#electric moment fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreaisgrayte · 6 months ago

Note

Hello there, I hope your day is going well. I have a nsfw oneshot request for Mitsuri from KNY if that’s okay. (Preferably female reader)

HEAR ME OUT. Okay so I’ve seen a lot of fanfiction where Mitsuri is a bottom, but I can’t get Soft Dom Mitsuri out of my head- like you know she’s gonna be worshipping the readers body and praising her throughout everything and AHHHH I just know the aftercare is heavenly. (and also let’s just say strap-ons exist in her universe)

*ahem* Anyways, take as much time as you want on this and have a wonderful day mate!

ABSOLUTELY, AMEN, AHHHHHHHHHH (was screaming the whole time I wrote this) Soft Dom Mitsuri lives rent-free in my head. I want to live in this story >:( Why can't I ever get izakied into a story????? DAMN IT Sorry, this took a little longer than I had intended, I was working then a bunch of things happened to where my pregnant cat had three beautiful kittens which I've been co-parenting (since she's a stray and they're outside...which I so badly want to take them inside and cuddle them so nothing happens) Also! The next anime convention I attend, I will be cosplaying Mitsuri! So I'm BEYOND excited about that!! Thank you, annon!!!

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, face sitting, strap-on, Mitsuri has a thing for fucking reader with her new toy, body worship, cowgirl, Mitsuri is skilled ;) , wholesome aftercare

Word Count: 3.3k

A Secret Technique | Mitsuri Kanroji x fem!reader

As always, Mitsuri Kanroji was grinning ear to ear, the apples of her cheeks a rosy pink. She was captivating, a distraction to the trick you were trying to show her. Ever since you’d met the love Hashira her flexibility had always vexed you. Her ability to twist and contort mid-air was admirable, to say the least. “Is this what you were so excited to show me?” She inquires, walking around your attempt at doing the splits. She hums, a giggle bubbling out when you wince as she pushes on your ankle. “You’re super close YN! We can practice together if you want?” She pops up in front of you, hands clasped together with that fucking adorable excited smile she always wore.

You tilt your head, closing your legs to wrap them into a sitting position. “Uh, sure.” A stupid smile tugs your lips upward as she squeals, sitting down gracefully in front of you.

She spreads her legs easily to each side of her hips, her green socks pulling down on her thighs. You gulp as your gaze revels in the plush pink of her skin. Thank the gods her black skirt dips down to cover in between her legs or you’d have a hard time listening to anything else except your heartbeat. “Open your legs,” Mitsuri starts. You choke out a laugh, looking up expecting to see her playful expression, instead, you’re met with a more hungry emotion crossing her face. You do as you’re told, pushing them apart and watching with tensed breath as Mitsuri scoots closer to you.

She delicately touches the muscle of your upper outer thigh. You gasp as her hand travels down the length of your leg and she makes steady eye contact with you. Goosebumps are erupting down your body as if your flushed cheeks weren’t enough of an indicator of how you were truly feeling. “You know YN,” She lets her gaze drop to where her fingers are tantalizingly traversing their way back up your leg. “I find that using a secret technique helps out immensely when it comes to stretching out.” Mitsuri professes, her electric green eyes flickering up to meet yours.

A secret technique? You’d been friends with the love Hashira for a while now and she’d never once mentioned a secret technique to you. Here you were, thinking that there were no secrets between you two. Obviously, you were too blinded by how blissful every moment spent with her felt. “Oh, don’t feel pressured to tell me if it’s such a secret or something I wouldn’t want to-”

“YN,” Mitsuri’s gentle hands grab your face, mushing your cheeks to get you to stop talking. “You’re so cute when you start overthinking, but I’m going to need your express consent for what comes next.” The way she’s gazing into your eyes nearly makes your body go numb. How could one person be so perfect?

She lets go of your face, placing her hands back on your thighs, this time with a little more command of where she grabs. You glance down, worried she might feel how erratic your pulse is through your skin. Between your thighs was a vortex of neediness, pleading with your brain to be fucked by the woman in front of you. Every time she got near your cunt, things got a little complicated inside your body. Hopefully, this secret technique would require you to climb a mountain far away from your growing desire. “I trust you Mitsuri, you can do anything you want.”

Her lips twitch in a grin, but before you have any time to wonder why in the hell she was bracing your feet against hers, she pulls your thighs against hers – and swiftly kisses your lips. You groan at the burning sensation of your body feeling like it’s being torn apart, but as you lick your lips you can taste the sweet honey Mitsuri had eaten earlier. Somehow, it’s even sweeter than when you shared in the delicacy. Your fingertips brush against the tender skin of your lips, a stuttering breath blowing out of your mouth. “Do you understand what I mean now?” She inquires, letting your legs return to a less painful stretch. You gulp, blinking up to meet her gaze.

You feel hazy, your skin is burning – but in the best way possible. “Not really, but I’d like to do more of that,” You putter out, swinging yourself into a kneeling position. Mitsuri giggles, doing the same, walking over to you on her knees. She smiles gently grabbing your hands.

Her uniform leaves little to the imagination and you are looking… disrespectfully. Have you always felt this draw toward Mitsuri? You’d assumed it was the desire to be her friend – and while that’s been enjoyable – you can’t help but wonder if you had an underlying motive for getting so close to her. “You do understand the secret technique is…sex, right?” Your eyes widen as you jerk your head to take in the expression on her face – completely serious. Whatever your motives were, it didn’t matter, all that mattered was pressing your lips into hers, so that’s what you do. Her fingers card through your hair, humming in delight as your hand finds her chest, tracing the curve of her cleavage.

Your heart is beating like crazy as your chest swells with something akin to excitement. To think this was how you were spending your day. Kissing Mitsuri was like praying to a shrine and the gods blessing you with eternal riches and splendor. The way her plush lips formed against yours, trailing kisses down your cheek and neck, surely this is the paradise sought after.

Mitsuri seemingly knew all the sensitive parts of your body – you weren’t sure if this was because you were both women, but as a Hashira Mitsuri knew the inner workings of how the body reacts. She was damn good at putting that knowledge into practice. Her mouth works against yours, lips slightly parting allowing her to slip her tongue into your mouth. The kiss was passionate, Mitsuri guiding you all the way onto your back. You’re both panting as she hovers above you. “Have you ever been with a woman before?” She inquires, looping her leg over your waist. She now sits on top of you and fuck was it a view. Her cheeks are red, her hair messy in parts, her chest heaving, and her warmth was spreading all over your body.

There was a time when you had a mission in the entertainment district and having haven in one of the tea houses, you were alone with a gaggle of courtesans who were happy enough to show you how fun it could be to share intimacy with the same sex. One of them spoke of having a certain tool able to render men practically obsolete if you were into that sort of thing. You did think some men could be the absolute worst, but being evil wasn’t in their core, that much you could tell. The world can twist and confine anyone into becoming something they’re not. Just like demons, not all of them asked to be that way, yet the corps eradicated all demonic creatures. Needless to say, the company of men would not be forgotten by you, but if the only person you ever laid with again was Mitsuri – you’d be fine with that. “Yes, more than one.” Mitsuri’s eyes widen, then her face slowly curls into a grin.

She places the palm of her hand flush against your chest. “Then you won’t have a problem,” She moves up your body, lifting her skirt up. Your breath catches when you realize her pussy was on you this whole time. Your gaze flits up to meet hers. “Stick your tongue out, darling. I’m going to test just how much you know.” She fluffs her skirt out over your head, hovering above your mouth with her bare cunt. Her thighs muffle any sounds from the outside world but amplify your beating pulse. Gods this was going to kill you – but what a way to go.

Your tongue laps at her folds, enjoying the way you can feel her shiver above you. Her arousal was heady but a sweet tanginess floods into your mouth. Of course Mitsuri Kanroji had a delicious pussy. Your hands wrap around her thighs, locking her into position as you taste her again and again. You lift your skull off the ground to suck on her puffy clit, swirling your tongue around it with precision. Her thighs shake and then she’s pushing your head back down by sitting on your face. You happily make work of her clit, using the flat of your tongue to glide through her slick folds. Your face is soaking, a mixture of drool, sweat, and arousal coating your skin. The sounds you can hear are the sucking and slurping of a job well done for Mitsuri lets out a cry loud enough for you to hear. Her fingers are suddenly intertwined in your hair, pulling on the strands. A shiver runs through you as you smack your mouth against her pink pussy. Her muscles tense and she shutters, shaking as she cums all over your face.

Mitsuri swings her leg over your face, a delightful moan rumbling from her chest. “I only wish you could’ve seen what a perfect job you did. You should’ve warned me about how good you are at eating pussy,” She presses the heel of her hand into her forehead as she laughs. You join in, sitting up to get a better look at her.

She’s blushing, but the main difference you take note of is how her uniform is pulled open, revealing her perfect breasts. It sends a spike of want through your chest. She notices you gawking and squeaks. She shyly turns her back. “What are you doing? I want to see.” You reach out to grab her shoulder but she tosses a glare at you instead.

You’re shocked. What happened? Gods, did you mess up somehow? You’re about to ask her what’s going on when she turns around, an adorable pout present on her face this time. “It’s not fair YN, you’ve gotten to see all of me and I haven’t seen more of your, frankly, gorgeously perfect body.” She twiddles her fingers together, nervously looking into your eyes. You can’t help but grin widely and Mitsuri slaps your shoulder.

“You can’t be serious, you’re the one perfect thing in this world.” You exclaim, watching as she shakes her head.

“Well, that’s fine because your body is like a goddess’. In fact…” She drags a hand down your body, stopping at the hem of your skirt. “I think it’s about time I reward you for doing such a good job.” You bashfully watch her unbuckle your belt and pull it out of the loops slowly enough to drive you mad. She tosses it to the side with a smirk, pulling your skirt down your thighs. Her eyes meet yours. “Sit down,” She instructs, pushing at your chest until you’re in a laying position yet again. Your skirt is yanked off the rest of the way and there’s a long beat of silence. You lift your head to peek at Mitsuri who is gazing down at you lovingly. “YN, you’re so beautiful, may I?” She nods to the apex of your thighs, a giddiness in her voice. You nod and she wastes no time in spreading your knees apart. “You’re so wet already.” She giggles, reaching out to stroke some of your arousal that had accumulated from eating this gorgeous woman’s pussy. You hiss as her fingers dip into you, spreading the slick around until she slips inside your entrance – smiling the whole time. “Your pussy is such a pretty color YN, you’re doing such a good job for me.” She praises, sending a wave of a gooey feeling through you.

Mitsuri braces herself on your knee, which is bent upward, as she works her fingers inside of you. Her gaze switches between observing your reaction to her hooking her fingers or swiping at a sensitive spot, to watching her fingers get eaten up by your greedy cunt. It made her thighs clench together watching how well you took her fingers. You were perfect and Mitsuri couldn’t think of anyone better to experiment with her new toy than you.

Your hands are clenched, jerking your hips upward onto her fingers. She chuckles lowly, taking in how cute you were when you were desperately chasing your climax. She uses her free hand to rub your clit in small circles, edging you closer to orgasm. Mitsuri was curious how you would look and how you’d sound after she made you cum. You were certainly moaning up a storm as you bucked against her. You whimper and then groan as she works your clit directly. “That’s it, my pretty girl, you can cum now.” Her fingers are pumping in and out, overstimulating you as you careen off your crest of pleasure. Your throat is scratchy as you scream out, trembling against her gentle, yet relentless, touch. The world is full of bright colors – a brilliant spectrum of satisfaction.

As you try to catch your breath Mitsuri enjoys watching your body still shudder in waves of your previous orgasm. “YN…” She plays with a strand of your hair, curling it around her fingers with an absentminded expression. Your attention is on her – as if you could focus on anything else. “A little while ago I had to go to the swordsmith village and while I was there I got talking with a special smith. She has a shop that creates amazing things and I’d like to share with you what I bought there,” Her eyes gleam with an excited glitter.

You raise a brow, sitting up from the floor. “I’d love that.” You exclaim, following Mitsuri into a standing position. She grabs your hand and leads you through the halls of her manor until she stops in front of what you remember to be her bedroom door. Your thighs are sticky and as you walk into the room Mitsuri rummages through a cupboard. You peer at her room, but you don’t have much time to admire how it’s decorated because Mitsuri drops her skirt and removes the rest of her clothing. Your pussy throbs with desire watching her muscular yet curvy body move around the room.

She gathers what looks like a belt in her hand. “YN, my sweet, I’m going to need you to undress and get on your knees.” She chirps, fastening the belt around her thighs and waist. You hesitate for a moment, then scurry to follow her orders. Once you’re on your knees she turns around with lust-filled eyes. Your eyes travel down her body, stopping briefly to hungrily gaze at her tits, but something catches your attention.

Attached to the belt she had latched around herself is a long pink phallic-shaped apparatus. Your lips part, your heart ramming against your ribcage as you look back into Mitsuri’s eyes. “Well? Open your mouth, sweetheart.” You do as you are told, the image of Mitsuri with a cock causing you to reach down in between your thighs. You play with your sensitive and puffy clit, moaning as Mitsuri hits the cock against your face. “Mmm, you’re so pretty YN, so pretty and perfect for me. You make me so horny.” Then she places the tip against your lips, groaning softly as the head pushes into your mouth. “Gods, you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” She moves her cock in your mouth, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “That's it, choke on my cock,” She huffs, throwing her head back. Spit dribbles down your chin as the surprisingly soft cock rubs against the corners of your mouth. You abuse your clit, hungry for a crest. This was so hot, you would never forget this in all of your life.

Mitsuri takes note of how you play with your clit while sucking on her length. Her mouth twitches up in a grin. “Ah, hungry for more?” She pops the tip out of your mouth and rests the wet toy against your cheek as you pant, dazed eyes pleading with her. “Lay on the bed with your gorgeous pussy in the air.”

On your back, legs hooked around Mitsuri’s arms, she pushes her cock inside of you after spitting on your pussy. Your eyes roll back as she thrusts into you, cooing about how you’re so good, so perfect, you’re doing so well. You ball the sheets in your fists, moans gasping out of your throat. “Ah, ngh, please m’gonna, oohngh,” Your tits are bouncing up and down, Mitsuri can’t look away. Hearing your noises of pleasure and seeing how you squirm under her, it was all so perfect.

She wanted to see you on top of her, cum all over her cock. “One second baby,” With how strong Mitsuri is she’s able to pick you up, fucking you still, then flips herself to be laying on the bed. She gasps as your weight settles on her, riding her like a good girl. “Fuck,” She hisses, digging her nails into your thighs, you play with your tits as you bounce on her cock.

Your nipples are bruises, a splendor of painful pleasure radiating through your body. “Feels s’good,” You hum, but Mitsuri hasn’t had enough yet. She presses the pad of her thumb against your clit, rubbing it relentlessly.

“Does it? You’re taking it so well,” She coos, excitedly watching you shudder in ecstasy from her musings on your clit. “Good girl,”

Her words send shocks of electricity coursing your veins like your very blood. “Gods, Mitsuri, m’gonna,” You plant your palms on her stomach, slapping your ass against her thighs. You hang your head while panting crazily. As Mitsuri stimulates your clit and pussy the cool magma washes over you as you jerk her cock deep inside of you. You cum hard all over her, laying down against her chest, breath rapid.

She’s breathing hard too, but she pets your head, kissing your forehead. “You’re so perfect YN,” You giggle against her skin, lifting your head to look her in the eyes.

She smiles sweetly back, pressing her forehead against yours. “What a secret technique,” Mitsuri blushes and laughs as she looks away.

“Yeah, not my best pick-up line.” You shake your head and nuzzle against her again.

“I thought it was great.” You mumble. Mitsuri shifts out from under you, sliding her cock out of you as she does. You pout with the empty sensation.

She stands up and smiles down at you. “I’ll be right back.” Mitsuri returns a couple of minutes later with a steamed towel and a plate full of honey butter toast. She sets the plate next to you and lifts your leg to clean your thighs and slick cunt. You moan lightly at the warm sensation and her eyes darken for a second. “Careful you whore,” She slaps your ass with a playful grin. You hum, shoving toast into your mouth with careless hunger. Mitsuri tosses the towel to the floor, sitting down gently next to you. “Maybe next time I can teach you-”

“Another secret technique?” You interrupt, a few crumbs of toast spitting out of your mouth. She chuckles, wiping away the slight mess on your mouth with her thumb.

Mitsuri brings her finger to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste the honey. “Mhm,” She gazes at you like you’re the sweet treat.

You grin, kicking your feet in the air. “Yes please,”

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nekovmancer · 6 months ago

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Broken porcelain

pairing: Ramattra x f!reader prompt: sexual tension when tending to someone's wound from this list warnings: semi-nsfw, mentions of blood, injuries, semi-nudity, swearing, reader being a bit masochist etc etc word count: 2272 a/n: backstreet's back, alright! and finally. 😎 I’ve been a bitch with a big B for Ramattra over the past couple months, and of course I had to write a piece on that robot guy. He gives me… feels I can’t explain. So, for all my fellow robot fuckers, hope you enjoy reading this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing! Feedback is always appreciated and please please please send an ask, a chat, anything so we can talk about this big guy and more fanfiction prompts. 😭 also on ao3!

Who would ever say to be a human amongst killing machines would, impressively, be a dreadly task? Or deadly, you would remark to yourself after a long walk of dragging your wounded body through the corridors from the training field to Ramattra’s personal workshop. At least, those new assassin omnics would perform their duties impeccably, you could tell from the way they cut through your skin without a single issue.

The wound was still covered under the thin layer of the tank top you have on, the white fabric damp of crimson blood denouncing something went terribly wrong, not to mention the pained expression contorting your face.

As soon as he eyes your state, if Ramattra could bring a worried expression to the surface of his faceplate, he would, a mirror to the torment running through his systems. He was an engineer, not a human healer, but you needed him to act more as such in the present moment if you’re both willing for you to stay alive, which you indeed were.

Growing impatient, not to mention the pain reaching under your skin, you adjust yourself slowly on top of his workbench, holding your side to prevent any further damage. Your fingers get moist with blood, and that has your lips twitching. “Can you fix me or not?”

“That depends on your meaning of fixing,” he states, a stoic demeanor on the outside despite feeling quite the opposite inside. Feeling. Something he didn’t think to be inclined to, at least not when those diverged from the violence he was shaped to perform as a being… and yet, here they are, as foreign to him as the surgical aspects of flesh and bone. “I can’t weld you, obviously. At least, not as a first resource,” his slight humor brings a faint smirk to your lips, slowly shaking your head in a quiet response. In a lighter tone, Ramattra proceeds, and now it’s definitely a command. “I would like to have a closer look.”

Quietness follows, not as fast as the warmth spreading from your neck to the tip of your ears. To say you hadn’t considered you’d need to remove your shirt was unnecessary, in front of him of all people, ‘cause you’d rather overcome your own fear of blood if a second thought had you aware of the chances before. But as the old saying remarked: if you are in hell already, just go and sit on the goddamn devil’s lap.

Proceeding a thick swallow, you do as you’re told, diverting your eyes to a corner to avoid examining the cut yourself, or to avert them from Ramattra’s, anything and everything were an excuse in such a situation. It hurt just enough to be something you knew you couldn't handle alone, and considering how sharp that assassin’s knives were… fuck’s sake, what a weak fool you were.

On the other hand, at the sight of your almost bare torso, Ramattra felt inexplicably tense. The wound itself was not too deep to reach anything vital, but would need a patch up indeed in order to heal properly. Yet, his sight wasn’t restrained to that minor part of your skin, and that’s when tension was found. Maybe the vocabulary wasn’t a perfect fit, ‘cause that jolt of electricity running through his circuits was something else, something as sublime as the curve of your hips, and the way you shallow breaths of anticipation had your body quivering, despite an enormous strength to keep it still. He could hardly find beauty in human beings, and let’s not even mention himself, but that was a whole different scenario… warm, with a hint of degradation he couldn’t ignore, and something that could only be named as akin to desire.

The silence was killing you now, almost making you forget the very pain which brought you there in the first place. “Will we be helding any funerals?” you risk, in the same light humor he used with you before. At least, if you didn’t consider the shaking tone in each syllable you’d pronounced. You thought Ramattra couldn’t never understand your concerns fully, even if he invested all his force to: if the worst happened, he could be reconstructed, you were there for it after all. But as a human, it’s not like you have a respawn chance anytime. That’s why, aside the anxiety turning your stomach into a knot, you needed him to act.

“You speak as if it's more severe than it is in fact,” he muses, tilting his head as the scanners on his optics do the rest of the work, searching for the right proceeding in a shared data file, where he was hoping to get anything from an omnic model whose initial propose, contrasting his, was to heal, not to kill. “No funerals, you have my word. The pain may be harsh, but the wound itself is of little harm in the bigger picture. You’re safe,” the addition of the last sentence has you sighing in relief, and a pinch of pain reaches you once more, but it’s bearable. Ramattra made you feel protected, or better, cared for. The warm feeling is enough to soothe your anxiety, dissipating the chill air in the workshop for a little while before rushing up to your cheeks as you’re reminded you’re still half naked in front of him.

“Lay,” he commands, and your breath gets caught in your throat in the act. Only if your mouth were open, your heart would surely jump out if it during one of its chaotic heartbeats, contrasting the steady tone on Ramattra’s voicebox, echoing those words without a single trace of malice. But when they hit you, they sounded profane, leaving a delicate trace of forbidden to the tip of your tongue.

You curse your mind as you lay down, a shiver erupting from the contact of warm skin to the cold metal of his workbench’s surface. Fuck, he’s your commander, superior office or whatever goes between you both, your boss to be short. Thing is he saw a purpose for you and spared your life long ago, and that purpose goddamn sure didn’t imply any… deeper contact than the occasional intellectual help you provided, with efficient (and smaller) hands and a cunning mind. After all, no Ravager was made to indulge in such a thing as intimacy, the very same thought cursing through Ramattra’s systems right now. He wasn’t built for delicacy, a single gentle touch for his standards would be brutal enough to leave you bruised for days, and how he would lament to see such perfect skin ruined by his own hands… unbearable to even think of it without feeling a strange sensation housing between his metallic limbs, pushing further inside in search of a bloody beating heart among the cold hardware.

It wasn’t the first time he felt unsure in his existence, but that was a whole new thing. To think one like him was able to possess a spirit tender enough to be mesmerized by such a fragile thing as you touched him not physically, but deeper than it could ever be… how thrilling it was, but insufficient to make him search for its source on his internal data to completely erase it. No, never. He was actually holding into it with every fiber of his soul, curious to see which path it would lead him through. A bit embarrassing, at first impression, like the sight of you would burn his optics until they melt.

After all these years working along, was it there all the time? Within him, within you? He would search for it later, revisiting each time you shared each other's company in his memory, to see where a quiet admiration turned into this.

After gathering the resources to fix you, ensuring everything was sterilized, he turned to sight over your form once more. Ramattra could sense the rapid heartbeat against your chest controlling your breath motions, the rising and falling of your chest following along, where he caught a peek of your nipples drawing a small circle under the fabric of your top, the last barrier between him and your fully exposed torso. Thankfully, unlike any human, his faceplate didn't betray any of his thoughts. They’re guarded within his systems, safe in his memory and imprinted there forever. Nothing could ever make him forget of you, nor time, nor enemies, nor… fuck, the injury.

“It would feel better if you were asleep,” he commences, carefully. You’re already scared for it seems, and it’s not on his wishes to make it worse. “Instead, I will ask you to bite on this,” the discarded cloth of your tank top is brought to your lips, and your heart could have stopped right there. Instead, avoiding the disbelief, you silently obey. “Try not to move. I shall be slow.”

A nod follows, and you gather your best to not whine, or flinch, or sob too much when his hands begin to work, stitching the wound close. Whatever sounds leaving your mouth are muffled, and the pain is great. But erotic. And, fuck, you should be loosing your mind by this point. How could your brain process such agony in a pleasurable way? You’d be blaming the omnic in charge of patching you up, for sure. It was him, after all, all about him.

Ramattra was enormous, and the effort he put in each precise movement didn’t go unnoticed. He could have discarded you, blamed you for your mistakes, assigned anyone else to deal with this bullshit, but there he was: the infamous Null Sector leader, treating you as a precious porcelain tea-cup, once broken, now being patched in threads of gold, despite the gold being metaphorical. It was a form of art, wasn’t it? You’ve read of it somewhere, once. If so, right now, you’re his masterpiece.

To say he’s being delicate is a statement. Ramattra is afraid he could shatter you again, worse than they did with you before. The responsible for it would be severely corrected, later of course. The pads on his fingertips could never be soft as your skin feels under them, and an eagerness to venture further brings a shiver of electricity through his spine. Should he ever be thinking of it in your state? In fact, was it reasonable to have you consuming his memory like this, injured or not? What could be a groan echoes from his voicebox, and within a few long minutes, it was done.

Your jaw clenches to the minimum effort of raising your torso, sitting on his workbench once more as a small discomfort to the newly sewn cut emerges. Covered in bandages, you can’t see his work, but there’s no blood and the pain is moderate, so you trust with your eyes closed it’s perfectly fine. Your shirt is sitting by your side, bloodied and wet from your own saliva, but you don’t mention reaching for it.

Blinking, your eyes search for him, meeting the stoic faceplate turned to you. Silence lingers as you both stare at each other, considering every single thought that coursed through your minds during the late couple of hours. Was it genuine? Absolutely. Would you voice them? No, surely not. Tension is still there, so palpable you could touch it, and shattering it would come with a price.

A small blush color your cheeks red, and you finally manage to break eye contact with a hint of timidity. Too much to ask of you for a little time of strong, contrasting emotions, still tickling under your skin as the adrenaline begins to sparse. Clearing your throat, you’re the first to speak. “I apologize,” it begins as simple as it, almost ending the sentence there as your eyes don’t dare to move from your lap and you choose carefully what to say, and what to keep to yourself. Ramattra may have performed a solid progress towards emotions, but you feared he would fail to comprehend the turmoil in yours. “It wasn’t strict of your concern, nor a matter you should care for as you did, and I-”

“I had to,” he cut you off, sternly. Now that you’re safe, his worries tend to other subjects, still resonating over you. Was he too obvious, despite his best efforts? Couldn’t be, and yet he wished fervently for you to point it out, verbalizing what he was too afraid to: he wanted to keep you close, and safe, more than he ever did. “Whatever happens to you is my business, especially if it's a menace to your well being,” Ramattra takes a step closer, his fingers aching to reach for your face, and soothe that sorry expression out of it. Instead, he keeps them to his sides, clenching them a fist. “So don’t apologize for it. It wasn’t your fault, in the first place, and yet I’ll ask you to be careful and not wander over the training field whenever a new IA is being tested.”

A short nod follows a faint smile. His words were gentle, not explicitly voicing what he meant in between the lines, but you knew it nonetheless. Ramattra cared for you, more than you could have thought, and enough to satisfy your heart. “I don’t even know how to begin thanking you.”

“Dressing will do,” a chuckle reverberated in his metallic rib cage, and if his words alone wouldn’t catch you yet, it would be enough to make your face red as a cherry for, somehow, you were able to sense a trace of malice in Ramattra. “Rest now, human. I shall meet you when the day is done.”

#ramattra #ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #ramattra x oc #overwatch ramattra #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #reader insert #overwatch smut #overwatch 2

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keekee-23 · 4 months ago

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Tangled Hearts

A Y/N x Damian Priest Fanfiction

Warning: Smut

Damian Priest’s Point of View

The moment I saw Y/N step out of her apartment, I knew tonight was going to be a challenge. She was wearing a black dress that hugged every curve of her body, the kind of dress that made it impossible for me to think straight. Her hair fell in soft curls, and her lips were painted a deep red that made me want to kiss her senseless right there. My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I just stood there, staring at her like an idiot.

"Wow," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "You look… incredible, mi amor."

Y/N smiled, that confident, knowing smile that drove me crazy. She knew exactly what she was doing to me, and I could see it in her eyes. She took my arm as I guided her to the car, but even that simple touch sent a jolt of electricity through me. I was already aroused, and we hadn’t even left her place yet.

The drive to the lounge was filled with playful banter, but my mind was elsewhere. Every time I glanced over at her, all I could think about was how that dress hugged her body, how her skin would feel beneath my hands, how those lips would taste. My hand found its way to her thigh more than once, my fingers brushing against the soft skin, and every time, she’d give me that little smirk that told me she knew exactly what was on my mind.

When we arrived at the lounge, the staff recognized me immediately and led us to a private, secluded booth. Perfect. I needed the privacy tonight. As we settled into the booth, I couldn’t take my eyes off Y/N. The dim lighting of the lounge only enhanced her beauty, casting soft shadows that accentuated her curves. She looked absolutely stunning, and I felt a surge of pride knowing she was mine.

But tonight, I didn’t just want to admire her from afar. I wanted to touch her, to taste her, to hear her moan my name. The desire was burning inside me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold back for long. I leaned in close, my voice low and husky as I whispered, "You’re driving me crazy, you know that?"

Y/N smiled, leaning back in her seat, her eyes glinting with amusement. "That’s the idea," she teased, her fingers lightly grazing my arm.

Her words were like gasoline on a fire. My hand slid up her thigh, squeezing gently as I leaned closer. The heat between us was palpable, the tension electric. My fingers trailed higher, teasing the hem of her dress, and I could feel her body responding to my touch. I knew she was just as affected as I was, but I wanted more. I wanted to push her boundaries, to see just how far I could take this.

Without saying a word, I slid off the seat and ducked beneath the table. Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t stop me. That was all the encouragement I needed.

Underneath the table, I positioned myself between her legs, my hands gently parting her thighs. The fabric of her dress slid up as I moved, revealing more of her soft skin. I took a moment to savor the sight of her, the way her body trembled slightly with anticipation. My hands moved slowly, deliberately, as I hooked my fingers around the edge of her underwear, tugging them aside to give myself full access.

"Damian, what are you doing?" she whispered, her voice a mix of shock and excitement.

I grinned, loving the sound of her voice when she was trying to stay in control. "Just relax, baby," I whispered back, my breath hot against her thigh. "Let me take care of you."

I started with soft, teasing kisses on her inner thighs, letting my lips brush against her skin just enough to send a shiver through her body. I could hear her breathing change, becoming more shallow, more ragged. The anticipation was building, and I could sense her impatience as her hips shifted slightly, silently begging me to move closer. But I wasn’t going to rush this. I wanted her to feel every single moment of it.

My lips continued their journey upward, kissing and nibbling at her sensitive skin. I could feel her thighs tense under my touch, and I knew she was trying to stay still, to not give away what was happening beneath the table. But I could also tell that it was getting harder for her to control herself. The thought of her struggling to maintain her composure while I worked her up only made me more determined to drive her wild.

When I finally reached the thin barrier of her underwear, I paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build. I could feel her breath hitch, could almost hear her silent plea for me to continue. With a quick, practiced motion, I hooked my fingers around the waistband of her panties and gently tugged them to the side, exposing her completely to me. The sight of her, so vulnerable and ready, sent a jolt of arousal through me.

Without hesitation, I leaned in and pressed my lips against her, letting my tongue slide out to taste her. The first touch was slow, deliberate, as I savored the sensation of her warmth against my tongue. The taste of her filled my senses, and I couldn’t help the low, guttural growl that escaped my throat. I knew she could feel it too, the vibration of my voice against her sensitive skin, and it made her shudder.

I started with slow, languid strokes of my tongue, dragging it up the length of her, teasing her with the gentlest of touches. I wanted to build her up slowly, to make her crave more. I could feel her thighs tremble as she fought to stay still, her body betraying her as she responded to every movement of my tongue. I could hear her trying to keep her breathing steady, but it was clear she was already losing control.

As I continued to explore her with my mouth, I found her most sensitive spot and focused my attention there, circling it with the tip of my tongue in slow, deliberate motions. Y/N’s reaction was immediate—her hips bucked slightly, pressing herself closer to my mouth, her fingers tightening on the edge of the table. I could hear her breathing quicken, could feel the tension in her body as I brought her closer to the edge.

But I wasn’t done teasing her yet. I alternated between soft, gentle licks and firmer, more focused strokes, keeping her guessing, never letting her settle into a rhythm. I could tell she was struggling to stay quiet, biting down on her lip to keep from making any noise. The thought of her trying so hard to maintain her composure, even as I pushed her closer and closer to release, only spurred me on.

I pressed my tongue flat against her, dragging it up slowly, savoring every inch of her. Then, I flicked my tongue quickly over her sensitive spot, making her body jolt in response. Her thighs tensed around me, her hips lifting slightly off the seat as she sought more contact. I obliged, increasing the pressure, moving my tongue in rhythmic patterns that I knew would drive her wild.

I could hear her trying to stay quiet, but the soft, breathy moans that escaped her lips told me I was doing exactly what she needed. I loved hearing those sounds, loved knowing that I was the one making her feel this way. Her hands gripped the table even tighter, her knuckles white as she fought to keep herself under control. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, the tension building as I brought her closer and closer to the edge.

And then, just as I felt her on the brink, I heard a voice above me. “Excuse me, miss, would you like a drink?”

The waiter’s voice cut through the haze of pleasure, and I could feel Y/N tense above me, struggling to maintain her composure. Her voice was shaky as she replied, “Uh… yes, please,” but I could hear the strain in her words.

I didn’t stop. If anything, the interruption only made me more determined. I continued my relentless assault on her, my tongue working faster, more precise, as I pushed her toward the release she so desperately needed. I could feel her body trembling, her thighs quivering as she tried to keep herself together.

The waiter lingered for a moment longer, probably noticing something was off, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was Y/N and the pleasure I was giving her. When he finally walked away, I could feel her entire body relax, but only for a moment. I wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easily.

I focused all of my attention on her most sensitive spot, swirling my tongue around it in tight, quick circles, then flattening my tongue against her and dragging it up slowly. Her body responded instantly, her hips lifting off the seat, her thighs clamping down around my head as she tried to hold on. I could feel her teetering on the edge, so close to falling over. I knew she couldn’t take much more.

I growled softly against her, the vibration of my voice sending another wave of pleasure through her. Her hands gripped the table so tightly I thought she might break it. And then, finally, I felt her let go.

Her climax hit her like a wave, crashing over her in shuddering, intense pulses. Her body tensed, her thighs trembling around my head as she struggled to keep herself from crying out. The taste of her release filled my mouth, and I savored every moment of it. I didn’t stop, didn’t let up, continuing to work her through every wave of pleasure until I felt her start to relax beneath me.

When she finally slumped back against the booth, her body spent, I placed a few gentle kisses on her thigh before I slowly emerged from beneath the table. I looked up at her, and the sight of her flushed cheeks, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath, made me grin. She looked absolutely wrecked, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride knowing I was the one who had made her feel that way.

I slid back into the seat next to her, leaning in close, my hand resting on her thigh as I whispered, “You okay, baby?”

She shot me a look, still trying to regain her composure. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, but I could see the small, satisfied smile playing on her lips.

I chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And you love it,” I whispered back, my fingers tracing lazy circles on her thigh.

Y/N shook her head, laughing softly despite herself. “You’re going to get us in trouble one day,” she said, her voice a mix of exasperation and amusement.

“Maybe,” I admitted with a grin, my mind already racing with thoughts of what else I could do to her tonight. “But it’ll be worth it.”

As the waiter returned with her drink, I watched Y/N take a sip, trying to steady herself. I couldn’t help but smile as I leaned back in my seat, satisfied with how the night was going so far. The best part? The night was still young, and I had every intention of making sure she remembered it for a long time to come.

#damian priest #wwe fandom #wwe #archer of infamy #punisher martinez #punishment martinez #the judgement day #damian priest fanfic #damian priest oneshot #el campeón #damian priest x reader #damian priest fanfiction #damian priest imagine #damian priest x y/n #damian priest x female reader

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chaepink · 2 years ago

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Shocking! | sub!kaminari denki

wc: 570+ words | masterlist

dom!gn!reader, shocking, pain kink, edging, crying, praising, reader plays with his cock (sorry but I forgot the phrase for it 😭)

note : reader has a quirk that can steal other quirks for a short period of time

idk if this is even realistic/safe 💀 but this is fanfiction so we ignore that

You thought your boyfriend's quirk was pretty awesome. Though you didn't like it when he uses it too much and became... well dumb (you much preferred when you were the cause of that) or when he tickles you using a little of it which causes you to yelp in shock and throw something at him.

But overall, you really like his quirk.

Now, think how shocking it was for you when you found out you could somehow use his own quirk against him.

"T-too much [name]..." A grin makes its way on your face as you watch your boyfriend writhe underneath you. Your finger trails down his chest all the way down to his stomach and back up to his nipples, all while sending ripples of electricity through kaminari which makes him moan and whine.

He tries to cover his mouth using one of his hands but you quickly swat it away, giving him a glare. One that sends shivers down his spine.

“I want to hear your pretty voice and especially the pretty noises you make so don't try to silence them, alright?" He nods obediently.

You latch your fingers onto one of his nipples and squeeze it harshly, sending a small bolt of electricity through his body. "Ah! AH!"

"You're being so good for me right now, baby. I bet you want a reward, don't you?"

Kaminari nods and bites his lip to the point that you thought he was going to draw blood. Without saying anything else, you slowly bring your hands down to the waistband of his underwear and pull it down, exposing his red cock. You quickly grab it with one of your hands, causing a yelp to escape your boyfriend.

Your other hand went back to his nipples, playing with them and sending small bolts of electricity down his spine while the one on his cock went on to play with it. You spare a look at his face and can't help but snicker. He looks as if he was fucked dumb. Drool is escaping his lips, his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are rolled back.

Kaminari couldn't even think properly anymore. The pleasure of your hand on his cock with the electricity and pain of you squeezing his nipples was too much for him. Soon enough, he felt as if he was about to cum. His fists grab the sheets underneath him and multiple noises leave him, specifically begging.

"[N-Name] i'm c-close- please!" You stop completely and your boyfriend sobs and begins squirming and thrashing. "W-why did hiccup! y-you stop?" You wipe a tear from kaminari's face and give him a peck on his tear-stained cheek. He looks so adorable yet pathetic right this moment and you secretly wish you could take a picture of him. Though if you did, he would probably make you delete it anyways out of embarassment.

"Well we only just started, didn't we?" That was a complete lie, you had no idea how long it's been since you started. You quickly take a look at his alarm clock on the nightstand. Perhaps your quirk would run out soon but right now, your mind is too focused on teasing your sweet, sweet kaminari who was a red mess.

Looking back at your boyfriend who stopped squirming and looks up at you with dazed eyes, you smile again.

"We still have more time, i bet you want to continue, yeah?"

"Y-yes..."

"Good boy"

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

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theworldofotps · 7 months ago

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Painting (Drabble)

Pairing: Lord Debling x Reader Word Count: 743 Description: Y/n is struggling with a painting when she recieves some much needed help.

So, I have never written fanfiction for Bridgerton before but after watching the first half of season 3 and meeting Lord Debling I couldn't help myself. I'm also very nervous to post this because it's a bit out of my comfort zone but I hope you enjoy anyway.

Dedicated to: @madhatterbri who encouraged me to write this, helped form the plot and is overall one of the best. I appreciate you so much thank you! (I haven't added my normal tag list since those are usually just for wrestling. If you'd like to be added to a tag list of anything I write besides wrestling let me know!) __________ Y/n let out a soft huff as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, staring at the canvas in front of her. She’d spent the last two hours trying to paint a bird from the book set on a stool in front of her. This was a painting she just didn’t want to mess up on but the more she stared at it the worse it seemed to look.

“Is everything alright m’lady?”

“Yes Ruth, just having a bit of difficulty getting these colors to work and blend the way that I wish them too.”

“Please let me know when you are ready, and I shall draw the bath for you.”

“Thank you, Ruth.”

Watching the maid leave, Y/n turns back towards her painting and examines the book once more. Adjusting the apron she wore over her dress to keep from ruining it, she dipped into her paints again. More time passed and her frustrations only grew as the colors started running and made the bird look like a mess.

Dropping the paintbrush in the pot of water she hung her head in defeat, deciding to just start all over again. Not having heard the door open she nearly jumped, feeling a pair of arms wrapping around her before a chuckle sounded in her ear.

“Sorry to startle you love I thought you heard me enter.”

“That’s alright my lord I just was focusing on something else.”

Alfred glanced around to be sure they were alone before pressing a soft kiss to her neck.

“Tell me what’s the matter.”

“I’m trying to paint this bird and all of my colors keep running I’ve spent hours on it but alas to no avail.”

Remaining silently as his eyes drifted over the canvas in front of them, since they had began courting he was trying to take interest in her hobbies. When he found out she had a love for painting much like his mother, it was one he quickly did his best to learn all he could about it.

“Allow me to offer my assistance to you.”

Grabbing her hand gently together they picked up the brush, the sparks of electricity she felt as they moved together dipping into her paint pallet. She could barely concentrate at the feel of him pressed against her back. When the brush touched the canvas, she let out a soft laugh.

“What is it brining you such joy my dear?”

“Your beard tickles my cheek.”

Y/n spoke softly as his own smile grew to match hers the two talking in soft whispers as he helped her fix the once ruined picture.

“What do you think?”

“It looks so much better thank you for your help now we both must sign it.”

She said pointing to the feather quill and pot of ink sat on the desk a few feet away from them, Alfred reached over grabbing the quill. Signing the name Debling then placing the quill in her hand so she could sign her last name.

Placing it back in the ink pot Y/n slowly turned to face him their eyes meeting hers lighting up as his softened.

“Miss. Y/n I know this may come forth as a bit forward but may I kiss you?”

He asked a slight nervous quiver to his voice if you listened close enough she remained silently causing him to clear in throat. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel pressured into anything. After a moment her smile grew as she leaned closer to him their lips brushing in the softest touch before a knock on the door sent them apart. Composing themselves she turned to see Ruth entering one more.

“Excuse me miss but your mother is looking for you.”

“Thank you, Ruth please tell her, that I will be right there.”

Ruth nodded, leaving them alone again y/n sighing softly she turned back to Alfred who gently touched her cheek.

“I must be going as it is rather late, I shall call upon you tomorrow afternoon would that be alright?”

“Yes, I would enjoy that very much my lord.”

The pair left the room and y/n saw him to the front entrance, his fingers once more touching her cheek in a bid farewell. Watching him leave she sighed her arms wrapping around herself, the thought of his arms around her caused her face to heat up. Turning, she went off in search of her mother.

#lord debling #bridgerton fanfiction #lord debling x reader #bridgerton #lord debling fanfiction

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abyssruler · 1 year ago

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to you, who loved me most

scaramouche x gn!reader

four snippets, four drabbles, four realistic takes on popular tropes with the person scaramouche was before he became the wanderer. or — soulmate au, time travel, reincarnation, and isekai with the sixth harbinger.

character death (reader), scaramouche being a horrible person, implied dark themes

SOULMATE AU - soulmates share each others’ pain

For as long as you could remember, your heart has always felt hollow. Empty. Your mother once told you that your soulmate must have a heart disease of some kind—but no, this isn’t pain. You know what pain is.

Pain is the electricity crackling through your veins, sharp pinpricks like a thousand needles trying to protrude from your skin. It is staying up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep because of the ache in your joints as if someone is pulling you apart only to glue you back together, like one of those porcelain dolls you always see being sold at the market.

You know what pain is, and it is not the apathy you feel when you discover who your soulmate is. It is not the stark-white heat that overcomes you as your soulmate’s hand pierces your empty, hollow chest.

Pain is the ache you finally feel in your nonexistent heart, a moment before you close your eyes.

And you’ve never known comfort—you’ve never known a lot of things—but you think comfort is the arms that hold you as you choke on your own blood. Comfort is the cold chest against your cheek as you breathe your last, dying breath.

Comfort the voice in your ear, a whispered plea, an apology, one last wish for you to stay.

TIME TRAVEL/TIME LOOP

It’s pointless and foolish and he’s a monster, and you know you should stop coming back, stop greeting him with that same smile you always give whenever you first stumble upon him, dazed and confused and so, so kind and innocent after awakening from his slumber.

You should run from those deceptively angelic looking eyes, but you can’t. No matter how many times you’ve died and come back—the amount of times you’ve died by his hands—you can’t stop coming back and hoping that this time, maybe it’ll all turn out different. That this time, he’ll turn out different.

And perhaps this time, he’ll finally love you back the way he did during your first loop.

REINCARNATION

It was your fault. You shouldn’t have been so kind to him. So warm and bright and innocent, giving him all you have without expecting anything in return. All he knows is to take and take and take until not even you had anything left to give. And still, he continues to take what he perceives to be rightfully his until you’re carved hollow from the inside out.

But you shouldn’t blame him, it was your fault in the first place. You should have known better than to treat strangers like him so kindly.

He has bound your soul to his. Til death do us part, but Scaramouche will not let even death take you away from him. So even if you decide to take your own life, you can never truly escape his grasp.

In your next life and the ones after that, he will always find you, and you will always love him back until you see the monster hidden beneath the veneer of a pleasant smile.

ISEKAI

You’re here. You’re really, truly here in Teyvat.

The most logical thing to do would be to seek out the Traveler, a fellow outlander who would keep you safe until they reach the end of their journey, but you’ve always been reckless and stupid. So you seek out the most disliked Harbinger and join the Fatui under his ranks.

You thought it would be like the fanfictions you secretly read, where he’d notice you and fall in love with you and you’d live happily ever after. But reality is often different from what you expect.

He is harsh, but not the fun, amusing kind of harsh you once watched and read. He is living and breathing and right in front of you, spitting the most horrid words anyone has ever said to you. You once fantasized the scenario of him being mean to you, back when he was fictional and dreamy and not an inch away from taking your useless, pathetic life.

And as you stood in place, blinking back tears that would send him over the edge should he see it, you wonder why you ever thought you’d enjoy it.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #kabukimono x reader #gn reader

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icarusflewsworld · 1 month ago

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Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 3 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

I hope you like it! Don't hesitate to let me know if you prefer the OC to become y/n and/or gender neutral.

Also, I apologize for any mistakes you might find, I'm just a French girl doing her best with Google Translate and her average score of 5 in English classe.

! Don't forget to read the previous chapters ! : Here

Happy reading!

Chapter 3

The servants had been kicked out of the house within hours. Nesta and Elain waited by the window in the large dining room, while Feyre went to open the door to the Faes. She led them through the house.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel were burning with barely concealed excitement at the prospect of seeing their mate again, whom they had only caught a glimpse of earlier. But they still had many questions and doubts. Was she really their soulmate? Did she have character? Was her hair silky? Was her skin soft? Would she like them?

So, when they arrived in the dining room accompanied - unfortunately for them - by Tamlin and Lucien, they were more than disappointed not to see the young woman.

Feyre had the reflex to say to herself that she had done well to choose the dining room with the high ceiling when she saw the imposing stature of the five faes in front of her sisters. They looked extremely intimidating, and the fear on Elain and Nesta's faces only confirmed her hypothesis. Feyre quickly introduced her sisters to the faes.

Nesta stood in front of Elain in a protective gesture, while Elain kept herself from fainting.

“And where's your other sister? Luxiana,” asked Rhysand, trying to sound as detached as possible.

Feyre squinted for a moment. Rhysand was looking at every corner of the room and had used a peculiar tone as if he were asking the question out of curiosity, but she had clearly seen how Cassian and Azriel had frozen and strained their ears waiting for the answer.

Her best friend was beautiful and she knew it. In other circumstances, knowing she'd made a great impression on these three faes might have made her smile if it weren't for those three evil faes over there.

“She's not my sister, she's my best friend,” replied Feyre. “And she makes sure the last member of house staff has left. She shouldn't be… long.”

Feyre had barely finished her sentence when the pretty blonde entered the room. She froze at the sight of the faes, but there was no reaction on her face. It was as if she'd expected or was used to seeing such handsome and imposing creatures.

Luxiana's expression was cold and serious, that said, and though she tried to hide it, she was tired from the tears she'd shed all afternoon and which were still glistening on her cheeks.

This realization could have torn the hearts of the three Illyrians apart, but they were just far too caught up by the beauty of their soul mate and the dozens of strange sensations stirring in their chests to pay any more attention to anything else. Perhaps it was simply due to their mating bond, but they could have sworn that the room and the atmosphere around them had become brighter and more colorful when she entered.

Luxiana was in no way intimidated when she first laid her eyes on Azriel, slowly detailing him from head to toe. A shiver ran down her spine. He seemed cold and intimidating. It occurred to her that he was the most dangerous in the room.

Azriel had squinted in surprise and his heart had started pounding like mad in his chest when the blonde's electric blue eyes landed on him. She'd seen him first. Nobody usually saw him first, especially not when he was trying, as he was now, to blend into the shadows to be less intimidating. No, people, even the most experienced faes, usually only saw him when he decided to be seen, or just by chance out of the corner of their eye. But she had set her eyes directly on him. Without knowing why, though, the shadows that always surrounded him had gone to hide behind his back, as if it was intimidated by the young woman and her light. That said, Azriel could hear them whispering from here. ‘Our mate’, ‘Our’, ‘Mine’, they kept repeating, or perhaps it was Azriel's inner voice.

Luxiana then slid her gaze to Rhysand and detailed him in the same way. He seemed arrogant and pretentious. He tilted his head with a smirk. He seemed confident, but a flash of playfulness shone in his eyes and Luxiana loved to play. She could only return his expression, but squinted in an attempt to see through him.

Rhysand was trying to make a good impression. He almost prayed to the cauldron that the blonde's eyes would land on him too, and when they had, he was intrigued by her reaction to him. He almost collapsed. Fortunately, he recovered so quickly that no one sawn it, but he almost fell to the ground because of the blonde that was so fucking breathtaking. In fact, that's what happened to him, he was breathless by the mere fact that this girl noticed him, and he was thanking the cauldron he was a good actor when all he wanted to do was throw himself on his knees in front of her and beg her to touch him.

Then Luxiana set her eyes on Cassian without leaving the smirk she stole from Rhysand. The last Illyrian was the most imposing of them all, the most muscular and should look the most dangerous, yet Luxiana just had the impression that he was the least intimidating. Her smile widened to the point of sympathetic mockery. She just wanted to pinch his cheeks.

When the blonde laid eyes on him, Cassian was dead. He died at least three or four times, his heart having stopped beating, then bursting violently against his chest before stopping again. He stared at the woman in front of him and could do nothing but admire her beauty. He was doing his best not to think about the obscene things he wanted to do to her lips or that irresistible urge to plunge his tongue into her dimple that had formed on his cheek at her smirk. A smile Cassian was more than eager to make her lose by kissing her until she forgot to breathe.

Although the scene and Luxiana's analysis were unfolding rapidly, time seemed to stand still and the world to stop to contemplate the encounter between the three faes and the blonde.

When their mate's eyes fell on Lucien at their side, a feeling of anger and jealousy gripped the guts of the three Illyrians. They didn't like the idea of their betrothed setting her eyes on anyone other than the three of them. It was an intense jealousy that none of them had ever felt, and it burned through their entire bodies, forcing them to clench their fists. They tried to reassure themselves that they certainly wouldn't overreact to a simple glance, but the only thing they wanted was to rip Lucien's skin off.

Then Luxiana's gaze fell on Tamlin and she lost her smile. Her expression regained the gravity with which she had entered the room. Her eyebrows furrowed and her teeth clenched. She was annoyed. She recognized him. He was in the spring court high lord's palace when she infiltrated to find Feyre, because he was the spring court high lord. It was because of him that her best friend had ended under the mountain and had to go through all those atrocities. He did nothing to save her, and perhaps he could have done nothing other than what he'd already done to protect her, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn't enough for Luxiana.

Explosive anger bubbled in the blonde's chest. She clenched her fists as she took long strides towards Tamlin.

“You,” she spat, pointing at him.

Tamlin winced, raising both hands in the air and rolling his eyes. This human was driving him out of his mind uncontrollably and he would love to shut her up, but she was the person Feyre cared about the most so he had to try and calm things down.

“Listen,” he began, only to be interrupted by a monstrous slap from Luxiana.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel were initially surprised by the anger that emerged on the pretty blonde's face. Firstly, because they found her even sexier that way, but also because she seemed far too sweet, affectionate and innocent to feel that kind of negative emotions. So when she fearlessly slapped the high lord of the spring court, they could only admire the bravery of this human girl who just provoked a powerful fae almost twice her size in length and breadth.

Tamlin, who looked as if his ego was bruised by being slapped by a human, was wide-eyed at first, before turning his murderous gaze on Luxiana. Without waiting, she wanted to slap him again, but Tamlin fiercely grabbed her wrist before she could reach his cheek.

Tamlin let out a menacing growl which snapped the three brothers out of their contemplation. How dare he touch her ? If he just thought a second of hurting her, the three Illyrians knew that anything would stop them for tearing him to pieces, no matter what that meant for the Spring Court or the Night Court. The three of them were about to throw themselves between him and her to protect their mate from the bastard, but before they could even move, she gave him an impressively forceful calf kick to his genitals.

Tamlin fell to his knees as he released her, hands between his thighs as he groaned in pain with such power it sounded like he could cry.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel froze, then exploded with laughter. Admiring to see so much anger and courage in such a small body as Luxiana's.

Rhysand laughed. He was laughing, and he hadn't laughed in fifty years.

The blonde didn't even give them any attention, far too focused on killing Tamlin with her eyes.

“It's all your fault!” she shouted at the kneeling blond. “Feyre has suffered because of you!”

“Luxiana,” Feyre called out, grabbing her by the arm and trying to pull her back.

Feyre knew that Luxiana was angry and that she thought Tamlin was responsible for everything that had happened to her, and although a part of her had relished the beating her best friend had given to her lover, she knew she was entirely to blame. She had decided to go into the mountains to save him, even though he had kept her away to protect her. She still had nightmares about it, but it was in no way Tamlin's fault.

Luxiana knew all that, she understood it. But she needed to throw her hatred and guilt on someone other than herself. She was the only one who failed to protect Feyre. She would have died under that mountain if Rhysand hadn't been there.

So Luxiana gently extricated herself from Feyre's grip and moved closer to Tamlin. The latter stood up abruptly, growling, anger distorting his face. He towered over Luxiana.

“Tam, stop,” Lucien advised worriedly.

“I am a high lord,” Tamlin hissed through clenched teeth, ignoring his friend, ”I forbid you to disrespect me like that.”

The scene had the merit of calming Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel, who regained their seriousness. Their fists clenched until their knuckles turned white.

“Oh, you poor thing,” scoffed Luxiana.

“I could snap your neck like a twig,” threatened Tamlin with a glare as she took a step towards her.

Azriel growled an animal sound far more violent than the one Tamlin had uttered, Cassian took a step forward to grab Luxiana by the elbow and place her behind him and Rhysand took a step forward.

“I'd advise you to be extremely careful about what you say and who you threaten if you don't want me to rip out your tongue and give it to that girl as an apology trophy,” Rhysand growled in a deep voice with a threatening cold face.

Luxiana opened her mouth wide as she detailed the three imposing Illyrians who had stood in front of her to protect her from the high lord of the spring court. She had no need of protection, but she loved the fact that they protected her without even knowing her, and she loved even more the hatred that burned in their eyes as they looked at Tamlin. These faes seemed to hate Tamlin as much as she did, which made them Luxiana's best allies.

Tamlin petrified, but an angry grimace twitched his nostrils and distorted his expression. Luxiana noticed that he had tensed up and was clenching his fists. He seemed to be afraid of the violet-eyed high lord who had just come to her defense, which meant that this fae was more powerful than Tamlin. Everything lit up in Luxiana's mind.

The blonde was well aware of the animosity that reigned between the lords of the courts, but she sensed that the three brown haired males were just waiting for a good reason to attack Tamlin. They had now irrevocably become her best allies and were, above all, faes capable of hurting Tamlin more than she was, especially as she didn't want to cause her best friend's husband too much pain, even though she was dying to do it.

Luxiana shifted slightly from Cassian's body to put her head between the Illyrian's imposing wings and the violet-eyed fae's body.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel heard her move and turned to look at her.

“Yeah, watch your mouth or they'll beat the shit out of you,” said Luxiana haughtily.

The blonde's words made the three Illyrians smile uncontrollably, their chests lifting with pride as they raised their heads. There was no doubt that they loved what their soulmate was implying: that she felt safe with them and that they looked stronger and more intimidating than Tamlin.

The high lord of the spring court glared menacingly at Luxiana and growled a warning.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel's blood ran cold. How dare he look at her again? Rhysand unleashed his power without warning. Tamlin collapsed.

“Tamlin,” cried Feyre, throwing herself on top of her husband.

“He's not dead,” said Rhysand disinterestedly, without even looking at Feyre. “He's just asleep. And it'll be better for everyone that he remains until tomorrow.”

She glared at Rhysand, who didn't even calculate her, then at Luxiana.

“What? You heard him, he'll get over it,” the blonde huffed, rolling her eyes.

Feyre wasn't really surprised by her best friend's behavior. She'd always had guts and a fiery attitude. She was impulsive and always regretted her actions afterwards, that said, she didn't like seeing the man she loved down, unconscious because of her best friend.

Feyre huffed. Her face was contorted with worry as she tenderly stroked Tamlin's hair.

The three Illyrians turned to Luxiana, who was staring at Tamlin's body with pursed lips and a mocking expression. When she realized they were looking at her, she detailed them in turn for a moment, crossing her hands behind her back and smiling innocently with all her teeth. They were beautiful, and Luxiana only noticed it now as she detailed the three of them again quickly. They were the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen. Ever.

The blonde returned her gaze to the pointy-eared fae, and the instant her blue pupils plunged into his violet eyes, Rhysand was electrified from head to toe.

“You're the high lord of the night court, aren't you?” asked Luxiana, squinting her eyes to detail him further.

She was asking, but she had no doubt. In any case, there was only one high lord who terrified all the others, and that was him.

Rhysand nodded with a smirk and an air of pride. He loved the idea of this woman knowing him.

“You're the one who helped Feyre under the mountain,” she added.

Rhysand lost his smile at the memory and the surprise. He hadn't expected her to bring up the subject. He nodded, not sure what else to do.

“Helping is a big word,” Feyre grumbled, laying her lover's head on her lap.

Luxiana smiled without taking her eyes off Rhysand.

“Don't pay any attention to what she says,” she rolled her eyes and smiled. “I understand that without you, Feyre would be dead.”

She held out her hand with a gentle, sympathetic smile that made Rhysand swallow loudly.

“My name is Luxiana and thank you,” she added. “Thank you for saving my best friend.”

Rhysand had no reason to take this woman's hand, no merit in doing so, yet he couldn't resist touching her. He reached out to squeeze the blonde's palm and was far too disturbed by the simple contact, which electrified him entirely.

He leaned towards her to bring his face closer to the blonde's, trying to ignore the pleasant sensation of her slender hand in his.

“I didn't do it for her,” he whispered.

Luxiana chuckled, lowering her head. “It doesn't matter who you did it for, you did it, and that's what counts. It may not mean much to you, but you saved the life of the person I love most. I owe you a lot for that. I sincerely do. Thank you.”

Rhysand straightened in surprise. He had unknowingly saved the person his soulmate loved the most? She seemed sincere, and he wasn't sure why, but her thanks lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders and allowed him to take a deep, invigorating breath. Suddenly, everything that had happened under the mountain didn't matter that much if it meant he could receive the thanks of his mate. If it prevents his soul mate from suffering. If it allows him to meet his soul mate.

“A human may not be able to give you much, but if one day you do need something,” she continued, leaning towards him with a smile, “oh great and powerful high lord of the night court Rhysand, and I will do my best to help you.”

Rhysand laughed. He knew exactly what he'd like to ask her, but had no idea how to do it without sounding indecent or forcing her to do something.

“Only my enemies call me Rhysand, call me Rhys,” demanded the high lord, keeping Luxiana's hand in his, impossible to tear himself away from her touch.

Luxiana smiled with all her teeth, bringing out two dimples that drove Rhysand mad and incoherent. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on the blonde's hand to try to regain composure and not pounce on her, doing things to that mouth that would even make Azriel blush.

Realizing that her hand was still into the lord's one, the blonde extricated herself from his grip. Rhysand had to fight the unpleasant feeling that a piece of himself was being torn away when she retrieved his hand, and had to grit his teeth to keep from taking it back.

“Very well, oh high lord of the night court Rhys,” she teased him. “Don't hesitate.”

Cassian laughed and Azriel and Rhysand smiled.

“Mocking a fae lord,” remarked Cassian, ”you've really got guts. Do you know who we really are and how powerful we are?”

Unconcealed pride swelled the Illyrian's chest as Luxiana laughed and looked back at him. He loved it when she looked at him.

“I've got an idea,” declared Luxiana. “You're Cassian, the commander of the armies.”

She returned her gaze to Azriel, who froze from head to toe, trying not to appear tense.

“And you're Azriel, the spy master.”

She returned her gaze to the Illyrian with the red siphon.

“I've heard about you,” she continued.

And it was true. She had heard of them. The strongest Illyrians and the lord of the night court. All the rumors about them weren't very nice to hear.

“Rumors say you're terrifying, that your people are unhappy and that you even torture children.”

A muscle twitches in Rhysand's jaw. Normally, these rumors about him making his people miserable didn't bother him and that's why he didn't waste his time contradicting them - it served his interests too well against his enemies - but today, he hated the idea of this woman thinking of him in this way.

“And you believe them?” asked Rhysand with a sudden cold voice.

Luxiana smirked.

“I don't know yet, but to tell you the truth,” she replied, “you're not as intimidating as the rumors say. In fact, you're not at all.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow in astonishment. This little piece of woman didn't find them intimidating, even though she was probably as small as Amren and a fragile human with no powers. Did she have guts or simply no instinct for self-preservation?

“Well, except him,” she continued, pointing at Azriel, “he's intimidating. Well, a little bit.”

Azriel squinted. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He certainly liked the fact that he appeared more intimidating than his brothers and would be harping on them for a long time, but he certainly didn't like the fact that he was scaring the one who was undoubtedly his soul mate. He almost cursed himself that this was the case, but it wasn't fear that trailed in the blonde's blue eyes when she set them on him, but intrigue. If Azriel intimidated her, she loved it, and this realization could only make him smile. He loved having that effect, especially on this woman.

“What's he got that we don't?” vexed Cassian, directly wounded in the ego.

Not that he'd like the idea of intimidating his mate, but that normally shouldn't be the case for all three of them.

Luxiana smiled, hilarious in anticipation of what she was about to say and knowing full well what it meant to Illyrians.

“He got bigger wings.”

Cassian and Rhysand made big eyes at Azriel, who burst out laughing.

“What?” gasped Cassian. “No, he did not.”

Luxiana pursed her lips to keep from laughing and had to lower her head so they wouldn't notice.

“That's enough,” raged Nesta, “enough wasted time. The cook has left us a meal. Let's eat so it'll be over quicker.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #acowar #acotar #azriel #cassian #cassian x oc #rhysand acotar #cassian acotar #rhys acotar #rhysand #rhysand x oc #high lord rhysand #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #rhysand & cassian & azriel x oc

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darkcircles4lyfe · 10 months ago

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To Build Something Else

Whenever I read a fanfiction that takes place in the future where the hero kids continue their schooling as normal and emerge as pro heroes into the existing system, I always kinda view it as like, “AU where things weren’t as bad” or “AU where everyone is still pretending that this is the way things should be” or “AU where good and evil are morally uncomplicated.” I’m not trying to call anybody out—I’ll still read and enjoy these sometimes—but that’s how I’ve always looked at it. I’m starting to notice other people feeling it too. I’ve read fics where they point out how redundant and unfair it is to go back to being students after saving the world (remember how many pros straight up quit and left a bunch of kids to keep fighting?). I’ve seen people acknowledge how trauma will affect their ability to keep going. Perhaps the trickiest thing to wrap our heads around is how the villains will fit into it all if not through death, punishment, or imprisonment. What about all the other trappings of society? The heavily regulated quirk use, the government-funded pros aiding police control and contributing to cover-ups that maintain the illusion of peace. Hero idolization, quirk counseling, civilian helplessness. Judging a person’s worth or character based on their quirk…

It would sound too obvious and cheesy to simply point out that society isn’t “just the way things are,” that change is possible. We all know this, and yet we struggle to pinpoint exactly where to aim our sights, find the source, make any meaningful progress. The other day I read some articles from my university’s student newspaper around 1970, and it made me feel sick wondering if progress is really an illusion. Fact is, it’s easy to intellectually deconstruct society, but very difficult to imagine how to build something else.

In this fictional world, heroes have offered a mythical vision of safety and triumph. When All Might arrived, everything was going to be okay. But let’s not forget how this story began: with a moment where All Might paused, like a bystander, and in his place, a desperate civilian kid hurtled forward without any common sense. If you ask me, it wasn’t that Izuku was so good and pure and selfless, it was that he disregarded everything.

And so the person who “saves the world” (if we can even reduce it to such a concept) is not the person who puts everyone at ease and makes crowds cheer. It’s the person who makes everyone hold their breath, with a feeling in the air like the pressure changed, and it smells like rain. It is natural to be worried about the future. It’s honest. It means you can see what’s really going on. Hero society has never felt this exposed, but the people are held back from the edge of despair because there is also so much potential brewing. Electricity about to strike. The world will NOT go back to the way it was, no matter what. That much is certain. But what if we still live to see the dawn? What then? What if one person’s courage to break the mold makes all the difference?

I’m not just talking about Izuku, you know. I’m talking about Horikoshi.

To an extent, I’ve given up on predicting how exactly things will play out, because if nothing else, I can tell he’s planning something big—so big, I can’t quite picture it. I’m watching and waiting for the one person who can. I just know where he’s coming from. I think about how he’s never come this far before because his other stories were snuffed out. I know he used to struggle to see the future of his career. I relate to his stubbornly rebellious resolve to do what he wants anyway. To keep dreaming. I know that emotional sincerity is his specialty. And now he’s even directly breaking the fourth wall, having characters talk about what’s supposed to happen in comic books. Gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, we’ve been shown how something else can happen. He’s not done yet.

#listening to bastille's give me the future album again and feeling things #bnha 416 #bnha 417 #bnha manga #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #all might #bnha meta #lin speaks #bakudeku #dekubaku #bkdk #dkbk

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kurtcobaingirlie · 10 months ago

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starlit serenade

a/n : first fanfiction ever !! (please be nice), i would love feedback .

warnings : kissing, fluff .

pairing : luke castellan x reader !

*ೃ༄ enjoy

The night sky was a tapestry of twinkling stars, a sight that never failed to captivate Luke Castellan's attention. Tonight, however, his focus was drawn elsewhere - to the figure standing beside him, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight.

You, his heart whispered as he stole a glance at you, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You stood there, your eyes fixed on the heavens above, a look of wonder etched on your face. Luke couldn't help but admire the way the moonlight danced across your features, casting shadows and highlights in all the right places.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Luke reached out and gently took your hand in his, his touch sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. You turned to him, your eyes widening in surprise before a soft smile graced your lips.

"Luke," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the sound like music to his ears.

"Y/N," he replied, his voice filled with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of the night, Luke knew there was no better time than now. Leaning in closer, he brushed his lips against yours, a gentle caress that sent shivers down your spine.

Time seemed to stand still as you melted into the kiss, the world around you fading away until there was only the two of you, lost in each other's embrace. It was a moment of pure magic, a connection that transcended words and thoughts.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, Luke looked into your eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. "I've been wanting to do that for so long," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

A smile tugged at your lips as you reached up to cup his cheek, your fingers grazing the stubble along his jawline. "I'm glad you finally did," you whispered back, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

And as you stood there, bathed in the glow of the moonlight, you knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful - a love story written in the stars, with Luke Castellan as your leading man.

- luv, ken ˚୨୧⋆｡˚⋆

#luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x reader #kurtcobaingirlie #charlie bushnell x reader #pjo fanfic

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fluffswashere · 18 days ago

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Keigo Takami | Hawks Headcannons

A/N: A list of headcannons I have and thought would be fun to share along with write ^-^ Following with the fact I just love Hawks but ahh that's besides the point hehe 💜 I'm still in the works on improving my writing as I go and using bigger vocabulary, so bare with me <33

Genre: Fluff, Romantic,Mild Angst | Ages 18 and up | SFW Summary: Wing Pro Hero Hawks head cannons, reader x 2nd hero. Fanfiction writing in a style mixed with descriptive and of poetry.

°• Start? •°

No ✏Yes

1. Feelings And Rambles

When it comes to love, it wouldn't be something that'd just slip on by so easily. With such a packed schedule busy as a Pro Hero and working under the strings of the Hero Public Safety Commission, I could see it being difficult for any grasp on free time and really exploring outside the hero field.

However the minute Hawks falls for someone, he falls hard. Not knowing what feelings these are at first but one things certain, he'd wanna hold onto that special person and never let them go. Feelings would be difficult to open up about, although because he's so outgoing and a chatterbox.

He's painfully obvious.

I'm talking Hawks would likely talk your ears off and follow you around like a little lost puppy. Yapping on whatever comes to mind, leading to Hawks getting flustered and almost immediately cover his mouth from nearly confessing his heart out. Trying to brush it off like it's nothing and play everything cool.

"What was that?" You asked, a curious expression drawing across your facial features. Pausing in your steps to look the heroines way. You could have sworn you heard him say something along the lines about so lovingly looking at you from head to toe.

"Ahaha ahh nothing!!" Hawks nervously chuckled, the mans head turning the other direction. Avoiding your gaze burning on his form. Desperately hoping you wouldn't notice the faint flush dusting the man's handsome facial features.

2. Physical Touch

Whether it's a delicate brush to the hand or accidentally touching knees underneath the table. He'd crave every bit. Each time sending an electrical shock and undeniable spark, and judging on Hawks rough background.

Affection and words of affirmation isn't something he ever experienced before, therefore to receive such things would make the man melt on the spot. Getting all bashful and in instinct cover his face with his signature high collar jacket.

If there were a moment you and Hawks are cuddling, he'd bury his face into your neck. His barely apparent stubble tickling your skin. A goofy, but almost shy smile apparent on the usually charming and poised wing hero's lips.

Whispering for you to 'Stop it'. Merely sounding flustered, though also like he doesn't mean the words that rolled through his tongue. The man's delighted flapping wings or body language giving him away entirely.

I feel such things as back hugs and non-stop clinging would come with dating the 2nd wing Hero once he's come to be completely hooked on being close to you. A total cuddle monster, well at least he gives great hugs and a shoulder to lean on.

3. Good Listener And Kind Heart

For someone coming off cocky or rather arrogant, Hawks is one of the best people to vent and rant on. He's sharp enough to take note when your not feeling that one hundred percent and offers to take you on a high rooftop to hangout. Listening and hanging onto every word you have to say.

Hawks wouldn't let you go until he truly knows your okay. That reasoning is cause he holds onto his on form of bottled problems and carries so much as is. So to see you all down, it's the last thing he wants on seeing another suffer in silence rather than voice them aloud.

If tears ever formed and ushered through your saddened eyes, without a thought Hawks would in a snap pull you into the most secure but so incredibly gentle hug like he doesn't wanna hurt you. With his wings draped around you, however only for a mere few seconds since he has to shift his wings in a more comfortable position.

Fin.

♥︎

je t'aime

#aesthetic #mha x reader #my hero academia #headcanons #mha hawks #bnha hawks #keigo takami #hawks headcanons #keigo headcanons #mha #dark purple

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star-crifice · 10 months ago

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James Diamond x Reader

Words: ~ 3160

A/N: My 10 year old self must've taken over me and ghostwritten this bc why the hell am I, a 19 year old, writing BTR fanfiction AND it's the best stuff I've written in months. God. Have fun. I'm so done over here.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

James has got a thing for you.

And that’s not a secret, not even to you. When he likes someone, he pursues them – that’s nothing new. The very moment you stepped into the Palmwoods, retrieving your key and James just so happened to walk into the lobby, the word “Dibs!” left his lips so fast, his friends didn’t even have a chance to lay eyes on you.

He wasn’t afraid to show you his interest, just like he was with every other person that appealed to him. But the difference with you was that every sweet word from him was laced with the tiniest bit of hesitation.

Just after a few days of getting to know you, the sheer thought of being rejected by you would have ruined him. One part of him wanted to share every sweet thought about you that ever crossed his mind, another part of him was – possibly for the first time – genuinely scared of your reaction.

His advances at you didn’t go unnoticed. At first, you felt flattered at such a good looking, charming guy flirting with you. Though it did feel a bit overwhelming, you barely knew him after all. You thought if he actually liked you like that, he would wait a bit. He’d be ready to get to know you more. But that wasn’t quite the case, at least how it appeared to you.

You got to know the boys of Big Time Rush along with the friends they made in the Palmwoods and spent a lot of time with them. However, James would always try to get close to you – it felt suffocating. You didn’t have the heart to reject him and tried to instead gently push him away, both literally and metaphorically.

James didn’t quite get it, thinking you aren’t into him yet and he would have to try harder. But after a while it felt simply pointless to him and he stopped. He went back to his usual self, flirting with any pretty girl willing to pay attention to him. It was obvious that he did this to distract himself from you, but if anyone would have asked him he’d insist that he’s over you – what a lie. At that point he was head over heels.

Desperation coated his aimless flirts, reaching for the attention he craved from you.

At this point James and you were good friends, having known each other for a bit longer. You finally felt like you knew him and he might know you.

It happened quite overnight – no, actually. Faster than that. He was only a friend, you swear. But that one friday night… A power outage. A few people from the Palmwoods sat outside beside the pool, surrounding a campfire. That and the countless candles being the only sources of light shimmering on your skin. A guitar went around, person after person sharing their musical talent waiting for the electricity to come back. Of course, it didn’t take long until it was James and his friends' turn. You were swaying back and forth, humming along with the tune of their song and basking in the heat of the fire. It was a very cozy moment and for the first time since arriving at the Palmwoods, you felt like you were surrounded by normal teens instead of aspiring stars. You’ve never felt closer to your friends, neighbors and even the people you’ve never talked to. You dared to look over at the boys singing, just a moment. But that very second you laid your eyes on James, something clicked in your mind. You’ve seen him countless times, always looking perfect, keeping himself in check. Though in that moment, the way he sat there – his hair disheveled from being in the pool, wearing his still slightly wet swimming trunks and a loose shirt, singing and swaying and having fun – something sparked in you.

And suddenly you missed when he shifted to sit just a bit closer to you, kept eye contact like his life depended on it and would put his hand on your shoulder, so tender and carefully as if he could scare you away. You took it for granted back then. That was quite literally how you got to know him and now that part is basically gone.

That “moment” you looked at him happened to turn into a full on stare. Not too obvious of course, but embarrassing enough that when his gaze caught yours, you turned your head faster than you even processed what just happened.

You’d like to slap yourself for the train of thought that just occupied your mind. Yes, James was nice and lovely and good looking and charming and whatever – but to you he also seemed like he never took it seriously.

To you, he tried to wrap you around his finger until he realized that you aren’t that easy to swoon.

To you, it seemed like he got bored of you and flirted with the next girl, until he got bored of her and flirted with the next. Again and again.

To you he was just a heartthrob, simple as that.

To him, you were an unattainable star he could only wish for.

Therefore, only a friendship blossomed between the two of you.

A while has passed since that night of realization and to be honest, you kept struggling to look at James the same. He shined a bit brighter in your life and that made you mad. There was no way you could ever have something serious with him, you told yourself. Just yesterday you saw him in the park with his arm around a pretty black haired girl.

Though the truth is, her eyes reminded James of yours. And he ghosted her by the end of the day because her laughter sounded off beat and sour compared to yours. He kept asking himself if you laugh at other peoples jokes like you do at his – if you ever gifted that smile, that one special smile he only saw a couple of times, to anyone but him. He hoped you didn’t.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

James, Carlos, Logan and Kendall were at the studio, recording a song like so often. As usual they were having fun, making jokes, pissing off Gustavo until James fell silent.

“Everything alright?” Logan asked after he took note of James' sudden change in behavior.

“My mother will come this evening,” he says rather quietly, shocked at himself for forgetting this.

“That’s good though, isn’t it? As long as she doesn’t want to take you back to Minnesota.” Kendall shrugs.

Of course that’s good. James is glad that he might build a normal mother-son relationship despite the long distance, now that his mother agreed to come visit him more often. However, there is one tiny little issue…

“I told her I have a girlfriend,” James admits.

“But you don’t..?” Carlos raises an eyebrow, “When was the last time you’ve had an actual girlfriend?”

“THATS-” James says loudly before cutting himself off, “Don’t say it like that.”

He takes a deep breath, thinking about how to handle this situation. A while ago his mother called, in true motherly fashion she obviously had to know about her son's love life. He might have been too prideful, and amidst his pride a bit delusional; he didn’t want to admit that for the first time in a while, he was hopelessly in love with someone. So he lied.

Of course he had a girlfriend. She’s lovely and special, not like any of the girls he brought home that his mother never approved of.

The band wasted no time, finishing work in record speed, rushing out of the studio so fast, not even Gustavo's angry shouts reached them. They were going to find a “girlfriend” for James for this evening, no matter what it takes.

They reached the Palmwoods, scanning the lobby like they were on a hunt.

“Any preferences or just anyone? Look at that blonde over there, she’s pretty!” Carlos pointed across the room.

“Oh no she knows me,” James shook his head.

“We need someone we can trust to play along and lie. And she has to lie well, you know James’ mom.” Logan thought out loud.

Just in the right moment, you came out of the elevator, walking across the lobby.

“Her!” Kendall, Logan and Carlos shouted in unison. You stopped in your tracks, hesitantly pointing to yourself with a questioning expression, “Me?”

James stared at you with wide eyes. Of course you’d be the perfect fit. You know him, join his shenanigans regularly, aren’t too bad at lying and surely wouldn’t get your hopes up like others might. Though his heart aches a bit at the thought. He doesn’t admit it to himself, but he still likes you just a bit too much for his liking. Maybe he’d be the one to falsely get his hopes up after acting out a relationship for a whole evening. Going back to friends after his mother leaves might hurt a little too much. Is he ready to take that risk?

“We need you to be James' girlfriend!” Kendall said loudly, rushing over to you along with Carlos and Logan.

“What? Huh?” You’re surprised to say the least. Was that a confession? A joke? The boys explained the situation to you – a bit fast and all over the place, but good enough. By the end of it, James finally walked over to the four of you, his expression being a mix of embarrassment, panic and hope.

“Could you do that? Pleeeease? For us?” Kendall said, joined by Carlos: “We’ll make it up to you, pinky promise!”, as Logan nodded profusely.

“I guess, yeah. We can do that.” You nodded slowly, looking over at James. The tension in his shoulders was gone, he could breathe for a moment.

Together, you went up into the band’s apartment, being greeted by Kendall’s mom. She already started the dinner and immediately you joined her and helped prepare the meal and table. With now 5 more people by Ms. Knights side, it took significantly less time to get everything ready.

“James, can you pass me the plates?” You asked the boy, he looked at you for a moment, appearing like a deer in headlights, before bringing you the stack of plates. You smiled at him, nodding as a thanks and put the plates down around the table.

The both of you haven’t been this close in a while and on top of that, didn’t feel this awkward around each other in a while. About half an hour until James' mother arrives at the Palmwoods, the food was simmering on the stove and the table looked like straight out of a five star restaurant, adorned with flowers and folded napkins.

You joined James on the sofa, letting yourself fall against the soft cushions in hopes of it releasing the tension building up inside of you. In just 28 minutes you’d have to act like the girlfriend of the boy you’ve had a very complicated almost-crush on (that you had yet to admit to yourself).

“You’re stupid, you know that?”, you said with a slight laugh in your voice. James turned to you, slouched back into the sofa with his arms crossed. Up until then, he looked serious and deep in thought. Now he’s raising an eyebrow and fighting a smile.

“For lying to my mom?”

“For lying to your mom,” you said, slowly subconsciously mimicking his pose. You looked at him a bit longer, trying to figure out what he thought at the moment.

“It’s gonna work out, yeah? I’ll try my best. I’ll be so all over you, your mom would think we're about to get married or something,” you tried to joke to lighten the mood, slightly nudging his knee with yours. A long sigh escaped his lips and finally, a smile appeared.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“So you’re the lucky girl?” Ms. Diamond says in an unreadable voice. James just picked her up at the entrance of the Palmwoods, guiding her up into the apartment where everyone else was waiting patiently. She walked through the door, radiating willpower, sternness and a bit of sass.

Now she’s standing in front of you, reaching out her hand for you to shake and looking you up and down, before glancing towards James, raising her eyebrows so quick you almost didn’t see it. You follow her gaze over to her son, widening your eyes a bit, hoping he gets the message that you're ‘struggling over here!!!!’

He quickly comes over, resting his hand on your back. You see his mother noticing the gesture and lean a bit into James' touch, just as the cherry on top.

The both of you guide Ms. Diamond over to the table and you rush to help Ms. Knight with the pots and pans, bringing them over to the table. As everything’s ready and you want to sit down, James quickly gets up from his seat beside you and pulls out the chair for you in true gentleman's fashion. He gestures to you to sit and you do as he says, before he pushes your chair to the table.

Accidentally, as he sits down, his knee touches yours, but he doesn’t pull away. Neither do you. You keep telling yourself it’s just for show.

Everyone starts chatting – especially the two mothers of the table that desperately need to catch up – and filling their plates up. You do as everyone else, though quietly. You’re so unbelievably focused on James (obviously for the sake of the lie) that you’re not sure what to say.

“So,” Ms. Diamond says, her voice effortlessly louder than the others, “How did you two sweethearts meet?”James and you look at each other. Shit. You didn’t plan anything like that.

“Uhm..” You start, stalling a bit to figure out a good story.

“Right here, at the Palmwood,” James says confidently after a moment, “She walked in and I saw her and I said ‘wow!’”

“Actually, he said ‘DIBS!’,” Carlos says with a full mouth, earning a light punch from Katie.

“I got to know the boys and he didn’t move from my side,” you add to James’ retelling.

“It just kind of happened. We became friends and slowly… more,” he looks at you and you have to fight to keep a smile on while hearing his corny words. You nod, looking at your food to not let the mask slip.

James' mother asks you more and more and you feel like you can’t put an end to it. Every now and then James would get a bit closer, say something sweet to you or simply wink. You felt like when you arrived at the Palmwoods. But you let it happen, for the sake of fooling his mother. And maybe you enjoyed it a bit. Just a tiny little bit.

But the thought that all this is just fake and quite literally the result of the fact he doesn’t take relationships seriously, makes you want to push him away again.

Gently just like the way he slowly grabs your hand right now.

Tenderly like the way he lets his thumb glide up and down over the ridges of your knuckles.

You want to push him away, just not too far. So he’ll be gone for now but might come back later.

Maybe you just want to push him to lay your hands on him just once, but there are better ways to do that, aren't there?

So you let it happen, basking in his adoration for once. Enjoying it a bit too much for your liking.

After about an hour of dinner and chit-chat, Ms. Diamond excuses herself and her son to go on a little mother-son-walk through the park. You bid goodbye to her, reciprocating her firm handshake as a good last impression.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You finish washing the dishes before James comes back from the walk. Neverending questions about what his mother thinks of you plague your mind, but you're not sure why. The show is over after all.

Finally back in your own apartment, you pace back and forth, replaying the events of today again and again in your head. It’s already a bit dark out when you almost overhear someone knocking on the door from how filled your mind is. You rush over, not even looking through the peephole before opening the door.

Of course, James is there. Alone and calm, no smile or even flirtatious smirk adorning his face.

“Hi,” you say, curious about what he wants.

“Hey.” He lays his hand on the door, pushing slightly, letting himself in. It’s dark in your apartment, aside from a small warm lamp on a table beside the couch, illuminating the both of you just enough, casting an orange glow on his face like that night at the campfire.

Oh and how you wish that feeling in your stomach – just like that night at the campfire – would leave.

You take a few steps back, standing awkwardly in your living room, letting him come in.

“How did it go? The walk with you mom,” you ask quietly. He nods, collecting his words and looking into the lamp.

“Good. She liked it. She liked you, I think.”

“What did she say?” you ask, now even more curious. She liked you.

“You seem like a sweet person. She’s used to other types of girls from me. She thinks you’d be good for me.” He laughs a bit at the end.

You fidget with your hands, not sure what to say. Usually he’s more cheery and talkative, finding topics for conversations, even if he just wants to talk about himself.

“So… friends, right?”, you say, even more quietly.

A smile forms on his lips, barely visible, “I don’t know. Do you like me? Because I like you.”

“I know you do. You like a lot of people though, so what’s it worth?”

His smile drops.

“If you’re not going to give me a chance, then at least a kiss to get over you?”

He steps closer, you stay put.

“You’re just trying to swoon me,” you say, trying to be stern but hearing that sentence out of your own mouth makes you smile a bit. He comes closer again and you want to step back, but looking at him makes you remember all the times he made your heart flutter. You think of all the times you looked at him and thought to yourself, if he kissed you now, you’d be his. You feel his warmth now, he leans in.

And you let it happen. And you kiss back. Gently. Tenderly. Slow.

One kiss, he said. But not how long it will last.

Eventually, you pull back, looking down.

“Are you over me now?” you ask, not sure what answer you’re hoping for.

“Are you kidding?” he laughs.

“So… this is serious, then?” you ask hesitantly.

He nods.

#fanfiction #Fanfic #big time rush #james diamond #James diamond x reader #BTR #big time rush x reader

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jurijyuu · 4 months ago

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Scratch an Itch Extras: The First Sleepover

Author's Note:

Hello everyone,

In celebration of this fic receiving 100K hits on AO3, I decided to share an extra chapter. This comes right after the events of Chapter 20: Warm by the Fire and is a little peek at the kind of relationship Ynna and Alastor established when they opened up to each other more.

Once again, I am very honored to receive your support for this story. I'd like to make a shoutout to @ritualofcirice and @silva-daemonium for being the first friends I made from this fic. You both have been my dearest darlings these last few months and I am so very thankful to have met you. I don't think I would have ever tried to step into the fandom without you and I would still be just a little writer in her lonely corner of the internet.

@chefskjssart @fraugwinska @macabr3-barbi3, thank you for being there to inspire my art and writing.

I am always in awe of all the wonderful creators I've met just this year through fandom. It's such a beautiful thing to be able to share my love of fanfiction with others.

With Love, Juri

Alastor’s POV

She didn’t take her hand back from him.

As her breathing evened out and her pulse quieted to a steady rhythm, her hand remained held by his own. The marks where he’d bitten her stood out against her skin. He turned those fingers gently, using the light of the fire to reaffirm his work.

A part of him still could not believe that she’d allowed him a nibble. Another part of him reveled in it. Foolish little one, offering penance for a non-offense. And oh how she offered it! Freely and unafraid. He didn’t expect her to agree when he’d jokingly asked for it but how she proved him wrong.

Fire danced in his veins as he replayed the last few moments.

She’d held his gaze, reassuring and unflinching, a spark of curiosity briefly dancing in those entrancing depths at the first prickles of his teeth. He had wanted to continue watching her, to see her reactions. Would she be pained? Disgusted? Would she regret it? Would it be possible that she felt the same desire she’d awakened in him now that she watched him partake of her?

But her stare remained sincere, soft and caring, just like his dream. He closed his eyes, not wanting to break that image. It brought about heightened familiar sensations and he didn’t want her to see the things that screamed in the back of his gaze.

He’d gotten everything from her this evening. Her company, her bite, her laughter and her delight. Now, she even offered her flesh for him to chew on. What else could he ask for? His heart hammered in his chest as the first copper drops hit his tongue. It took everything in him not to make a sound when all the nerves in his body rang with joy and dark delight. They rippled and sang, urging him to take on his demonic form and run wild. To devour and be devoured. He’d eaten countless sinners before yet none of them could compare to the few drops of her life’s essence, freely given.

His mind felt foggy, overtaken with a need to savor the moment and bask in its proximity to his ideal. Proximity, yes. Even though fire and electric delight rushed in his veins, something howled in the back of his mind that it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

He wanted more. So much more. To feel her breath against his skin again, to feel her warmth as she threatened to tear through him. For her to know exactly what she did to him, how she fed this insanity that had bloomed in the wake of her carelessness, and for her to keep doing it. For him. He had half a mind to show her exactly that, to take her under him and let her feel ALL that she did to him. Let her take responsibility for it. But the pulse fluttering from where his fingers lightly held her wrist, tempered his half-delirious state.

Patience. He needed patience. He took as much as he could from the cuts he made, reminding himself of all the mental exercises she’d put him through to hide this frightening desire from her. It was a blessing that she’d given in this much already. He should be thankful and satisfied, for now.

And the reward for keeping up a calm facade?

She didn’t take her hand back from him.

It was as much permission as he needed to stay beside her this evening. Even as his insides buzzed violently in victory, he didn’t need to chant his way into the dream realm this time.

Ynna’s POV

The bright rays of the Pentagram streamed from your window, hitting at just the right angle to irritate your eyes. A minor headache attacked your foggy brain before everything cleared up and you fully awoke. The memory of last night returned to you. Out of curiosity, you turned to the spot next to you, wondering if the Radio Demon had decided to leave some time after you fell asleep.

What greeted you was a black swirling mass, tendrils of smoke and shadow wisps rising at least two feet tall and spreading across your bedroom floor. They swirled over and around you like a dark fog. They felt like nothing and if you hadn’t opened your eyes, you wouldn’t have even known they were there.

Were you still asleep? What kind of unconscious thoughts floated in your head to give you such a strange dream? As you tried to sit up, a slight pull weighed tugged at your arm. One of your hands disappeared into that black mass, tendrils creeping up to your elbow. For a moment, you were mesmerized by the soft curling motions.

You followed the numb line of your arm to see two harshly glowing red dials floating in the darkness. The moment you saw them, static screeched high and the tendrils shot up to your face quickly. You screamed.

“Ahhh fucking shit!!”

Scrambling backwards, you yanked your hand back. Your elbows scraped against the carpet as you tumbled around the pillow mountain you’d been sleeping on. The slight burn was enough for you to think that this might not be a dream after all which meant you were in danger. A velvety pillow with lots of buttons was immediately grabbed to use as a weapon or shield against that monster.

At your scream, the mass shifted, first getting bigger as if to engulf the room before it retreated into the figure of a person, Alastor. The redhead groaned as he came to consciousness, a snarl of a smile on his face as his eyes adjusted to the lighting and he tried to understand what was going on.

“What are you doing?” He hissed, eyes back to normal as they narrowed against the light.

“Me? What about you? Why were you covered in shadows? What was that thing?” You stared at him in disbelief, slowly trying to piece together an explanation for what you saw. Cautiously, you crawled closer to him, unsure of whether this truly was your friend and not a mimic or something. When he looked at you like he was about to suffocate you with the pillow you held, you elaborated on the shadow mass that had been occupying his space just seconds ago.

“Ah. That.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, a look of utter pain and misery evident in the way his eyes glared at nothing in particular. “That’s just how I sleep. The shadows offer protection when I’m unconscious.”

“Oh.” It made sense. Someone like him would have had more defenses given he was so powerful. The shadow mass had been ominous and big enough to devour you into its pitch black nothingness. Anyone who happened upon it would have thought twice about approaching.

Even now, safe in the knowledge that it was just your friend, your heart still pounded, mind on alert for danger. Still, a giggle bubbled up your throat before bursting out. What a relief and what a stupidly creepy thing to turn into in your sleep. Alastor was such a freaky man.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I just learned something new about you today.” Now that the danger was sorted out, you got a chance to see the usually elegant man look pouty and disgruntled. His eyes stayed narrowed and his hair stuck out in places. There were visible wrinkles in his suit and a slump to his posture. It was so different from his polished appearance yet still so very him.

“Well, go learn it a little more quietly. I have a terrible headache.” He scoffed before grabbing your pillow shield, plopping back down on your floor and laying on his side away from you. He shimmied out of his coat and made himself comfortable, grunting and scoffing as he dealt with what must have been a huge hangover, you realized. It was terribly bratty behavior, acting like he owned the spot where he curled up.

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from laughing some more. It was cute of him. And who ever thought you’d associate cute with Alastor of all people? But there he was, about as graceful as a toddler threatening to throw a plushie at you. In your mind, you cooed at him. Poor little radio deer, having to deal with the consequences of alcohol consumption.

“I can hear you laughing.” He snarled, voice rough, and you couldn’t help the grin that broke out on your face.

“I swear I’m over here just breathing.” He turned on his side to face you, still scowling. You were aware that your face betrayed how amusing you thought he looked and he certainly did not like it. Of course, you felt like rubbing it in.

You laid down to rest on your stomach until you were face to face with his scowling too-early-in-the-morning-for-this countenance. Come to think of it, wasn’t this just a reversal of how you both lounged about last night? Alastor on his stomach while you laid there looking at him.

The only difference was that only one of you was having a good time right now.

“How are you so chipper?”

“I get drunk fast which means I don’t drink nearly enough to leave me hungover.” It was a lovely perk of being lightweight. Never overspend on alcohol and you rarely, if ever, had a hangover. You felt pretty cheeky, seeing his ears pull back. It was cute even though it was a sign of annoyance. Still, teasing a cranky Alastor too much sounded like a recipe for disaster.

Standing up with your legs that you just noticed no longer stung, you stretched until all the funny tension left you. Looking down at the unimpressed demon, still squinting in the morning light, you couldn’t help but think that it was nice to have sleepovers like this. If only to be able to see him so petulant and carefree.

“I’m going to make breakfast. Do you want me to bring you some?” With a whispery voice, you offered.

“Urghh. That reminds me. I need to make food.” Sluggishly, he sat up, face twisted in his smiling version of a snarl. He looked ready to murder somebody.

“I doubt anyone else is awake so I think it’ll be fine if you skip cooking today. I can take over too if needed.”

“…you can cook?”

“You thought I couldn’t? I’m a full grown adult, you know? Anyway, did you want food? Or coffee?”

“Caffeine sounds excellent, right now. Allow me to escort you.” His long legs started to curl under him, taking much more effort to stand than it should have. It was sad and funny. You stopped him.

Even as in pain as he was, little pieces of his usual proper exterior were already shifting back into place. His posture slightly straightened and he made an effort to soften his scowl. You felt it a pity that the loose and unrefined him only lasted a few short minutes. You placed a hand on his shoulder, telling him not to get up.

It took only a light press for him to obediently pause and you couldn’t help but capture some of his fringe in your fingertips. You played with the smooth ends before carding your fingers through them, fixing a fly away strand back into place. He didn’t flinch nor fling you off as you did so and it caused a surge of last night’s adoration for him to return to you.

“No. It’s fine. I can go by myself and bring up some for you. Are you going back to your suite? You can feel free to stay here till you feel better too.” He stared at you for a little bit, static crunching loudly like white noise. You imagined a little beeping screech to go with it. It made his irritated blank look even funnier to compare him to a dial up router trying to connect to the Internet.

He must’ve noticed that you were mentally making fun of him because his eye twitched. Playfully, he snapped at your hand which you immediately took out of range of his teeth. You personally knew how sharp they were now and weren’t interested in knowing how it would hurt if the man actually wanted to weaponize them.

But he was acting loose again and he clutched one of your pillows to his chest with a huff. Guess he was staying.

You smiled at that and took it as your cue to leave. As you stepped out the door, you turned back to him who was just squinting crankily at the spot where you had stood. Oh this poor guy. For someone who drank so much, he was really bad with hangovers.

“Feel free to move to the bed if you wanna go back to sleep.” With that, you closed the door and went to go get breakfast.

Alastor’s POV

How aggravating. The light in the room was too bright as Ynna kept her windows open to let pentagram light in for her plants. It stung his eyes and contributed greatly to the blasted headache behind them. And then there was the goat herself, chipper and happy first thing in the morning. And it was morning. The little clock on the wall said it was a little passed 8.

She was too happy while he sat here in misery.

While he knew that he had consumed more alcohol than usual, he hadn’t thought it was to this extent. He must’ve presented quite a sorry appearance since Ynna, for all her efforts to stifle her amusement, was actually not putting in that much effort in doing so. The little brat.

His ears picked up everything, senses hightened just to torture him some more. Her soft breaths as she faced him, the crunch of her hooves against the carpet. He had half a mind to pin her down with his shadows so she would stop moving and he could go back to sleep but then she offered to make coffee. With her sweet eyes watching him, she brushed his hair with her fingers. Some of his irritation melted away with those fleeting touches and he wondered why he’d taken so long to permit her this casual contact. Clearly, they both enjoyed it.

When she asked if he wished to stay, his sensibilities told him it was inappropriate to do so. But he was neither in the mood to care about decorum nor inclined to leave the perfectly comfortable space they inhabited together. The choice seemed obvious.

As she left, his mind finally processed her parting words. He eyed her bed, noting the other blankets and pillows still on it. Since she offered anyway…

He shadowed under the covers, digging his head under the small plush pile of cushions to block out the light. In the comfortable darkness, her scent surrounded him. It massaged that constant pulsing ache behind his eyes and he found himself starting to drift off to sleep again.

She really was too unassuming, too open to sharing her space with her friends. But at least she opened that space to him…and he was all too happy to take advantage as he dug into the knitted blankets and linen sheets, letting his eyes rest.

The next time he opened his eyes, it was half an hour later and Ynna had brought in a tray of food. Toast, scrambled eggs, bacon and strawberries were neatly arranged on two plates. A carafe of coffee and their mugs right next to it. He eyed her mug. They’d bought it during one of their lunches. She had laughed when she saw the design saying ‘I wet my plants’ and instantly bought the thing.

They ate breakfast that morning sat in her bed and true to her word, he stayed and enjoyed the comfort of her room until he was ready to leave hours later.

Coffee that morning had been delicious.

#hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x you #ao3 link #we hit 100K wtf #a little extra for all my loves

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madewithlove-sophie · 20 days ago

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Chapter III | Beneath the Mask | Simon Ghost Riley Fanfiction

Chapter 3: Capture or Kill

Previous | Next | Masterlist

The first light of dawn filtered through the small window of Y/N’s quarters, casting a soft glow across the room. The silence was broken only by the low hum of the base’s electric fan and the distant sounds of soldiers moving through the halls. Y/N’s eyes flickered open, the adrenaline of the upcoming mission already buzzing beneath her skin, despite the stillness of the early morning.

She lay still for a moment, letting the quiet wash over her before swinging her legs off the bed, the coolness of the concrete floor sending a jolt of alertness through her body. The mission was only hours away, and she knew that once the briefing started, the clock would be ticking. She had to be ready—physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Without a word, she moved toward the small bathroom, the familiar routine helping her center herself.

The sound of water running as she splashed her face was soothing, and as she looked at her reflection, she saw a woman who had seen far more than her years should have allowed. Yet, in the mirror, she saw only resolve, no room for doubt. Today, she couldn’t afford to let anything slip—especially not now, not with everything on the line.

After dressing in her tactical gear, she checked her weapons—each one precise, each one ready. The weight of the rifle felt familiar in her hands, comforting almost, despite the tension that seemed to seep into her bones. She couldn’t afford to overthink. The mission had to be executed flawlessly. She could hear Ghost’s words echoing in her head: “Focus on the mission. We get in, we get out. Simple.”

Once ready, Y/N checked the time. It was still early—too early for most of the team—but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep any longer. She grabbed her gear, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and headed out.

The base was still quiet as she made her way to the briefing room, the hallways empty save for the occasional soldier preparing for the day ahead. As she approached the door, she noted the stillness in the air—a sense of calm before the storm. She made to sure to always arrive early. There was something about the stillness of a room before everyone else showed up, the anticipation of what was to come. It gave her a moment to mentally prepare, to ground herself before the chaos of the mission fully kicked in.

When she entered the briefing room, the fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead, casting a sterile light across the walls. The mission board was already up, a detailed map of Al Mazrah sprawled across the surface, red markers showing key locations, objectives, and possible threats. Tactical plans were carefully laid out, and in the center of it all, Y/N stood, absorbing every detail.

She wasn’t just looking at the map, though. She was already mentally running through the strategies, planning each movement in her head. She’d memorized every piece of intel, every possible outcome. Her thoughts raced ahead, predicting enemy movements, thinking through the best possible ways to neutralize threats.

The sound of the door opening pulled her out of her thoughts. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Ghost moved in like a shadow, his boots heavy but silent on the floor. As usual, he didn’t speak right away, instead just studying her for a moment, noting the tension in her posture, the readiness in her stance.

“Surprised to see you this early,” Ghost said, his voice low, carrying its usual calm authority but with a faint undercurrent of amusement.

Y/N didn’t turn, though a fleeting smile ghosted across her lips. “Someone’s gotta make sure we’re squared away.”

Ghost leaned against the wall, his arms crossing casually over his chest. “Overachiever, are we?”

“Just thorough,” she replied, her tone light but tinged with focus.

Ghost grunted, a noncommittal sound, and folded his arms across his chest. He leaned against the wall, still watching her, but his presence was steadying, like a weight anchoring her down when the mission details tried to pull her in every direction at once.

Y/N’s gaze remained locked on the mission board, but her thoughts were anything but focused. The reality of the mission weighed heavily on her shoulders, and despite the grounding presence of the man behind her, a knot of nerves began to form in her chest. This is it, she thought, the magnitude of the operation settling in like a cold, heavy weight. The intel, the lives at stake—it all hinged on their success.

Soap’s voice broke through her internal monologue. “Oi, you good there, Falcon?” His teasing tone had a more genuine edge now, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her still form as he enters the room. “You’re lookin’ a little too focused.”

Falcon, huh? she thought to herself, the call sign still feeling more like a joke than a badge of honor. It hadn’t taken long for the other recruits to slap it on her, a not-so-subtle jab at her connection to her father’s infamous call sign. They’d smirk and say it like it was some great honor, but she could hear the undertones—the mocking edge, the way it hinted she’d only gotten this far because of her name. Falcon was meant to remind her that no matter how hard she worked, she’d always be flying in someone else’s shadow.

Y/N shifted, the tension in her shoulders evident, but she didn’t look at him. Instead, she spoke without missing a beat. “Just going over the plan. We need to get Hassan.”

Ghost, who had been silently observing the exchange, pushed off the wall and approached her. His presence was steady, a calm contrast to the buzz of uncertainty that was beginning to take root in Y/N’s mind. He knew what she was feeling—he could see it in the subtle way her hands flexed, the way her jaw tightened as if she were holding something back.

“Hey,” Ghost said, his voice low but steady, a reminder of the grounding force he always seemed to be.

She still didn’t meet his gaze, her mind too far ahead of the present moment. But he didn’t press. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence close enough that she could feel his steadying influence without even having to look at him.

A pause, before-

“How much do you trust yourself right now?” Ghost’s voice was low, purposeful, cutting through the quiet like a challenge.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”

A heavy silence followed. Ghost didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze bore into her, unreadable behind the mask but heavy with scrutiny.

Y/N shifted on her feet, suddenly hyper-aware of his presence.

Finally, Ghost spoke, his tone blunt but without malice. “We don’t get the luxury of ‘what if.’ That’s not how this works.” As if he knew the raging thoughts in Y/N’s mind.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and she glanced at the map again, her mind racing. She wanted to push back, to explain the pressure that knotted her stomach, but Ghost wasn’t the type to entertain doubts.

He stepped closer, just enough for his presence to loom. “You’re thinking too much,” he said flatly. “This isn’t about fixing everything in one mission. It’s about doing your job, staying sharp, and trusting the team.”

Her jaw tightened. “I trust the team. I just—”

“Then trust yourself,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through her protest like a blade. “You’ve got the skills. Use them. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

Y/N clenched her fists tighter, forcing herself to meet his gaze. She didn’t need to see his face to know his expression hadn’t softened. “I just don’t want to be the one who screws this up.”

Ghost tilted his head slightly, his tone still distant but laced with finality. “If this goes south, it won’t be on one person. It’ll be because we all missed something. That’s why it’s a team.”

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, but she didn’t respond right away. Ghost, true to form, didn’t wait for thanks or acknowledgment. He turned, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder as he passed. It wasn’t a comforting gesture—it was grounding, a quiet reminder to pull herself together.

“Focus, Falcon. We’ve got a job to do,” he said, his tone softening just enough to pull her back from the spiral in her mind. “The rest will fall into place.”

Y/N stared at the map a moment longer, his words circling in her head. By the time she turned to follow him, the tightness in her chest had dulled, replaced by a sharper resolve. Ghost didn’t offer reassurances for the sake of it, and that made his words stick.

Soap was still watching them, clearly having caught the shift in the air. “Alright, you two, enough of the sweet talk,” he said with a grin. “We’ve got a manhunt to start. Let’sb save the romance for later.”

Y/N chuckled, the sound light and genuine, before straightening and turning back to the mission board. The plan hadn’t changed. They were still going after Hassan, but now, there was a new layer of confidence in her movements. She knew what she had to do—and more importantly, she knew the team had her back.

“Let’s get it done,” Y/N said, her voice steady once again.

Soap slapped her on the back with a grin. “That’s the spirit.”

Ghost gave a small nod, as the rest of the team enter the briefing room.

The landscape of Al Mazrah had shifted from tense stillness to chaotic urgency. Dust swirled in the air, kicked up by the sounds of distant gunfire, and the constant hum of helicopters was almost deafening. As the team moved through the rugged terrain, the harsh, arid environment contrasted sharply with the pressure mounting on their shoulders. The sun had long set, and the only light came from the soft glow of their night vision goggles, which painted the world in varying shades of green.

The air felt thick, as if it held the weight of every decision, every order. Y/N’s senses were on high alert as she scanned the horizon, trying to anticipate the next move. Ghost’s voice was calm over the comms, but there was no mistaking the urgency in his tone. They had no time to waste.

"Airstrikes are hitting enemy positions, and intel confirms a concentration of AQ fighters in the valley," Laswell's voice crackled over the comms, sharp and efficient, cutting through the tension like a knife.

"They’re guarding three structures. Hassan may be holed up inside. You’ll be leading a Marine Special Operations unit to kill or capture him. All shooters have execute authority, but we want Hassan alive for interrogation. Be advised—Hassan is AQ’s lifeline. If he’s there, they will die for him. Good hunting." Laswell’s briefing echoed through Y/N’s mind over and over.

This was a critical mission. They had to bring Hassan in alive—or they would have to kill him to prevent a catastrophic threat from being unleashed.

Ghost's voice sliced through the air again, directing the team’s movements. "Bravo team offloads here. Alpha team stays onboard to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill."

The roar of the helicopter blades was deafening, vibrating through Y/N’s bones as the aircraft descended into the valley. Her gaze was fixed forward, her grip tight on her weapon, her breath shallow.

As Soap fist-bumped one of the Marines beside him, Y/N stood rigid, the anticipation of what was to come settling in like a weight. The thrill of combat coursed through her veins, but she also felt the burden of responsibility. This wasn’t just about taking down terrorists. This was about stopping something much larger—something that could have global repercussions.

The chopper touched down a kilometer from the target structures, kicking up dust and debris. The world outside was dark, shrouded in a blanket of night, but their night vision cut through the darkness.

Ghost’s voice came through the comms, steady as always. “Keep up, Falcon.”

Her name was a steady reminder to stay focused, and Y/N nodded, pushing herself forward. There was no time for doubt. They had a job to do. The team moved as one, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth, and their weapons at the ready as they advanced through the valley. The ground was uneven, and the scent of dry desert air filled her lungs, sharp and bitter.

They approached the first structure cautiously, the night stretching out in every direction. The air was thick with tension, each of them scanning for movement, for any sign of enemy presence. The only sound was the subtle crunch of gravel beneath their boots and the occasional crackle of the comms.

Then, without warning, the silence was shattered.

“Razor 1 is bracketed, we’re getting lit,” the chopper pilot’s voice cut through the comms, frantic. Gunfire erupted from the distance, sharp and aggressive, punctuated by the screaming whistle of a missile cutting through the air.

Y/N’s body went rigid as she recognized the sound of an incoming missile—a weapon designed to tear through the sky with terrifying precision. The missile whistled by, narrowly missing the chopper, its tail of smoke a clear sign of just how close the strike had been. All seemed well until-

“Second Missile!”

"Razor 1 going down! We’re going down!" The pilot’s voice was ragged now, the fear evident. The sound of the chopper crashing was deafening, an explosion that rattled the ground beneath their feet, sending plumes of smoke and dust billowing into the air.

“Hold up,” Ghost barked, raising his fist. The team froze in their tracks. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as they watched the wreckage of Razor 1 spiral to the ground, the violent explosion a cruel reminder of how quickly things could go wrong.

The air grew thick with smoke, and shots rang out from the structure ahead. Ghost’s voice snapped through the comms again. “Alpha, what’s your status?”

The response was immediate, but it was far from reassuring. “Alpha’s immobile. Multiple critical!” came the reply. “We’re taking effective fire!”

Y/N’s gaze shifted from the downed chopper to Ghost, a sense of urgency building in her chest. “Ghost, we need to secure that crash site now!” she urged, her voice tight with frustration.

Ghost’s expression didn’t change, though his voice softened. “We clear for Hassan first. That takes the heat off Alpha. Then we secure the crash site. Clear?”

Y/N hesitated, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. There was no time to waste. But Hassan could be the key, she thought. Still, she nodded, her voice steady as she replied, “Clear, Lieutenant.”

The team advanced with precision, their movements calculated, but the weight of the situation felt like a crushing pressure against her chest.

As they neared the structure, the sound of gunfire intensified, and the faint glow of explosions flickered on the horizon. They stormed the building, weapons raised, ready to clear whatever was inside.

Y/N’s heart raced as she sprinted up the stairs, scanning each corner. The building was eerily silent except for the muffled sound of her own breathing and the rush of adrenaline that was pushing her forward. “Second deck clear! Negative on Hassan,” she reported into the comms, her voice tight.

Ghost's voice came through again, cold and commanding. “Move to building two.” The tension in the air was palpable, each of them aware that Hassan could be holed up somewhere in the complex, waiting to be found—or waiting to be eliminated.

The rest of the night unfolded in a blur of chaos. Gunfire, explosions, close calls. The realization that they were not just fighting AQ fighters, but an entrenched, organized enemy that was willing to die for Hassan, only made the mission more perilous.

The battlefield was chaos, but Y/N’s mind was clear as Alpha 0-2’s frantic voice crackled through her comms.

“Alpha, crash site is taking RPGs from building two, second deck!”

“Falcon, clear the second floor while we clear the first deck!” Ghost barked, his voice calm despite the urgency.

“Roger that, sir!” Y/N replied, adjusting her grip on her rifle. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she sprinted across the debris-littered field, Soap flanking her. They moved in tandem, practiced and precise.

The second floor loomed ahead, its windows dark and foreboding. Y/N scanned for movement, her pulse quickening as she and Soap breached the stairwell. They moved quietly, boots crunching against broken glass as they advanced.

“Keep moving!” Soap urged, his voice pulling her back to the task at hand.

They cleared the floor quickly, their movements synchronized like clockwork. As they pushed down the next corridor, rapid gunfire erupted ahead.

The sharp cry from Bravo 7-2 over the comms pierced through the chaos. “I’m hit!”

Y/N’s heart jumped, but her training took over. In one swift motion, she grabbed a flash bang from her vest, pulled the pin, and tossed it into the room ahead. The deafening explosion of light and sound disoriented the enemies inside, giving her the opening she needed.

She moved in fast, her weapon sweeping left and right. Each shot was precise, neutralizing targets with cold efficiency. Her gaze locked on the RPG-wielding soldier at the far end of the room. Without hesitation, she squeezed the trigger. The soldier fell, the RPG clattering uselessly to the ground.

“Enemy rocket’s down,” she reported, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“Good work,” Ghost’s voice came over the comms. “Clear the deck”

Instead of moving on, Y/N turned toward Bravo 7-2, who was slumped against a wall, clutching his side. Blood seeped between his fingers, staining the fabric of his uniform.

“Hold tight,” Y/N said, rushing to his side. She dropped to one knee, her medical training kicking in. “You good?”

He grimaced, shaking his head. “Took one to the side. Can’t tell how bad it is.”

Y/N’s hands moved with practiced precision as she assessed the wound. She peeled back the blood-soaked fabric to inspect the injury. The bullet had gone clean through, missing any vital organs. Relief flickered through her, but there was no time to waste.

“You’re lucky,” she said, her tone brisk but reassuring. “It’s a through-and-through. Painful, but you’ll live.”

From her med kit, she pulled out gauze and a hemostatic bandage. Working quickly, she applied pressure to stem the bleeding, then secured the bandage tightly around his torso.

“Hold that in place,” she instructed, guiding his hand to the makeshift dressing. “You’ll need proper treatment when we’re out, but this’ll keep you stable for now.”

Bravo 7-2 grunted, his face pale but determined. “Thanks, Falcon. You’re a lifesaver.”

Y/N gave him a tight nod, her focus already shifting back to the mission. She stood, scanning the room once more to ensure all threats were neutralized before switching back to comms.

“Bravo 7-2 is stable for now. Injured but good to move,” she reported.

“Copy,” Ghost replied. “Bravo 7-3, get him out of there. Falcon regroup on me.”

Y/N helped Bravo 7-2 to his feet, slinging his arm over her shoulder for support. As they moved toward the rendezvous point, her mind stayed sharp, scanning their surroundings for any lingering threats.

Behind the calm exterior, a small sense of pride bubbled. Her expertise had made the difference here, saving a teammate’s life. But there was no time to dwell—there was still a mission to complete.

They regrouped outside, the team on edge. Ghost assessed the situation quickly, nodding toward the crash site.

“Soap and I will move to the site. Falcon, hold here and cover us,” he instructed.

“Roger that.” Y/N took up a defensive position, her eyes scanning the horizon. Her grip on her rifle tightened as the rumble of approaching engines filled the air.

“Ghost, you’ve got four armored vehicles coming your way!” she warned, her heart pounding.

Before the rows of armored vehicles begin to fire, “Kilo 0-1 is inbound hot. Danger close,” came the pilot’s response over comms.

“Copy,” Ghost said. “Falcon, clear your position and meet us at the third building.”

“Roger!” Y/N responded, her voice steady, though her pulse quickened. She moved swiftly, darting across the open terrain, every step calculated to avoid enemy sightlines. The air crackled with the distant roar of missiles and the sharp staccato of gunfire.

Sliding behind a large boulder near the rendezvous point, Y/N crouched low, her rifle at the ready. The tension was palpable as she adjusted her goggles and scanned the perimeter. Through the green haze of her optics, she spotted four hostiles guarding the front entrance of the building.

Too exposed, she thought, her fingers tightening on her weapon as she shifted slightly to stay out of sight. Her scan moved upward, toward the rooftop—

A crunch of dried grass behind her.

The sound hit her like a gunshot, adrenaline flooding her veins. She whirled around, rifle raised, her finger pressing against the trigger—

“Check fire!” Ghost’s bark shattered the moment, his voice sharp and unyielding.

Her breathing was ragged as her eyes locked onto him, his imposing figure partially shrouded in shadow. He didn’t flinch, his gaze fixed on her.

“You’re twitchy, Falcon,” he remarked, his tone as calm as it was cutting. “Keep your focus, or next time it won’t be me stepping on a twig.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her grip loosening slightly on the rifle. “Noted,” she muttered, forcing herself to steady her breathing.

“Good. Now stay sharp,” Ghost said curtly before stepping past her, his presence a reminder of the razor-thin margin between control and chaos.

Soap clapped his shoulder as he caught up. “Come on, let’s get this bastard!”

The team pressed forward, ready to breach the third building with military precision.

But before they could reach the stone fence, the crack of a sniper's rifle cut through the air, and Bravo 7-6 crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain.

"Sniper on the roof! Get down!" Ghost’s sharp order rang out as the team scrambled for cover.

Y/N darted behind a stack of crates, her breathing steady despite the rush of adrenaline. She peeked out, scanning the rooftop through her gun’s scope.

The glint of the sniper’s scope gave him away, and she didn’t hesitate. One precise shot, and the enemy dropped.

"Sniper down," she reported, her voice calm but firm.

"Good shot," Ghost replied, already strategizing. "Soap, keep us covered; we’re moving up. Falcon, check on the wounded. Let’s regroup after.”

Y/N nodded, holstering her weapon as she sprinted to Bravo 7-6’s side. He was sprawled on the ground, clutching his chest. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and ominous, soaking into the dirt. Her heart sank, but she forced herself to stay focused.

“Can you hear me?” she asked, dropping to her knees beside him.

He groaned weakly, his breaths shallow and labored. Y/N’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, pulling her med kit from her vest. She tore open his shirt to expose the wound—a clean entry point, but the exit wound on his back was ragged and bleeding heavily.

“Fuck-,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing gauze and applying firm pressure to stem the bleeding. “Hold on, you’re going to be fine.”

The man’s eyes fluttered, his grip on her arm weak. “Am I…?”

“Don’t talk,” Y/N interrupted, her voice steady but urgent. “Save your strength.”

She worked quickly, applying a hemostatic agent to slow the blood loss and securing a pressure bandage over the wound. But the more she worked, the clearer it became. The amount of blood he was losing—it was too much.

Y/N glanced at his vitals, her jaw tightening. His breathing was becoming erratic, his pulse faint.

“Come on, stay with me,” she urged, her voice soft but firm.

Bravo 7-6’s eyes met hers, filled with pain and something else—resignation. “Tell…my family…” His words were a whisper, fading fast.

“No,” Y/N cut in, her hands pressing harder against the bandage. “You’ll tell them yourself. Stay with me.”

Suddenly-

His body went still, the faint rise and fall of his chest ceasing. Y/N froze, staring at him as the reality settled over her like a crushing weight.

She bowed her head for a moment, her blood-streaked hands trembling before she forced herself to move. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed her comms. “Bravo 7-6 is KIA,” she reported, her voice tight but steady.

A heavy silence followed on the line before Ghost responded. “Understood. Regroup when ready.”

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, her jaw clenched as she fought back the sting of failure. She reached out, gently closing Bravo 7-6’s eyes before standing and grabbing her rifle.

War didn’t allow for mourning, not now. She pushed the emotions down, compartmentalizing as she always did.

As Y/N reached the group, the team pushed through the building, clearing each floor with careful precision. The first deck yielded no sign of Hassan.

“Move to second deck,” Ghost directed, his voice steady but laced with urgency.

As they ascended, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the room next door. Y/N’s heart pounded as she instinctively raised her rifle, her eyes locking onto the figure that appeared at the top of the stairs—an AQ soldier.

In a flash, his weapon swung toward her, the muzzle glinting in the dim light. Y/N froze for a fraction of a second, her breath catching as she prepared to pull the trigger—

Bang. Bang.

Ghost’s pistol barked twice, the sharp reports ringing in her ears. The AQ soldier crumpled to the ground, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him.

Y/N exhaled sharply, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she glanced back at Ghost. “Thanks, LT,” she muttered, her voice tight.

Ghost’s gaze was steady, his tone colder than the air around them. “Pay attention, Falcon. Hesitation gets you killed.”

Her jaw tightened, the sting of his words hitting harder than she expected. “Won’t happen again,” she replied, her focus snapping back to the mission as they moved forward.

They pressed on, moving deeper into the building, each corner turned with meticulous caution. The air grew heavier as the minutes stretched on, the silence between them thick with unspoken tension. It wasn’t until Y/N’s eyes caught something—a discarded uniform—Hassan’s.

“Look Hassan’s uniform,” Soap says as he throws the garment towards Y/N.

“He was here,” Y/N said quietly, her fingers gripping the garment tight, her chest tight with frustration.

Ghost’s jaw tightened at the sight, his gaze flicking over the fabric before he spoke, his voice sharp. “We lost him at the crash site.”

The frustration that had been simmering inside Y/N finally boiled over. “Are you saying we shouldn’t have helped?” she shot back, her words sharp, her pulse quickening as anger mixed with doubt.

Ghost’s gaze snapped to hers, his expression hardening like stone. “Choices have consequences,” he said, his voice low but commanding, a warning that cut through the air between them.

The tension was cut short by Bravo 7-2’s urgent call. “All Bravo, we’ve got movement out here!”

The team quickly regrouped, weapons raised, and made their way to the warehouse. The large metal doors groaned as Soap pushed them open, revealing pitch-black darkness inside.

“Stay sharp,” Ghost ordered, his voice low but commanding.

They stepped in cautiously, their boots crunching against debris-strewn floors. The faint smell of oil and metal hung in the air. Y/N’s grip on her rifle tightened, her eyes scanning every shadow.

Suddenly, a series of bright lights blazed to life, blinding the team.

“Contact!” Ghost shouted as the warehouse erupted into chaos.

Gunfire burst from every direction as AQ soldiers emerged from hidden positions. Bullets ricocheted off metal walls, the deafening sound of the ambush overwhelming. Y/N dropped to one knee, her vision still adjusting, and returned fire, taking down two attackers with quick, precise shots.

“Cover! Find cover!” Soap yelled, diving behind a stack of crates and opening fire.

Y/N scrambled behind a steel column, her heart pounding. The AQ soldiers were relentless, pushing the team hard. Ghost’s voice cut through the comms, calm but firm.

“Soap, flank left! Falcon, with me—clear the center!”

“On it!” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite the chaos.

She moved in sync with Ghost, the two of them working as a seamless unit. Ghost provided suppressing fire as Y/N advanced, picking off enemies with deadly accuracy. The soldiers were well-trained, but their ambush had flaws. Y/N exploited their lack of coordination, taking out one after another with calculated shots.

An enemy darted toward her from the shadows, a knife glinting in his hand. Y/N reacted instinctively, sidestepping and slamming the butt of her rifle into his face. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Across the room, Soap let out a triumphant shout. “Got ‘em on the run!”

The tide began to turn as the team pressed forward, clearing one section of the warehouse after another. The last of the AQ soldiers fell, and the room fell eerily silent, save for the team’s heavy breathing.

“Clear!” Soap called, his voice echoing in the vast space.

“Clear,” Y/N confirmed, scanning the room one final time.

Ghost’s voice was firm as he assessed the aftermath. “Good work. Let’s secure the area.”

As the team converged, the tension gave way to another discovery. In the far corner of the warehouse sat a series of large metal crate.

Her voice was low but sharp. “This… this doesn’t feel right.”

Ghost moved closer, his tone grim. “No, it’s not.”

Soap swore under his breath. “What the hell are they protecting here if Hassan’s gone?”

Y/N’s stomach churned as the reality of their discovery set in. “We’re about to find out.”

As the team moved circled the warehouse, finding any clues a discovery made the blood drain from Y/N’s face. The three entered the large blue metal crate only to be met with… missile controls, bearing English writing.

“What the hell” Soap says as he looks around.

“It’s all in English…,” Ghost muttered darkly.

“Ballistic Missiles” Ghost says as examines the room. “It’s a mobile launcher” Soap responds

“These’ll go a thousand miles,” Y/N whispered, her stomach twisting.

“At least,” Ghost confirmed grimly.

Soap cursed under his breath. “How the hell did Iran get their hands on this?” He says, as the two men exit the crate.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the missile controls, her mind racing. The discovery sent a cold chill through her veins. The implications were catastrophic. Hassan wasn’t just hiding here. He was orchestrating something much bigger, she thought, her gaze shifting from the missile controls to the other members of the team. They had stumbled upon something far beyond a simple terror cell.

Ghost’s voice came through her earpiece, low and deliberate, as if he could sense the same growing dread creeping through the team. “Bravo 7-6, get us through to Laswell. Now.”

“Roger. Stand by,” came Bravo 7-6’s reply, his voice calm but tense.

“This is Watcher-1, send traffic,” Laswell’s voice crackled through the comms, clear and sharp.

“Laswell, this is Ghost. We got something.” Ghost followed Soap as they circled the metal crate, both of them eyeing the missile perched above it. Soap climbed the plastic weapons crate for a better view, his eyes scanning for anything unusual.

“Ghost, tell me you found Hassan,” Laswell added, the urgency in her voice unmistakable.

“Ghost, take a look at this,” Soap’s voice was grim as he stepped aside, revealing an American symbol etched onto the missile. The sight made the air in the room grow thick with tension.

“Ghost, do you have Hassan?” Laswell’s voice came through again, a little more insistent this time.

Ghost looked up, his expression turning grim as he absorbed the gravity of the discovery. He responded with barely a pause. “Negative. We found a weapons cache. Hassan’s got missiles… they’re American.”

The comms crackled before General Shepherd’s voice cut through, cutting the tension like a knife. “Zero-Seven, this is Gold Eagle Actual. Repeat your last.”

Ghost stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning the crate once more before answering with unwavering clarity. “I’ll say again… Hassan’s got American missiles.” His voice was steady, but the weight of his words hung in the air, each syllable carrying the gravity of the situation.

She was still processing the situation at hand when General Shepherd’s voice cut through the comms, sharp and authoritative. “Gold Eagle Actual to Ghost—move your team and call for fire. I want those weapons destroyed.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the order. Destroy it? Everything they’d uncovered—American-made missiles in enemy hands, a lead that could unravel Hassan’s network—was about to go up in flames. The frustration boiled over, and before she could stop herself, she turned to Ghost, grabbing his arm.

“But sir,” she said urgently, her voice firm despite the chaos in her mind. “This is valuable intel. We’ve got proof right here! If we destroy this, we lose our chance to figure out where Hassan is. We lose answers!”

Ghost stopped mid-step, his gaze dropping to her hand gripping his arm before shifting to her face. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was sharp. “And if we leave it, they’ll use it. This isn’t leverage if it costs lives.”

Y/N’s grip tightened, her desperation spilling into her voice. “This could lead us to Hassan, Ghost. Isn’t that the bigger picture? We’ve been chasing ghosts—no pun intended—for weeks. This is our chance to get ahead of him!”

For a moment, his gaze softened, just enough to show he understood her frustration. But it vanished as quickly as it came. “The bigger picture,” he said evenly, “is making sure those missiles never see the light of day. We’ve got our orders, and orders don’t leave room for debate.”

She stared at him, heart pounding, unwilling to let go. Ghost’s tone shifted, quieter but no less firm. “Y/N, I get it. But this isn’t about what we want—it’s about what needs to be done.”

Y/N released his arm, her frustration tangible in the way her jaw clenched. “Understood,” she muttered, her voice tinged with bitterness.

“Good,” Ghost said curtly, turning back toward the cache. “Now, let’s finish this.”

“Roger that,” Ghost answers General Shepherd as he starts ordering the men to destroy the weapons cache.

The finality in his words hit her like a punch to the gut. Y/N couldn’t argue with that. The mission had gone sideways in too many ways, and now they were being forced to destroy the very thing that could unravel everything.

The team began to set up the explosives, moving with practiced efficiency, but Y/N remained still, her mind running in circles. Her eyes were fixed on the crate, still open in front of her, the missiles and their controls lying in front of her as though mocking her inability to do anything about it.

As the team prepared for the final stages of the mission, Ghost moved closer to her. His steps were quiet, but his presence felt heavier with each passing second.

She didn’t look at him as he stopped next to her, her gaze fixed on the intel right in front of her. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but when he did, his voice was low, almost a whisper. “Snoop around with whatever you can find inside the crate while the others are distracted. Collect all the intel you can. This mission might be a bust, but that information could be a game-changer.”

Y/N glanced up at him, her frustration barely contained. His hand came down on her shoulder, a reassuring squeeze that felt almost out of place given the gravity of the situation. She met his eyes, but the tension between them was thick, unspoken, and heavy.

“Keep it discreet,” He says before walking over to help Soap move a large crate.

With a fueled determination, Y/N turned back to the crate. She wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip. Not when the stakes were this high.

She methodically began collecting every piece of information she could find—encrypted files, military documents, a set of coordinates that made her heart race. The intel was even more crucial than she had first realized. It was the key to understanding what Hassan had been up to and what the AQ forces were planning.

Y/N didn’t waste time.

She stuffed everything into her pockets, her movements quick and precise, her focus razor-sharp despite the chaos unfolding around her. With every document she gathered, the gravity of the situation pressed harder against her chest. This intel wasn’t just valuable—it was vital.

As she finished collecting the last of it, she stood up, the weight of the vest and pockets now resting heavily on her back. She glanced around, hearing the faint crackle of comms and the sound of distant explosions.

Ghost was from afar, watching her closely, his face unreadable as always. She met his gaze for a moment, her breath steadying. She could feel the tension in the air, but there was something else, something unspoken. She could feel it between them, this heavy weight, this understanding that neither of them had wanted to address.

The moment passed quickly, and Ghost stepped forward, inspecting her eyes. His voice was a low murmur. “Good work, Falcon.”

She nodded in response, but her mind was still reeling. She looked at the intel in her hands, her mind running through the possibilities. This could change everything—if they could get it back to Laswell, if they could make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands. The consequences were too big to ignore.

“We need to get this back to Laswell,” Ghost said, his tone softer now, though still carrying that same weight of authority. “Stay sharp.”

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She knew how important this moment was, how important the mission still was, despite the setbacks. She tucked the documents safely into her gear, ready to move out with the team.

The mission wasn’t over. It might have been a failure in some respects, but they still had a chance to turn it around. They had the intel. Now, all they had to do was make sure it got to the right hands before it was too late.

As they left the site, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission was only the beginning. The real questions were just starting to surface, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face them. But with Ghost and the team at her back, she knew she had no choice but to push forward. The stakes had never been higher.

The shooting range was dimly lit, the scent of gunpowder thick in the air. Y/N stood at the far end, her focus razor-sharp as she emptied her magazine into the target. Each shot was a desperate attempt to channel her frustration, but the tension in her chest refused to dissipate.

The mission had been a failure. Hassan had slipped through their fingers, and now the fallout loomed large. The discovery of American missiles in enemy hands made it worse—a complication that left her questioning every decision made that day.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reloaded, the memory of the mission replaying on an endless loop in her mind.

She didn’t hear him at first-

“Your form’s off,” Ghost’s voice cut through the quiet, low and calm but carrying that edge that made her hackles rise.

Y/N turned sharply, glaring at him. “I don’t need your critiques right now, Ghost.”

He stepped closer, his movements deliberate. “I’m not critiquing. I’m pointing out the obvious—you’re not focused. Which is quiet dangerous for someone holding a gun”

Her grip on the pistol tightened, knuckles whitening. “I am focused. Maybe I just can’t let today’s mess slide like you can.”

Ghost’s gaze sharpened. He didn’t back off, his tall frame and quiet intensity filling the space between them. “You think this was easy for me?”

Y/N’s voice cracked under the weight of her anger. “We lost Hassan! We had one job—to get him—and now we’re dealing with a goddamn nightmare. This is on me. I should’ve pushed harder, fought for better options—”

Ghost stepped closer, cutting her off. “Stop.” His voice was low, commanding, but with an edge of something softer. “It wasn’t your call. It was mine.”

She shook her head, her frustration boiling over. “Doesn’t matter. I should’ve seen it coming, done something—”

“Enough,” Ghost said, his tone firm as he stepped into her space. “You’re blaming yourself for something that was out of your hands.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but Ghost’s hands were suddenly on her arms, grounding her. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was steady enough to make her pause. His eyes locked onto hers, his voice quieter now, deliberate.

“Listen to me, Y/N. We make the best call we can with the intel we’ve got. That’s all we can do. Blaming yourself won’t bring Hassan back, and it sure as hell won’t help us move forward.”

Her breath hitched. His touch, his closeness—it was too much and not enough all at once. She didn’t pull away, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze fully either. Her pulse thundered in her ears, the anger inside her colliding with an overwhelming vulnerability she didn’t want to face.

“I—” Her voice faltered, her words caught somewhere between defiance and defeat.

“Breathe,” Ghost said softly. His voice was almost a whisper now, but it carried the weight of a command.

“We’ll get another chance. But right now, you need to let this go.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was heavy, charged with unspoken emotions that neither seemed willing to address.

Finally, Ghost released her, stepping back with deliberate slowness. The space between them felt like a chasm, though the tension still clung to the air, thick and unresolved, suffocating in its silence.

Y/N fought to steady her breath, her pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with the shooting. The intensity of the moment pressed in on her from all sides. She could still feel the heat of his hands, the weight of his presence like a heavy coat wrapped around her shoulders.

“Take a break,” Ghost said, his voice steady but carrying an undertone that made her pause, making her heart stutter. “Clear your head. You’ll need it for what’s coming next.”

“Thanks for the advice, Lieutenant,” Y/N grunted, her words cutting through the tension, though her voice was tighter than she intended. She turned away, desperate to put some distance between them, but it didn’t help. Her heart was beating louder now, faster than usual, and her fingers trembled as she picked up the gun she'd left behind.

She raised it to the target, trying to center her focus, but the tension in her chest wouldn’t fade. Every shot felt like a misplaced action, the weight of her failure pressing down harder with each pull of the trigger.

But Ghost didn’t move away.

She felt his gaze on her—sharp, calculating, like he was dissecting every inch of her stance, analyzing every shift in her body. She could almost feel the weight of his eyes boring into her back.

“You’re overcompensating,” he said suddenly, his voice low and cutting through the air like a blade. The weight of his scrutiny settled on her like a thick fog.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her body instinctively stiffening as she glanced over her shoulder, startled.

The words, the presence—they hit her like a gut punch. “Excuse me?”

Ghost didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved closer once more, each step measured, deliberate, his presence like a shadow that closed in, making her breath hitch. His proximity was suffocating.

Her fingers twitched around the rifle, but she refused to let her guard drop. She was too aware of him now, the tension between them palpable, suffocating.

His voice cut through the silence again, this time lower, almost too close. “You’re too tense. Your grip’s too tight. You’re not focused.”

Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure if it was from the frustration or the growing awareness of how close he was. She didn’t need this right now—not this, not him, not the heat of his presence lingering in the space around her.

“I’m focused,” she shot back, her voice coming out harsher than she intended. She turned fully to face him, her stance defensive, as if bracing for something more.

Ghost’s gaze never wavered. He stepped even closer, until the space between them was almost nonexistent, his eyes never leaving hers, scrutinizing, analyzing. The air was thick, almost too thick to breathe.

“You think you can just muscle through this?” His voice dropped even lower, the gravel in it sending a shiver down her spine. “It doesn’t work like that.”

Her pulse was pounding in her ears now, every word, every movement magnified. His proximity made her feel exposed—vulnerable—and the tension between them was undeniable. His voice, his touch—everything about this was too much.

Y/N’s chest tightened, her grip on the rifle faltering for the briefest moment. Her breath caught, a flicker of hesitation crossing her mind before she steadied herself again. “I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice strained.

Ghost remained silent, but his gaze never left her. He reached forward, his gloved hand brushing against her arm once more, the contact sending an involuntary jolt through her.

"You're not fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper now, but it was enough to unsettle her. "And you’re not listening.”

Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. Every part of her screamed to break the silence, to pull away, but something about the way he stood there, so close, so unwavering, kept her rooted in place.

"Relax," Ghost murmured, his voice soft but commanding, and she felt the pressure on her shoulder again, grounding her in the moment. "This isn’t a fight you win by forcing it."

His touch lingered too long, enough to make her heart race even faster. And for a brief, unbearable second, she was caught in the pull between wanting to step back and being drawn closer to him.

He released her finally, but the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. It hung between them, thick and unresolved.

Y/N exhaled sharply, trying to regain some composure, but she was still reeling from the exchange. She shifted uncomfortably, keeping her eyes away from him. “You always this hands-on with everyone?” she asked, her voice forced, trying to mask the discomfort she felt.

Ghost didn’t answer right away. His gaze was unreadable, his posture still tense. His lips barely twitched beneath the mask—half smirk, half something deeper, something harder to decipher.

“Only when they need it,” he finally said, his tone unreadable.

Before he left, he patted her back once more, his hand firm, deliberate. It lingered there for a moment too long, enough to make her skin prickle, enough to leave a lingering sense of unease.

“Keep practicing, Falcon,” he said, his voice steady, but the words left a strange weight hanging in the air. “You’ll get there.”

And with that, he turned, his footsteps fading, but the energy he left behind refused to dissipate.

Y/N’s grip on the rifle tightened again, her heart still thudding in her chest. She stood there for a long moment, feeling the weight of his absence just as much as his presence. Whatever had passed between them—it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

As the door closed behind him, she stood there, gripping the edge of the shooting stall for support. Whatever had just passed between them—it was far from over.

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ginsengkitten · 9 months ago

Text

༺ Beautiful Dangerous ༻

A slashxreader fanfiction

༺☆༻

Chapter Seven

Rocket Queen

wc: 2800

smut warning

The one y’all been waiting for lmao

The anticipation of seeing Slash again was completely palpable. You bee lined your way to the stage door. A familiar sight of a dark alleyway surrounded by shady figures. But this time you felt less….afraid. All you could think about was him. You felt brave enough to let yourself in the stage door after a random crew member leaves and you slip your way inside. The backstage was a dark seedy cavern of chaos and crewmen. You feel a large heavy grip on your shoulder. You turn around hoping it’s him but are disappointed to see a large intimidating bouncer. “No groupies back here girl. “ he bellows. “It’s cool she’s with me.” A voice says from behind him. The bouncer doesn’t care much to verify that and walks away. “Looks like you found your own way in then.” He smirks as he approaches you. He’s almost stunned and takes a second to examine your obvious style change. His eyes eat up your body from head to toe and you blush. You pull nervously at the edge of your mini dress. Almost confident but not quite. “Look at you Foxey…” He says quietly eyeing you. As much as you want to be simply eye candy, you want to get to the bottom of his query of inviting you tonight. You nervously cross your arms. “So….you called…” you start

“I called.” He confirms cheekily, still eyeing you.

You shift anxiously. “ ….so?”

“So?” He replied again even cheekier.

“Soooo- is there something you wanted to tell me or?” You pry, desperate for answers.

“Does there have to be something to say? Cant a guy just want to see a pretty girl?” He replies boldly smirking down at you as he walks closer.

You nervously look around the two of you to confirm no one is witnessing this private moment.

“Follow me.” He turns sharply and heads to the back of the stage. This backstage was different. It was larger and had rooms. Private dressing rooms. While not fancy by any means. You follow discreetly behind him into a main sitting area where the rest of the band was passing around a bottle of whiskey. You join them. Slash taking a widespread seat on the couch and pulls you on his lap. This time, less layers of clothing lie between you and him. You could feel him underneath you. Hard.

Knowing and feeling this gave you a jolt of electricity and heat in the pit of your stomach. Did you sitting on his lap feel good to him?

“Our groupie returns!” Axl proclaims excitedly. “Fuck you.” Slash laughs. “Oh Right boys, this is slashes special toy, don’t be messin with her now or Slash will kill you in your sleep!” They joke. You wonder if they are at all serious. Special toy?

Slash snakes his arm around your waist from behind and holds you on him. This touch gives you butterflies. You need more of this, of his touch. As the conversation peters onward you can’t help but want things to go in a different direction. You start making small adjustments on his lap, slight shifts in movement that gave friction to him. You can tell it startled him in a good way and he tightens his grasp around your waist in response. He felt good underneath you like this. While you had never been sexual with a man before, all of this felt and flowed naturally for you.

You got more brave and decided to start tracing the denim seam on the outside hip of his jeans. A simple yet effective choice. You wanted him to know what you wanted but were too shy to say. What you’ve been wanting. The rest of the group too drunk or pumped up to notice or care, the backstage lights low gave way to much more freedom in the low light. As the conversation loudly carried on, the two of you slip into your own exchange. He leans you back on him so that his mouth is next to your ear. His warm, cigarette flavored breath heavy on your ear as he whispered to you. “Need something Foxey?” He whispers sultry. His words and cadence makes you weak. A feeling of warmth between your legs as his words warmed your ear. You can’t help but smile mischievously. Torn between the nerves of having never gone to such sexual lengths with a guy before and the animalistic ferocity that was taking you by storm.

You look to him. He looks at you with a bloodthirsty gaze. The two of you in a mutual agreement of sorts. He returns back into the conversation at hand. His hand wrapped at your waist begins drawing little circles in the side of your dress. Casual to any outside but agonizing to you. His reply in this little game. The group is getting up to go somewhere. “We’re gonna hit, you coming?” They ask as they all round up to visit the bathroom together. “We’re gonna hang back.” Slash says. Once they file out of sight it takes Slash all of one second to get off the couch and lifts you up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You let out a yelp of delight. “Slash!” You chirp as you laugh. Now what?

Slash doesn’t respond and proceeds to carry you down a dark hallway into a small dingy dressing room. He locks the door and as soon as he sets you down you’re up off your feet again and pressed up against the door by Slash. He lifts you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. “Slash!” You giggle again. Slash roughly presses his lips against yours. Sparks fly again. Harder now. His curls hiding your face into his in a little curtain. You melt into him. His touch is addictive. The way he holds you like your going to get away but that’s the last thing you want. He towers over you, cradling you entirely in his grip like it’s nothing. His hands grip your ass hard and he lets out a heavy breath against your lips. “You know how long I’ve wanted you?” He growls. The two of you fall desperately deeper into the kiss. His wet tongue dominates your lips and slides its way into you. He tastes so good. One of his large hands slides it’s way up from your bottom to your waist, and then up your side and finally, hugging over your breast. You let out a soft moan of pleasure. Something he had been imagining in his own head for some time. How you looked, how you sounded…He smiles viciously. “God I need you to do that again for me sweetheart.” He pants out in a frenzy and gives your breast another loving squeeze to which you oblige another soft moan out into his lips. He smirks again.

He shifts away from the door and carrys you over to a beaten down futon in the dressing room. Setting you down roughly. As he sets you down he stays low and comes to his knees, yet met you at your height sitting down. His large hands rested heavily on both your hips, he kisses you and then works his way with his lips and his hands down your chest, to your stomach, his hands slipping down your thighs, he firmly prys open your legs but for some reason, maybe due to the pure foreign nature of the action you reflex and slightly close them accidentally. This takes him aback and he looks up to you with a devilish grin turned concern. “What is it Foxey?” He asks while pecking sweet kisses on your knees. “Oh - sorry I don’t know why I - I - go ahead I-“ you stumble to find remedy. Slash looks at you in a total realization. “Foxey…have you ever…?” He asks. You shake your head shamefully. “Oh Foxey…” He coos sweetly and lowly. “Let me show you baby.” He continues without further conversation. You didn’t need convincing but hearing that helped you relax again and your body surrenders to his touch. He continues on and prys your legs open gently. It takes him all his strength to not completely devour you so quickly. He smooths his rough muscular hands up your inner thighs, mirror one another’s movement. He hikes your dress up further. Speckling sloppy wet kisses across your waistband and over the top of your panties. He looks up at you through a curtain of dark curls to watch you. “ I’m gonna make you feel so good baby, I just need you to do one thing for me.” He whispers and he slides down your panties and discards them. The cool air hitting you. “Yes Slash?” You ask with a breathy desperation. He smiles at your eagerness. “ I need you to moan for me baby.” He says and slides a finger inside of you effortlessly with the already slick wetness that had accumulated down there. You let out a soft gasp and moan. “Oh god!” You gasp. He smiles. “Good girl.” He smirks with barely an ounce of morality at his deflowering. He begins pumping his finger inside you. You feel something cold and realize it’s the finger with the snake ring. He never took it off. Nevermind that now. Pleasure swayed within you echoing through with each gentle pump inside you with his finger. “I wanna hear you baby.” He whispers desperate to hear your moans and adds a second finger. It only hurts for a moment but the pain turns to pure pleasure. He’s not hard with it, just soft gentle pumps into you like he’s fingering a guitar. You let out another moan. He exits you with a grin and climbs up to you, leaning you back onto the couch. He brings his wet fingers to your mouth. “Open up Foxey.” You obey his sweet command and he sticks his fingers into your mouth softly. “Suck” He commands in a low gravelly tone. His eyes piercing you as he watches through darkened eyes. You obey again. “You taste so good huh.” He affirms. This seemingly strange action gave you coils of hot sparks through you. You keep eye contact with him while you wrap your tongue around his fingers and suck generously. He returns to you below and this time flattens his tongue across your lips in one long broad stroke. You throw your head back again and let out a moan of surprise and pleasure. “Slash.” You moan.

Your voice moaning out his name drove him to his limit. He stood up and unbuckled his jeans. You take off your jacket and hike your dress up further. Need more of him. “I want you inside me. Please.” You blurt out in a breath. As if you even had to ask. He smirks devilishly at your admittance. “Just do it just go.” You beg. You’ve never wanted anything more. He pulls your towards him with your legs wrapped around him . In an instant you feel him push into you. Pain and pleasure spark out of you. “Fuck” You moan out. He lets out a sharp breathy groan and throws his head back and pushes his hair back although it falls back over him immediately. “You feel so fucking good Foxey girl.” He groans out. He slowly begins pumping in and out of you. Watching for signs of displeasure from you but all you feel is ecstasy. He throws his shirt off, exposing his sweaty happy trail to which you could now finally see where it led to and it was in-fact- happiness. His abdomen glistening again with sweaty specks. He looked so good on top of you. Thrusting into you faster and faster. He leans down and cradles your head in his hand while holding himself up with the other he rests it forehead atop yours as the frequency increases bigger and bigger. The two of you moan in harmonious rhythms, he rocks his hips into you. This incredible dance of rough and romance. His moans sound so pretty. His curls swayed with every thrust into you.

You both pant heavily into each others faces as knots of pleasure twist inside both of you. “Here.” He pants out like a dog and reaches his fingers down over your clit. The added stimulation sending lightning strikes down your legs. You start to feel yourself tensing up and be did too. “Slash-“ You pant out softly. “I-“ you don’t succeed in your speaking before stars are spinning through you. “Oh fuck-“ You cry out. He cradles your head through it and watches you squirm underneath him in pleasure. You dig your nails into his back. He doesn’t stop. As you begin to descend slightly, the sight of you underneath him. Everything. You, the way you moaned his name, the way you dressed, the way you looked, spoke, laughed, walked. All of his deep seeded infatuations with you built up finally coming to a grand release. He lets out a concealed rough grunt and quickly exits you as white hot spurts out over your legs. Still dizzied with pleasure, you watch. He finally halts and slightly collapses himself onto you. The two of you stay silent, staring into one another’s eyes, catching your breath. You had never felt so connected to something in your life like him, like this.

“What’d you think Foxey?” He asks smirking arrogantly. You blush as you come to your senses. Slightly embarrassed by the scene you made. “It was..so good.” You grin. This makes him happy and he comes back down to you and gives you a hot exhausted kiss. “God I could kill for a cigarette right now” you laugh at that sentence coming from your own mouth. He laughs and gets up. Before his pants are even fully buckled he’s got a lit cigarette in between his lips again and passes it to you, you take a big inhale and total cool bathed your entirety. You stay half naked lying down, staring at him and the smoke leaving your lips. “Do you think anyone heard that?” You ask him. To which he chuckles - “probably.”

You smirk. “ Good.”

#slash #slash fanfiction #slash gnr #slash x reader #gnr smut #slash smut #gnr #saul hudson #gnr x reader #saul hudson x reader

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