mammon." Your voice was soft but firm. "You are not a scumbag."

He let out another bitter laugh. "Ya don’t gotta say that just ‘cause you’re my partner."

"I’m not just saying it. I mean it." You squeezed his hand. "You mess up sometimes. So what? That doesn’t make you bad. That makes you human. Well… demon. But you know what I mean."

His lips twitched, just barely, before he sighed again, rubbing at his eyes like he was trying to wipe away thoughts he didn’t want to have.

"It’s just…" His voice wavered. "Sometimes, I think—what if I really ain’t good for nothin’? What if they’re all right?"

That was it. That was the thought eating away at him.

Without thinking, you moved, shifting so you were right in front of him. He blinked at you, startled, as you took his face in your hands.

"Mammon. Look at me."

He hesitated but obeyed, his eyes flickering with something vulnerable.

"You are not worthless. Not even close. Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

His throat bobbed. "…A greedy idiot?"

You flicked his forehead lightly. "No, dummy." You gave him a soft smile. "I see someone who cares. Who loves his family even when they’re mean to him. Who protects the people he loves even when he’s scared. I see the Mammon who makes me laugh when I feel awful. The Mammon who gave me his jacket when I was cold, even though he pretended it was ‘just ‘cause I looked pathetic.’"

His ears went red. "Oi—!"

"I see the Mammon who would give me the last bite of his favorite food if I asked."

"Tch, yeah, ‘cause you steal it from my plate."

"And yet, you never stop me."

Mammon grumbled something under his breath, but his shoulders relaxed a little. His fingers squeezed yours back.

"You’re a lot of things, Mammon. Stubborn. Loud. Sometimes reckless. But you are not worthless. And I don’t ever want to hear you say that again, got it?"

His eyes searched yours like he wanted to believe you, but something was still holding him back.

So, you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his.

"I love you," you whispered. "You. Not some perfect version of you. Just you. The greedy, dramatic, ridiculous, caring, golden-hearted dude that I fell for."

Mammon sucked in a sharp breath.

And then, to your surprise, he collapsed against you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he buried his face in your shoulder. You felt the way his breathing hitched, the way his fingers clutched at your back like he was scared you’d disappear if he let go.

You hugged him just as tightly.

"You really mean that?" His voice was so quiet it nearly broke your heart.

"With everything I’ve got."

He didn’t respond right away. But after a moment, you felt him nod against your shoulder.

"…Okay."

It wasn’t a grand declaration, but you knew what it meant.

So you just held him, letting the silence settle, warm and comfortable.

Eventually, you felt him shift, mumbling into your hair, "You… You ain’t gonna let go yet, right?"

You smiled, squeezing him tighter.

"Not a chance."

Glitches in the System

Something was wrong.

You knew it the second you stepped into Leviathan’s room. The usual comforting glow of his multiple screens flickered erratically, casting strange shadows across the mess of figurines, manga stacks, and game cases scattered around. But the most unsettling thing?

Levi was silent.

No muttering about some new event in Mythic Devildom, no complaints about normies ruining a franchise, no excited rambling about an upcoming gacha banner. Just… silence.

Your stomach twisted.

He was at his desk, hunched over with his back to you, but he wasn’t playing anything. His keyboard was untouched. His headphones hung around his neck, blinking like they’d been disconnected mid-game.

"Levi?"

He tensed, fingers curling into his sleeves. "Go away."

Your heart sank.

"Not happening." You stepped closer, hesitating only slightly before reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder.

He flinched.

"I said—!" He spun around, eyes burning with frustration—until they landed on you. His glare faltered, flickering into something more uncertain.

You took that as a win and pulled over a chair, sitting beside him.

"Want to tell me what happened?"

Levi scoffed, dropping his gaze. "Tch. Like you care."

Your chest ached.

"I do care, Levi. That’s why I’m here."

He hugged himself, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands, a defensive habit you knew all too well.

"It's stupid," he muttered.

"If it’s making you feel like this, it’s not stupid."

He inhaled sharply but still wouldn't look at you.

"…I lost," he finally said.

You blinked. "Lost?"

"Yeah." His voice was bitter. "I was in this tournament—one of the biggest ones for my game. I practiced for weeks. I barely slept, barely did anything else, and I still—" He cut himself off, gripping his arms tighter. "I lost. And everyone saw. Everyone in the chat was laughing, calling me a failure, saying I was all talk. And maybe they’re right."

Your heart broke.

"Levi."

"No—!" He shot up suddenly, knocking his chair back. He started pacing, his movements frantic. "They are right! I am a failure! I call myself a pro gamer, but what kind of pro gamer loses like that?! It wasn’t even close! I embarrassed myself in front of thousands of people! I—I—" His voice cracked.

Then, suddenly, he stopped, shoulders shaking. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

You realized with a jolt—he wasn’t just upset. He was panicking.

You moved without thinking, stepping right in front of him.

"Levi, look at me."

He shook his head violently.

"Levi."

Nothing. He was spiraling, lost in his own thoughts, drowning. You hesitated only a moment before cupping his face gently, forcing him to focus on you.

His wide eyes locked onto yours, pupils blown out in distress. His breathing was ragged, his whole body trembling.

"Breathe with me," you murmured. "Okay? In—" You inhaled deeply, exaggerating it. "—and out."

His breath hitched, but he followed, shaky and uneven.

"Again," you urged.

Another breath. This one a little steadier.

And another.

Slowly, the tension drained from his body. His fists loosened, his breathing evened out.

And then—he collapsed against you.

You barely had time to react before his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a desperate, shaking hug. His face buried itself in your shoulder, and you felt a dampness against your shirt.

"I—I tried so hard," he whispered, voice raw. "And I still wasn’t good enough."

You held him tighter. "Levi, you are more than a game. More than a tournament. Losing doesn’t make you a failure."

His grip tightened. "Then why does it feel like it?"

You exhaled softly, running your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp the way you knew soothed him.

"Because you care. Because you put everything into the things you love. That’s not a weakness, Levi—that’s passion."

He shuddered against you.

"But they—everyone in the chat—"

"They don’t matter. They’re just voices in the void. I’m real. Your brothers are real. And we all love you no matter what."

He let out a broken noise, gripping you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

You held him through it, letting him feel everything he needed to feel.

Minutes passed. Eventually, his breathing steadied, and his hands wrapped loosely around your wrist—a quiet, instinctual gesture of comfort.

"You’re really not gonna leave, huh?" His voice was hoarse but teasing.

You smiled against his hair. "Not a chance, Leviathan."

He sniffled. "Tch. Normie."

But his arms never let go.

Tears in the Pages

The library was quiet, as it usually was in the late hours. But tonight, there was a noticeable absence of the usual rustling of pages, the low murmurs of Satan reading, lost in a novel or some new research.

Instead, there was just silence, thick and heavy.

You found him curled in the corner of the library, a worn book resting untouched in his lap. The soft glow of the candlelight flickered against his pale skin, but his usual sharp gaze was nowhere to be found. His eyes were staring blankly at the floor, distant, lost in a sea of thoughts that you could almost feel pressing down on him.

"Satan?"

His head lifted slowly, and you saw the faint traces of exhaustion and something deeper—something you hadn’t seen in a while. Vulnerability.

"I didn't hear you come in." His voice was softer than usual, quieter, almost subdued.

You hesitated for a moment before walking over and sitting beside him. The familiar scent of old books and the warmth of the fire were comforting, but the coldness in his posture was anything but.

"Satan, what’s going on?"

His eyes flickered, briefly meeting yours, before he turned away again, like he couldn’t bear to hold your gaze. "It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it."

You knew that tone. It was the same one he used when he didn’t want to be a burden, when he wanted to keep whatever was bothering him locked away. But Satan was many things—sharp, confident, clever—but the one thing he wasn’t good at was hiding his true feelings from you.

"It’s not nothing," you said gently, your hand reaching out to rest on his.

He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t speak either.

"You can’t keep it all inside," you continued. "Whatever it is, I want to help."

Satan’s fingers twitched beneath yours, and for a long moment, he stayed silent, as though he was debating whether or not to speak. His chest rose and fell with a deep, almost imperceptible sigh.

"I’ve been...thinking about something." He finally spoke, his voice strained. "Something from a long time ago. Something I thought I had dealt with."

You leaned in slightly, concern creasing your brow. "What is it, Satan?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, his lips pressing together in a thin line, before he spoke again, his words quiet, almost fragile.

"The truth about my origins. The things that… were done to me before I became who I am."

You blinked, taken aback. Satan rarely spoke about his past, about the early years of his existence, before he was the commanding and intellectual demon you knew so well. It was always a sensitive topic, one he tried to avoid, but now it was spilling out, the weight of it too much for him to carry alone.

You placed your hand gently on his shoulder, offering silent support. "You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready, but I’m here for you."

He let out a bitter laugh, though it held no mirth. "It’s not about being ready. It’s just that…" He hesitated, his voice almost breaking. "I’ve spent so much time focusing on proving myself. On showing that I’m not what they made me, but…" His voice trailed off, and you could feel the tension radiating from him.

"But what, Satan?"

He swallowed, his jaw tightening. "But I’m still afraid. Afraid that, despite everything I’ve done, I’ll always be... that thing."

You didn’t hesitate. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His body stiffened at first, as if he wasn’t sure how to react, but then, slowly, he relaxed, melting into your warmth.

"You are not that thing," you whispered firmly, your voice strong, unwavering. "You’re Satan. The demon who’s fought so hard for everything he has, for the person he is. None of that changes, not because of your past. Not because of anything."

He buried his face into your shoulder, his grip tightening around you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the weight of his walls coming down.

"But what if I’m not good enough?" His voice was muffled against you, raw with emotion. "What if I’ve ruined everything by trying to be something I’m not?"

You pulled back just enough to cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, to see the sincerity in your eyes.

"You’re more than enough," you said, your voice steady, full of conviction. "You’ve always been enough."

Satan’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the two of you were locked in that quiet space—where only truth mattered. Slowly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against yours.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I’ve always been afraid of being a disappointment. To you, to my brothers, to myself."

You kissed his forehead softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. "You could never be a disappointment. You’re perfect to me, just as you are."

For a long while, neither of you moved. Satan was still, his body language soft and open, and you could feel the way the heaviness in his chest had lightened just a little.

And for the first time in a long while, you both allowed yourselves to just be.

"Stay with me?" he asked, his voice quieter now, less burdened.

"Always," you replied, pulling him close once more, never wanting him to feel alone again.

A Night of Roses and Reassurance

The House of Lamentation was unusually quiet. The kind of quiet that felt wrong, like something was missing. You didn’t even have to check your phone to know—Asmo hadn't messaged you all day. No excited texts about the latest Majolish trends, no voice notes gushing about his new skincare routine, not even a single selfie.

Something was wrong.

You found him curled up in his room, hidden beneath a sea of silk sheets, his usual scent of roses and vanilla barely noticeable under the weight of something bitter. He didn't look up when you entered, which was an immediate red flag. Asmo always acknowledged you, always made a show of greeting you, even if he was in the middle of a dramatic episode about a chipped nail.

But not this time.

You approached slowly, sitting on the edge of his bed. The mattress dipped, and Asmo stirred just enough to peek at you with tired, dull eyes. His makeup was smudged—something he’d never allow in normal circumstances.

"Hey, sweetheart," you said gently, brushing a strand of soft champagne-colored hair from his face. "Rough day?"

Asmo let out a heavy sigh, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. His lips trembled slightly before he spoke.

"It was awful."

You didn’t rush him. Instead, you took his hand, rubbing slow, soothing circles into his palm, waiting for him to continue.

"Everyone was so… so mean today." His voice wobbled, and your heart clenched. "I know people call me shallow, but today it felt different. I overheard some demons talking about me—saying I was nothing but an airheaded flirt, that I don't really matter beyond being pretty. Like I'm some… disposable accessory."

His fingers tightened around yours as he whispered, "I know I shouldn't care what lesser demons think, but I do. And I hate that I do."

You didn't hesitate.

"Asmo," you murmured, shifting closer, your free hand cradling his cheek. He leaned into the warmth, his eyes squeezing shut like he wanted to block out the world.

"Listen to me. You are not shallow. You are not just ‘pretty.’ You are the most radiant, kind, loving person I’ve ever met. You make people feel seen. You make me feel seen. And anyone who reduces you to just your looks is too blind to recognize the heart behind them."

Asmo let out a shaky breath, his lower lip quivering.

"But what if they're right? What if I am just—"

"They're not." Your voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "Do you think I love you because of your looks?"

His eyes fluttered open, glistening with unshed tears.

"...I mean, it helps," he tried to joke, but his voice cracked. You huffed out a small laugh before cupping both of his cheeks, thumbs stroking his skin.

"I love you because you're you, Asmo. Because you're the one who remembers how I take my tea. Because you send me cute messages just to make me smile. Because you give the best hugs, even when you're the one who needs them."

His breath hitched.

"Because you care so much it hurts. Because you have so much love in your heart, you don’t even know what to do with it. And because I—" you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, "—would be lost without you."

A single tear slipped down his cheek. You wiped it away before he could, and that was all it took for the dam to break.

Asmo let out a choked sob and threw his arms around you, clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him together. You held him just as tightly, rubbing his back as his body trembled against yours.

"I hate feeling like this," he admitted, voice muffled against your shoulder.

"I know, baby," you whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair. "But you're allowed to feel like this. You don't always have to be perfect."

He let out a wet laugh. "That’s funny coming from you, my little perfectionist."

You snorted, giving his side a playful squeeze. "Says the demon who takes an hour to pick a lip gloss."

"Excuse you, that’s a crucial life decision." His voice was still thick with emotion, but a little bit of his usual spark was returning. You smiled.

"How about this? We do a little self-care night. Just us. No outside world, no mean demons, just cozy blankets, snacks, and pampering. You can rant all you want, and I'll be here to listen. Sound good?"

Asmo sniffled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "You really mean it?"

You booped his nose. "Of course, silly. I’d do anything for you."

He let out a watery giggle before pouting dramatically. "Ugh, you're too sweet. It's so unfair. How am I supposed to stay miserable when you're this cute?"

You grinned. "That's the point."

Asmo exhaled deeply, his body finally relaxing. "Okay, okay, you win. But only if we do facemasks. And you let me paint your nails."

"Deal."

And as you pulled him into another warm embrace, feeling his heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm, you knew—no matter how bad his day had been, he would always have you to make it better.

The Weight of the World

Beelzebub had always been a rock—unshakable, steadfast, and incredibly reliable. But tonight, something was different.

You found him in the kitchen, standing in front of the fridge, staring at the vast array of food with a look of emptiness in his eyes. It wasn’t like him to be lost in thought like this, especially when food was involved.

“Beel?”

He didn’t respond right away, his hand still resting on the fridge door. He was so still, you could almost believe he wasn’t even breathing.

You stepped closer, quietly, making your way around the kitchen island to where he stood.

“Beel, talk to me.”

He let out a long sigh, closing the fridge door gently and leaning against it, his broad shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t been sleeping much, or maybe he had been sleeping too much, trying to escape whatever was weighing on his mind.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, but even you could tell that was far from the truth.

You didn’t let him hide this time. Gently, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm, your touch warm and grounding. “Beel, I can tell something’s wrong.”

His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar nervous habit of his.

“I don’t know why I’m feeling this way,” he confessed, his voice heavy. “I’ve been so tired, and no matter how much I eat or how much I rest, it’s like there’s something missing. Like I can’t shake it off. It’s...”

He trailed off, his words stuck in his throat. You could see the turmoil in his eyes.

You stepped closer, closing the space between you, and took his hands in yours. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it by yourself. I’m here for you.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, his grip tight on your hands as though he were afraid to let go. Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve been so focused on making sure everyone else is okay... but I haven’t been okay. And it feels like I’m failing.”

You blinked, surprised. “Failing? Beel, you’re one of the strongest people I know. You’re always there for your brothers, always looking out for them. You don’t fail.”

Beel’s shoulders slumped further, and he shook his head slowly. “It’s not just them... it’s me. I... I feel like I’m always just... eating to fill something up. It’s like I’m stuck in a loop. I don’t know how to stop, and I don’t know what else to do.”

You could feel the weight of his words sink into you, the pain of struggling with something so deeply personal and self-destructive. You took a deep breath, squeezing his hands.

“Beel, you don’t need to do this alone. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

He didn’t answer right away, but he finally let go of your hands to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. His chest was warm, but his grip was shaky, as if he needed this more than anything right now.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

You hugged him back, tightening your hold. “You won’t hurt me, Beel. You never could. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you, okay? Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”

He stayed like that for a long time, his face buried in your shoulder, his body heavy against you. But little by little, you felt his tension start to ease. The weight he’d been carrying slowly seemed to lift, just by being here with you.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Beel murmured quietly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were still a little tired, but there was a softness there now, a sense of relief.

“You’ll never have to find out,” you replied with a gentle smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “We’ll get through this together. One step at a time.”

Beel gave a small, thankful smile before pulling you back into his arms. This time, there was no tension, just a quiet comfort in knowing you were there for each other.

And as the night wore on, you stayed by his side, letting him rest, letting him be, while you both found the strength to face whatever came next—together.

Whispers in the Dark

The lights in the attic were dim, only the moonlight filtering through the small window to cast soft shadows across the room. You had been looking for Belphegor for a while now, knowing he’d been unusually quiet. Normally, he'd be lounging around or teasing his brothers, but tonight, the silence was unnerving.

Finally, you found him curled up on the couch, his head resting against a pile of pillows. His eyes were closed, but there was something about his stillness that made you uneasy. Normally, he was playful, sleepy, maybe a little too sarcastic, but tonight, he was just... absent.

You stepped closer, your voice quiet but gentle. "Belphie?"

He didn’t stir, not immediately, but you could see his shoulders shift slightly, as though he was aware of your presence but didn’t want to face you.

You sat down next to him, your gaze soft, watching him closely. It wasn’t like him to shut himself off like this.

"You’ve been quiet." Your voice was a little hesitant, knowing how he sometimes liked to keep to himself when he was upset. "What’s going on?"

Belphegor finally opened his eyes, slowly blinking at the ceiling, as though he didn’t have the energy to move. "It’s nothing."

You knew that wasn’t true. Belphie had a tendency to keep his feelings locked away, but you also knew that he didn’t want to talk about things he couldn’t fix. You reached out and gently placed your hand on his, resting against his side, silently offering your presence.

"It’s not nothing," you said softly, watching the way he stiffened for just a moment before his hand relaxed against yours.

He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to carry the weight of his frustration. "I’ve been... feeling like I’m not good enough. Like I don’t belong. I thought maybe, if I stayed away, it would pass, but it’s not going away. It’s just..." He trailed off, his words barely a whisper. "I don’t know what to do."

Belphie never liked feeling like he was a burden, and the weight of those emotions was evident in his voice. He didn’t need to say it, but you could hear how much he was struggling, how isolated he felt in the midst of everything.

You leaned in closer, your voice gentle but firm. "Belphie, listen to me. You don’t have to carry everything alone. You’re not a burden, and you do belong. You’re a part of this family, and you’re important to me."

He shifted, his gaze meeting yours, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the part of him that wanted to believe you but the other part that still felt unworthy.

"I just don’t feel like I can do anything right," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "I’ve been so... tired of everything. It’s like I’m stuck, and no matter how much I sleep, I’m still exhausted, still empty."

You brushed your thumb across the back of his hand, your touch soothing, trying to ground him. "You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Belphie. It’s okay to feel this way. You’re allowed to have bad days, to feel lost sometimes. But you don’t have to stay there."

He turned his head toward you, his eyes softening as he studied your face. Slowly, he lifted his hand to your cheek, his fingers gently brushing against your skin. "I hate feeling like this," he admitted, his voice quiet but vulnerable. "But... I’m glad you’re here."

You smiled softly, moving closer until you were right next to him. You pulled him into a gentle hug, wrapping your arms around him, offering the comfort he didn’t know how to ask for.

"I’ll always be here, Belphie. You don’t ever have to face this alone," you whispered into his hair, your heart swelling with the desire to make him feel safe. "I’ll help you carry it, okay?"

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. But you felt his grip tighten around you, his body slowly relaxing in your embrace.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "I don’t deserve you..."

"Yes, you do," you whispered back, holding him a little tighter. "You deserve all the love in the world, Belphie. And I’m going to make sure you always feel that."

Slowly, the tension in his body began to ease. He rested his head against you, his breathing steadying as he allowed himself a rare moment of peace.

And for that moment, the world outside felt far away. It was just you and him, holding each other close in the quiet, letting the weight of everything else drift away.

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aealzx · 9 months ago

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Phantom Rogues (Prequel)

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“Would yOU PEOPLE JUST LISTEN!”

Danny’s exasperated anger was punctuated by a sharp ecto shotgun blast into the nearest tank the GIW had amassed. They were still trying to destroy the Infinite Realms, new agents having convinced the older ones that the Infinite Realms being connected to their realm was a hoax to keep them from following through. Jazz, Sam, and Tucker were all barricaded behind what remained of their equipment, so it was only Danny and Danielle who remained amidst this reality ripped in between the two realms that GIW’s stupid equipment had created. Yet once again Danny wasn’t able to continue his attack, getting cut off by a mostly startled scream from Danielle as they once again focused their fire on her. First it had been the humans of the team, now it was Danielle, and it was really starting to piss Danny off.

“Stop targeting her you sick bastards! She’s fourteen!” Danny belted, flying yet again between their weapons and Danielle, and blasting the cannon with a prolonged stream of ectoplasm to bend its course. They would soon shift it back to pointing at them, but at least that took a few seconds.

“So you claim. Yet the only thing it means for us is that she’s a liability for you. You’re the stronger one, but you’ll let your guard down for her. A pathetic imitation of humanity that may have won over the Fentons, but not us. We know you’re nothing but an imitation of humans made by nothing more than destructive residue.” That was Operative N, the new blood that had worked up the ranks. Danny liked to call him Nimrod.

“We’re not faking it!” Danny shouted back, feeling his voice crack with the desperate protest. “SOME ghosts are residue, but others are just as sentient and full of good emotions as humans are.” If only he could turn this stupid human into a ghost so he could see it too. But life, even stupid life, was too precious to waste just to prove a point.

“....Test run the experiment,” Operative N directed, unfazed by Danny’s outburst. The Operative next to him stepped forward as others to the sides of them started firing a barrage of ectoblasts their way. It was a distraction to keep their attention, Danny knew that. But Danielle still wasn’t as good as he was, and he didn’t miss the way the experimental blaster pulsed red instead of green. He couldn’t let Danielle get hit by that, so when she let out another yelped scream, getting hit by three ectoblasts, Danny flung himself into her when the other Operative took that as an opening.

The experimental blaster was faster than the originals, and Danny didn’t have time to bring up a shield after body slamming Danielle away. He could only tense in preparation for the damage, knowing he could handle more than Danielle could when it came to a beating.

He wasn’t ready for this.

The bloody red blast of energy wasn’t ectoplasm, and when it slammed into Danny’s chest his voice ripped from him in a startled scream of agony as he realized what they had done. The barbed wire poison splitting his ghostly skin held a familiar scorching dry flame feeling that he’d only experienced once before, a hand flying to his ribs as he crashed to the ground and couldn’t help curling into a ball, deaf to his friends’ and family’s cries for him.

Those freaks had weaponized blood blossoms.

It was worse than being trapped in a barrier of them, the poison now sank into his flesh instead of caressing it with noxious fumes. The fight wasn’t over though, so he willed his twitching limbs to work as he wanted them to, shoving them underneath himself to push himself upright, never mind the green blood dripping from his side.

“There we go,” Operative N commented emotionlessly, motioning with his hand to another Operative. “Use him now.”

That was the only warning Danny had before a clamp half his size snapped down on top of him, binding him in its case and pulling him from the broken ground. Danny let out a strangled noise as his arm was smashed against his injured ribs, legs scrambling to try and remain connected to the soil and feeling the anti ghost barrier keeping him trapped in the prickly bindings. It was only when he heard a slight click, and the fat needles poking into his skin started ripping energy from him that he vaguely remembered something about them using him as a battery for their machine. They obviously didn’t care how it treated him either, for Danny could swear getting electrocuted hurt less.

“Scream all you want, Phantom. Not even you could break out of there now that we’ve worn you down,” Operative N commented, having the audacity to sound bored.

Danny barely registered Danielle repeatedly sinking what power she could into the clamp that had a hold of him, but it didn’t seem effective. He hadn’t wanted to resort to blowing everything up, not sure what the machines would do to the realms they were connected to if they burst from overload.

But at this point he didn’t see any other option. If the realms were going to blow up, then he’d rather they blow up because he tried to save them.

If you want to hear me scream, then I’ll scream.

Danny’s defiant thought was accompanied by him forcing his mouth to snap shut, struggling with half stifled gasps to fill his lungs with as much air as they could hold. It took a minute too long, but as soon as he maxed out the air he could hold Danny forced it out again in a drawn out wail.

Jazz had expressed before that she hated hearing Danny’s ghostly wail. She’d even commented that the name itself seemed like a pathetic attempt to calm the fears of children when stories were told about it. As Danny’s abilities had advanced the wail became less of a B movie imitation of ghosts and more of a source of nightmares. A distorted sound of burst eardrum silence smothered by shrieking similar to subtle tinnitus, but with the undertone of the voices of those who had died screaming.

Jazz always heard her brother’s voice over the others.

This was the first time Danny had fully figured out how to make his wail non directional. An orb of earth shattering sound rippling in waves from his form, crushing the machines around them like sealed cans dropped in liquid nitrogen. The only reason his allies weren’t hurt was because the waves were strangely more gentle in their direction, just enough that Danielle could hold a barrier over them while they pressed their palms to their ears, collapsing to their knees.

The wailing only lasted slightly less than two minutes, but the chain reaction explosions continued for several more. As soon as the device holding him was broken Danny let out a ripple of ectoplasm to shatter it. Then soft coils snapped out and wrapped around his allies, dragging them closer to his floating form where he could raise a shield around all of them.

Sam took charge of shielding Tucker and Danielle with her own body as realm rending explosions thrashed their tiny bubble to and fro. Danny was able to keep them from being thrown against the sides of the barrier, but none of them could even attempt to stand with all the vibrations of varying intensities. Jazz stole as long of a look at Danny as she could since she couldn’t do anything else, feeling her heart skip a beat when she saw the hole punched into the left side of his chest, blast marks searing out from it to cover his shoulder and nick his cheek. All of the wounds were oozing the green blood Danny had as Phantom, but he didn’t seem to be paying them any mind.

Another sharp, shuddering jerk signaled the end of their whirlwind ride, and suddenly the group had perfectly still, solid ground under them and silence ringing in their ears. It was deafening, in a good way compared to the wail from before, and Jazz heard the others mimic her shuddering breaths. But before she could visually check on her brother she heard him fall. Nothing like the exhausted drops he did when he couldn’t quite make it to the ground before letting gravity take hold of him again. It was the heavy crumple of a human body being dumped. And as Jazz snapped her head up Danny’s face fell into her view, his eyes closed and figure completely limp. Jazz watched his cheeks drain from color as a new spot of red bloomed across his white shirt, and her voice refused to speak.

Scrambling to her baby brother, Jazz cupped a hand to his cheek, horrified at the rapidly dropping temperature of his skin and using her other hand to shake his shoulder as roughly as she dared. Her voice found itself in moments to scream what had been repeating in her head.

“DANNY!”

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IIiiii am not immune to brain rot |D If you’re confused, good, I am too

Today my brain chose violence, and gave me some of the details of what led to the DP team getting ported to DC verse. So I wrote them while spamming the same 6 songs X’D And then I drew 2 pictures because I wanted both vibes.

This is getting way more attention that I even guessed might happen * wheeze *, so just a few disclaimers just so people are aware:

the DP crew are 2 years older than in the cartoon. because I can

Jack and Maddie are becoming really good parents. Because I’m tired of the “omg I’m a teenager and my parents suck” trope. They know Danny and Danielle are halfas, and it took them about a year to fully accept that. Now they’re rewriting studies to support sentient ghosts and more humane ways to deal with the violent ones.

It’s only in the recent months that they’ve started to actually study ways to help ghosts/halfas. So a lot of medical stuff for them is still unknown, but Jazz knows a bit more first aid than the average teen.

I’m not going to have romance at all. I find pushing the platonic boundaries way more fun and interesting. If you think it's romance, it's not.

I’m also more interested in Danny and Jazz’s sibling relationship than whatever either of them have going on with Sam and Tucker.

No update schedule. I follow the whims of my not normal brain.

_________________

Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @zeestarfishalien, @bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch

#my art #long post #writing #fanfic #dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #phantom rogues #dcxdp whump #tw swearing #tw blood #tw poison #dc x dp

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mingi-s-dimples · 2 months ago

Text

Taught to Behave - Sanhwa

"You like this, don't you, baby? Getting used. Getting ruined. Getting owned."

~"sanhwa being possessive, college & party au, some random guy flirts with the reader, sanhwa take her back to the dorm to remind her who she belongs to" - req. by anon

pairing: sanhwa x fem!reader

genre: 18+, college au, filth

summary: you're just too innocent and dense to realise someone is flirting with you... and your boyfriends see everything. and they ruin you.

wc: 6.7k

warnings: boyfriends!sanhwa, rough doms!sanhwa, possessiveness, choking, deep throating, bargain, begging, multiple ruined orgasms, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, oral fixation, oral (both m and f), cum play, cum eating, clit slapping, ass spanking, thigh slapping, forced eye contact, teasing, biting, marking, hickeys, restraints (cuffs), dacryphilia, degradation, praising, dumbification, orgasm control, forced orgasms, gagging, nipple play, nipple sucking, breasts fondling, ownership kink, punishment, verbal control, 3some, completely consensual, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!), for damn sure forgot something this was insane, will edit later.

Author's Note: this was fucking insane hello... I loved writing this as much as it took me 2 days 🤡 but hey! It’s finally done, hihi 🤗 anon pls enjoy it, is... FILTH.. ilysm. stay safe 🥰🤍 lmk in asks how you liked it hihi 😂🤍

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the members in any way.

The party was buzzing, the air thick with laughter, music, and the faint scent of alcohol. You weren’t much of a party girl, but with Seonghwa and San by your side, you had agreed to come along. They had promised they wouldn’t leave you alone for a second, but promises like that were easy to break in the chaos of a college party.

Just for a moment, they had stepped away to grab drinks. That’s all it took.

“Hey, you having a good time?” A smooth voice cut through the noise beside you.

You turned to see a guy—tall, confident, a casual smirk playing on his lips. You didn’t think much of it. He seemed friendly, and you weren’t the type to be rude.

“Yeah! It’s fun,” you answered with a small laugh, completely unaware of the way he edged closer, leaning in just slightly to hear you better over the music. The conversation continued— light, easy. He made a joke, and you laughed, a sweet, unknowing smile gracing your lips. You were just being polite, just making conversation. Nothing more.

San and Seonghwa saw the whole thing.

Seonghwa’s jaw tensed first, a sharp clench that San caught immediately. He was already moving before San could stop him, but there was no need—San was right behind him, dark eyes flickering with something unreadable.

They knew you weren’t flirting.

They knew exactly how you got when you flirted, all shy glances and nervous little twitches. But this? This was something else. You were just being polite. Laughing at whatever bullshit this guy was saying, not realizing the way he was inching closer, the way his eyes flickered down to your lips between words.

San let Seonghwa handle it. He stood behind you, pressing close enough for you to feel the heat of his body against your back, and let Seonghwa’s icy voice do the rest.

“Hope you were enjoying the conversation,” Seonghwa said, his hand curling around your waist as he tilted his head, eyes sharp enough to cut. “But we’ll be taking her now.”

The guy blinked, shifting awkwardly as he took in the way both men now flanked you, protective and unyielding. “I was just—”

“You were just leaving,” San cut in, voice deceptively light, though the hand sliding down your hip was anything but.

The man opened his mouth, but the warning look in Seonghwa’s eyes made him think better of it. He muttered a quick, “Yeah, sure,” before disappearing into the crowd.

You barely had time to process it before San’s hand was tightening around yours, tugging you toward the exit with Seonghwa right at your other side. Your heart picked up at the suddenness of it, but you didn’t question them, letting them lead you straight back to the dorm.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, locking out the world, you knew something had shifted.

San was the first to move, stepping behind you and brushing your hair over your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?” he murmured, fingers pressing into your waist.

Seonghwa took your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to his. His expression was unreadable, dark eyes flickering over yours. Then, a small, knowing smile appeared on his face as he brushed his thumb over your lip.

"Guess we’ll have to remind you who you belong to.”

You barely had time to process the shift in the air before San’s hands were already at the hem of your dress, his fingers grazing your thighs as he lifted it just enough to make you shiver.

Seonghwa, still holding your chin, tilted your head further back. His eyes bore into yours, dark and unreadable, but the corners of his lips curled with something dangerously soft. Too soft.

"Why—" Your voice came out small, barely above a whisper as San’s fingers dug into your skin, pressing against the meat of your thighs. "What did I do?"

San’s chuckle was warm against your ear, his lips ghosting over your skin before he answered. "Oh, sweetheart," he cooed, dragging the hem of your dress higher, higher. "You didn’t do anything."

"Not a thing," Seonghwa agreed, voice deceptively soothing as he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. "But we still have to remind you."

Your breath hitched as San suddenly lifted your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but lace beneath their burning gazes. The second the fabric hit the floor, Seonghwa’s hands were at your waist, smoothing over your stomach, tracing upwards, fingers ghosting just beneath your bra.

San, still pressed behind you, let his hands settle on your hips, kneading the flesh there as he let out a low hum. "You let some random guy stand too close to you, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against the back of your neck. "Didn’t even realize it, did you?"

You blinked, heat creeping up your spine as you processed his words. "I was just talking," you whispered, chest rising and falling as Seonghwa finally slid his hands up, pushing your bra straps off your shoulders.

"We know," Seonghwa said simply, voice velvety smooth. His fingers flicked at the clasp of your bra, and before you knew it, the lace joined your dress on the floor. "That’s what makes it so adorable."

Your stomach flipped, their hands working in tandem to undress you as if it were second nature.

San’s fingers dragged along the waistband of your panties, snapping it lightly before he let out a quiet sigh. "You really have no idea how fucking precious you are, do you?"

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, but San tsked, nudging them apart again with his knee from behind you. "Not so fast, baby."

Seonghwa stepped back just enough to shrug out of his jacket, the sound of fabric hitting the floor sending a fresh wave of heat through you. "We’re not mad," he reassured, eyes locked on yours. "We just need to make sure you don’t forget who you belong to."

And as San finally peeled your panties down, pressing a lingering kiss against your hip before standing to remove his own shirt, you realized—there was no escaping this lesson tonight.

San settled himself against the headboard, his bare chest gleaming under the dim light as he spread his legs slightly, motioning for you. His jeans hung low on his hips, and his briefs did nothing to hide the outline of his hard cock.

"Come here, sweetheart," he murmured, voice dripping with something both soft and demanding.

With a gentle tug, he guided you onto his lap, his strong hands gripping your hips as he positioned you exactly how he wanted—your back flush against his chest, thighs draped over his, legs spread open for Seonghwa, who had just settled onto his knees between them.

Seonghwa’s gaze dragged over your exposed body, dark and unreadable, before flickering up to meet San’s. Whatever unspoken agreement passed between them sent a shiver down your spine.

San’s lips found your neck first, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. His hands roamed upward, cupping your breasts, kneading them with a slow, deliberate squeeze that had your breath hitching.

"You’re so pretty like this," he murmured against your skin, teeth grazing along your jawline.

Seonghwa, still kneeling between your legs, trailed his fingertips along the inside of your thighs, slow and teasing. His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving featherlight kisses in his wake, the contrast between his softness and San’s firm touch making your head spin.

"Spreading so easy for us," Seonghwa mused, his voice dipping into something deeper, rougher. "You really are ours, aren’t you?"

San hummed in agreement, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples as his teeth scraped along your earlobe. "Ours to touch…" He gave your breasts another squeeze. "Ours to ruin."

Your breath caught as Seonghwa’s kisses inched higher, his tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive skin near your core. Your fingers gripped San’s forearms, nails digging into his skin as anticipation coiled tight in your belly.

Seonghwa glanced up, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Look at her, San," he murmured, lips ghosting over the very place you needed him most. "Already shaking, and I haven’t even started yet."

San chuckled against your neck, his hold on you tightening. "Then don’t keep her waiting."

And then Seonghwa dove in.

He wasted no time, his tongue dragging over your folds in one slow, teasing motion before pressing deeper, tasting you like a man starved. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in as he pulled you even closer, burying himself between your legs.

Your back arched against San’s chest, breathy gasps spilling from your lips as Seonghwa worked his tongue over you, alternating between slow, deliberate licks and quick flicks over your sensitive bud.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” San murmured in your ear, his voice heavy with arousal. His grip on your breasts tightened, rolling your hardened peaks between his fingers, adding to the overstimulation that was quickly driving you insane.

Seonghwa groaned against your core, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you. But it wasn’t just from eating you out—his other hand had moved to his own cock, stroking himself as he devoured you, his pace rough and desperate. He didn't bother taking off his pants yet.. he was just as gone as you were. He just pushed them down slightly and.. got to jerking off.

“God, Hwa,” San chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Are you that impatient?”

Seonghwa didn’t respond—his only answer was a deep, hungry moan against your folds as he sucked on your clit, his own strokes growing even faster. Your thighs trembled in his grasp, your entire body strung tight, every nerve buzzing with the approaching orgasm.

San could tell. He felt it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your hips bucked into Seonghwa’s mouth, in the way your nails clawed at his arms.

And just when you thought the pleasure couldn’t peak any higher, San slid one hand down your stomach, his fingers finding your clit.

Your entire body jolted. “S-San—”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, pressing slow, torturous circles against the swollen nub. “Feels too good, doesn’t it?”

Your only response was a desperate whine, a sound that had both of them groaning.

Seonghwa flicked his tongue faster, his strokes on himself turning erratic, his grip tightening against your thigh.

“You better cum,” San murmured, his fingers moving in sync with Seonghwa’s tongue. “Right now, sweetheart. Give it to us.”

Your body was wound so tight it was a miracle you hadn’t snapped yet. The combination of Seonghwa’s tongue and San’s fingers was sending you hurtling straight toward the edge, your thighs trembling, your hands desperately clutching San’s forearms for some semblance of control.

But they weren’t about to let you have any.

Seonghwa moaned against your folds as he sucked harder, the obscene sound only making you more desperate. San’s fingers didn’t let up either, rubbing ruthless, fast circles over your swollen clit, his other arm keeping you firmly locked against his chest.

“S-San—Hwa—” You barely got their names out, voice breaking into breathy whimpers.

“Hmm?” San hummed mockingly against your ear, his breath hot. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Can’t even talk anymore?”

Seonghwa groaned at your taste, tongue delving even deeper as his strokes on himself grew messier. He could feel the way you were tightening, how your body was twitching, how your moans were growing sharper—so fucking close.

San grinned, knowing it too. “Come on, baby,” he whispered, breath heavy, fingers never slowing. “Show us who you belong to.”

And just like that, the coil snapped.

Your back arched against San’s chest, a sharp, broken cry tearing from your lips as your orgasm crashed into you, waves of pleasure rippling through every inch of your body. Seonghwa groaned against you as you pulsed around his tongue, drinking in every last drop.

But they didn’t stop.

San kept his fingers moving, rubbing relentlessly over your sensitive clit. Seonghwa kept licking, eating you up like he’d never get another taste.

You jerked against them, the overstimulation hitting you like lightning. “T-Too much—”

“Too much?” San cooed mockingly. “You can take it.” His grip on your hips tightened as you writhed. “You’re ours. That means we get to ruin you.”

Seonghwa hummed in agreement, his lips still latched onto you, his own pleasure teetering on the edge. He was painfully close, his cock throbbing in his hand as he kept stroking himself, desperate for release.

San noticed.

“Look at you,” he chuckled darkly, tilting his head. “You’re just as bad as she is, aren’t you, Hwa?”

Seonghwa groaned, pulling away from your drenched folds, his lips swollen and glistening. He didn’t say a word—he just shifted up, still kneeling between your legs, his hand wrapped tight around his cock. His breaths were heavy, his brows furrowed in blissful frustration.

San grinned. “Go on, then.”

Seonghwa exhaled sharply, his free hand reaching out to tilt your chin up and he got up halfway, still on his knees. His thumb traced your bottom lip, his dark gaze locking onto yours.

“Open.” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a command.

You obeyed without hesitation, lips parting as he slid his thumb past them first, groaning when he felt your warm tongue against it. But it wasn’t enough—he needed more.

His hand left your chin, wrapping around the base of his cock again. He stroked himself a few more times, sharp and fast, before his control finally snapped.

His head tipped back, a deep, guttural moan spilling from his lips as he came, hot and thick onto your tongue. Some of it dripped down the corner of your lips, but he was quick to swipe it up with his fingers, pushing it back into your mouth.

San, still holding you against his chest, chuckled. “Goddamn, Hwa.”

Seonghwa’s chest was heaving as he collected himself, his dark eyes still locked onto you as you swallowed. “Shut up,” he muttered breathlessly.

San smirked. “Impatient fucker.”

Seonghwa only huffed, finally shifting off the bed. “You’re one to talk,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to San’s *very* obvious problem.

San only grinned, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “Don’t think we’re done yet, sweetheart.”

Seonghwa exhaled heavily, raking his fingers through his hair before reaching for the waistband of his pants. His movements were smooth, deliberate, his belt unfastened with a sharp snap before he let it fall to the floor. His zipper came next, the slow, teasing sound only adding to the anticipation thickening in the air. He shoved his pants down, leaving him in only his briefs, his cock straining against the fabric, desperate for attention once again.

San followed, already shirtless, his toned torso illuminated by the dim light of the room. He made a show of unbuttoning his jeans, sliding them down his strong thighs before kicking them off entirely. Unlike Seonghwa, he didn’t hesitate to strip fully, pushing his briefs down as well, letting his cock spring free. He was already painfully hard, the tip glistening, the sight making your mouth water.

San wasted no time, pulling you against him as he settled onto his knees, your chest flush against his. His arms wrapped around you possessively, one hand pressing firmly against your lower back, keeping you in place, while the other gently tilted your chin down—guiding your gaze toward the thick length standing right in front of you. His hard, dripping cock.

Seonghwa had taken off his briefs and positioned himself behind you, hands gripping your hips, his breath hot against your shoulder as he leaned in. His lips brushed against your ear, a low chuckle vibrating against your skin. "You look so fucking perfect between us." His fingers traced down your spine, slow and deliberate, before he gripped your waist, adjusting your position.

San hummed in agreement, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "Be a good girl for us, yeah?" He didn’t give you time to answer before slapping the tip of his cock against your lips, urging you to open up for him.

At the same time, Seonghwa’s grip on your hips tightened, and with one slow, torturous thrust, he bottomed out.

Your gasp was swallowed by San’s cock as he pushed further into your mouth, the intrusion forcing your jaw open wider. His fingers tangled in your hair, not pushing—just holding, controlling. Letting you know he could take over anytime he wanted.

Behind you, Seonghwa groaned as he buried himself deeper, your tight walls squeezing around him perfectly. His grip on your hips was bruising, nails digging into your flesh as he bottomed out, a low curse leaving his lips. “Fuck, you take me so well.”

San exhaled sharply above you, watching as your lips stretched around his length. “Bet she feels even better wrapped around you, huh, Hwa?” His voice was laced with amusement, but the slight tremor in it gave away just how much he was enjoying this.

Seonghwa let out a breathy chuckle, pulling back before thrusting in again, setting a slow but firm pace. “She’s perfect.” His fingers slid up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades to arch your back deeper. “And she’s ours.”

San’s grip in your hair tightened slightly, guiding you as he rocked his hips forward, pushing deeper into your throat. He groaned when he felt you swallow around him, his free hand cupping your cheek. “So pretty like this, taking everything we give you.”

Seonghwa’s thrusts grew rougher, each snap of his hips pushing you further onto San’s cock. The stretch, the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being completely at their mercy—it was too much and yet not enough. You whimpered around San, your hands gripping his thighs for stability, nails digging in.

San chuckled breathlessly, wiping a tear that slipped down your cheek. “Mm, look at you, baby. Crying already?” His voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “We’re just getting started.”

Behind you, Seonghwa groaned at San’s words, his thrusts turning sharper. “She can take it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “She’ll take everything we give her.”

San smirked. “That’s right.” He guided your head down further, letting you take him all the way. “And she’s going to even thank us for it.”

San was as close as Seonghwa was initially, his cock throbbing in your mouth with every thrust and every lick. As soon as you licked around and sucked him off for a couple of times, strings of white silky cum shoot out in your mouth as he came. He pulled back with a slick pop, his cock leaving your mouth coated in your spit and his cum. A string of it clung to your lips, and he wiped it off with his thumb, only to push it right back into your mouth.

“Swallow.”

You did.

Seonghwa growled behind you, his thrusts slowing—dangerous. “You’ve been so, so innocent, talking to that man tonight…”

San hummed in agreement, running his fingers through your hair before gripping the roots at the base of your skull, yanking your head back. “And now? Now you think you can just take our cocks and be done?” He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice dark. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re fucked if you think that.. more than fucked.”

Seonghwa pulled out entirely, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing, a desperate whimper escaping your lips. But before you could even beg, he flipped you onto your back with ease, your body barely having time to register the shift before he was on you again.

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. His other wrapped around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. His dark eyes flickered down, filled with something wild—something dangerous. “You want to be a brat?” he murmured, voice like velvet laced with steel. “Then you’ll be treated like one.”

San’s chuckle was low, amused. “You know what brats get, don’t you, baby?” He trailed a finger down your stomach, light, teasing. His touch stopped right above your swollen clit, not giving you what you needed.

Your thighs trembled, your hips shifting to chase his fingers, desperate for friction. “P-Please—”

San tsked. “Oh, you wanna beg now?” His hand suddenly came down on your inner thigh. A sharp slap that had your breath stuttering, the sting blooming instantly. “Where was this obedience earlier, huh?”

Seonghwa tightened his grip around your throat, his lips curving into a smirk. “She’s only good when she’s desperate.”

San hummed. “Then let’s make her desperate.”

He moved faster than you could process, reaching to grab something from the nightstand. A second later, the sharp *click* of metal filled the air.

Handcuffs.

You barely had time to gasp before Seonghwa was snapping them around your wrists, locking them above your head. “There,” he murmured, leaning down, his lips ghosting over yours. “Now you’re ours to do with as we please.”

And then, without warning—Seonghwa *slapped* your clit.

Your whole body jerked, a choked cry ripping from your throat as the sudden jolt of pleasure-pain sent electricity shooting through your veins.

San groaned. “Oh, that was pretty.”

Seonghwa did it again. Harder.

Your back arched, the metal of the cuffs digging into your skin as your body struggled against them. But there was nowhere to go. Nothing to do except take it.

“Aw,” San cooed mockingly, watching as your thighs trembled. “Too much?”

Seonghwa’s fingers traced over your dripping folds, gathering the slick that had only worsened with the punishment. He brought them to his lips, licking them clean with a groan. “I don’t think so,” he murmured. “She’s fucking dripping.”

San chuckled. “She likes being punished.”

Seonghwa smirked, pressing a single finger against your clit—not rubbing, not moving. Just applying pressure, the promise of more. “You like this, don’t you, baby?” His voice was low, intoxicating. “Getting used. Getting ruined.”

San leaned down, his lips barely brushing yours. “Getting owned.”

Seonghwa hummed, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You love this, don’t you? Being at our mercy.” His free hand traced down your torso, his fingertips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your stomach before sliding lower, teasing but never quite giving.

You whimpered, your body trembling under their touch, craving more—needing more. The metal of the cuffs bit into your wrists as you instinctively tugged against them, your need for control slipping further away.

San chuckled, his lips curling against your skin. “Already so restless,” he mused. “Should we give her what she wants, hyung?”

Seonghwa smirked, his grip on your throat tightening just a fraction more. “Not yet. She hasn’t earned it.”

Your whine of frustration only made them laugh, a mix of amusement and satisfaction evident in their voices. San’s hands roamed your sides, tracing the curves of your body with deliberate slowness, savoring the way you squirmed beneath his touch.

Seonghwa’s grip finally loosened, only for his fingers to trail down your spine, sending a fresh wave of shivers through you. “Patience,” he whispered, his lips grazing the back of your neck. “We’ll take our time ruining you.”

San caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your head back until your lips were just a breath away from his. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with both praise and possession. “But you can be better, can’t you?”

The tension between you all was electric, your body trapped between them, your mind clouded with need. They were in no rush, savoring every reaction, every twitch, every sound that escaped your lips.

You were theirs. And they were going to make sure you never forgot it.

They both suddenly lift you on your legs in front of the bed. Your own arousal drips on the floor, legs shaking and Seonghwa standing in front of you.

Seonghwa’s hum is like silk, deceptively smooth despite the rough grip he has on your jaw. His fingers dig into your skin, tilting your head up so you have no choice but to meet his dark, unreadable gaze. San stands behind you, arms crossed, tongue running over his teeth as he watches you with amusement.

You don’t even get the chance to respond before Seonghwa’s grip tightens, his other hand gripping your wrist and twisting it behind your back. In an instant, you’re spun around, body pressed flush against his as he manhandles you toward the bed.

San is already sitting at the edge of it, legs spread, waiting.

Seonghwa forces you forward until you’re straddling San’s lap, his strong arms keeping you in place. You squirm instinctively, your knees digging into the mattress, but before you can adjust, San grabs your hips and yanks you down onto his cock.

There’s no warning. No easing in. Just one brutal, unforgiving thrust that stretches you open in an instant.

You cry out, body lurching forward, hands flying to grip San’s shoulders. He groans at the feeling of you clenching around him, his nails sinking into your waist to hold you in place.

“Fuck, she’s tight,” San murmurs, his head tipping back as he exhales sharply. His grip tightens, keeping you from moving even an inch.

Seonghwa chuckles behind you, his presence overwhelming. “Of course she is. She’s been teasing all night, acting like she wouldn't know the consequences. But her little cunt says otherwise.”

You whimper, already lightheaded from the way San is seated so deep inside you. But before you can even adjust to the stretch, Seonghwa moves behind you, pressing your back to his chest. One of his hands snakes around your throat while the other grips your hip, holding you still as he presses the blunt tip of his cock against your entrance—the exact same one where San is already buried inside you.

“No—wait, I—”

Your words cut off into a choked sob as Seonghwa thrusts inside in one stuttering, brutal stroke. The stretch is almost unbearable, your walls struggling to accommodate both of them at once.

San curses beneath you, his hands gripping your ass to spread you wider, while Seonghwa groans into your ear, his teeth scraping along the shell of it.

“Look at that,” Seonghwa murmurs, his voice laced with mock sympathy. “You can take us both so well, but you don’t even realize how much of a slut you are, do you?”

You can’t answer. Not when they’re both inside you, so deep, so thick, making you feel so impossibly full. You can’t even *breathe*.

And they don’t let you adjust.

Seonghwa’s grip on your throat tightens as he pulls back just enough to slam forward again, making you jolt. San follows immediately, thrusting up into you, their movements perfectly synchronized as they set a brutal, punishing pace.

There’s no teasing. No mercy. Just raw, relentless fucking.

Your body is caught between them, used, controlled, forced to take every ruthless thrust as they fuck into you with no intention of slowing down. Your nails dig into San’s shoulders, your head tilting back against Seonghwa’s shoulder, mouth falling open in a silent moan.

“That’s it,” San breathes, watching your ruined expression with half-lidded eyes. “Already so dumb for us, huh? Can’t even think, can you?”

Seonghwa hums in agreement, his free hand sliding down to your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles just to toy with you. “She doesn’t need to think. She just needs to take it.”

You do. You take everything they give you, let them use you however they want. And the worst part? It feels so fucking good.

Your orgasm builds fast, your thighs trembling, body tightening as they drive you closer to the edge. Seonghwa feels it immediately—the way you clench around them, the way your breaths become short and desperate.

And just as you’re about to break—

They stop.

Seonghwa pulls out. San follows.

You sob at the loss, your walls spasming around nothing, your body trembling with frustration. Your hands claw at San’s arms, trying to ground yourself, trying to *understand*—

But they don’t give you a moment to recover.

Seonghwa grips your chin, turning your head so you’re forced to look at him. His lips are parted, his pupils blown, his cock glistening with your arousal. And yet, his expression is entirely composed, utterly controlled.

“That’s one,” he murmurs.

You let out a broken whimper, your head falling forward against San’s shoulder.

San chuckles, running his hands up your sides, his touch almost gentle despite the cruelty of his actions. “Oh, baby. We’re just getting started.”

You don’t get a second to prepare before Seonghwa pushes you down onto the mattress, pressing you flat as he lines himself up behind you again.

Then he’s inside you. Deep. Hard. Devastating.

San stands, stepping around the bed until he’s in front of you. His cock is still slick with your arousal, glistening under the dim lighting. He strokes himself lazily, watching you with half-lidded eyes.

"Open," he orders.

You hesitate for only a second before parting your lips. That second costs you—Seonghwa’s palm comes down on your ass, the sharp smack making you jolt.

San grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "Did you forget how to listen, baby?" he taunts.

Before you can answer, he slides his cock past your lips, filling your mouth in one smooth motion. He doesn’t let you ease into it—his hips push forward until he’s deep in your throat, making you gag instantly.

Seonghwa takes advantage of the momentary distraction. His hands grip your hips, spreading you open before slamming into you from behind.

There’s no warning. No build-up. Just one devastating thrust that has your body lurching forward, San’s cock slipping even deeper down your throat.

You choke, your hands clawing at the sheets as your body struggles to handle both of them. But they don’t stop. They *don’t care*.

Seonghwa sets a brutal pace, fucking you into the mattress like he’s trying to break you. His nails dig into your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you, forcing you to take every punishing thrust.

San isn’t any kinder. His grip tightens in your hair, keeping your head still as he fucks your mouth with the same merciless rhythm. His cock drags against your tongue, hitting the back of your throat with every movement.

Tears sting your eyes, drool spills from the corners of your lips, but they only seem to enjoy the sight of you unraveling.

“Such a good little slut,” Seonghwa growls, voice breathless yet firm. “Letting us ruin you after acting like an innocent little thing at that party."

San groans, his thumb brushing over your cheek, feeling the way his cock bulges in your throat. "She’s *perfect* like this."

The pleasure is unbearable. The way they use you—force you to take them, to surrender completely—has you spiraling. Your body trembles, your walls clenching around Seonghwa, your throat tightening around San.

You're close. So close it’s humiliating. The heat in your stomach coils tighter, the pleasure building to a breaking point—

And then they pull away.

San slides his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, watching with amusement as you gasp for air, your lips red and swollen. Seonghwa drags himself out of your soaked cunt, his cock slick with your arousal, and delivers another sharp slap to your ass.

“That’s another one,” he breathes.

A strangled sob escapes your lips, your body still trembling from the denied release. Your cunt clenches around nothing, desperate, aching, ruined.

San runs his fingers over your swollen lips, tilting his head as he admires your wrecked expression. “We can keep this up all night, baby,” he coos. “You know that, right?”

Seonghwa grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. His expression is composed, utterly in control. “Sweetie.. you know what to do.”

Your pride is shattered, your desperation unbearable. But you don’t hesitate.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice wrecked. “Please let me cum. Please, I need it—I need you, I need to—”

San chuckles, running a thumb over your spit-slick lips. “Mhm. that’s much better."

Seonghwa smirks. "I guess she’s learned her lesson."

San hums in agreement. "Yeah. I think she deserves a reward now."

"Aww, she’s shaking," San murmurs, voice dripping with amusement.

You *are* shaking—your body writhing between them, overwhelmed and desperate. They’ve been teasing you for what feels like forever, pushing you to the edge only to pull away, leaving you ruined and empty.

But now?

Now, they’re finally giving you what you want.

Seonghwa's fingers press deep inside your dripping cunt, curling perfectly against your sweet spot. His other hand holds you down, keeping you spread open as he works you over with precision—slow, deliberate, *taunting.*

San, meanwhile, sits beside you, his gaze locked onto your wrecked expression. His fingers tug at your swollen, spit-slick lips before sliding down your body, reaching between your thighs to toy with your aching clit.

"Poor thing," San coos mockingly, his fingers circling your sensitive bud. "All worked up with nowhere to go."

Your back arches violently, your body instinctively chasing the pleasure, *begging* for release without words.

Seonghwa chuckles. "She’s *so* close," he muses, his voice smooth but firm. "I can feel her clenching around my fingers."

You let out a strangled moan, your body tensing, your climax teetering right on the edge.

And this time—this time, they don’t stop.

San leans down, his lips ghosting over yours as he presses just the right amount of pressure to your clit, rubbing tight, devastating circles that send you spiraling.

Seonghwa crooks his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot, his pace unrelenting. "Cum for us," he murmurs, voice low, commanding. "Now."

The moment his words hit you, the coil in your stomach *snaps.*

Pleasure crashes over you like a violent wave, your body convulsing, thighs trembling as your orgasm tears through you. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your hands grasping at nothing, desperate to ground yourself.

But they don’t *let* you recover.

San grins wickedly, watching your face twist in pleasure. "That’s it," he murmurs.

And then Seonghwa pulls his fingers from your still-clenching pussy, slick and drenched, only to drag them up to your lips.

"Open," he orders.

You barely register the command, still reeling from your orgasm, but when you don’t respond quickly enough, San grips your jaw, forcing your lips apart.

Seonghwa slides his fingers past them, pressing down on your tongue. "Taste yourself," he whispers darkly.

Your body is still trembling when Seonghwa shifts behind you, his hands grabbing your thighs to spread you open again. San moves, kneeling between your legs, stroking himself as he watches you come down from your high.

But the moment you manage to catch your breath, Seonghwa’s lips ghost against your ear, his voice a promise.

"You begged so pretty for it,' Seonghwa

murmurs, his fingers ghosting along your

jaw as you tremble between them. "But did

you really think we'd stop just because we're finally letting you cum?"

San chuckles darkly, his thumbs pressing

into your waist as he aligns himself with

your entrance again. "Oh, baby," he sighs,

mockingly sweet. "You're so fucked."

You barely have a second to catch your

breath before they thrust into you at the same time.

Your body jolts forward, mouth parting in a

silent scream as they stretch you open all

over again. There's no slow buildup--no

mercy. Seonghwa drives his cock into your

drenched cunt from behind, his pace deep

and punishing, while San grips your hips

and thrusts into you from the front.

There's nowhere to run. No escape. You're

trapped between them, your body forced to take every relentless thrust as they fuck into you, raw and unyielding.

San presses his forehead against yours, his breath hot and uneven. His hands roam over your body, gripping your waist, your ribs--before sliding up to cup your breasts. His thumbs brush over your hardened nipples before he pinches them, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers. You cry out at the sensation, your back arching.

"That's it," San groans, voice wrecked with

lust. "Let us hear you."

Seonghwa tightens his grip on your throat,

not hard enough to cut off your air, but

enough to remind you of his control. His

free hand moves to join San's, fingers

teasing and squeezing your breasts, while

his cock slams into you even deeper.

"You look so fucking good like this," he

mutters against your ear. "So cock-drunk,

so ruined--taking us like you were made for it.”

Your nails dig into San's shoulders, the

pleasure so overwhelming it's unbearable. And as if it isn't enough, San leans down,

his lips finding the curve of your throat.

He doesn't kiss you gently. No, he claims

you--his teeth sinking into your skin

sucking hard enough to leave dark bruises

in his wake.

"You're ours," he growls against your neck,

"You know that, don't you?"

You sob, your body shaking as he moves

lower, his tongue trailing down between

your breasts. His mouth finds one of your

nipples, wrapping around it as he sucks

harshly, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin.

Your entire body shudders, overstimulated

beyond belief. Seonghwa tightens his hold

on your throat, his grip grounding you, while his hips snap forward, hitting that spot inside you with every thrust.

"You're close again," he breathes, his lips

brushing against your ear. "I can feel it."

You can't deny it. You're so close, the

pleasure coiling impossibly tight in your

stomach, your body on the verge of

breaking

San releases your nipple with a sinful pop,

his lips moving back up to your throat. His

hands grip your hips, keeping you steady as he fucks into you even harder, his cock

slamming into you in perfect sync with Seonghwa.

Your body was theirs to control, to break apart and piece back together, and they knew it. You were caught between them, helpless, overpowered, your body shaking as pleasure warred with the overwhelming force of their touch.

San had one hand wrapped around your throat—not tight, just enough to remind you who was in control—while the other gripped your hip, forcing you to take everything he gave. His dark eyes bore into yours, drinking in every whimper, every twitch, every desperate attempt to hold yourself together. Behind you, Seonghwa was just as relentless, his grip bruising as he held you steady, his pace unyielding, punishing.

"You’ve taken your punishment so well," San rasped, his breath fanning against your lips. "I think you’ve had enough for tonight."

Seonghwa groaned behind you, his teeth scraping over the shell of your ear. "Mm, barely. But she’s been good." His fingers dug into your waist before he added, "Let’s give her what she needs."

And then they did.

San’s fingers found your most sensitive spot, ruthless and precise, stroking with an expertise that made your head spin. Seonghwa’s grip tightened, his lips curling against your ear as he whispered, "Come for us, baby. Now."

The command sent you spiraling, your body locking up before pleasure tore through you, raw and blinding. A cry ripped from your throat as you shattered between them, your body shaking, utterly wrecked.

They didn’t let you fall.

Seonghwa caught you first, his hands smoothing over your trembling frame, pressing you back against his warm chest. San was just as quick, brushing damp strands of hair from your face as he pulled you close, his touch now gentle, soothing. The shift was effortless—ruthless dominance melting into something tender, something worshipful.

San kissed your forehead, murmuring, "Did so well for us, sweetheart."

Seonghwa hummed his approval, his hands never stopping their slow, grounding strokes along your sides. "So perfect," he praised, voice softer now. "We’ve got you."

For a long moment, the only sound was your slowing breaths, their warmth pressing into you, keeping you anchored. And then, as expected, the teasing began.

San's fingers trailed lazily up your thigh, his lips curling into a smirk against your temple. "Who do you belong to, sweetheart?"

You barely had the energy to answer, but you knew better than to keep them waiting. "You…"

Seonghwa chuckled, his grip tightening slightly. "Who, baby?"

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but they heard it—felt it. "San… Hwa… Both of you."

San grinned, dropping a kiss to your lips. "That’s right. Good girl."

Seonghwa’s arms wrapped around you tighter, his voice low, possessive. "Ours."

Wrapped between them, sore in the best way, you let yourself sink into the safety of their embrace. Completely spent. Completely theirs.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou @joyfulcadence

404 notes · View notes

2neaky · 2 months ago

Text

.⟡ ֺ 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘔𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦? 𓂂 ˚.

Part 1

MDNI (seriously) -> dom/sub dynamics, m*sturbation (male), edg*ng, denied/controlled *rgasm(s), minor feet pl*y, p in v s*x, dubious consent, technically forced penetration, rough s*x, mindless f*cking, cr*ampie, talking through it, male sub, female softdom, unnamed female character, descriptive language, use of nicknames (baby, Mama, & Papa)

He’s trying to stay on the right path. Be good for her while she’s gone.

Just before she left, she squeezed a couple more drops out of him. Right in the middle of their kitchen, on her knees, before him.

At the time, only about thirty minutes separated then and the first time she used him, back in the bedroom. Between then, he was sure he could recover. But that last session, before her departure, knocked him off his game.

It’s been almost forty minutes since she left. It still hasn’t gone down.

He’s tried distractions: making a snack, watching a show, checking his socials. No distraction was distracting enough.

Because no matter what he does, she’s at the back of his mind. She’s always at the back of his mind.

Sunken into the couch, he stares down at his phone, watching her Instagram story.

She’s at one of those influencer events. It’s far from her first one, the life of a content creator and all.

Her hair pulled back shows off her beautiful face, and how amazing she did her makeup. She’s so good at doing it. It makes him proud that she’s able to get paid off of doing something she loves.

God, he’s so proud of her.

She’s all dressed up, too. In his humble opinion, this is her best look. It tops every one she’s ever done (but, that’s what he says about every new outfit she puts together).

A black, lace-y jumpsuit from Outcast is her choice of outfit. It shows off too much, and not enough at the same time.

The top squeezes her boobs together so nicely. She used her favorite body oil tonight—the scent wafts off of her when she’s near—causing the nearest light source to bounce off of her supple skin.

And her ass—watching her leave was the best and worst thing to see. Her body had him by the throat with every step she took.

For a while, after she left, all he could think about was the last time they had sex; how she had him keep still while she fucked him, reverse cowgirl. Just making him take it.

He wasn’t mad about that at all.

He had perfect memory of the way her ass clapped over him while her pussy swallowed every inch.

Sensation and sight alike made him feel like he was losing his grip on reality. And even then, he knew he couldn’t finish that way. He had to see her face.

That beautiful face that was just below him almost an hour ago, coaxing a few more drops out of him. All for her lips to shine. He could’ve finished right then and there—busted all over her face, ruin her perfect makeup.

But he couldn’t do that to her. She wouldn’t allow it. That was the only thing stopping him.

Speaking of allowing … she’s not home. Who’s going to stop him now that she’s gone?

He stares at his phone, thumb holding down on the screen so as to not let the story post end. It’s only her in the Uber ride. The flash bounces off of her beat face, highlighting her lips.

Her glossy lips.

So pretty, he thinks to himself.

The gentle pass of his hand over his front makes his breath hitch. He starts the post over from the beginning.

As he watches, he wipes his hand down his front again, the heel of his palm pressing just a little bit harder.

His grasp on the phone grows shakier by the second. Gentle passes turn into more as he feels on his dick through the thin sweats.

The friction is just what he needed, and it’s making him dumb. His eyes threaten to roll back until the whites of them are all that show.

His lips part, mouth open wide enough for any sound to slip through. He swallows thickly, pushing himself up higher on the couch.

When his hips stutter or his stomach dips inward out of sensitivity, he keeps going. His heart is beating so fast, he can hardly hear.

What if she comes home soon? What if she walks in on him getting off?

It wouldn’t be the first time. But, it’ll be different. She might get mad, think that he’s trying to finish in secret. Then she’ll give him a real punishment.

Probably deny him of a release for even longer. She might even make him wear the ring. Or … she’ll do what she’s been plotting to do for a while now: sounding—

He twitches in his pants, head falling back against the couch cushions. He squeezes himself harder.

“Mmh—”

Picking his head up, he sees the small wet spot in his sweats.

“Shit—” He sits up straighter.

He didn’t finish … but he was close. Too close.

Weakly, he pulls himself together. Pocketing his phone and fixing his pants, he makes his way to their bedroom.

Their bed is where he takes his new spot. Without another thought, he tugs his pants down. A wave of relief crashes over him as he finally frees his dick.

The cool air kisses his skin, making him hiss softly. His lower lip is caught between his teeth and he looks down at his “problem” in contemplation.

He’s not even sure what to do. It’s not like he’s trying to actually finish. He just … wants a little bit of relief. He won’t let it get too far, of course not.

But, he’s already so sensitive.

In the pocket of his sweats, his phone buzzes with a message, cutting his train of thought short. It makes him freeze. Blinking out of his daze, he rushes to pull it from his pocket.

❤️ — I miss you

It’s her, he knew it.

The message almost makes him breathless. With a quick swallow, he collects himself before typing back.

However, before he can send a message, he receives one instead. It’s an image of her posing in the venue’s bathroom. She’s so fucking cute, so pretty. Her smile is big and joyful, like she’s truly having fun.

And he’s glad, really.

But … he hates that he has to ruin this innocent moment. Because, unfortunately, her joy only turns him on.

You — I miss you so much

You — You’re so pretty

❤️ — Ty Papa <33

There’s the faintest smile on his lips as he stares at her replies. While doing so, his other hand busies itself, rubbing up and down his thigh.

A message bubble with bouncing ellipses appears on her side of their chat. It doesn’t for stay too long.

You — I miss you so much

↳ ❤️ — How much do you miss me?

His chest fills with air as he prepares to make a deep sigh. God, why is she doing this to him?

❤️ — How much do you miss me?

↳ You — A lot

You — Thinking abt you since you left

He looks straight past his phone at his dick. It’s heavy against his thigh, pulsing against the warm skin. He wets his lips and looks back at the phone, just in time for another message to come through.

You — A lot

↳ ❤️ — Show me

He could moan out. She knows him too well.

His hand slides around the underside of his dick. He tries not to squeeze too hard.

Before getting with his girlfriend, he’s never been too eager to take nudes. Of course, he’s snapped a couple before, but those were an in-the-moment kind of thing. Not much thought was put into them.

However, since being with her, he’s taken more than enough pictures, videos, and audio messages to last a lifetime.

It’s caused him to pay a bit more attention to the details of things. For instance, the angles he chooses and the lighting. It has to be perfect, damn near artistic—the way she likes it.

So, when he snaps the photo and sends it, he expects nothing but praise from her. He awaits her response with bated breath. Three dots appear on his screen.

You — [Attachment]

↳❤️ — I should be the one calling you pretty

❤️ — Hope you’ve been following the rules

You — Yes

You — I always listen to you

He knows she’ll like that one. As much as she likes to believe that she can read him so well, that she can push his buttons so easily, he can do the same. They’ve been together for too long, now.

The dots disappear and reappear about twice. She’s thinking.

He tries to stifle a smile.

❤️ — So touch yourself

❤️ — I wanna hear it too

Does this woman know how much he loves her?

He doesn’t think twice about opening his camera.

The soft, warm light of her vanity gives the video perfect lighting. Not too dark or too bright.

At first he only shows himself off, giving her a good view of his dick. After a couple of seconds, his hand slips away.

Without being held up, he’s hangs heavy, too hard to stand freely. Just a little, he makes it slowly bounce for the camera.

He wraps his hand back around it, pulls a shaky exchange from him. She’d have to have the volume all the way up to hear that. The slow pumps start as he drags a loose fist over himself.

“Mmh … Missed you, Mama,” he breathes out.

His eyes fall closed. That picture she sent is clear in his mind.

“You look so good tonight.” A soft groan was interlaced with his words.

His fist tightens as his strokes get harder.

“So pretty … Wish you stayed home with me—“

Thick droplets of precum dribble down his length. They don’t get to linger, as he rubs it into his skin. The creamy sound it makes is surely picked up by his phone’s mic.

In the camera, his skin is shiny and smooth. The light sheen over it highlights every vein that lines his dick.

“F-fuck,” he whispers with a shiver, eyes barely rolling back. “Shit, I just …” He sniffs. “Just wanna … wanna f-finish in you—“

He stops abruptly to grip himself at the base. His balls jump and his dick twitches as he stops himself before a big orgasm.

“Fuck … augh—fuck,” he pants. Lazily, he slaps his dick, watching it bob stiffly. “Tell me … just tell me you want me to cum.”

He holds himself at the base again, feeling a strong pulse. He can barely keep his head up or his eyes open.

“Tell me … please, baby.”

He’s breathing heavy behind that camera. After he had practically begged for her, he cuts the video off and sends it without another thought.

As he waits for her response, he throws his phone down. He tosses an arm over his eyes, shutting out any light as he tries to calm his racing heart.

His phone buzzes only a minute after.

❤️ — My poor baby💔

❤️ — I think you need the ring

❤️ — That was too close

He groans out, though he can’t pretend that the idea of it doesn’t make his dick twitch.

❤️ — I think you need the ring

↳ You — I need you .

He stares at the screen for minutes. Her bubble doesn’t even appear in the chat. The longer he waits, the more disappointment creeps into his heart.

What’s taking her so long?

He wants to groan, whine—double text, even. As he picks up his phone to do so, it buzzes with one last message.

You — I need you .

↳❤️ — I’ll be home soon

The sound of the door closing is what wakes him up. Lazily he pulls himself out of bed.

The soft clatter of movement in the kitchen teases his ears as he heads towards it. He rubs one of his eyes, shaking himself of sleep.

Pulling his hand away, he finally sees her—the light of his life—at the kitchen island. She must’ve just put down her bags on the counter. She’s half bent over, reaching down for something.

“Hey, baby.” Fatigue is laced with her smile. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

He hums, lids still heavy. “A lil’ bit, yeah. S’cool, though. I was waiting on you.”

“Awe,” she chuckles.

Though, her smile falls shortly after as she blows out a sigh, giving up to stand straight. Both her hands brace the countertop.

“Could you help me take these off?”

She kicks out a leg from behind the island so he can see her heel-clad foot.

He nods. Pushing forward, he moves to the island as she rounds it herself. Just when they meet each other halfway, she throws her arms around his shoulders and pushes up onto her tippy-toes.

He meets her halfway for three-quick smooches, both of them too tired to do anything more than that.

“Missed you,” he mumbles against her lips.

“Mmh, missed you, too,” she smiles.

Finally, she pulls away to sit at the first bar stool in the row.

“How was the party?” He stands before her, picking up one of her legs.

“It was fun,” she says simply, watching as he holds her gently by the ankle to unbuckle the strap of her heel.

“Yeah?” He’s focused, his big hands unloosing the skinny, delicate material.

“Mhm … but, I wish you were there with me.”

He glances up just to see the playful pout on her lips. He does a half-hearted laugh. “You didn’t invite me.”

Not too long after does he get her shoe off.

“I know, it was no plus-ones allowed.”

He begins to massage the soft, reddened sole of her foot.

“Feels so good,” she groans as he presses his thumb right between the junction of her big toe and the others.

“They give you anything?”

“Yeah, um—“ she hisses, almost pulling her leg back after he had pushed his thumb too deep. It felt so good it almost caught her off guard.

“My bad,” he frowns, voice soft with regret.

But the sound she had made stirred something within him, even through his fatigue.

She gives him an understanding smile. “They gave me some perfume and … m-makeup.”

The hitch in her breath and the way her face twitches gives him something to live for.

“Show it to me later?”

She nods as he carefully places her leg down to pick up the other foot.

This time when he takes off her shoe, he’s quieter. He pays the thud of her heel against the ground, no mind. He isn’t so quick to massage her foot, either.

Holding it, he takes the time to notice the fine details of it. Like the faint indents the straps made in her skin, and the square-shaped acrylic on her toes.

The nails are decorated in gemmed French tips, rhinestones glistening underneath the kitchen light. They’re so pretty. He’s always loved how she keeps them done.

This time, when he massages her foot, he’s sure to take his time. He kneads the muscles with care, caressing the back of her foot as he does so.

All the while, she takes in his silence. It’s obvious that he’s focused on the task at hand, too focused. And very likely for his own reasons, too.

Chewing at her bottom lip, she uses her other foot to rub the inner-calf of his left leg.

“What’d you do while I was gone?”

A quick glance at her face is enough to catch the phantom smirk on her lips. He recenters his focus back on her foot, kneading a particularly tough spot.

“Oh—“

The tiniest moan slips out of her mouth.

“Y’know what I was doing.”

When she finally looks up, his gaze has her nailed to the seat. She swallows, remaining silent.

He looks back down at her foot and gently raises it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the soft sole. Gently, he puts her foot back down.

“M’done,” he mumbles, looking elsewhere as he weakly adjusts his pants.

Outstretching her arms wide, she wears her best puppy-dog eyes. “Take me to bed?”

Without an answer, he gently grabs at her thighs, pulling her off the stool and picking her up. Immediately, she wraps her legs around him and throws her arms over his shoulders.

With an ease that has much more of an effect on her than it should, he hoists her up higher on his body. Their noses almost brush as he bounces her. Her lips are parted and her eyes are low as she focuses on his face only.

As he holds her, right above his waist, all he can think about is slamming her down on his dick. It’ll be so easy. If only she’d let him.

God, she doesn’t know what she does to him. She just doesn’t know.

His lower stomach swoops as he stares up into her low eyes. They practically suck him in, consuming all of his attention—he doesn’t even notice the tiny smirk on her lips.

Or maybe she does.

“Bed, Kenny,” she reminds.

He stalls, eyes flicking between hers. And then his senses come back to him and he’s shuffling towards the bedroom. His hands slowly make their way from the underside of her thighs to her ass, gripping soft fat.

When they finally reach, he rests her gently on the messy sheets, earning a sigh straight from her lips.

She turns onto her stomach. “So glad—to be home,” she stretches, raising her ass as the arch in her back deepens. It’s a smooth, downward slope into to her shoulders. The way her ass spreads, stretching out the lace is just too good of a sight.

She moves slow, like the pull of a bow. Though, the arrow is released quick, and her body collapses like a bag of bricks into the sheets. The soft impact makes the fat of her ass jiggle slightly, and of course he stares.

“Just undress me,” he hears her say, her small chuckle is muffled by her folded arms.

Her legs hang over the edge of the bed, and she makes no attempt to correct herself. And refusing to ruin her peace, he simply moves over them.

A single knee digs into the mattress beside her hip while his next foot remains planted on the hardwood flooring. With a strong arm, he holds himself above her body, hovering as he reaches for the zipper at the top of her back.

Carefully, he plucks up the black metal and drags it down. The back of her jumpsuit is pulled open, parting further and further and the zipper reaches closer to the end of its track.

The smooth, shiny skin of her back is bared to him. With the inked flowers decorating the dark skin and the blur of leftover sleep still in his eyes, he has to concentrate to find the shallow ditches of skin right above her ass.

“Mmh—you’re so good t’me, Kenji.” She turns her head, the bottom half of her face still obscured by her arms. But, those siren eyes leer at him, batting at him with luxurious lashes.

He swallows, feeling just a bit of control slipping from him.

In an attempt to reel it back in, he pulls back to stand up, his knee still implanted in the mattress and effectively leaving his leg straddling one of her sides.

Blowing out, she slowly turns her body. Lying on her back, she peers up at him, seemingly oblivious to the way her boobs spill out of the suit now that it’s unzipped and loose.

His eyes immediately fall to her nipples. He’s got no shame about it. He’s dying to get one in his mouth.

“Pull it off,” she says gently.

His hands shake when they pull the lacey garment down her top half. When he gets to her legs, he finds himself gravitating closer to her body.

That body oil she used earlier wafts off of her as he reveals more of her skin. The material stretches wide around her hips. His face is close to the triangle of skin her panties hide. He pauses, glancing up to see her staring back at him, watching closely.

He licks at his drying lips and continues.

When the jumpsuit is finally off, he throws it down on the floor somewhere behind him. It’s none of his concern anymore.

“Thank you, Kenji.”

He thinks she going to ask him to take her underwear off next. It’s something she’d do. And he’s waiting on it. Silently begging her for it.

She can tell by his demeanor. His body is tightly coiled, waiting for the chance to spring into action.

So she makes him wait, just a little bit.

His hands press into the sides of his legs, desperate to keep busy. A tiny breath of amusement leaves through her nose.

“You want me to take it off?”

She actually smiles, almost laughing.

“Sure.”

Slowly, she lifts her knees to her chest and he’s moving without hesitation.

The thin fabric is rolled down her hips, up her thighs, and down her calves. When he discards of that too, her legs remain bent, toes pointed on their own accord.

He doesn’t look anywhere else but the plump set of lips squeezed between fat thighs. The pressure pushes her labia out, and he’s never been more entranced.

Without thinking, his hands land on the underside of her thighs. Fingers spread, feeling against smooth, supple skin. He pushes his hands up and up until they hook underneath her knees. He parts her legs.

Her pussy opens up like a flower to show off a heated pink center. The prettiest flower he’s ever seen, a deep brown on the outside.

“Ken,” she says affectionately.

He blinks slowly. It’s a fight against himself to tear his eyes away from her cunt to look into her eyes. A fight he loses.

“Huh?”

“My clothes,” she reminds.

“A-ahuh…”

He’s still looking, seeing how her pussy winks back at him.

“Kenny…”

He pushes her legs further apart. Another clench. Her clit just barely pokes out from under its hood, waiting for his tongue to drop on its head.

His hips get closer to her. He licks his lips again.

“Kenji.”

Her tone tears his attention away from between her legs. He finally looks her in the eyes.

“You’re just gonna leave me like this?” Her voice is softer now, like she isn’t really all that concerned with such a fate.

“My bad…” His eyes slowly sink right back to their previous spot. “M’sorry,” he mumbles, not even hearing himself.

“You hungry?”

It takes him a second to catch the joke. But he doesn’t smile, he doesn’t even laugh.

“A little.”

His hands grip the undersides of her knees just a bit tighter. She clenches just from the action.

Her eyes leave his face falling to the real star of the show: the outline of his dick through the pants. It’s too big to be ignored.

And she finds herself regretting this challenge again. Tired isn’t even the word, but she can’t lie, tired sex sounds really good right now.

Maybe they don’t have to really do it. She trusts herself not to mess up, just as long as she keeps him in line.

“Take it out.”

“Mh—what?”

“Take it out.”

He looks into her eyes, her words finally getting through to him. She sees the sobering look pass over his face.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

He snatches a hand out from under her knee to wrestle the hem of his sweats down his hips and thighs.

It’s almost like she watches it happen in slow-motion—how his dick bounces as it’s freed from its cloth-prison. So thick and heavy, it hangs between his legs.

She almost moans when he grabs himself, doing a weak drag of his fist over it.

His eyes are on his target. His heart is beating out of his chest with the thought of plunging headfirst into her oasis. It’s been so long, too long.

He shivers, squeezing the tip.

“I don’t want it.”

His gaze cuts to her face. It almost hurt her to lie like that. She had to keep strong.

“Just wanna feel you.” She can see the frustration in the twitch of his brows. But he keeps quiet. “Just don’t put it in.”

Whatever tension was visible on his face seems to melt away.

Dragging her closer, his body lights afire. Her ass is pressed to the front of his thighs. He’s dizzy as he takes himself in hand, giving one last tug before laying his dick against her.

He exhales with relief. She’s so warm, he shivers again. And she can feel his pulse against her clit. Her pussy flutters. He’s so heavy against her, a weight she’s missed. She aches to feel it inside of her.

He does a slow drag of his fist down his length, stopping just before the head. Then, he lifts it, not too far.

She gasps softly with the light taps against her clit. Her legs twitch. But he leans more weight onto his arm, pushing her leg further back.

The taps get heavier, harder. The pudge of her pussy jiggles as he smacks her with his thickness.

A low hiss leaves him. “Ssshiiit…”

She swallows. “S-stop playing, Kenji.”

He does one last smack, particularly harder than the others. But, he keeps his hold on himself, pressing down as he does a slow, heavy glide through her lips.

Her hips stutter as he rolls over her clit. The entire length slides against her, all the way down to his balls. When he gets that far, he keeps his hips pressed to hers, watching how his dick lays against her tummy.

Her belly button is hidden from view, and they’re both reminded of how deep he can get whenever he’s in it.

“I still can’t put it in?”

She shakes her head, eyes lower than before. Her chest is frozen as she stops breathing.

“Why?”

“‘Cause…”

“‘Cause what?” He’s staring intently at where they collide.

“‘Cause … I don’t want it.”

He licks his lips. “Mhm.”

He pulls his hips back and she feels like she can finally breathe again.

“Hold me?” she asks.

He buffers for a moment before ultimately lowering himself. Once again, his dick slides tortuously against her lips as he presses his chest to hers.

Shorter arms fall around his neck and just as he had let go of her leg, both tighten around his waist. His hips are heavy against hers, pressing his dick between her lips.

“Mmh,” she moans out, eyes falling closed as she moves her hips against him.

He’s between her legs, weighing into her pussy and pressed against her stomach. It all leaves her dizzy. She almost tells him to put it in.

Almost.

She keeps her mouth shut…

Until he starts kissing on her neck.

Her lips part as she starts gulping down air.

His hips starts to move in short, inch-by-inch strokes. They’re weak, but it’s enough for right now.

“K-Kenny—“ She gasps.

“C’mon, baby,” he says against her neck. His hands hook underneath her knees again, holding her open as his strokes get stronger and longer. “C’mon,” he whines. “Just the tip … please?”

She’s breathless as she shakes her head against him.

He kisses his teeth but doesn’t stop nor pull away. “You playin’ … you playin’ and you know it,” he rasps. “I won’t even move. C’mon, please?”

“N-no, Kenji.” Her voice waivers.

“Please, baby. Please—”

She gasps as his tip catches against her hole for the longest second of her life, teasing intrusion.

“Won’t move, I promise,” he moans in her neck. His hands grip her legs tighter. “Just want you to feel it … just the tip.”

His voice is breathy, full of desperation.

As he rests over her clit, he circles his hips and her back arches.

“Ohh, fuck,” she whines softly.

“Won’t even cum, just wanna feel you around me, baby … c’mon.”

His thoughtless babbling is running her crazy. She feels like she can’t breathe.

“Know it’s wet f’me. She misses me.” He drags his hips against her harder now. The collision of their hips is loud as he slams against her.

She’s getting wetter, he can hear it. He can feel it.

“He misses you, too, baby,” he pants. “Misses you so … so bad—“

His hips freeze. He twitches against her. And she’s quiet as her wetness trickles against him.

“She’s leaking.” His voice is wrecked. “Lemme plug her.”

With a whimper, she shakes her head.

He lifts his head to look at her face. It’s clinched as she tries to hold back. He presses his lips to hers and she goes thoughtless as he kisses her all soft and slow. The soft smacks of their lips gets her wetter.

“Lemme give her what she wants,” he says against her lips. “C’mon.”

Her brain is mush, she can hardly see straight. And he takes advantage of her haze.

Twin gasps leave them, both melting into moans as his tip breaks past her lips and plunges into her walls.

“Ken—“

His hands leave from her legs. They pulls her arms from around his neck to push them onto the bed. He laces his fingers inbetween her own.

“S’good, right?”

She moans.

“Know you missed it,” he groans. His hips tremble as they hold back. “Missed all this dick…”

She flutters around him, desperate to pull more of him in. And she’s so tight, so wet.

“I-I’ma give it to her—“

A loud moan rips from her as he pushes all the way in, hard and sharp.

“K-Kenji!“

“I’m sorry, baby,” he pants. “M’sorry. Can’t stop myself. I can’t … can’t—“

He cuts himself off as he pulls out halfway, just to slide back in. His hands squeeze hers tighter as she tries to pull them away.

All of his weight he puts on her, trapping her beneath him as she drives his hips into her.

“M’sorry,” he moans out, not even pulling out at this point. He only ruts into her, knocking his dick against what feels like her cervix.

“K-ken!”

“Fuck, s’good … it’s s-so good!”

Mindlessly, he fucks into her, only chasing after his own pleasure. His eyes roll back into his head as he gets lost in the way she squeezes him so tight and floods around him.

“W-waaait—I—“

She’s creaming around him. Her pussy’s so sloppy, it squidges.

“Don’t hold it,” he grunts, knocking into her harder. “Cum on my shit, cum on it, baby. S’yours! All yours…”

Her body trembles with overstimulation. But, he doesn’t stop, still rolling his hips.

“Oh, fuck… Oh fuck!” His moans get louder as he feels his own orgasm approaching quickly.

Her body withers beneath his, only able to accept what’s being given to it. It overdoses on him, cream becomes squirt. She splashes around him, drowning him.

And it triggers him; Ribbons of his cum splash against her cervix. All of the buildup from these last few weeks, he empties into her. And it’s so much, he feels like he’s going to pass out. She can only moan out as he fills her.

He’s pulsing in her and she’s clenching around him. They’re both lost in the throes of their orgasms.

Her limbs are heavy with fatigue (and the weight of his body against hers). It takes several minutes for them to return to a state of function.

When he finally pulls out, he watches his cum ooze from her stretched hole. And it just keeps going.

“Fuck,” he groans, so turned on by the sight of her filled with his release. It puts him in a trance, watching his nut decorate her pussy.

When he can finally pull his attention away, he looks down at himself. His dick and inner thighs are full of their release.

“This shit so messy,” he says, still holding her open.

“Didn’t … listen,” she mumbles, weakly kicking at him.

“I know,” he pants. “I’ll take the punishment … I don’t care.” He swallows, his throat feeling dry.

She doesn’t say anything. Just as long as he knows.

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