#glazes ghost au
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glazeliights · 2 years ago
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more ghost au!! I remembered that this thing exists and immediately wrote an entire thing so uh. enjoy ghost kokichi
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yandere-daydreams · 11 months ago
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Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.
Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).
Word Count: 4.2k.
TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.
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Malleus met you at the base of his tower.
With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.
In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”
His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”
You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”
At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”
You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”
This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”
It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”
“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”
“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”
“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”
He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”
With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.
~
You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.
There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.
Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”
“I thought you were a thief?”
“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”
“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”
You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”
Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”
You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”
“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”
Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and
” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”
“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”
“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”
After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”
You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.
“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”
Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”
“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”
“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”
His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”
You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.
~
Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.
Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.
His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”
“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”
Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “
it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”
Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”
Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”
Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”
A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”
With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”
Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”
He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.
It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.
~
“This is what they banished me for, you know.”
“This?”
“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”
Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”
“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”
Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”
Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”
“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”
Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”
“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”
“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”
Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.
Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.
Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.
~
The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.
He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”
Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”
“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”
He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.
~
Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.
You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.
He was awake.
To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.
Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”
He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”
“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”
There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.
He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.
When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”
He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.
“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”
This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.
“I was always going to invite you inside.”
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evilgwrl · 3 months ago
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TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)
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Immune: Eleven
WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)
CW: Titty sucking (my #1 idc), face sitting (SIMON IS A MUNCH), PIV (no protection, pls use it irl), u use sex as an escape from your grief (can be seen as dub-con from this), insinuation to a threesome
Taglist: @echo9821 @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan
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The morning air was silent, barely a whistle stirring through the house from a gentle ghast of wind. It was cold, colder than usual. Heat smouldered in your chest like a disease, rotting away at your flesh as you lay there, eyes puffy, swollen with grief.
Simon’s chest was bare, flushed against you in a protective grasp, hands cascaded around your waist. You stirred, reluctant to move against him, almost feeling a sense of comfort despite the circumstances. Your brain was wracked with paralysing images, haunting you in both slumber and the present.
Sure, you had seen death before, you lived around it, but never like that. Pain burnt into your skin, prickling against the hairs as you rubbed at your eyes, static filling your blackened vision. You wanted the feeling to go away, and you found that having Simon around, or anyone, helped with it.
Your hand was soft as you grabbed at his, tugging it into your smaller palm with a squeeze as the man huffed out a shallow breath. His voice was gruff, thick with sleep as he pressed against you, “Y’ awake, dove?”
You squeezed his hand again before pulling it into your chest, snuggling against his muscular forearm, tiny huffs leaving cracked lips. Unbrushed teeth grazed away at the dead skin, nibbling it into the wetness of your tongue before turning around.
Simon was silent, eyes stained with unwashed solitude and a hint of guilt. His lips quirked slightly as you glazed over his face, lingering on the tickles of stubble that decorated his jaw to the scar that dug into the tender skin next to his lip.
“How’d you sleep?” He soothed, rubbing at the hair that laced across your forehead, tucking it behind the small of your cold ear.
“Didn’t.”
Your voice was small, the room suddenly deafening with an ongoing orchestra of familiar whining, Cecil’s whining. Simon’s frown was apologetic and kind, eyes dampening with recognition of how you felt. He understood death too well. He was surrounded by it. In a way, he believed it followed him, that he was plaguing you with an inevitable curse.
Your kiss was harsh, teeth knocking against one another as you smothered any air between the two of you. Ghost’s reply was fast, gripping at the back of your neck before tugging you away with a confused look.  
Your whine was pained as you clenched your brows, “Please.”
His tongue wrapped through yours, pushing onto the pink muscle with force as he brought you closer to him, your body pulled onto the heat of his lap as you straddled his waist, boxers slipping lower down his toned stomach, a light trail of hair dancing under the fabric. Thickened hands worked up your shirt, groping at the fat of your tits as nipples hardened under his palm, pebbling quickly.
You were quick to pull away, tugging your shirt off as his eyes widened with awe, lapping in the sight of your bare chest. Simon was quick to tug you down, resting his tongue flat against a sensitive bud as you rocked against his abdomen, pussy clenched as you rode the tense surface.
Messy hair fell flat against your face as you sighed into the air, relishing in the pleasure that he drew from you as his teeth grazed against your tits, another hand tugging at the neglected nipple. Your panties nestled between your folds, catching on your clit as you jolted your hips back and forth, collecting moisture on both your underwear and his skin.
Your pants sounded breathless, fogging up the air with unworked steam as you sat further up on his chest, brown eyes watching you intently.
“Take your panties off,” Simon spoke, voice stern as he grabbed at your waist, jolting your movements. Your hips raised as you rolled to the side, tugging the flimsy material off with a quick pull, crawling back over to him as a hand raised to rub at the prominent bulge growing under his briefs.
Your grip was firm, holding the hardening shaft in your palm as you stroked the impressive length. The Lieutenant muttered out a groan, a wet patch slowly forming to the side of his cock.
“C’mere,” he whispered, tugging at your wrists, “sit on my face.”
You stilled for a moment, tilting your head with a shallow laugh, ready to object.
“I can take your weight and I can handle a hell of a lot more than a pretty woman sitting on my mouth.”
You were quick to position yourself over his mouth, hovering slightly with nerves before a stripe licked up your heat, your slick melting onto the warmth of his tongue as you yipped into the air, surprised. Simon was quick to pull you flush against him, immediately diving into your cunt with eagerness as he suckled at your puffy clit, groaning around you.
“Si-Simon, fuck-“
Ghost was fuelled on the sounds you made, lapping at you faster as you moved against him, riding his face with desperation as you mewled. His cock was painfully hard, resting against his boxers with a strain as he rutted into the air slightly in an attempt to release his growing tension.
You looked heavenly; your head rolled back as you lapped in the growing sensation that struck through you. You were distracted, too overworked with pleasure as you moaned, a permanent image of you canvased into the man’s mind.
His tongue worked towards your entrance, slurping around the hole obscenely, striving off the feminine taste of you. You could feel yourself growing hotter, the back of your neck wet with sweat, a light sheen of condensation glistening against your moving body.
Your thighs constricted around his head as you approached your release, bucking faster against him as he kept a firm hold on you. Your moan was thick, tight with pleasure as you came with a loud gasp, rocking the sight of you into the men’s brains, reminding them of your similar memories together.
Simon didn’t stop, continuing to lick and slurp at your slick as you writhed above him, crying out at the overstimulation before he released you with a loud breath, his mouth pulled back in a wet smirk. A tender grip pulled you down by the neck to meet his lips, the taste of you diving into your mouth as you moaned into the kiss, a wanton passion caressing you.
“Let me take care of you,” he breathed, pushing you down onto the sheets with a light force. You were quick to nod, spreading supple thighs with an eagerness you would have never imagined having. Sympathetic kisses ran up your thighs, leaving dewy stains of his lips around sheen skin.
He was quick to pull his boxers off after pressing a slight kiss to your swollen clit, wrapping a hand around the angry member with a quick tug, pearls of pre-cum swirling from the tip before it lubricated the shaft with a squelch.
Your thighs found their way around his hips, settling at his back with a tight grip as he leaned down, pressing at the entrance of your pussy as your mouth fell open, pain shooting through you from the stretch. A string of expletives ripped through your tongue as you bit down, hot metallic rushing into your senses as Simon cooed above you, wiping your forehead down.
You were so full, cunt worked open with his length as you choked on the fog of the air, windows stained with layers of moisture as you gripped onto the sheets below you.
“Doing so well, nearly there baby, you’re ok.”
Air struck from your lungs as he rocked himself in, nudging your cervix with a hiss as you tightened your legs around him. He stilled, letting you adjust as your eyes clouded with unshed tears, skin wrinkled with uncomfort as you breathed short breaths.
“P-Please move,” you whimpered, staring into his eyes with certainty as you brought his face down to kiss you. Your bodies mangled into one, his hands gripping your wrists as he held them above your head, fucking into you with a growing pace as you moved your mouths against one another, twisted into a world of just the two of you.
It was rare for Simon to be intimate with someone he doesn’t know, too caught up with his own thoughts to enjoy the warmth of another but he felt like he knew you. He had conjured up his thoughts and ideas on you before you even spoke to one another, another version of him in a different body.
Your sounds merged into one, endless streams of moans and cries exhibiting into the halls as limbs tangled against wet skin. You were tight, gripping him with an obscene strength as he melted your walls into putty, constricting to his dominating length. Your neck was struck as you lifted it back, too absorbed in the pleasure as he took the opportunity to pepper with the delicacy in front of him with marks.
Your noises were hypnotising, sucking him into your chest with an arrogant whine as he stared down at you, carob eyes melting into burnt honey, the scent of sex settling into his nose hairs as he breathed in.
“Right there,” you gasped, rocking your forehead against his with a bang as Simon growled, working his pace into deeper motions. In this moment, he felt he was made for this, to provide for you, to pleasure you.
“Fuck- so fucking tight. Pussy was made for me-“
Your orgasm was unexpected, sucking his cock in with a cut-off scream of pleasure as you clenched rapidly. Simon grunted, attempting to maintain his composure as his thrusts grew sloppy. He pulled out with a hiss, emptying onto your heaving stomach in a series of intervals, hand tugging his shaft.
Your body was wrecked, legs trembling with aftershock as you lay there breathless, a pool of come resting against your abdomen. Ghost was quick to stand, walking to the bathroom with a huff as he cleaned you up, placing a hand against your cheek with an amorous caress.
There was a subtle knock on the door, your body flush against Simon’s as he tugged you back up the bed into him. You recognised the warmth of Price’s eyes before you took in his figure, a bowl of fruit in his hardened grip.
“Morning, sweetheart. Brought you some fruit.”
Your smile was barely visible, only crinkling the skin around your mouth slightly as you looked at him. “Thank you,” you spoke, voice hoarse.
The Captain leaned down, pressing a kiss against your forehead as he left the fruit on the wood of the bedside table. Nimble fingers worked around his wrist, holding him in place as begging eyes stared at him.
“I want you both – please.”
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loserlvrss · 7 months ago
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꒰ 𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 ꒱ êč€ë™í˜„
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summary : you and your boyfriend were truly opposites, but the saying has always been that they attract, hasn’t it?
genre : fluff, leehan x afab!reader, college!au, slice of life tws : language, zombies (yeah..), pet names, mentions of not eating (could be linked to a eating disorder but also idrk) author notes : cringe couple alert (that should be me) word count : 1.4k
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your hands were covered in clay, grey-brown coating your skin. you could feel the uncomfortable, but familiar feeling of it drying on your wrists, and you were glad you wore something you were okay with getting messy; because today you had done so many pieces, you were covered in muck.
you had just finished a vase, the bottom a thick sphere, tapering off as it furthered to the top. you spread the wire, after picking it up from beside you, and ran it along the stone. you picked it up carefully, grabbing the damp sponge to smooth out any finger prints.
pottery was your hobby, and you were glad you majored in art. you loved doing pieces on the wheel, and you loved sculpting unconventional things. it never felt like homework to do, and you often found yourself forgetting all about time and spending hours in the schools basement; dusty and dirty, haired tied back, back and shoulders sore, and sweats caked over.
that being said, you also often forgot to have meals as collateral to your happiness, spend time with your friends, and do things that people would deem normal. you hated the saying that you weren’t like other girls but truthfully you’d rather be in this dimly lit room than a club, like the people your age were.
but there was also one person who refused to let you starve to death in this poorly decorated room. and truthfully, he hated the flashing lights just as much, if not more than you did.
“y/n,” you looked up, a smile plastering to your features at the sight of your boyfriend who had been doing work on his computer waiting for you to finish for the last however long. “you’re done?” you nodded, moving the piece to the side, preparing to take it over by your others waiting to get glazed and fired. “it’s pretty.”
“i was thinking about painting little fishes on it and putting it inside our apartment after it gets graded, what do you think?”
“only if you eat first.” he stated, making you laugh in response. “going to die in this ugly place one day, y/n. i swear i’m going to find your body, and that wheel’s still going to be spinning.”
you walked over to the sink, opting to listen as you felt your stomach growl at the thought of eating something for, maybe, the second time today.
“my girlfriend would be a zombie, oh my god, an artsy zombie. wait, what does that even mean?”
you tried your best to scrape the clay from under your nails, however you both were used to finding it in weird places—laughing about it like it was an inside joke.
“actually, i think you might be hot like that. imagine all the rotting skin—you’d never have to do skincare ever again because it’d be falling off all the time—messy hair, but i think you’d hate this being your forever ghost outfit.”
you made a grossed-out face at his obvious jokes; however if he had said this to, or around, anyone else, it would’ve seemed genuine due to his monotone nature and straight face.
“you’re so strange, donghyun. if zombies were your type, i could’ve done my makeup differently.” you pinched his cheek with wet fingers. “but i love you anyways
 even if you wouldn’t make a hot zombie.”
“what?” he exclaimed. “no way you think this!”
you were taken aback. “i didn’t know you were so serious about us being zombies
 we could be a silly-little zombie couple if you want.” you giggled.
he scoffed. “how romantic, y/n. truly,”
“shut up.” you stuck your tongue out at him. “what’d you bring today?”
he took out a glass container; because he refused the plastic ones, saying something about the consumption of microplastics and fish long before you two had even entertained the idea of being in a relationship, to which you replied, save the turtles, and thrusted your fist in the air.
“leftovers from last night.” he stated, uncovering the pizza you two had shared over a couple episodes of game of thrones. you were late to the hype, but you liked the show nonetheless. he had fallen asleep on top of you after your hand had made its way into his shaggy hair, half an episode in, small snores echoing against the drama.
you two woke up on the couch in the morning.
“do you want me to heat yours up?” you questioned, motioning to the microwave that was probably older than either of you. “you know i’d rather have it cold as leftovers
 but if you want me t—”
he took a bite, focusing back on his laptop. “don’t worry about it, love.”
you, too, took a bite. “what are you even working on?” you asked curiously, looking over his shoulder.
his face was inches from yours when he turned. “can you chew any louder in my ear?” you scoffed, pushing his head lightly to the side, and mocking an obnoxiously loud chew at him. it was probably the least sexy thing you could do. he laughed. “it’s my research final. twelve pages in. i’m writing about aquaculture and its impacts on the environment—did you know that they’re actually bigger than agriculture? not that either are greatly sustainable.”
you admired how different you two were, but you loved listening to him go on and on (and on) about the ocean and fish, even if you had no idea what anything truly meant. he really did suit being a marine biology major in your eyes. his enthusiasm was your enthusiasm.
you did love his little fishtank though. and despite him denying it, you knew he loved that you named them all.
“my final is much better than yours,” you laughed, watching his eyebrows furrow behind his glasses. “all i have to do is make a couple pots—which we’re gonna use for our herb garden after! our green onions and garlic are getting so big!” you cooed. “i was thinking about using their old pots for our basil and rosemary plants, do you think that they would work?”
he took his last bite, using both hands to type now. “i think that would be fine, love.”
“and we can use our new vase as our table centerpiece? your mom’s going to come over for dinner soon, i think she’d like it—maybe i’ll make her one.”
he knew that once you put your mind to it, there was no stopping you. “i’ll get you some pretty flowers for both of them.” he was just glad that you had eaten something before the idea popped into your head.
you pondered. “what’s her favorite color, baby? do you think i should make her a couple mugs or a vase? or a cutesy little plate collection? or a pot? fuck it, i’ll just do them all, she has a gar—”
“y/n,” he cut your ramble off. “you’ve already made her a cutesy plate collection for christmas, and a mug for mother’s day, and a couple pots last semester.”
you pouted. “but those plates are deco—”
“make her the vase, love. her favorite color is purple.” he smiled sweetly. “i’ll help you paint it after you’re done turning it. we can give it to her as a slightly-early birthday present when she comes over, yeah?”
“we’ll get her calla lilly’s, right?” you pleaded.
his hand rested against your cheek, taking a break from the keyboard. “yes, and you can tell me all about the meaning while we stand in line.”
you grabbed his wrist. “great
 now c’mon!” he eyed you as you pulled him up with you. “you made me watch that fish documentary with you the other day, so i’m going to show you how to make this vase now.”
“baby, i have three pages left,” he tried to compromise, but you blocked it out. “i’ll just help you paint it.”
“no,” you whined, which he found more adorable than annoying. “she’d love it so much more if you helped me spin it, don’t you think?”
he knew that there was no use arguing with you—after all if this whole art-thing didn’t work out, law had always been your alternative.
“fine,” he gave in, sitting down on the stool as you happily skipped over to grab him an apron and collect an adamant amount of clay. “but if i find clay inside my keyboard after this, you’re in for it.”
“terrified. so scared. i’m shaking in my boots, donghyun.” you shuddered playfully. “i guess you’ll actually get what you want if that happens—a zombie girlfriend—luckily for you, though, this zombie girlfriend of yours has a toothpick and a lot of love for her living boyfriend.”
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empresskylo · 1 year ago
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➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠ GUNSLINGER SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠ afab!reader. kinda mean!ghost. blood. gun violence. gore. smut. p in v. sex without protection. wild west au. wc 5.9k. ➠SUMMARY | you find yourself getting tangled up in the mission of a group of outlaw cowboys and ghost doesn't seem to take a liking to you. that is until you get hurt. ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | cowboy ghost! cowboy ghost! cowboy ghost!
gunslinger ghost image cr ✩ 𝐜𝐹𝐝 đŠđšđŹđ­đžđ«đ„đąđŹđ­ ✩ 𝐩𝐚𝐱𝐧 đŠđšđŹđ­đžđ«đ„đąđŹđ­
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you flipped another coin onto the bar, thanking the bartender as he refilled your glass with whiskey. you turned and leaned back, taking a sip of your drink. the high-noon light poured into the saloon, dust particles sparkling in its rays.
you played with the gun in your holster aimlessly as a group of men you’ve never seen before walked in. they pushed through the batwing doors and took in their surroundings, appraising the people of al mazrah. the piano stopped momentarily, synchronizing with the speechlessness of the room. 
your eyes glazed over several cowboys, all with their own unique getup. but the one that drew your attention the most was a man donning a red skull mask. it reflected the midday sun and piqued your curiosity. he stood behind the others, his head not scanning the saloon like his friends were. you felt his eyes settle on you and your cheeks went hot at the attention. 
they all approached the bar and you kept your eyes locked on them in a challenge. “afternoon, ma’am,” the only man in the group without some form of face covering said, tipping his hat as he did. 
you glanced up at him, narrowing your eyes before taking a swig of your drink. “can i help you boys?”
the other three men gathered around, one of them–the youngest looking of the bunch–leaned on the bartop and waved two fingers in the air to gain the bartender's attention. “whiskey neat,” you heard him order. it made the corner of your lip quirk upwards. 
“that depends,” he drawled. “we’re lookin’ for a wanted man.” he slid a wanted poster onto the bartop and you turned to look at it. you traced over the sketch’s features and the man’s name, all the while you could feel eyes burning through you. 
you turned back to the man. “i don’t recognize his likeness, but his name sounds familiar.”
“yeah?”
“i think i’ve heard of him and his men causing trouble up the bend at the neighboring town. ‘bout 20 miles from here, give or take.”
he reached up and scratched his overgrown stubble. “well, that helped plenty. thanks
” he drew out the word, waiting for you to introduce yourself. 
you accepted his extended hand and told him your name, your eyes flickering behind him to the man in the red skull mask. “john,” he said back to you, his free hand tipping his hat down again but in a thanks this time. 
you wondered who these men were working for. they didn’t exactly look like your typical bounty hunters. they were far more intimidating than that. their gear more intricate and sharp. 
“gaz, pay the man. we’re leaving,” john said. gaz downed his whiskey and threw a few coins on the counter before following his friends out. 
you watched as they drew everyone’s attention as they strolled out of the saloon. you were torn back and forth between doing something very thoughtless and stupid. you looked at the bartender–someone who had listened to you drone on and on about how nothing interesting ever happened in this town. he gave you a nod as he wiped down a glass, a sly smile forming on his lips. 
“ shit ,” you muttered as you pushed yourself away from the bar and scurried outside. 
the men were mounting their horses off to the side of the building. your boots echoed off the wooden porch as you hurried towards them. the men looked up at you as you jostled down the stairs and to the dirt road. 
john raised a brow at you, a small smile creeping on his lips. 
“i, uhm
” you hesitated. you summoned the courage inside of you–mainly from the whiskey–as john patiently waited for you to speak. “i was hopin’ i could come along.”
john smiled at you, his rough hands holding onto the reigns of his horse. “and why might we allow that?”
you stood up a bit taller. “i know i’m a woman, but–”
“didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout you bein’ a woman.”
you pursed your lips. the men’s eyes tentatively watched you as they each half-focused on what they were doing before you came storming over. “i’m a good shot. i have nothin’ left for me here,” you gestured around the desolate town. “i’d like to help.”
john looked pensive. “no,” a deep, guttural voice said. your eyes flickered to the man in the skull mask and grimaced. 
“don’t mind ghost. he’s not used to new company.” ghost . a chill ran up your spine at the name. these were no average bounty hunters you’d be getting yourself involved in, that was definitely clear now. it was like john could read your thoughts. “can’t guarantee your safety
 but i don’t see why not. ”
you nodded. “that’s alright. i know the risks.”
ghost grumbled something and rode off. the other three men ignored him, like they were used to his grumpy behavior. “this here is gaz and soap,” john said, pointing to each man respectively. 
you smiled at them. “got yourself a horse?” soap asked you, pulling his bandana down so you could see his mouth move as he talked. you nodded, your heart racing at the promise of adventure. 
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you adjusted your hat as you followed closely behind the men on horseback. you felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb. the men were absent of all colors apart from ghost’s red skull mask. they each had on a black outfit, paired with black boots, and a black hat. you, on the other hand, had on a dirty brown jacket, brown boots, faded blue pants, and a sunbleached hat. you never would have thought your outfit would seem almost colorful. 
you galloped closer to john, al mazrah getting smaller and smaller as you rode further away from the town. 
“heard people talkin’ ‘bout some bandits robbing folk around the bend comin’ up.”
john glanced at you before shifting his eyes to soap who was in hearing range. 
“woulda been nice to know that a bit earlier,” a deep voice said. you turned to see ghost riding at your side, his eyes bright against the black on his skin. you felt your chest tighten. 
“i-i didn’t think of it. didn’t realize where we were till i saw the hill in the bend in the road up ahead.”
ghost grunted, looking over at john who sat opposite of you. “no use arguing ‘bout it now,” he placated. 
before he could open his mouth to continue, a gunshot rang in your ear. your eyes widened as you looked forward, stupefied. your ears rang and your hands came up to clamp over your ears before you yelped in pain. you could hear the soft rumble of more gunshots going off, but it was like you were stuck in your own little bubble. 
you pulled your hands down and looked at them, blood covering your left hand. 
oh my god , you thought. you were shot. 
you heard your name coming in louder and louder until you finally could hear clearly again. you looked up to ghost who was grabbing your arm and yelling your name. his other hand held his shotgun, extended as he pulled it, and shot a bandit in the chest, knocking him off his horse. 
“focus!” he shouted. you nodded and locked eyes. 
“i’m okay,” you said. you knew the bullet must have hit skin, or you wouldn’t be bleeding, but it was just a graze. 
“your gun!” he growled. 
you shook your head to come to your senses and pulled your gun from it’s holster. ghost’s hand left you and you felt a chill run through your arm at the loss. 
you aimed to shoot one of the bandits immediately before he had time to raise his own gun at soap. your eyes moved and you saw john jump off his horse and tackle a man to the ground, knocking him out cold with a few punches. 
soap was aiming up on the hill, taking out a couple of men stationed there. they were waiting for someone stupid enough to come trotting down their trail. you felt like shit for not remembering this crucial bit of information until it was too late. 
you shot another bandit, riding your horse further up the road. you spotted ghost as he shot down a bandit coming at him before loading his gun in no time at all, then shooting the man riding up on gaz’s tail. another man came up from behind him and ghost had his knife in his hand and sliced across the man’s throat before you could even blink. 
you were no stranger to violence, but these men were cold-blooded killers, you’d be stupid to not feel a trace of formidable fear run up your spine. 
the gunshots slowly simmered down and the five of you found yourselves coming back together. you slid off your horse as the others did. “jesus,” gaz mumbled, his breathing slightly heavy. 
ghost flung himself off his horse and stormed up to you, grabbing your arm like he did earlier, and turning you to him. 
“what–?”
his gloved hand came up to your jaw and turned your head so he could see the drying blood that coated your ear. “fuckin’ hell. you coulda been killed.”
“yes, thank you. so glad i have you to point that out,” you snarled. 
john, soap, and gaz were busy talking, likely going over the group's next course of actions, and paid no mind to you and ghost as he hissed at you. 
“what's your problem with me?”
ghost released you and took a step back. “what’s my problem with you?” it was just now that you could really hear his accent. he wasn’t from around here, that was for sure. 
you nodded. 
“not keen on having to babysit.”
your eyes blared with heat, your fists clenching. “fuckin’ hell! you barely know me! i’ve done nothing that says i’m not up for this,” you gestured around you, “so i got shot unexpectedly, i hardly think that's my fault.”
he just stared at you, which honestly, frustrated you even more. 
“you ever take that stupid thing off?” you asked, referring to his mask. god, you were proving him right–you were acting like a baby.
“why? you wanna know what's underneath?”
his husky voice made your chest flutter. there was something about the combination of his terrifying appearance, his deep voice, and the way he seemed utterly concerned for your safety. it was doing things to your insides that you didn’t appreciate. 
he leaned in closer. “does it unsettle you, pet?” he asked, referring to his mask. 
frankly, it did. his entire body was covered from head to toe. the only bit of him you saw was his eyes, and even those were darkened with charcoal. maybe you were stupid to trust these men. it was just hitting you now that you were with a group of insanely skilled men. alone . 
it was as if ghost could read the sudden hesitation and regret that filled your features. his voice was low as he spoke. “we won’t hurt ya.” you swallowed hard. you should leave while it’s still daylight. “ not unless you ask. ”
your jaw would have fallen slack if you weren’t wound up so tight from ghost standing so close. he slid past you and you turned, starstruck, forcing your feet to move so you were standing in a circle with the men. 
“we’re only a few miles out from town. and clearly, we’re at a disadvantage,” john spoke. “we should split up and surround the town, figure out if hassan is there. and locate his base. it’s our best bet.”
soap and gaz nodded. 
“good,” john said in response to the agreement for his plan. “i’ll flank west. soap you go right. gaz you can take the southern part of town. ghost, north.”
you looked up at john expectantly. he went to open his mouth–to invite you to tag along with him you assumed–but ghost beat him to it. “she’ll come with me.” it wasn’t a question. and you hated that it sparked something inside you. 
john nodded. “we got a few more hours of daylight left. let's go. we’ll convene in the center of town.”
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you trailed behind ghost on your horse. you two had gone off the road and were currently riding over the rough terrain of the surrounding woods. the sun was slowly setting and you found it hard to see your footing with all the shadows the trees cast. 
“so what’d you want with this guy anyways?” you asked ghost, breaking the silence. 
“he’s the enemy,” he said flatly. 
you rolled your eyes. “yeah. i get that. but why exactly are you–”
he cut you off with a single finger to his lips, his eyes gesturing in front of him. you immediately went silent, slowly reaching for your gun. 
you both paused on your horses, sitting still, listening. you felt your heartbeat racing in your chest. 
that's when you saw movement in the distance. “ghost! behind you–”
your warning was muffled as a hand wrapped around your face, covering your mouth, and yanking you off your horse. you slashed back and forth, trying to fight off whoever had you in their grip. 
you kicked backward, hitting them in the knee, and they finally dropped you to the ground. “fuckin’ bitch!”
you spun around, stumbling to your feet and grabbing your gun out of its holster. it was just one guy. you could take him. 
as you raised your gun, another man appeared beside him. your eyes widened. okay, this was going to be harder than you thought. 
“i wouldn’t do that if i was you,” the other man said. 
you gulped. before you could fully raise your hand, a third man knocked the gun from your hand and twisted your arm, holding you against him. “you don’t like to listen, do ya?”
you showed your teeth as you struggled against him. you kicked and squirmed as you felt the air begin to slip from you. 
suddenly, the man around you went slack, his arm falling, and hot liquid trailed your back. you turned and watched the man sink to the ground, grabbing at the slit in his throat. behind him towered ghost. 
he had blood on his mask and he was breathing so rapidly you could see his chest moving up and down under all his layers. 
you didn’t have long to take him in before he pushed you aside and began fighting the other two men. you scanned behind you and saw two other bodies sprawled on the rocky ground. he had already taken down three men. your eyes widened. 
“go!” he shouted at you. in the quick second he was distracted, one of the bandits managed to get a swing in and hit ghost right under his jaw. 
you mustered the courage inside yourself and you sprinted at the three men. you jumped on one of them, flying to the ground with him, landing atop him. his hand reached out and wrapped around your neck but you were faster. your knife was already plowing into the side of his skull. his hand fell loosely to his side.
you huffed as you climbed off of him. ghost’s hands struggled but he managed to get them on the man’s head that he was fighting and in a quick and sharp twist, he broke his neck. 
you gasped slightly, the air falling silent around you two. his hands were clenched at his side as you both stared at one another among the carnage. 
“i told you to go.”
“and i didn’t want to,” you responded. how was he going to be mad that you helped him?
you huffed and bent over to rip the knife from the man’s skull and slid it back into its sheath. as you stood straight, ghost was pushing you against a tree. you yelped as he pinned you back. 
“these aren’t just normal men,” he growled. 
you searched his eyes. you hoped he couldn’t hear your heart racing. “we handled it, didn’t we?”
ghost shook his head in annoyance, his body still entraping yours. “and if we hadn’t? if you had gotten yourself killed?”
you gave him an exacerbated look. “then i’d be dead. i don’t know what you want me to tell you.”
ghost pushed away from you and began walking back to his horse. “i want you to tell me you’ll listen next time i tell you to go.”
you hesitated before you found your way back to your own steed. “why do you care so much?” you had come along to help. and that’s what you planned on doing. ghost wasn’t the boss of you. 
he didn’t respond and you rode the rest of the way in silence.
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it didn't take much longer to get into town. and it took an even shorter amount of time to find out hassan wasn’t here. you and the rest of the men met up in the middle of town, just like john had told you. 
“y’all run into trouble?” he asked you and ghost, noticing the blood on both of your clothes. 
“nothin’ we couldn’t handle,” you answered. 
john’s gaze met ghost’s momentarily and he smirked. john could tell you were driving ghost crazy, just from your short interactions. he liked that someone was getting this reaction from him. it felt like so long since he had seen ghost have any sort of emotional response. 
“think we should camp here for the night,” john added. 
the five of you went into the town’s saloon and the men went straight to the bar. drinks were ordered and you shifted uncomfortably, playing with the glass of whiskey in your hand. 
two women dressed in silky gowns, the cut of their dresses low and tight enough to expose their chests, strolled up to your group. “haven’t seen you boys before,” the blonde one said. you were in saloons enough to recognize prostitutes when you saw them. 
“just passin’ through,” gaz spoke. the ladies smiled and one of their hands came out and traced along gaz’s collar. 
“you look like you could use a little pick me up,” she said sweetly. 
you saw where this was going and you felt yourself grow uncomfortable. “i think i’m gonna go to my room,” you mumbled. john saluted you off, his attention going back to soap as they talked. one of the girls made her way to ghost and you hated that a pang of jealousy coursed through you as she sat on his lap. 
his eyes flickered to you as the woman whispered in his ear. the saloon was filled with a cacophony of noise, music playing loudly, and the sound of the girls giggling. no one but ghost had even paid attention to you leaving. and you really couldn’t hold it against any of them. you barely knew them. you weren’t friends yet. 
you felt your breath hitch as the woman reached her hand out to trace ghost’s mask, his hand catching her wrist. you wanted to turn to finish going up the stairs but your eyes were locked in challenge with his. 
he nudged the girl off his lap and she huffed slightly before turning her attention to soap. your face felt inflamed as you turned and went up the stairs, slipping off into one of the rooms the lot of you had paid for. 
why were you so attracted to ghost? he was intimidating, scary even. and you had no idea what he looked like. not even his hands or neck.
you sighed as you cleaned up, stripping your clothes down into your undergarments, washing the stain from your jacket, and hanging it against the wooden bedframe to dry. 
the room was small but comfortable. you let your hair down and washed your face with the bucket of water. you wore your undershirt and underwear, everything else was either drying or removed so you could sleep comfortably. 
you were ready to slip into bed when you hear footsteps stumbling past your room. you wondered if it was one of the men. you heard a woman’s voice and that same, uncomfortable feeling squeezed your chest. maybe it was ghost bringing one of the women back to his room. 
you walked to your door and your hand hovered over the doorknob. you wanted to peek out, just to see. to see if it was ghost, or one of the others from downstairs. you were being crazy, you knew it. but you pulled the door open ever so slightly and peered out. you jumped, a loud yelp escaping you as a large ghost stood in your doorway. 
he deftly pushed your door open and made his way inside your small room. he kicked it closed behind him, his eyes trailing your exposed body shadowed by the small glow of the few candles by your bedside. 
“ghost,” you breathed, unsure of what else to say. you could smell whiskey on him as he walked closer. you looked up at him, his eyes piercing your own. his mask still had blood on it. and the way the shadows of the room illuminated and hid his features was haunting.
“were you jealous?” he said. 
you were taken aback but his question. you almost laughed. what on earth was happening? ghost just barged inside your room and was asking if you were jealous. of what? the woman on his lap earlier? why would he think that? 
“did you hear a woman outside your door and open it to see if it was me who was bedding one of the whores?”
your mouth hung open at his forward words. that was one thing you came to know about ghost: he said whatever the fuck he was thinking. 
“i
 i
” you stuttered. 
ghost spun you around, slamming you against the wall, one hand coming out beside your head, the other on your hip. you were startled, unsure of what to say or do. ghost’s hand on your hip slid down to the apex of your thighs, slowly slipping between them and pressing against you. you gasped. 
“tell me. were. you. jealous? ”
you swallowed hard before nodding. “y-yes.”
you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he hummed. he rubbed you a few times over your underwear before backing away slightly and removing his gloves. your marvled at his hands before they were lost between your legs again. 
he slipped one into your panties and circled your clit. your hands finally came out and grabbed onto his shoulders, small little noises escaping you. 
“mhmmm,” he hummed, “already so wet for me, pet.” one of his fingers slid inside your heat painfully slow and your eyes rolled back. he pumped his finger a few times before pulling out of you. your eyes focused back on him as he nudged his mask up and slid his finger into his mouth. you could see the stubble on his chin and the soft pink of his lips. 
when he pulled his finger out, he spoke. “still want to see what i look like?” he teased. 
you nodded. he didn't move, waiting for you to take initiative. your hands crept up and you peeled his mask off–the cloth covering and the hard red skull. you tossed it onto the floor and were faced with a beautiful man. he was both rugged and pretty. it almost hurt to look at him. 
he had a scar running below his eye and one slicing his upper lip. his eyes were smoked out in black that smudged his skin and ran down his face from sweat. his hair was surprisingly light and soft looking. you couldn’t help yourself as you ran your hand up the back of his head and into his hair. 
you didn’t say it, but ghost could see the way you were taking his features in. you were pleased. pleasantly surprised. 
his lips came down on yours, crushing against you and pushing you flat against the wall. his mouth moved in sync with yours, making you groan against him. his hand slid into your hair and grabbed it, pulling your head back to expose your neck to him. he began to place kisses there and you felt your legs squeeze together. 
“never wanted anyone so bad in my life,” he grumbled against your skin. you felt your heart race at the confession. it made your head dizzy to think this terrifying killer wanted you . he wanted you so bad he couldn’t help himself. he was so set on you that he didn’t give a shit how many women came onto him downstairs at the bar. he just wanted to get up to your room and throw you against the wall. no stranger had even consumed his thoughts like this.
his rough hand ran up your front and grabbed the hem of your loose undershirt before pulling it off your body. he stood back and looked at you, licking his lips. 
before you had time to feel self-conscious, his mouth was diving for your chest and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. you let out a breathless moan, your hands running through his hair. his hands slid to your ass and squeezed, pulling your hips against him. you could feel him tenting through his pants. 
before you could even think, he was on his knees, yanking your underwear all the way down your legs. you felt a weird sense of excitement course through you seeing him still fully dressed, knelt before you, while you were completely naked. 
he grabbed one of your legs and pulled it so you bent it over his shoulder. then his face was pleasantly nestled between your thighs. he sucked and licked at you and you threw your head back against the wall in a cry. “g-god.”
you could feel him smile against you. his stubble tickled you as his tongue moved in and out of you, then traced you up and down, before repeating the actions. you actually felt like you couldn’t breathe. and when two of his fingers came up to slide inside you while his mouth worked your clit, you felt your chest tighten and a hot flutter pool at the base of your spine. 
“lemme hear you,” he grunted. you panted and moaned as he continued to work his mouth against you. it didn’t take long before you were shaking and crying out. your hands gripped the wall behind you, your nails digging into the wood. 
ghost worked you through your orgasm, lapping every drop of you up until you were begging him to stop. 
you didn’t have a real chance to catch your breath and really take in what was happening because ghost was shoving you down onto your knees before him. he was undoing his belt, his lips glistening. you hesitantly reached up and replaced his hands. he let you take over and you unbuttoned and unzipped his dark trousers, releasing his cock from its restraints.
you swallowed at his size, your eyes widening slightly. you heard ghost chuckle above you. annoyed that he was somehow getting satisfaction out of your surprise and tentativeness, you took him in your mouth without warning. ghost’s chuckle turned into a choked groan. 
you bobbed up and down, not taking your time at all, your hand coming up to wrap around the base of him to move in sync with your mouth. you could hear him panting as you slid your tongue up and down, swirling it around the tip before sinking him back deep inside of you. 
he swore under his breath as you pumped him a few times, kissing the tip of his cock already leaking with precum. when you took him in your mouth again, his hand fisted your hair and his hips swung forward, rutting himself into you. 
you braced a hand against his thigh as he took control, moving in and out of your mouth at a faster speed than you were taking him moments ago. he hit the back of your throat and you swallowed so you wouldn’t choke and his head flew back and he moaned uncontrollably. 
you coughed and tried to catch your breath as he pulled out of you. tears were running down your face and you wiped your mouth. his fingers slid under your chin and tilted your head up towards him. 
“you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, pet.” his thumb traced your bottom lip as he studied you, face flushed and glowing, tears making your eyes sparkle, your lips swollen and red, sat back on your haunches as you looked up. you were a marvel. 
he pulled you up and pushed you onto your bed. you watched as he crawled on top of you. your hands slid to his shirt and vest and you began to unbutton them. “want this off,” you muttered. 
his eyes searched yours for a moment, hesitating before he did what you wanted and stripped his top bare. it was hard to see in the dim light but you could tell he had scarring along his chest and back. you wondered if he was somehow ashamed or embarrassed by them and that’s why he contemplated removing his shirt or not. 
he settled back between your legs and you traced one of the scars on his shoulders before looking up at him. he was already looking at you, his eyes boring into your own. “how’d you get this?” you asked. 
he tilted his head, his hand brushing the side of your hair then cupping your cheek. “bounty hunting.” you looked at him expectantly. “he had me pinned down, tried to slit my throat. i kicked him from underneath and it made him miss. still hurt like a bitch though,” he said with a bit of faux mirth. 
you pulled him down to kiss you, his lips moving softer against you than earlier, gentle, but still just as hungry. 
he rolled his hips against you and you both groaned. “i need to fuck you so bad,” he said against your mouth. 
“so do it then.”
his eyes flared as he pulled back and looked at you. his hands shuffled his pants the rest of the way off and he lined himself up with your entrance. your hands wrapped around his back as he began to ease his way into you. 
you squeezed your eyes shut as he edged further in. he paused when he saw you. “am i hurting you?”
you shook your head. “no. keep going.” he gave you a questioning look, not sure if you were lying or not before he pushed all the way in. you both gasped as he sank as far as he could go. 
you both panted, trying to catch your breaths as he let you adjust to his size. he tested the waters by pulling out a little bit and pushing back in. he groaned deep in his chest as you spasmed around him, unused to someone of his size. 
“fuckin’ hell,” he said to himself. he knew he wasn’t going to last long. but fuck, he wanted to get you off at least one more time. 
he began to thrust in and out of you, doing a little more each time until he was almost pulling all the way out before thrusting back against your hips. 
the pain subsided and all you felt was ripples of pleasure as he moved inside of you. your nails dug into his back, your legs hooking around him and urging him to go faster. 
“you feel so good,” he mumbled against your neck. you mewled and threw your head back against the mattress as he relentlessly pounded into you, going rather hard now that you seemed to take him okay. the wooden bedframe crashed against the wall, thumping with the beat of his hips, but neither of you had it in you to care.
he picked up speed and you gasped, “ah!”
he stopped moving. “shit, did i hurt you?”
“no, no! keep going. move! fuck, please,” you said desperately. ghost chuckled before moving again, hitting you deep with each thrust. 
his smile quickly faded as he tried to stop himself from finishing too early. his hand slid between your bodies and began to rub your clit. your legs went outwards, letting him get you even deeper, and your walls spasmed around his cock. you felt yourself getting close. 
you were muttering all kinds of obscenities under your breath and ghost was growling and panting as he rutted against you. “you feel–fuck–so much better than i thought.”
your fingers ran through his hair and he kissed you again. “fuck, ghost,” you moaned. 
“simon.” you opened your eyes to look at him. “my name is simon.”
your eyes never left his as you whispered his name, the ‘n’ of it raising in octave as he thrusted into you. your eyes began to flutter again but one of his hands grabbed your jaw. “keep your eyes on me,” he demanded. 
his dark eyes were intoxicating as they glowed in the candlelight, the dark makeup around them making them that much more captivating. his hair was disheveled from all the times your fingers ran through it. you were certain you had never seen anyone so handsome. 
“i’m gonna come,” he growled. your breath picked up speed and your mouth hung open in breathy pants and little moans. 
“come in me,” you pleaded. before he could even respond, your soft voice saying something so obscene had him tumbling over the edge. his finger on your clit kept moving as he spurted inside you. 
you felt your legs shake and your walls clench down on him, dragging out his orgasm as he made sounds like he was in pain. 
you kept your eyes locked on him as you cried out, though you found it a difficult task. you felt his warmth fill you as you shuttered around his cock. he continued to thrust through both of your highs, a guttural groan escaping him each time your hips connected. 
when you both seemed to settle down, your highs coming to a blissful end, he collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your neck, breathing you in. 
your hands traced absentmindedly up and down his arm as he pressed himself against you. a few minutes later he rolled over and slid out of you, white seeping out and onto the sheets. he gave you a satisfied grin as he looked between your legs. you felt oddly shy.
he laid back into your pillow and pulled you against him, wrapping his arms tightly around you. you still couldn’t fathom the fact that this man who seemed to hate you for no reason was actually extremely attracted to you and just ravished the fuck out of you. and he was far kinder in bed than you would have imagined. 
you liked the feeling of security as he possessively held you to him, his hand in your hair. 
you tilted your head up to him. “you might want to go back to your room,” you muttered. 
“why?”
you felt your face heat. “we probably don’t want the others to find out
” this was a whole new type of situation for you, and you weren’t sure you wanted the whole group to know you and ghost just fucked, only hours after meeting one another. 
he laughed. “i think they already know, pet. we weren’t exactly quiet.”
“oh my god,” you said in mortification, bringing your hands up to cover your face.
2K notes · View notes
star-sim · 11 months ago
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your lips, my lips, apocalypse ☆ heeseung lee
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☆ non-idol! heeseung x fem! reader ☆ summary: sex, love, and romance tasted like poison on your tongue, a secret that you held close to yourself for years. unfortunately, when heeseung kisses you, he, too, could taste that poison. ☆ genre: hurt/comfort, angst, veeery suggestive but no smut, implied college! au, unclear relationship status but can be viewed as friends to lovers ☆ warning(s)? implied s*xual abuse, hypersexuality as a coping mechanism, if youre not comfy with these topics don't read! ☆ word count: 2.0k ☆ atp im just writing my entire playlist... based off of apocalypse by cigarettes after sex <3
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Heeseung should have known the moment that your first instinct was to lower your head in shame and unbutton your shirt, revealing your lacy undergarments and bare skin, because you thought your then-boyfriend was angry at you.
He should have seen the signs when you had no problem shoving your tongue down every team captain's throat for everyone to see, but danced around the topic of sex, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you clutched onto his sleeve.
He should have noticed the way you changed, how you slowly showed more and more skin, yet said less and less, shrinking into yourself whenever a pair of eyes glazed over you, almost like you were afraid.
But most of all, Heeseung should have known the moment that you attacked him with your lips, hungrily kissing him like a starved hyena.
He hated himself for realizing so late into the night. 
There the two of you were, sprawled across your bed. You had your back flat against the soft, white sheets, your bare skin so pretty under the warm light. Heeseung, shirtless in his own right, hovered over you, admiring you.
Both of you were breathless, lips swollen and eyes blown out as you ached for each other, spending the last hour teasing each other.
What started as a calm night with his dear friend became an impromptu makeout session, that then became the two of you half naked in your bedroom.
The first sign should have been how you faltered at Heeseung's mindless mention of his love-life, the way your expression pinched briefly. You let out a few sad words, yet your tone was so happy that Heeseung didn't notice the way your brows furrowed, sinking your teeth into your lips pensively. 
The second sign should have been the cloudy glaze over your eyes the moment Heeseung's hand accidentally brushed up against your thigh, and more importantly, the way your eyes were glued to his hand as he pulled it away, a small "sorry"falling from his lips.
The third sign was the way that you paused for a moment, giving him a confused look after you crawled on top of him, your lips attached to his neck. Heeseung's hand ghosted over your hips and waist, asking breathlessly, "Can I touch you here?" 
This should have been the nail in the coffin, the way you looked so quizzical just because he asked permission to touch you.
But now as Heeseung pinned you under him, his large, doe eyes gazing down at yours, he felt his heart pound. You looked so beautiful. The sight of you under him was something that he could only dream of, but now that you were right in front of him, Heeseung felt dizzy.
All these years, he'd been waiting for his moment— to be so close and intimate with you, you who he never really escaped from.
Heeseung could feel the warmth of your skin against his, the feeling being so delicious that he wanted to bask in it forever.
As his long fingers slithered down to the hem of your panties, dipping into them, Heeseung watched your face. 
Your head was thrown back, gazing up at him like he was a god. Your pretty lips were wet and parted, sucking in sharp breaths and letting out small sighs as Heeseung worked on you.
But what made Heeseung falter was the look in your eye.
He'd always known you to be bright-eyed; it was within your eyes that he could see the universe unfold before him, without a single speck of dust obstructing it.
But this time, your eyes told something different.
Earlier, they were filled with excitement and desire. But now, they were dull; storm clouds shrouded the sky that was your eyes, shedding a murky and foggy cast that was so dark that it bled onto the rest of your face.
Heeseung was no stranger to your past.
It was no secret that you had many sexual partners, almost to the point of being rumored to be a 'whore' or 'slut.'
Heeseung didn't know for sure, but he was perceptive enough to understand the link between the older boy that you dated for years in high school who was known for preying on younger girls, and your transition into being more sexually-charged. He had a feeling that your sudden change into being more sexual had something to do with the predatory nature of your relationship back then.
All this time, you'd told him that you were okay, that you'd moved on and did things because you wanted to do it, that you were no longer haunted by the memory of your sexually abusive ex-boyfriend from when you were seventeen years old.
But Heeseung could read you better than he knew.
From your eyes, he could tell that you were desperate.
Not desperate for sexual gratification or pleasure.
Not desperate to be touched.
Not desperate to be satiated by some sort of sexual hunger.
No, you were desperate to be healed, desperate to be held.
Of course. You were turning to sex to fix your problems. You were finding value in relationships and yourself through sex. 
You didn't want to have sex with him.
Slowly, Heeseung removed his hands from you, pulling up your panties and getting up to find your shirt. Without a word, he slipped your shirt back onto you, his hand fixing your disheveled hair.
Sensing that something was wrong, you gently grabbed his face, pressing your lips against his. For a second, Heeseung forgot everything, only relishing in the way that your lips felt. His body was begging him to relieve him of his desire. Atlas wanted you. Oh, he wanted you so bad. He wanted you selfishly.
But Heeseung wasn’t going to have sex with someone that didn’t want it.
“No,” he mumbled against your lips as he tried to pull away. “[Name]-”
You only pulled him closer by the shoulders, squeezing them. Your lips were now crashing against his aggressively and with a passion that felt artificial. “[N-Name],” he tried to pull away. “No.”
“I just—” you said in-between kisses, “I just really want you.”
Heeseung could have easily pushed you away, given your strength difference. But he refused to hurt you. With a firm jerk, he was able to get himself free of your grip.
"I can't do this with you," was all he said.
You looked like you were about to cry. Heeseung felt a pang in his chest, but all he did was shake his head. Heeseung silently got off of you, finding his pants on the floor and slipping back into them. He went to your bathroom to get a warm wet cloth to clean your wet thighs up, his hands gently grasping your skin as if you'd fall apart if he was too rough.
Just as Heeseung was about to throw the towel into your hamper, you grasped onto his bicep, digging your nails into it. You looked up at him with tearful eyes, your brows knit together as you began to sniffle.
"I-I'm sorry," you whimpered. "Did I do something wrong? A-Are you mad at me?"
Heeseung immediately tossed the wet cloth aside somewhere on your bedroom floor.
"What are you talking about?" He wrapped his arms around you, pulling your head to your chest, feeling your tears stain his bare chest. When Heeseung pecked your forehead, you wailed even harder, your arms coming up to pull him closer to you, holding him like he'd save you. "Why would I be mad at you?
"W-Why don't you want to h-have sex with me then?" you shakily choked out. "Am I— Am I not good enough?"
"No," Heeseung's eyebrows crashed together, his eyes narrowing. His words were serious, but his voice was soft, as soft as a feather for your delicate ears. "I could tell that you didn't want it, Baby. I would never get mad at you for that. I hope you know that."
The sound of your sobs must have been the worst thing that Heeseung had ever heard in his life. He didn't like it one bit. Those hot tears were tiny droplets of all the pain and abuse that you've suffered from. 
"I'm s-sorry," you whimpered. "I-I'm s-sorry."
What did they do to you? What have they done to you that you apologized so much?
Heeseung clenched his fists. His chest burned with a different type of anger, an anger that was so great that it was overwhelming, eating Heeseung alive and chewing him into dust. He'd kill them, he'd kill the son of the bitch that hurt you so much like this with his bare hands.
"Fuck," Heeseung cursed under his breath. In a single movement, Heeseung hoisted the both of you up, so that you were on top of him, your head rested on his chest. As tears spilled from your eyes, clinging to Heeseung, he petted your head. 
Heeseung was warm, warm in a way that you couldn’t describe. You wanted to fall into him, let your eyelids flutter down peacefully, and relish in what was his essence. 
You felt apologies prickle the tip of your tongue. After all, other than letting others use your body, saying sorry was the only other thing you knew how to do. You felt weak, helpless, like a wet dog at the mercy of its owner, yet you felt more sorry for Heeseung, who was now stuck with you. 
“S-Sorry—“
“Shhh,” Heeseung whispered into your ear. “Don’t apologize, Baby.”
“But—“
Heeseung hushed you. 
When your breath didn’t slow, in fact speeding up to the point that you were huffing in quick breaths and pushing out even shallower ones from your chest, Heeseung grabbed your hands. 
It felt like the entire world was crashing down into your shoulders, hitting you all at once. Everything hurt, your body was trembling yet you couldn’t feel anything. You should be okay, right? After every one-night stand or sexual partner that inevitably used you like a doll, you were always left alone and cold. You experienced this exactly, and you’ve dealt with it every time alone. You can do it again, right? If you’ve been alone all this time, you can deal with it this time alone, too—
“Hey.” 
Heeseung’s voice forced you out of your head.
“Hey,” he repeated, rubbing circles on your back. “Breathe.”
You swallowed down the sob that threatened to spill out. “I’m o-okay.”
“You aren’t,” he said simply. “I know you aren’t.”
You shook your head, pulling away from him. You wanted to shrink back into his warmth, to be sucked back into the paradise that was the comfort that was Heeseung, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You were scared.
Why would he want to be around you? Why would he even want to have a burden of a person like you to hold? You were a mess, a wreck that had too many problems to count. You were unlovable, broken, fragmented and with missing parts because of all the men that have robbed you of your identity, your autonomy, your ability to love, and—
To your surprise, Heeseung simply pulled you back in. His hands gently slinked to your wrists, pulling you back into him. Your mind told you to run away and hide, but instinctively, you melted into him.
“Let me take care of you,” Heeseung said. His voice was calm, light on your ears in a way that made your heart ache. He took your hand again, squeezing it. “I don’t care what you say, I’m not leaving you.”
“Please d-don’t,” you whispered back, so softly that your voice was barely audible. “Don’t leave.”
“I won’t,” was all Heeseung said. “You can count on it. I won’t.”
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heartelysia · 1 year ago
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rich flex
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"can you hit a lil' rich flex for me" ; in which you're nothing more than roommates
cw ; ooc leon, jealousy, panty stealing, panty sniffing, college au, re2 leon, use of sex toys, masturbation, creepy behaviour from leon
note ; this is also reposted from my ao3! college roommates au :3 [m.list] (i lovd leon n his little butt chin sm in re2 😭😭 its so cutw wtf) AND YES! THAT IS MANGA LEON KENNEDY!! ILLVE HM!!
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she was the moon and he was the sun, polar opposites. she was closed off and reserved whilst the blonde wasn't much of an extrovert per say but compared to her, he shined much brighter.
people loved him and everything he had to offer but on her end, people would still ask, 'who is that?'. that was one of the many results of only choosing to attend night lectures or acting like a complete ghost during the semester.
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she knocks on leon's door - if the crappy wood with a knob could be considered one - holding a half-full laundry basket in her other hand. a few moments pass, shuffling and the rolling of one of those wheelie chairs are heard through the thin walls. the door creeks open as a little bit of sunlight spill from the window in his room.
"oh hey y/n, whats up?", his soft, boyish voice rings throughout the hallway, his cheeks flushed a bright pink colour as his breath is bated with each second. you gesture to the laundry basket in your hand, holding onto your quiet demeanour. leon's eyes follows your movements before suddenly lighting up. "oh yes! it is my turn this week, thank you y/n!", he softly beams, fully opening the door as he grabs the basket from you and places it beside his stack of clothes.
you give the boy a simple hum before turning on your heel, heading back into your little man woman-cave. leons gaze lingers on you, watching the way you dragged yourself back into your cramped room. sometimes he wished he could hear your sweet voice more but we can't have everything we want right?
leon glances back into his room, glazing his eyes over each neat cabinet and organized stack of books before they land on the new addition of laundry. he hoped he didn't seem too off when speaking to you, after all, he still gets nervous around you despite being roommates. the blonde quickly brushes the thoughts out of his head as he grabs his pile of dirty clothes and dumps it onto your laundry, filling the basket to the brim before picking the heavy luggage up and waddling out of his room.
the sound of his footsteps reverberate against the crappy wooden planks as he awkwardly stumbles to the tiny laundry room. leon hooks his fingers under the lid, lifting it up as a scent of detergent pods hit his face. he quickly grabs the full laundry basket before tipping its contents into the washer before placing the empty basket back onto the floor.
he opens up one of the cabinets on top and grabs the detergent pods, popping one into its place. as leon is about to close the top and start the machine, something catches his eye, a frilly white pair of underwear. the blondes cheeks light up in embarrassment yet the familiar coil in his stomach grows as he feels his cock stir at the thought of your panties wrapped around his thick length.
leon swallows the lump in his throat, gulping as his eyes stay glued onto your undergarment. it was a morality debate in his head, he could either steal your panties or he would not. he gulps one last time before reaching his hand in and snatching the used underwear up, he scrunches the soft material up and shoves it into his pocket.
a small wave of guilt crashes into him but he brushes it off, closing the lid before turning on the washer, the water spilling from its sides as it dampens the fabrics. he places his hand into his pocket, clutching your panties in his hand as his breathing becomes ragged and his mind swirls with lewd fantasies of you.
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a whine rumbles in his throat as the sound of your voice note plays in his headphones. with his cheeks flushed, ragged breathing and a fleshlight pumping up and down his length, his soft groans and moans fill the air. leon's leaky tip beads with precum as he replays the same voicemail you left him, stroking his fat cock up and down with the fake pussy.
leon suddenly pauses, he quickly reaches over under his pillow and grabs newly stolen pair of panties. his cock twitches once more, the knot in his stomach threatening to come undone from the thought of sniffing his beloved roommates used panties. he shoves the underwear into his nose, grunting gutturally at the scent of her, stroking his cock just a bit faster now. "f-fuck... you smell so good...", he moans, rutting his hips into the fleshlight as he takes a big whiff of her.
sure, the blonde feels somewhat bad... but he couldnt find his morality in him as of now, not when her delicious panties were pressed up against his nose. with each pump, his angry, swollen tip leaks more and more precum, the fleshlight picking the precum up and using it as lube, only adding to the fiery sensation leon is experiencing.
the knot in his stomach only gets tighter, ready to snap in half as the sound of your cold voice echoes in his ears. "oh fuck- fuck baby... sweetheart...", he grunts, bucking his hips uncontrollably into the fake pussy, wishing it was your sweet cunt he was pounding into. leon wondered to himself, would your pussy be wetter? would you moan uncontrollably as he jackhammers his cock into you? or would you be restraining your moans and making him fuck you till it finally spills out? it didn't exactly matter to the boy as his cock was speaking for him.
with one last final pump, his thick warm cum spills from his fat tip, followed by a series of depraved moans as he desperately grinds into the fake pussy, circling his hips as shots of thick cum come spurting out of his cock.
as he slowly calms down, gently pulling the fleshlight away from him, his ears perk up. a noise that didn't sound like it was from the voice message or one he made. maybe he was insane, maybe it was just him riding down from his high but he swore he heard a soft moan from the other side of the wall, the walls were thin... it could be him imagining things, after all, he still had his headphones on.
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he really didn't like it, but what was he meant to do? she wasn't interested in him - at least to his knowledge. the blonde stares at the curly haired male following her from a distance as a look of hesitance was on the mans face.
"y/n?", the mans voice rung loudly, catching a few glances from passer-bys. the girl stops in her tracks, one hand resting on the strap of her shoulder bag, she turns on her heel to face the man. "carlos, what is it?", she softly asks, her voice hardly above a whisper but still rather blunt. the latin american grinned, handing y/n a few pieces of paper stapled together.
"its the draft i did really quickly, since I still dont have your number, i wrote mine on it so text me your thoughts about it.", carlos said, flashing the girl a charming smile. y/n simply hums as she takes the drafts from him, placing it in her bag as she holds the blank expression and mutters a small thank you. despite her lack of physical reaction, carlos seemed to light up a little more as he brings her into an awkward hug of gratitude.
when she pulls away, carlos seemed to look a bit more shyer than before as his cheeks were softly dusted with a gentle pink hue that doesn't go unnoticed by leon.
with his attention away from the lecture, the blonde clenches his jaw in frustration. she was merely a roommate, why did he care so much anyway. leon softly huffs to himself before turning away from y/n and carlos' small interaction and tries to focus back onto the lecture... keyword, tries.
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as y/n returns from her lectures, the shared housing space is oddly quiet. leon would typically be cooking something up or playing music in the background. subconsciously, the girl had gotten so used to her roommates habits and routines, it felt weird and wrong without leon's presence made known to her.
despite the fact that they were polar opposites, she found comfort knowing leon was home but the fact that not a single squeak is heard unless it was from made her stomach twist.
"leon?"
her soft voice bounces off of the flimsy walls of the room, the sound of her voice actually audible unlike the multiple times she simply hummed in replacement of speaking. no reply, y/n softly sighs to herself as she drags her feet towards her cramped room, kicking her shoes off.
the girl enters her tiny room, throwing her heavy shoulder bag onto her chair as she slumps down against her bed, eyes closing from exhaustion. small grumbles and groans escape her throat as she rubs her eyes, expressing her distaste for the lengthy project.
she was too lost in her own train of thought that she suddenly jumped at the noise of someone knocking at her room door. when did leon get home?
"y/n, i got us takeout tonight, i hope you don't mind.", leons bashful voice leaks past the door, y/ns ears catching onto the sound of plastic rustling in his hand as she cracks open her door. peering at the handsome man through the obvious crack emits a soft chuckle from the blonde as he just lifts the plastic bags up, flashing y/n a glimpse of the food.
a waft of the scent of delicious chinese takeout has her fully opening her door, following leon close behind like a puppy into the kitchen. leon laughs at the way she gives into food so easily, a big grin tugging at his lips as he places the bag onto the counter. "you dislike my cooking this much?", he queries, taking out the containers one by one whilst staring at his roommate snatching the bamboo utensils from the bottom.
y/n shakes her head at his response, keeping her lips sealed. the blonde softly laughs before opening the food up, the smell of stomach-filling chinese cuisines filled their nose. "smells nice... good selection leon...", she softly mumbles, trying to hide the fact that her mouth was watering. red covers leons cheek as he sheepishly laughs it off, feeling the knot in his stomach once more at her praise, "really? uhm-... well time to dig in!".
y/n softly hums in response as she begins picking up sides into her bowl, "... thanks leon, you're really sweet.", she mutters lowly, slowly popping the food into her mouth. his eyes stay glued on each movement on hers. the way her voice rung in his ears was heavenly, the way her chest heaved faster than usual, the way her hair fell to frame her adorable face, the way her lips wrap around the utensil was so arousing...
fuck, he was hard again.
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cxrrodedcoffin · 6 months ago
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Is it Casual Now? (Part 2) - Jennifer Jareau
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Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!
This is part 2! It can be read as a standalone as PWOP but part 1 adds context to certain references & the ending. Part 1 can be read here.
Summary: Reader overhears a conversation between JJ and Morgan and wonders what she is to JJ.
Word Count: 1.8k
A/N: I’ve been listening to Casual by Chappell Roan too much lately and this is what happens when I do that. This is an AU where JJ and Will are divorced, no cheating occurs.
TW: established relationship, dom!jj, fem + afab reader, use of “girl” in reference to reader, oral sex, fingering, penetration (by a strap, sometimes referred to as cock), slight degradation, praise kink, pet names, engagement announcement
Rating: R (this is almost all smut lol)
——
JJ pulled your hands away from the towel, letting it slip to the floor and leaving you completely bare as she pulled you by the waist to press her body against yours.
The stiff cotton of her white button up created a friction against your chest that had your nipples hardening, your hands working quickly to undo each button of the shirt in hopes of feeling her skin against yours.
You broke the kiss to look down at what you were doing, panting to catch your breathe as your brow furrowed, growing frustrated by the task at hand.
“Need help baby?” She laughed, taking over for you and making it look almost effortless. She shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, reaching behind her back to undo her bra, finally exposing her perfect breasts. Your hands quickly cupped them, pulling her back into the kiss.
Her hands worked their way over your body, fingers ghosting down your waist before her hand found your cunt, fingers dipping into your folds to feel the wetness pooling between your thighs. She broke the kiss this time, watching your features as her finger found its way to your clit, rubbing firm circles against your sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasped, rutting your hips forward to match her movements. You let yourself give into the pleasure for a moment before your hunger kicked in, your hand gripping her wrist and pulling her from you.
You moved to undo her slacks, letting them drop to meet the messy pile of clothing on the floor before pushing her back until the back of her thighs hit the edge of the bed.
“Someone’s eager.” She breathes, positioning herself further up on the edge of the bed.
“I need you.” You practically moan, more desperate than you’ve ever felt before.
Your hands grip her hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of her underwear before tugging them down, letting her kick them off as she spreads her legs. You drop to your knees, ready to dive in when you feel her fingers tug on your hair, abruptly stopping you. You look up at her doe-eyed, brow furrowed in confusion.
“What do you need?” She questioned, knowing how crazy being this close to her cunt without being able to touch would drive you. You whine, growing impatient as you tried to look down at her heat, but her grip held your gaze on hers.
“Use your words.” Her tone is firm this time, looking you directly in the eye.
“Need to taste you.” You whine, frustration building, your lips curling into a slight pout.
“You’re lucky you look so pretty like this, I usually don’t let pathetic brats eat me out.” She cuts, tugging your head back to expose your neck a little more.
“I’m sorry, I just want to show you how much I love you.” You whimper, eyes glazing with the threat of tears.
“My sweet girl, how can I possibly say no to that?” She eases her grips, guiding you to her center, fingertips gently massaging your scalp as you finally lay your tongue flat against her heat. You moan against her, the familiar taste of her arousal getting you drunk like your favorite wine. You lap at her, tongue surveying her folds until you meet her clit, already swollen and waiting for your touch. You gave gentle flicks with the top of your tongue, taking your time to work her up even further.
“No teasing.” She groaned, gently gripping your hair.
You listened, getting to work applying firm pressure with every movement of your tongue, closing your lips around the sensitive bud to suck in just the way you know she loves. Her moans grew louder as she began to grind her hips against your face, and you knew she was close. You brought your index and middle fingers to her entrance, sinking into her wet heat to massage her velvet walls, trying your best to bring her the release you so desperately wanted to provide her after shutting her out all day.
“Right there, such a good girl.” Her breathy moans were music to your ears, spurring you on. You increased your speed, curling your fingers up against the soft spot inside of her that drove her wild, finally feeling her hips begin to stutter against you. She moaned your names, probably a little too loud given that the team was on the other side of the thin walls of this hotel, but neither of you cared as she rode out her high, her walls contracting around your fingers in a death grip.
You slowly removed your fingers, pulling away to look up at her, making hazy eye contact as you sucked her milky cum off of your digits. She brushed a strand of hair away from your face, smiling softly at you.
“You did so good, angel.” She praised, her tone almost sickeningly sweet.
She moved to get up from the bed, walking over to her bag.
“I have something for you, but I need you to get on the bed and close your eyes, okay?” She asks, waiting for your nod of understanding and your eyes to close before pulling her harness out of her bag and securing it around her hips.
You felt the bed dip, her weight shifting as you could feel her settle between your legs.
“Open.” She commanded, her hand resting on your thigh.
Your lids fluttered open, eyes widening when you saw the strap situated against her hips.
“Did you bring that? What did the agents say when they checked your bag?” You asked, slightly stuttering over your words.
“I started keeping one in my bag because I know you love it when I use it on you, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Besides, the screening team knows better than to ask too many questions about my personal items.” She explained, and you almost felt silly for asking. At this point you should’ve known how one of her death glares would shut anyone up, what surprised you was how she had your pleasure in mind even when you were away from home.
“That makes sense, thank you for thinking of me.” You always felt so vulnerable under her, and now was no different.
“I’m always thinking of you.” She sighed, shifting over you, placing her left arms beside your head. Blush crept over your cheeks at her words, feeling so loved in that moment.
“Are you ready?” Her question breaking the silence. You nod, spreading your legs wider to give her ample space. She reached down, holding the base of the dildo and slapping it against your clit a few times, each hit sending a jolt of warmth through your cunt. You began to whine, growing increasingly needy as she ran the cock through your folds, coating it in your arousal.
She locked eyes with you, lining the tip up with your entrance before slowly sliding in, allowing you to adjust to the size of the toy. Each inch had you whimpering, your hand moving to hold hers, fingers intertwined.
When she was fully situated inside of you she paused, pulling you into a kiss before starting a steady pace pumping in and out of you. Your moans slipped out against her lips, each sound motivating her to drive harder into you.
“You're taking my cock so good, angel.” She praised, sending a shiver down your spine.
Her free hand hooked behind your knee, lifting your leg to rest it against her shoulder, the new angle heightening the sensation of her rutting into you. Her thumb found your clit, rubbing firm but gentle circles over it in tandem with the pace of her thrusts, the lewd sound of skin slapping and your overwhelmed whimpering filling the room.
“Mm gonna cum!” You cried, trying your best to hold it back as the tightening coil in your abdomen threatened to snap.
“Do it angel, show me how good I make you feel.” She encouraged, quickening her pace and drinking in the sight of your tits bouncing with each of her thrusts. Her approval was all you needed, relaxing into the rush of euphoria washing over your body, your grip on her hand tightening as you cried out.
“JJ!” Was the only coherent thing that left your lips, sounded by exhausted moans. She slowed her pace, still rocking into you to help ease you down from that incredible high.
You laid there spent, half-heartedly whimpering at the loss as she pulled completely out of you, too blissed out to protest.
“Are you good if I clean things up?” She asked, kissing you on the forehead when you nodded approval.
You heard the sound of water running and your exhaustion quickly took over, drifting off to sleep.
When you woke the next morning JJ was sitting on the other side of the bed, sipping her coffee as she watched you.
“Good morning my love.” She greeted you softly.
“g’morning” You mumbled, wiping the sleep from your eyes.
“How do you feel about telling the team about us?” Her question surprised you but simultaneously filled you with joy, finally being able to tell your friends about the relationship you’d been hiding for so long.
“I love it.” You smiled, getting out of bed to get dressed and ready in time to meet the team in the lobby.
“What were you two up to last night?” Derek greeted the two of you while exposing just how loud you really had been. You both rolled your eyes, looking at one another.
“We have an announcement.” JJ said, getting the rest of the team’s attention.
“We’re engaged!” You announced, taking JJ’s hand in yours.
“So much for keeping things casual, JJ.” Derek joked, calling back to the conversation that led to all of this in the first place.
“So that’s what all of that noise was last night.” Emily added, knocking shoulders with Morgan.
Your face turned bright red, embarrassed by the attention brought to your late night activities.
“Congratulations, you’ll need to fill out the necessary paperwork as soon as we return after this case.” Hotch was the voice of reason, as always.
That wouldn’t be a problem, you couldn’t wait to have it down officially that Jennifer Jareau wanted to spend the rest of her life with you.
——
Tag list: @lover-of-books-and-tea
DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my Jennifer Jareau or general taglist :)
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago
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The Farmer's Daughter 11
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Walter Marshall
Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
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“So
 what happens if Walter buys us out?” Timothy asks, a confused squiggle in his brow that hasn’t lessened for the entirety of the conversation.
“Well, we won’t be out on the street,” your mother says, “and your father will be taken care of. We can send him to The Gardens. He’ll be comfortable there
 we can visit.”
You bite on your knuckle, gnawing anxiously. Timothy frowns and rubs his chin, a sparseness of new stubble there. He sniffs as he tries to unravel the riddle.
“Does that mean he’s my boss?”
“Well, more of a landlord,” your mom explains, “he’ll help with the farming and take his cut. If he does this, he’ll have to cut back at the mill. It’s a big sacrifice. For everyone.”
Timothy nods and drops his hand to twiddle against the table, “it sounds like a good idea.”
“Yeah
 it’s our only idea,” your mom murmurs.
“What are the terms?” You ask suddenly, hiding the ridged marks in your finger left by your teeth. “He’s going to let us pay rent? On a whole farm?”
“If the bank gives him good news,” she rubs her palms together, “I don’t know. We need more information but we can hope.” Her voice quavers as she brings the tissue back to her nose, “I only ever want to do what’s best for you two.”
“Ma,” you reach out to touch her elbow, “we can help. We’ll pull together. All of us, with or without Walter.”
“I hope we can,” she snivels and begins to weep again.
You look at Timothy. He looks gaunt. He’s absolutely terrified. No matter how hard you try, you can’t see him doing it himself. He isn’t ready to take over for your dad. You don’t know if he ever will be.
You turn back to your mom as her shoulders shake. She looks little better than Timothy and you bet, if you glanced in a mirror, you would be much the same. This can’t all fall on her. She’s had to deal with so much so far.
“Tim, what’s wrong with the truck?” You ask suddenly, your mother and brother flinching at the same time.
“What?” He stammers.
“What’s wrong with it? Is it running?”
“Yeah, kinda, it stalls out but you just gotta give it a few.”
“Ma, how long?”
“What?” She rasps.
“How long do we have? Without Walter, just us. How long do we have to figure this out?”
She lowers her head and takes a deep breath. Her voice cracks, “six months.”
You cringe and try to show the impact as her answer threatens to knock you over. You lay your hands gently on the table and stand. You leave them and go into the living room where your father sits, staring and still. You pull up the short footstool from in front of the couch and sit by him.
You’re silent as you watch him. His eyes are glazed, his features are slack and emotionless, he doesn’t even know you’re there. He is a ghost. You put your hand on his, begging him to smile, begging him to crack a joke. Your heart swells then shrinks down so small it hurts.
“Dad,” you whisper and squeeze his hand, “I love you.”
You stand and kiss his cheek. He doesn’t react. You see your mother in the doorway. She watches with arms folded but doesn’t say a word as you cross the room. Neither do you.
You pass into the hallway and march down to the front door. You slip your feet into your shoes and snatch the keys off the hook. Your mom always said you were a daddy’s girl and your dad always told you that no matter how shitty it is, you do what needs to be done for the family. At the end of the day, it’s the only thing you can count on.
You leave without looking back. A tremor rolls through you as you open up the garage. You just need the truck to make it there, that’s it. You climb in the front seat and twist the ignition, chanting desperate pleas until it catches. The engine rumbles and you hit the gas, surging out before you can think better of this.
Your mother watches through the window as you steer away from the house. You lean over the wheel as the headlights shine over the dark country landscape. You’ve never been up that way but you know where you’re going.
Tap, tap, tap. At first you panic, thinking the engine’s sputtering out. Then the droplets turn to rivulets and the rain pours down, streaming over the windshield as you flip on the wipers. You’re at the edge of the seat, clutching the wheel tight as the belt strains across your chest.
The tires suck in the mud as the countryside turns boggish. You rock with the truck as it chuffs over the slickening earth, slowing with the incline of the next hill. Not much further. Almost there.
There’s a sudden pop and a chortle that rattles the truck. You yipe as the engine putters out and the headlights dim. You feel the world rolling backwards. You yank on the emergency brake, the old Ford lurching to a halt. You slam your hands on the thin steering wheel and lean your head against the cool leather.
Just a little further.
You raise your head, looking forward at the black road then at the rearview at the void. You’ve come this far. You take the keys and pull on the handle, letting yourself out in the whipping rains. The cold shower soaks through you in an instant as you slip through the mud, arms pumping as you take the last of the hill in a half-sprint.
You’re gulping and gasping as you come in sight of a single light. A rectangle of yellow, the only beacon amid the storm. Your teeth chatter as you will yourself onward. Your feet splash and you tumble over the bumpy ground, staggering and stumbling towards the dark house.
You fall against the stairs and heave, shaking as you fight for air. You put your feet under you and push yourself up. You stamp onto the first step, then the next, and the next. You catch the door frame and heave as you hear noise from within.
You grip the handle of the screen door but before you can pull it back, the door within opens and amber light spills into the blackness. You stare through the mesh as Walter’s broad silhouette towers over you. You gasp up at him and touch the screen.
“I’m sorry,” you eke out through a shiver.
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glazeliights · 2 years ago
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marlsswrites · 5 months ago
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Summer camp AU, part 30!!
July 30th <3
Enter - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1275
First part Previous part
The night sky was a beautiful blossoming colour of dark blue, the stars shone almost as bright as James Potter's eyes right now. The constellations stood out in the sky, it was loud, busy, sweaty - everything Regulus hated. Whenever something got too much, Regulus would just tip his head to the sky and trace the flowing, sharp edged shapes through the sheet of ever dark silk.
Parties weren't exactly Regulus' forte, but there wasn't too many people here, and he knew most of them. Still, it didn't stop him from taking a few breaths, in and out, look up, breathe out.
He nursed a plastic cup of whatever soft drink had been spiked with vodka, he'd taken a cup to quench his thirst, but it smelled far too sweet and tasted like straight vodka with the amount that had been added.
There it is, he admired the sparkling orbs in the sky, the Leo constellation. His star was a part of it, the constellation took the form of a lion. Regal, fierce, brave and loving, people have always told him that the lion reflects his personality, but he's not so sure. A lion to him is sunny, protective, strong yet sweet, sharp yet soft. Doesn't that remind you of someone?
The thought dashed through his head, the singular mention of James that made his mind spiral and his leg bounce up and down as he leant against the cold, wooden wall outside the cabin.
One glimpse of that face, all he needed was that, just to see the brunettes face. On thought, he hadn't seem him in a while, he'd disappeared from the party about an hour ago. None of his friends seemed to notice, or even care. That set off a whole new string of worries in his head, one side of him hissed at him to stay put, to not worry so much, to act normal for once. What if James thinks he's being clingy, what if he's with a girl? Because of course Regulus just wasn't enough, he didn't quite meet the standards that someone had to hold to be with a man such as James Potter. 
The other side was screaming at him to go, to find him, to check on him and make sure his James was alright. The thought that he was hurt, pained, upset - anything that wiped that smile away from his gorgeous, light filled face - was something that clearly doesn't deserve to walk this earth.
He took a long swig from his drink, the burning in his throat taking away from the rotten flood that was his mind. Then he pushed himself away from the wall, placed the almost empty cup into one of his friends hands - he doesn't quite recall who - and shot off towards his cabin.
-
Within enter, he saw James curled up on the bed, book in hand and tired eyes. Normally he has so much energy, he always has smiling cheeks and crinkled, loving eyes. But now those eyes seemed to glaze lazily over the book, his cheeks no longer looking warm, Regulus always imagined they'd be warm under his icy fingers that would trace his skin with touch as light as a shivering ghost.
"James?" He shut the door with a quiet click behind him.
As if in an instant, James' tired eyes, which were now alight with curiosity, lifted up from his book - it was actually Regulus' book - oh god no. That was Regulus' book, the one he'd made notes in, his copy of 'The Song Of Achilles'. He'd made specific notes in the book about James, about how much Achilles reminded him of the brunette. When the two shared their first kiss in the book, the tear wrenching, forbidden, heart breaking love story, he could rant for hours about that is what he longed to have with James.
A sad, beautiful, tragic love affair.
He wanted to be graced with a happy ending, but knowing his luck, he'll get pushed to second choice, like he has been his entire life. 
Not quite good enough.
'He's half my soul as the poets say.' 
Is he though?
"How much of that have you read?" He managed to get out, surprised that he could even open his mouth in his mortified state. His feet stayed glued to the floor, still light enough to run if he felt the need to. He hovered there, staring at James with such fright in his eyes while the older boy only put the book down slowly and stood from the bed.
He never got an answer from James, the next few moments felt so fast, so quick, so blurred, yet the memory would be tattooed in it's full, beautiful, alluring details behind his wide eyes until the day that he goes to his grave.
Hot lips were pressed against his own parted ones, eyelashes fluttered against his concerningly hot cheeks, warm, raspy breaths broke through his ears and his eyes fluttered shut under the comfort of strong hands curling around his waist and tracing patterns into the bare skin of his waist with skilled fingers.
Regulus reached one hand into his very favourite brunette hair, weaving the soft hair through his almost trembling hands. His other hand came up to the boys now smiling face, oh thank the gods he was smiling, Regulus would burn the entire world down just to keep James looking at him. Just like that, all the time. His perfect hands, the hands that seemed to fit around Regulus' waist like that was their only purpose, to hold Regulus, to protect him, to keep him safe, to touch and feel and love and admire.
His face was warm, flushed and smiling under his sweet touch.
Oh.
He really was just made for Regulus, all of those long lost fantasies he ran over and over in his head came to be true and far better than he could've ever imagined. They really did fit together like jigsaw pieces, two very stark different pieces, yet they fit, and it worked ever so well. Everything was playing through his mind like a movie, everything finally worked his way, he finally got the one thing that he'd ever desired.
His hands looped around James' neck, pulling him closer into him as James' comforting, healing, safe scent surrounded him. The other boy steadied himself as he took a few steps forward, caging Regulus between slightly tattooed, tanned arms and the wooden surface behind his bag. 
Tongues collided, breaths mixed, hands fumbled and groans echoed. Both taking breaths for air, but keeping their hands on each other the entire time. One of James' hands always stayed planted on Regulus' waist, gripping onto it as if somebody was going to steal him, as if Regulus wasn't always his.
"I'm yours." Regulus reassured him with a quiet, low whisper.
That was all it took for James to moan, dipping his head back downwards to kiss Regulus, now rough and desperate, needy and lustful - and Regulus loved it. All of the sounds he made, all of the touches and the praise that spilled from James' mouth as they kept within inches of each other.
The same hands that he has always longed to touch him, hooked under his legs, lifting him from the floor as he automatically looped his legs around James' waist, kissing his neck and whispering every sinful thought he had into the other mans ear. While being pulled away from the door and towards the same bed that they would watch movies on every single night, he couldn't help but smile into James' lips as he released a hot, heavy breath.
All of those nights he longed for more, and now he finally had it.
Next and final part
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serenescribe · 10 months ago
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the once (and many) prince(s) Twisted Wonderland | 3.3k Summary: Silver is, has always been, and will always be, the crown prince of his kingdom. AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54424864 Collaboration with @ohsleepie | Potential spoilers for elements of Chapter 7
Hi everyone! @ohsleepie and I are back at it again with another collaboration based on his wonderful "The Prince and his Physician" AU! This fic is meant to act as a companion story of sorts to the Malleus-focused "the prince's physician," this time focusing on Silver within the AU! Once again, this fic features incredibly beautiful and amazing art drawn by Sleepie; please check him out and follow him, if you haven't already!
I hope you all enjoy!
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The worst part of reincarnation, Silver thinks, is the constant cycle of relearning everything all over again.
Okay, perhaps it would be a bit of a stretch to call it the worst part. There are many negatives, many downsides, far too many to count, to being stuck in a loop of constantly dying and reincarnating. But this particular aspect is, in Silver’s honest opinion, one of the worst out of them all.
There is a bookshelf carved from expensive ebony that sits in his chambers, nestled against one side of the wall. There are several bookshelves in his room, but this is the only one that Silver ever uses, filled from top to bottom with centuries worth of journals — leather-bound books gilded with gold and silver, every detail immaculately painted and carved, the cover opening to expensive parchment made from calves. He tends to absentmindedly run a hand along the spines, eyes glazing over the muted leather colours, before plucking out a book, and reading it through.
Silver only lives a good seventeen years at best, always dying before crossing the pinnacle into adulthood. How much of those seventeen years consist of just
 reading? There are, of course, his early years, where he is much too infantile to read and write. But he barely has a few years of reading simple children’s stories before the latest journal is pressed into his hands, and he is briefly explained about the details of his curse.
He pores over the words of those who came before him — the Silvers who came before him, his previous iterations, all dying to form the next one. Their handwriting ghost his own, not just similar but straight up identical, and if he stresses his brain hard enough, he can almost conjure up wispy, fading memories of putting a quill to paper, ink curling across the page in the same, sweeping cursive.
And yet, it is a necessity to read all of it, all over again. Because Silver remembers — but not enough.
His memories are shattered, like an ancient mirror that has been cracked right through the middle, fractured into thousands of tiny, individual pieces. It is akin to a kaleidoscope of lifetimes; when he gazes into this metaphorical mirror, a thousand Silvers stare back, each one reflecting his exact appearance, yet distinct and different in their own ways. And yet each piece is but a shard; Silver remembers only the smallest bits of each past life, the pieces coming together to form a jumbled jigsaw of sharp-edged recollections.
He has lived far too many lifetimes as Silver — the crown prince of his kingdom, the only living heir of their royal family. He has lived far too many lifetimes as a Silver — distinctly different with each rebirth, living a short number of years until the day he inevitably dies.
Silver is immortal, and yet he is not. He lives on as the royal, the prince, a beacon of hope—
But Silver the person changes, with each new looping cycle.
(And so he reads through their journals, no matter how much it exhausts him.)
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Many a time, his gaze wanders to his bedroom window.
As the sole heir to the royal family, Silver resides in the largest chambers of the castle, a sprawling set of multiple rooms, from a drawing room to receive guests, to his private bedroom where he slumbers at night. What this also means is that he is privy to the best views of everything within his kingdom, from the area stretching across the castle grounds, to the rest of the kingdom beyond tall and guarded stone walls.
There are many things for him to peer at, but today, he is gazing at the soldiers’ barracks again. They have their own section of the castle, tucked out of the way, but Silver can view them from the sanctity of his study, a room where he pens his thoughts in his journal and reads through old ones.
The emotion that dwells within him is nigh imperceptible, difficult to describe. It feels as though someone has tied a rope around his ribcage, double-knotting it and pulling it tight before tugging at it, and pulling him forward. There are twinges and pangs that cross his heart, a hollow cavern yawning as his soul collapses into itself.
He feels this as he stares out the window at the soldiers training in their courtyard. His eyes fixate on the swords in their hands, at the way they slash and thwack their weapons against straw-stuffed training dummies. Occasionally, he will spot the soldiers gathering together, jumping and yelling as two of them spar with wooden swords, all of them oblivious to his peeping.
He wants this. He longs for this. He—
“Your majesty?”
Silver blinks. It takes him a split second, pulling himself out of his thoughts, shoving away the deep desires that permeate his heart, but he quickly turns around, eyes fixating on the familiar figure in the doorway.
“Malleus,” Silver greets, shoulders relaxing as a smile slips onto his face. Of course it is Malleus; there are few who have his explicit permission to enter without needing to knock, and his physician is one of them. He waves his hand, ushering him in. “How long have you been standing there? Come on in, take a seat wherever you’d like. And what have I said about the formalities?”
Malleus is here for another check-up, and Silver gladly acquiesces. He can think of no other person he trusts more with his very life and soul than Malleus himself. He allows the man to lead him through familiar routines, magic permeating his body as he searches for something Silver cannot see, before shifting to more physical methods of testing Silver’s health.
Still, as Malleus works in a near-silence, preferring to focus and get his duties done before they can relax and spend some time together, Silver cannot help his thoughts from wandering off again. His desires are not new; he has seen them expressed across multiple journals, scrawled in identical, curling scripts across expensive parchment. The desire to pick up a weapon, to learn to fight and defend, to learn how to wield a blade like a true prince — that is what he so desires.
But he is frail, and the council insists that he stays in, that he can learn to fight once they break the curse. So never, Silver thinks bitterly, eyelids slipping shut as he feels cold claws brush against his forehead. Never in this lifetime, and not while I’m alive.
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Malleus is many things.
To the populace, he has many names, many signifiers, viewed in many different ways. He is a blessing and a curse, for his magic is by far the only thing that can cure their prince, but all of it comes at the cost of his very existence itself: A fae; a deplorable, wicked creature; a monster that is the very scum of the earth itself. The history of their kingdom is written in the blood of their ancestors, shed through grievous wounds inflicted by the sharp claws and gleaming maws of the fae that slaughtered them all.
To the nobles, the members of the council who govern over the kingdom in Silver’s stead, making decisions on his behest, Malleus is something they tolerate. They do not speak of what will happen after the curse is broken and Silver is cured, but Silver knows, from their whispers and sly glances, from the words penned by the others who came before him, that they wish for nothing more than to rid the world of the last of the wicked — not, and never, fair — fae.
Humans gaze upon Malleus with distrust, wariness, abject hatred.
But for Silver, Malleus is one simple thing alone.
To him, Malleus is his friend.
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There are two distinct points in the history of Silver’s incarnations: Before Malleus, and After Malleus.
The difference is like night and day. The journals of before are dismal and depressing, imbued with a bone-deep loneliness that carried all the way through into the parchment pages, stained in the very ink used to scrawl thoughts across the pages. The Silvers of that time tried — truly, they did — to cling to hope, to believe in what their people believed: that one day, their prince would be freed from the shackles of his horrific curse.
But with the passing decades, the many years, the many Silvers that lived and died, they all seemed to suffer from the same truth: there was no cure in sight.
And then there was Malleus.
The guards found a young fae child today, lurking in the borders between what remains of the valley and the kingdom, his own handwriting reads, the parchment yellowed with age, the ink long-since dried. This, Silver knows, is the first point at which Malleus is mentioned, though not yet by name, tucked away in a notebook he recognises by the distinct fern-green colour of its cover. Even now, as I write this, I still cannot believe the abysmal state he was in upon meeting him. No child, whether human or otherwise, should have that many injuries on their body, and though I have had a stern word with those who found him, I fear for his safety.
He shall remain with me for the time being.
Though Silver does not have favourite journals — for such a concept is lost on him when all the journals are such a drag to read, recounting the day-to-day experiences of his past selves, a depressing fog seeming to permeate every page of words — this one is perhaps the closest one to such a concept. Because this journal is different — he clings to every word, phantom feelings of a fierce protectiveness flaring within him, as though this particular incarnation has stirred somewhere deep within him and seized his soul.
It is so painfully obvious how much his past self had cared for Malleus — taking care of him, granting him such patience and endless kindness, spending time with him teaching him the human tongue, of how to read and write. There is a page filled with endless delight upon learning the fae’s name, ink smudged together where the page reads Malleus. Their activities did not end at the crude essentials; there are sweeping recounts of games played together, of crayon drawings and delicious platters of sweet treats — and Silver aches when he reads every word of it, possessed by a longing to return to those simpler times, when Malleus was not his physician, and was merely his friend.
And this care is made so apparent by the last few pages, the cursive made shaky by the cold, approaching winds of Death. To the next Silver, it reads, take care of Malleus. If there is any hope of breaking this curse that ails me, it lies within the powers of the fair folk. And yet, the rest of the page is filled with sentiments, rather than explaining how Malleus is the key to breaking the curse:
I wish this could last forever, these sweet days of playing together. For much of my life, I have been haunted by a bleak loneliness, isolated by my circumstances, and haunted by the weight of all our pasts. I have never had any companions my age, and I know from my readings that all of my predecessors shared the same lonely fate. To indulge in such fleeting luxuries, to have someone to speak to as though we were on the same level, intimately so— it is a happiness unlike anything I have ever felt before.
Blotchy circles stain the pages, the ink smeared in places.
Things may be different from now on. I understand that the council wishes for him to begin his work when the next cycle begins. And it is with that knowledge that I must remind the next Silver: Malleus may be our physician, and he may be tasked with breaking our curse—
But before that, before any of that, he is our friend.
Never forget that, for as long as we may live.
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“Thank you for joining me today.”
Wispy trails of steam rise from two cups of tea, sitting in elegant saucers. Before Silver, and in the middle of the round tea table, is a small spread of sweet delicacies: scones accompanied by small glass jars of jam; finger sandwiches, some filled with goat’s cheese and roasted pepper, others filled with cucumber and salmon; and a small, round cake, tiny enough that it’s perfect for just the two of them.
“Of course,” Malleus replies, his voice smooth as usual. He raises his head slightly, slitted-eyes roaming over the tea-time spread before them, before he dips his head. “I thank you for the invitation, your majesty.”
“We have been over this many times, Malleus,” Silver says, unable to hide the exhaustion that spills into his voice. “You need not refer to me by such formalities.”
He knows why Malleus does so, of course. The answer is written across several different journals — It is difficult for him to reacquaint himself with us in each new cycle, and I truly cannot blame him. How alienating must it be, to witness someone you grow close to, time and time again, look upon you with no familiarity in his eyes? There is another reason too, though one of mere speculation, for Malleus has never confessed the truth by his own tongue — Earlier today, I witnessed a council member chide Malleus for regarding me with such familiarity during our meeting. I do wonder if this may be another factor into those needless formalities.
Thankfully, Malleus always obliges whenever Silver asks this of him — though whether it is because Silver is his prince, or because Silver is his friend, he never knows. “Is there any occasion for this meeting, Prince Silver?” Malleus asks, as Silver beckons for him to help himself, unwilling to dig in first when the fae’s eyes are flickering over the food, glinting with hunger. I wonder if he has forgotten to eat again, Silver thinks. Malleus carries over a scone and a sandwich with his utensils, leaving the cake intact. “Not that I mind it, by any means; it is always a pleasure to spend time with you.”
“There is no special occasion,” Silver answers, finally reaching for the spread as Malleus cuts into his meal. “I
 only wished to spend time with my friend.”
Their relationship is a strange, tenuous thing. There is undoubtedly a bond there, from the way that Silver always feels so safe and secure in Malleus’ presence, and the gentle way that Malleus treats him, always appearing whenever Silver calls for him. There are even some rare occasions where the facade of dutiful physician slips, a careful veneer crafted for the sake of survival in the court, and Silver relishes those times, watching as Malleus’ expression sours, the stinging barbs that spit from his mouth more endearing than his usual regal elegance.
But all the same, compared to the earlier journals after Malleus’ appearance, filled with much more warmth and life — even as he learnt his role, Malleus would still happily chat with those Silvers, accept his offers to play games, spend the night with him on many occasions — there is a gap between them now. Driven by age, driven by time, and driven by the eternal, scathing judgement of the many humans of this kingdom, who cycle in and out of life and death, but are all fuelled by the same spiteful hatred and prejudice, taking it out on the only fae they know.
Still, Silver tries his best. He knows Malleus does too.
He sees it in the way the fae’s shoulders relax, expression smoothing out at the edges. “In that case,” Malleus says, after a moment’s pause, “let us indulge. How have you been lately
 Silver?”
It is a good day for the two of them, Silver reflects. They drink their cups of tea and drain the pot of its excess drink, and the tray of delicacies are filled with nothing but crumbs by the time they’re done.
Even the cake, a dessert regarded with conflicting feelings by Malleus, is finished by the end of it. For once, Malleus eats his slices with a small smile, both their forks scraping the bottom of the plate as they help themselves to their fill.
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Death no longer scares him, unlike everyone else. Death, in its own way, is a comfort, an inevitability: Silver knows he will reach his demise at the same time, at the same age. Very few people can ever be privy to such knowledge, going through their lives not knowing if they will pass on at age fifteen or fifty.
In that vein, what does it matter if Silver chooses to speed up the process?
He is not allowed proper access to weaponry. The council states that it is because there is no need for him to pick up a blade when he has guardsmen patrolling the halls around his room at all times, but Silver knows better. This is not the first time he has longed to die earlier than he usually does; he can count the other occasions on two of his hands, based on cryptic journal endings dated months earlier than they usually do.
To an extent, a part of him wonders what the point of it is. He will die, inevitably; why inflict such pain and suffering if he knows he’s going to come back? What is the point of it all?
The point, Silver tells himself, is that there isn’t one. He’ll always come back. He’ll always return — and so why should he languish and rot in his bed as his body slowly gives out on him? Why waste those months feeling his muscles weaken and his grasp on reality slip?
Why not do everyone the honour of ending it early, ending it now?
(The silver blade of the dagger, requested from some rookie soldier who knows no better than to deny this particular request from the prince, is cold against the flesh covering his heart.)
Silver is so, so tired. His life is stagnant, unchanging; he lives and he dies the same person, the same name, the same cursed prince of the same bloody kingdom, every childhood filled with days of reading the same handwritten journals signed with the same, stupid name.
When will he be allowed to rest? The weight of a legacy, the weight of his people’s hopes and dreams, drag him down, like impossibly heavy weights that are shackled to his limbs, pulling and pulling until he’s flat against the ground. He never asked for this — and god, it’s so selfish to even think of that, but it’s true.
Nobody ever thinks about him, Silver the person. They are only ever concerned with Silver the prince, Silver their saviour.
Except—
A memory flashes to mind, unbidden — of twisting, dark horns and raven-spun hair, and slitted green eyes that crinkle at the corners as he smiles at him.
(His hands tremble.)
Malleus.
The name fills him with an ache. If there is anything Silver can take comfort in as he straddles the line between life and death, it is simply that Malleus will always be there. Malleus is a constant throughline throughout Silver’s life, and while Silver may ebb and flow, weaving in and out of the many, many years of a fae’s long lifespan, Malleus will always be there.
And though the thought of that face, rendered a child once more in its shock and sadness, causes his chest to knot itself with hesitance and reluctance, Silver steadies himself.
The humans may come and go, live and die, but Malleus will always remain.
(And the blade plunges down.)
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kaitou-kid-my-beloved · 8 months ago
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The Ghost-type Detective CH1 (Based on the Phantump Conan AU by @livmadart)
(Ao3 link)
Shinichi was so stupid. He was an idiot, a gosh darn fool. And now, because of his disregard for his own safety, he was
 he was

He choked on the pain, closed his eyes against the burn, and wished for all it was worth that it would just end faster. He knew, deep in the recesses of his decaying heart that it would end, and there was only one way that it would.
The small sliver of his brain that wasn’t consumed with agony was swirling with thoughts, hopes and regrets. What was Ran going to think? He’d never wanted to do this to her
 He had no idea what had happened to Sherlock- his pokeball had been taken when Shinichi had been hit. All he could do
 all he could do was hope they’d be alright
. Alright without him.
He could feel the moment his heart stopped.
He wasn’t breathing, his heart wasn’t beating, and he was still in the most agony he thought possible. After a few excruciating, infinite moments, everything stopped. The pain vanished, his vision faded, the sounds of the park dropped away, and even gravity itself stopped holding onto him.
So
 he was dead, then.
Honestly, for a moment all he could feel was relief. The pain was gone, and in those last moments that had been all he’d wanted. He’d never imagined anything could burn like that. The pain of death, he supposed.
In the next moment, he realized something. He was still thinking. He had none of his senses, he hadn’t even a vague idea of his surroundings, but he was still thinking. He still had a mind. He sure, one hundred percent sure that he was dead, so
 what was this? He waited a moment more. Nothing changed. He was still alone with his thoughts, trapped in this void.
Moment after moment passed, he had no idea how long it had been. His mind swirled with overlapping thoughts, the only thing he was capable of. Was this it? Was this all there was for him? This nothingness with only himself for company?... Forever?
He discovered something. When you’re made of nothing but thought and emotion, fear is a powerful thing.
He didn’t want to stay like this, the idea sent chills of panic through him that rattled his whole being. No no no no no. He mentally cast about, searching wildly for anything else, anything besides himself.
He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be trapped like this, he
 he really didn’t want to be dead. Gosh, Ran, Sonoko, everyone
 he couldn’t stand the idea of never finding out what happened to them. He’d thought that he might be at least able to- to observe or something, not, not

He felt something.
There, a flash of
 of warmth. The first physical feeling he’d had since losing his life. With that one sensation to ground himself, he could determine that he existed in some capacity outside his own mind, and he could tell that the warmth was coming from the left. There was a left! He latched onto it, with all of his fragile being, and pulled with all his mental strength. It got bigger- or, maybe he got closer to it?
It was so warm- almost hot, but that was fine, because it was something. He really did feel like he was getting closer, almost close enough to touch it

All at once, his five senses returned.
He could feel the cool night breeze brushing against him, he felt heavy again- though, not nearly as heavy as he thought he should. He smelled sugar, and meat from the amusement park, and he could hear the last lingering screams of delight from the remaining guests on the rides. He blinked, finding he had eyelids to move.
Immediately, he wished that he had never opened his eyes at all. The moonlight shone down on the little clearing behind the ferris wheel building, illuminating the corpse cooling on the grass. Shinichi’s corpse. It lay there, contorted in an odd position, eyes wide open and glazed. Blood stained the area crimson red, having spilled liberally from anywhere it could have.
He felt like he was going to be sick. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Ran that he was unfazed by gruesome sights, but this
 this was him.
Still, when he’d regained his awareness of the world, he’d hoped that somehow, somehow he’d survived. Maybe someone had found him and resuscitated him or something, or that his heart had restarted as a fluke, but
 The third person perspective of his own broken corpse wasn’t reassuring. But, if he hadn’t returned to his old body, then

He looked down at himself, and felt sick for an entirely new reason. The body he’d found himself in was
 well, whatever it was, it wasn’t human.
He didn't quite have legs anymore, or anything really. This new body of his was a simple tendril of gray, with two smaller nubs for arms. When he tried to move his hands, the nubs curled. Such a simple action, yet it made his head spin. It was so incredibly strange, he was supposed to have fingers, legs, toes, anything, but suddenly he didn’t anymore.
Slowly, ever so slowly, ignoring the roiling feeling in his gut (did he have one of those anymore?) He reached up and touched his face. He felt
 wood. The bark of a tree, rigid and cold, nothing like the human skin that he remembered. He opened his mouth, taking a deep, shuddering breath in, the bark moving to accommodate the action.
He pulled his nubs closer to his chest; new, unfamiliar instincts guiding his tail to curl around his body. He tried, desperately, to clear his mind. He knew that if he kept thinking, that very soon he’d figure out what was going on, and for once in his existence he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to realize what had happened, he didn’t want to figure out what he was. He’d just
 sit here for a bit. Enjoy not being dead, and ignore everything else.
Despite himself, his mind kept moving.
He’d
 he’d died on the edge of the forest that ran through this part of the park. Sure, his corpse was lying on carefully mown grass, but he had a feeling it was close enough. When he’d been younger, his mom had told him scary stories of kids who wandered into the trees and never returned
 as humans, anyway. At the time, he’d been fascinated. The presence of a certain, rare pokemon in the forest being an indicator of missing kids? It was something he might use, as a detective.
Now

The pokemon in question were called a ‘Phantump’, they were little ghost-grass types that often arose from kids dying in forests, and their souls possessing tree stumps. Of course, many of them were natural born pokemon, but the stories had clouded their reputation as long as they’d existed.
This is what I get for dying in the woods behind Tropical Land, Shinichi thought bitterly, winding his tail even closer around himself. The proximity to the trees was enough. Sixteen was young enough. The newly cut stump just at the edge of the grass, the same one Shinichi was currently perched on, was more than enough.
He screwed his eyes shut, shoving his nubs into the holes in his bark to hold them that way. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t happening. Any moment now his alarm would go off telling him it was time to get ready for Tropical Land, or he’d wake up in the hospital with that nasty head trauma, something, anything.
He didn’t believe any of that, of course, but it was a sweet little lie, and he needed a little sweetness after tasting his bitter new reality.
“Woah, I’ve never seen that happen before,” Shinichi froze, the little whisper carrying down to him from the trees above. A witness?
“No duh,” Another voice hissed. Shinichi carefully pulled his nubs away from his eyes, opening them and loosening his tail.
“Do you think he's okay?” Yet a third voice whispered. All three of them were coming from the tree above, what

“Think about that real hard,” The second voice sighed. It almost sounded like a man, a man with a high, whistling tone. So, nothing like a regular man, but still.
“Should we do something?” The first voice chittered, her tone laced with anxiety. “I feel like there’s something we’re supposed to do in this situation,” The way she spoke, it almost sounded like-
Oh. They were pokemon. Their strange, whistling chirping voices weren’t human. They were pokemon.
Carefully, and with quite a bit more hesitance than he might use normally, Shinichi looked up, craning his neck to see into the trees above. Sitting there, staring down at him in obvious concern, were three pokemon. A pidgey, a hoothoot, and a sentret.
“...Do you think he can hear us?” The third voice, the one belonging to the sentret, whispered.
“I’m gonna go with yes,” The hoothoot, owner of the second voice, sighed.
“Hello!” The pidgey called down to him. “Are you alright?”
Shinichi blinked up at them. What his ears were hearing and what his eyes were seeing didn’t quite agree. Pokemon should not be able to speak in a language he could understand. He was sure there were logical explanations for this, but he buried them. Cover it all in sweet little lies.
“Again, no, he is obviously not alright, what is wrong with you?” The hoothoot said, rolling his massive eyes. The pidgey ignored him, rolling her own eyes before hopping off the branch and gliding down to Shinichi’s stump. He startled as she landed in front of him, his tail twitching.
“Hmmm,” she hummed, looking him over. He blinked at her, his skin crawling with the sudden acute attention. “You do seem physically alright
 how are you feeling?”
He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound. He had a sickly creeping feeling that if he did, quite a few of those sweet lies would dissolve. He didn’t want that, not yet.
“Oh no, can he not speak?” The sentret fretted.
“Well, that’s not unthinkable,” The hoothoot tilted his head in interest. “Most pokemon can speak very little at birth, after all,” Shinichi winced, electing to ignore him from now on. “Then again I know little about ghost types, perhaps we should contact a pokemon who does?” Yes, a very good thing Shinichi had decided to ignore him.
“Oh yeah! That’s what you’re supposed to do! Get another ghost!” The pidgey suddenly chirped, hopping at the edge of the stump. “I’ll go do that, ‘kay? Wait here!” She took off in the next second, the wind from her wings shaking his leaves.

He was going to ignore that, too.
“There she goes,” The sentret sighed, wiggling a little before jumping down into the grass. She waddled up to him, moving much less suddenly than that pidgey had. “My name is Stripes, the old hoothoot up there is Mike, and the pidgey is just Pidgey,” She nodded to him, putting a paw on her chest. “I’m sorry this happened to you.” He didn’t say anything, shoving the rise of
 something into the back of his mind with the rest of his thoughts.
“It’s certainly interesting to meet you,” Mike hummed, still staring down at him with interest. Shinichi wasn’t sure he much liked that look.
“I found her!” The chirping voice of Pidgey drifted through the trees, and she reappeared a moment later, landing on Stripes’s head.
“Who?” Mike asked, tilting his head the other direction.
“Me,” A new voice said. This one was oddly, almost human, with a slippery gravel sort tone to it that Shinichi could have sworn he’d heard before. He strained his eyes for the source of the voice, staring hard into the shadows Pidgey had emerged from. For a moment, he couldn’t see anything, then a shape seemed to coalesce out of the darkness. Large and rounded with pointed spikes, and huge, toothy grin. A tremor ran through his whole body at the sight. A wild gengar.
“Oh! Haruna!” Stripes said, turning to face the newcomer. She sounded pleasantly surprised.
“Who else?” Pidgey huffed proudly. “I can’t think of any other ghost types in these woods.”
“Well,” Mike commented. “Not anymore.”
“So this is him, then?” the gengar, Haruna, hummed, taking in the whole scene before her luminous red eyes landed squarely on Shinichi’s new form. He did his best not to shake, but even in the best of circumstances being the center of a wild gengar’s attention was a bad thing. “Oh don’t worry little thing, I’m not going to hurt you,” She purred, stepping right up to his stump.
She towered over him like this, her teeth glinting in the moonlight and her large, searching eyes boring right into his. Still, he didn’t say anything, didn’t make a single noise even as she reached for him. She wrapped her cold claws around him, pulling him into the air, away from the stump. His tail drifted in the wind as she held his small body aloft, looking him over in much the same way Pidgey had.
“He hasn’t spoken yet?” She murmured, glancing at the other pokemon.
“Hasn’t made a single sound,” Mike shook his head.
“Oh, I understand that,” She hummed, refocusing back on him. “That’s alright, you don’t need to speak yet, you don’t have to speak at all if you don’t want to,” She pulled him close, holding him tight against her cold fur. He couldn’t help it, he was shaking now. “It’s all new, isn’t it? I’ve been where you are, I know how hard everything is at the start.”
He looked up at her, her scarlet eyes gleaming with nothing but genuine empathy and care. Was she really
?
“It’s alright,” She grinned. “I can help you!”
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nectardaddy · 7 months ago
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best friend's demon - okkotsu yuuta
synopsis: is it normal to have a best friend who has a demon attached to him? is it normal that you know it's there?
cw: talk of the occult, demons/ghosts, paranormal happenings, reader is a little strange
notes: non curse au but with a spooky twist, plantonic relationship, I listened to the beetlejuice soundtrack while writing this, this idea seemed perfect for my sweet baby yuuta, og thoughts here
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He's not normal. Far from it. So sick, so twisted, so naive, that it made you want to vomit. The dreadful wave of wretched emotions washing over and you succumbed to the wave and slipped under. You heaved for air, but were granted none, lungs gnashing in your chest just for the slightest bit of oxygen. You couldn't - you wouldn't. It stung, it burned, it created an overwhelming sense of dread with every breath. The air was thick and dense, dizzying as you choked under the pressure; and you wondered what in the hell could create such a powerful presence.
A pale face, with dark eyes, and dark hair was your only prognosis. Okkotsu Yuuta was the only reason why the tone of the room was flipped on its head. A foul, loathsome, choking feeling upon entering any room; he was none the wiser.
You just had to know what on earth was wrong with him.
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Tick. Tick. Tick.
The second hand of the clock moved painfully slow, drifting past the face all the while the minute hand hadn't seemed to move. Your eyes glazed over, encapsulated by the fluidity of the clock hands, you had completely tuned the world out. It was an odd feeling to be so calm, so secure, without worry of the outside world - or the world beyond. You couldn't remember how long you remained like this, so enthralled by the movement and a moment of peace.
A gentle tune hung in the air, humming to yourself absentmindedly as you stared stone faced. It wasn't a specific melody, but one that you knew of, a familiarity within the soft drone from your lips. A haunting scene really. Staring into the void all the while humming appealing chords. But your musings ceased as a tightness entered your chest; blinking, and letting a sigh pass your lips, you came back to reality.
There had been a shift, a significant one, within the room you occupied. A thick, malevolent presence taking you by the throat and squeezing relentlessly. A crumbling feeling that made you feel completely overwhelmed, a crushing sensation on your shoulders as they dropped. An eerie silence replaced the soft tick of the clock, one could hear a pin drop if they chose, and your skin crawled at the sudden change.
"You're late," you breathed out, raising your voice only slightly. Eyes flickering over the vacant room, a quant study room with only a table and two chairs, you watched as the door handle swung downward. Door opening only to reveal a sorrowful expression on tired, sickly pale, features.
"I forget every time you can tell I'm here before I even open the door," the voice was frail, an almost feminine twang. "Sorry I'm late," the man gushed, giving you a sorry smile as he joined you at the table. "Today has been terrible," he added. Dark eyes finally met with your own, swirling with a peculiar emotion you could never quite put your finger on. Guilt? Hatred? Self pity?
"It's pissed off today," stating so nonchalantly it made his smile falter. "More than usual," you tagged on to which he softly groaned. "That's probably why your day is shit."
A nervous chuckle fell from the man's lips at your words, truly not knowing what to make of them. "Wonderful," he sighed. A pause fell between the pair of you, noticing all too well that the clock's repeatative tick failed to hit your ears anymore. It was worrying the amount of control whatever was attached to the man had within, its hellish claws sinking deep well beyond the veil. It wasn't normal. It was dangerous. "Do you ever get tired of it?"
His question caught you off guard, coming back from within your own mind to register what was spoken. "Huh?" You posed, furrowing your brows in confusion, "tired of what, exactly?"
"Sensing things you can't see?" He corrected, eyes looking into your own for even a hint of an answer. "I don't know how you do it," letting a sigh pass his lips once more, he leaned back into his chair. "Constantly feeling like someone is there, watching and waiting."
"I'm used to it," you shrugged. "But," you began, letting out a small breath before continuing, "your's isn't normal. Usually demons want to hurt, try to possess, or at least traumatize their benefactor. It's like it's protecting you, in a fucked up sort of way." Your explanation made his features fall, now holding a neutral expression. "I've never felt so off put by some else's attachment. It's like it doesn't want anyone around you."
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It answered you. By means of the clock starting up again - it agreed with you. The notion caused your stomach to churn, flicking your eyes towards the device and turning your head to look past the man in front of you. The quick, fluid motion caused his breath to hitch in his throat, swallowing hard as he knew your reactions were never in vain. It was strange how comfortable, or rather desensitized, he was with your off putting reactions; though he was concerned with the amount you had around him.
Although nauseous from the presence, and frankly the revelation as well, a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. A chilling smile, unnatural for the situation you found yourself in. "I'll be damned," you mumbled to yourself, leaving the man before you baffled and confused. "Greedy little thing, your attachment is."
"You're making that face again," he spoke with a tense chuckle. He was all too accustomed with your frantic mind, wry smiles, and dark chuckles; a familiarity he found within himself that he was absentmindedly drawn to. At first, he was well too uninformed as to why he found himself occupying your presence. But you toed the line of peculiar and macabre, as did he, and he found solace in the fact you were just as sane as him - which your sanity in itself was very thin. To him you were an absolute treasure of a comrade. A friend he wished he had sooner in his life.
"Of course I'm making this face!" You laughed, a cackle that made him sink in his chair with a small breath. He rather enjoyed your tangents about the paranormal and the occult, but being as his day was already wrecked; however, made him refrain from speaking ill of the very thing that havocked it. Slinking down in his seat as a means to make himself smaller, hoping that the entity attached to him would perhaps feel pity on him. "Yu, does it ever talk to you?" Utterly ignoring his dainty complaints and physical reaction, once you were on a roll there was no stopping.
Pale hands that once rested on the table in front of him, now moved to his lap. Grabbing at the side seam of his pants as his mind began to race, "not explicitly?" A questioning tone as his voice raised a twinge at the end. "I get weird dreams about it, but it never really talks to me."
"What kinds of dreams?" Your eyes flicked back to the man sitting at the table, finally taking in his anxiety riddled form. Far too intrigued by the clock only moments ago, you felt a pang of guilt wash over you. "Too much?" You asked shyly, a sorry smile creeping on your features to replace your wild one, retreating from your latter statement and shoving it to the back burner of your mind.
"Too much."
Two words, simple enough, leaving your skin less prickled, a bit more oxygen filling your lungs, and the crushing weight easing its clutches on your shoulders. Was this all it took? A caring word to the man?
Was it possible to play nice with your best friend's demon?
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oooooh I might make a part 2 I love this
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mermaidgirl30 · 9 months ago
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✹Haunt Me✹
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A/N: This is just a little part of a horror, romance book I started kinda writing a few years ago. I might post the first part where they meet if anyone wants to read â˜ș Destined lovers đŸ„° Might actually expand this into a longer one shot because I’m really feeling the paranormal vibes lately.
Summary: Joel isn’t all that he seems. He might be dead, might be a ghost, might somehow just be trapped in a curse, but you find him. You always find him.
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 734
Pairing: Joel x fem! reader
Tags: Slow dancing, kissing, destined lovers, no outbreak au, haunted mansion ghost vibes
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
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Rain drizzles lightly against the foggy glass windows, thunder rolling loudly across the pitch black night sky. Candles splay dimly around the cold, dark haunted room. A big chandelier hangs in the center of the massive room, one with black encased walls. The room grows colder as you slow dance around the sunken wooden floor. The room that stands in a massive, abandoned mansion. The mansion where you found Joel.
You shutter as Joel pulls you closer against his broad chest, one hand gliding down the back of your dress and the other gently caressing your jawline as your heart hammers in your chest. His dark tousled curls fall against his glistening forehead as he brings it down to rest against yours. His brown doe eyes are the color of honey and sunlight, flecks of light brown mixing to make the prettiest coffee color you’ve ever laid eyes on.
Every time you look at him, you melt a little more inside. Just like warm liquid seeping down your skin. Hot, scorching, pulsing. He touches your face softly as you breathe in his woodsy scent, your skin alight with electricity with every touch he steals. How you can feel his touch you might never know. He was a trapped soul in this house, a ghost of the past. But what you felt for him, you couldn’t begin to describe it. It’s like you were meant to find each other. Fate.
He spins you in a slow circle as you dance around the old but majestic room. The soft music continues to play on the dusty record player, static sticking to the hollow walls and you cling to his broad chest.
Joel slowly backs you up to the cold, stone wall, his brown eyes paralyzing you in place. He gently tucks a lock of soft hair behind your ear as you feel magic buzzing through your skin. You breathe him in deep, warm mahogany coursing through your senses as you lock eyes.
“I’ve waited so long for this moment. To find you. To have you. I’ve walked these halls more times than I can count. Hundreds, thousands, millions of times. Trapped with no place to go. This house is no place for a girl like you, but yet you keep comin’ back to it. Why do you keep comin’ back?” he asks with furrowed brows and a strong jaw that keeps clenching up, his eyes glazed over with concern.
You flex your fingers around his flannel shirt and let the other drag down his salt-and-pepper scruff slowly, transfixed on the beauty of his warm, honey eyes. You take a deep breath and inhale his intoxicating scent. “The reason why I keep coming back here is for you, Joel. It’s all for you.”
His eyes go wide as he cups your chin and pulls your mouth up to his as he hovers cautiously above your glossy lips. He sighs before he speaks in a slow, gravelly, deep voice. “You’re so stubborn, you know that? Never listen to a word I say,” he smirks as he shakes his head, pulling his plush lips right over yours.
“Yet you keep pulling me in,” you smile as he chuckles softly against you. You feel the deep rumble all the way through your pounding chest as he feels like a hurricane. Overpowering and breathtaking.
“And I’m not gonna stop, sweetheart. Not until you stop comin’.”
“I’m not going to stop, Joel.”
“You’re such a mess, you know that?”
“Yeah, but I’m your mess.”
“Yeah ya are, so c’mere. Let me taste you, sweetheart.”
He sinks his lips down on yours as he pushes you up against the cold bricks, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hands cup your face desperately. You part your mouth and invite him in, feeling his warm tongue lap against yours as you pant into his hungry mouth. You both melt into each other as the lights flicker above you, the rain pelting softly against the glass windows as thunder rumbles overhead. You stay like that for what seems like hours, just holding each other as you melt mindlessly into the other. Bodies burning for the other, wildfire desperate to devour you. And you let it.
Joel’s the blazing wildfire you got sucked into, and you’ll let him burn you, brand you as he devours you completely.
Two souls destined to find each other. Soulmates.
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aaizawashouta · 1 year ago
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Devil in Disguise
pairing: frat!naruto x fem!reader
word count: 3.9k
summary: why hide your demons when all naruto wants to do is play with them? (Modern au)
warnings: smut (18+ minors dni) fingering, slight overstimulation, oral (f receiving), p in v, cream pie a fight, slight mention of blood
a/n: happy halloween! This is ALL I’ve been able to think about.
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Fraternities are the worst. It’s loud. There’s too many people, and you’re burning up in the white turtleneck bodysuit that Ino and Sakura bullied you into. This party had not been on your list of activities for the day. You went to work, being miserable on your feet for ten hours only to come home smelling like greasy food and french fries to find your roommates ready for an attack. All you wanted to do was sit on the couch in your pajamas watching some stupid ghost hunting show while handing out candy.
But when do you ever get what you want?
Sighing in irritation, you adjust the white wings that rest against your back. The headband holding up the halo above your head was digging into the space behind your ears. You only stop fidgeting with it when Sakura shoots daggers at you. Smoothing down the white sweater, you try your best to get comfortable. But it’s hard when you can’t breathe. The air is thick and hazy despite the back doors being open. The sound of laughter and yelling can be heard over the blaring music. Whoever they put as dj needs to be fired.
“Come on, slowpoke.” Ino threw over her shoulder.
You glare at her back, following the two through the crowd. A sharp glare slicing through the idiot dressed in a toga when he bumps into you. Fuck, parties suck. Sakura forges a path that leads straight to the living room. All the furniture is cleared out except where they’re playing beer pong. You bite back a groan when Kiba spots you. Even from a few feet away you can see his eyes light up.
You raise a hand before he can say anything. “I need a drink.”
He bears his teeth in a sharp grin. “Kitchen is that way, babe.”
“How chivalrous of you,” you mumble.
Of fucking course you’d have to make your way through a crowd of people to get to the kitchen. Heat runs up your neck as irritation settles over you. There’s no subtlety—you’re plowing elbows and knocking drinks out of people’s hands. There’s a multitude of names being tossed at your back, not that you care. An hour, that’s it. One game of pong to appease Kiba and you’re out of here. You came, you saw, you conquered your roommates. Halloween over.
Nothing is ever simple.
The kitchen is almost empty. Gaara and Kankuro stand next to the refreshments. You smile, knowing that they’re on guard. That’s something you actually like about this particular fraternity. They may all be dumb meatheads, but they set clear boundaries. It stems from their president, Naruto, you know. He’s a good guy, can rival the energizer bunny and is pure, honest sunshine. You can see him standing just behind the two brothers. Blue eyes taking in the party around him.
You don’t see him until he’s already on you. Empty solo cup in hand, you turn to run into a firm chest. Your brows furrow, a scowl taking up your face as you peer up that guy blocking you from everyone else. His eyes are glazed, glassy and bloodshot. He’s wearing an easy smile, but you don’t miss the bite to it. He thinks he’s a predator, and he thinks you’re an easy prey. Yeah, fucking right.
“Can I help you?”
“What drink you looking for?”
Your gaze narrows. “Don’t worry about it. I got it.”
“C’mon, sugar. Don’t be like that. L’me get you a drink.” He runs a finger down the side of your face before you’re smacking it away.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
He takes two steps forward, crowding you into the corner. Your eyes flash around him, briefly. Gaara and Kankuro are watching you closely. They know better than to interfere, you know how to handle yourself around drunk idiots who think they can fucking do what they want. When rough, clammy hands wrap around your arm and yank you forward, you almost lose your footing. You would have, if it hadn’t been for the blond stepping in front of you.
Easily Naruto pulls the unwanted grasp off of you, pushing him forward to give you enough room to escape. Your heart thundered in your ears. You stayed right there, right behind your savior.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The blond all but snarls.
“Nothing, man. Just talking to the pretty girl.”
“Just talking, huh? Is that why you felt the need to put your hands on her? Backed her up into a corner after she told you to stop touching her?”
“I—“
He pushes the guy, making him stumble. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
It’s like a scene from a movie, moving in slow motion. You see the drunkard's face turn into pure rage, fist flying towards Naruto. He lands a punch, a solid one. A large gash splitting open on his right cheek. It starts weeping blood as you gasp. The guy swings again, Naruto dodges it, right hand grabbing it, twisting the guy’s arm before sending a first of his own. You hear the telltale crack of fist against bone as the guy falls to the floor.
“Kankuro.” He barks, getting the brunet’s attention. “Drag the fucker outside.” His voice is low and rough, and fuck if it doesn’t scream dangerous. And you’d hate to admit that it does something to you, that low voice and the blood on his knuckles and the way he stands in front of you.
You swallow thickly, watching the creep get literally dragged outside. Your gaze moves slowly from the unconscious man on the floor to the one who’s stood in front of you. His piercing blue gaze burns into you as you lift your hand and wipe away the blood that’s splattered on your cheek. That’s new. His gaze is so earnest, full of concern and slightly ticked off. The indent between his brows gives it away. Without thinking you reach out and rub it away.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs. “I know. Didn’t feel right just watching, though.”
“I’m a big girl. I could’ve handled it.”
His eyes take you in from your head to your toes. You’re more covered than most of the girls here. With the way he’s looking at you, you feel damn near naked. “Oh, I know.” He stares a moment more, hands flexing at his side like he still wants to hit the bastard.
“You going to clean that?”
“I’m alright.”
You only hum. “Come on.”
You grab the unclenched hand and pull him along behind you. He’s letting you lead him up the stairs with certainty that you know which room is his. You only know Kiba’s and that’s because you’re here tutoring him three times a week. A small tug gets you moving, Naruto now in the lead. It’s only now that you take notice of his costume, causing you to snort. His blonde hair is down, shaggy, missing its signature bandana. A brown fur piece is wrapped over one shoulder and pinned at his waist. Fucking George of the Jungle saved you in the kitchen.
Naruto leads you down the hallway, second door on the left. You watch as he pulls out a set of keys from a hidden pocket. His mouth twitches when he hears you huff out a laugh. You don't have much time to look around his room as he leads you into the connected bathroom, but the one thing you can't miss are the stacks of comic books on every open surface — his nightstand, his desk, the dresser, the floor near his open closet. You’re tempted to slow down and inspect them, to see what kind of comics Naruto Uzumaki spends his time reading, but when you look up to see him narrowing his eyes as if he's genuinely light-headed, you forget all about the books and follow him into the bathroom.
It's cleaner than you expect for a college guy, and when you close the toilet seat cover and point for him to take a seat, he doesn't argue. You drop down to your knees and open the cabinet under the sink. The peroxide and gauze pads are sitting in a basket full of first aid supplies at the very front. You grab everything you need before standing back up and organizing them on the counter beside the toilet.
"So," he says, wiping his palms on his jeans as you wash my hands. "Is it everyday that you play nurse?"
You bite back a smile as you dry your hands with a towel and turn to him. "No, not normally. I’m not usually caught as a damsel in distress." You tease, picking up a gauze pad and dousing it with peroxide.
He watches you turn toward him, and he opens his legs even more, inviting you to step up between them to get closer. You hesitate before taking a step forward, leaving a harmless amount of space between your bodies as you start to clean his face. When you realize that your arms aren't long enough to clean his wound properly from this far away, you huff, fighting the urge to roll your eyes before you take another step forward until you're positioned between his open legs. He keeps his hands on his thighs and tilts his head back to give you better access, but you don't miss the near smile on his lips.
"Fuck." He jolts back when you press the peroxide-soaked gauze to his gash.
"I'm sorry." You wince. "I'll be gentle. I'm really sorry. I just — I have to clean it."
His eyes are still screwed shut in pain, his jaw tensing as he inhales slowly. It must be deeper than it looks. You can practically feel the pain radiating from him as he takes a deep breath through his nose.
"What, uh," you speak quickly, trying to distract him. "What did— what did you mean earlier when you said ‘I know’."
His jaw tenses again, but he opens his eyes and looks up at you for a long moment before he sighs. His gaze flicks down to the gauze in your hand before closing his eyes again, as if he's preparing himself for the pain, and then he leans forward and nods for you to continue.
"Well," he says, taking the time to think about his words. His voice is deep and throaty, and you have to keep yourself focused so you don't spiral and think about all the different ways he could use his voice. Like moaning your name. Your thighs slightly rub together at the thought alone.
"Mhm," you encourage, brushing the gauze across his cheek, cleaning away the blood from everywhere but the actual wound, too nervous to hurt him again.
"Just that," he states, only this time the tension in his voice is gone. "I see you. I see you, angel." His lips quirk up, and you can see the edge of his gash open a little more when his cheek twitches. “That costume ain’t fooling anybody.”
Most of the bleeding has slowed, and you bring your hand up and place it on his cheek, rubbing your thumb lightly to relax the muscle there so he won't open his wound any further. When you glance away from the bloody injury to his ocean eyes, you finally register what it is he said.
Your face shifts. Brows furrowing, nose scrunched up in annoyance. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You’re trying to focus on cleaning the blood around the gash without hurting him, but honestly, it's hard when your temper is starting to flare.
"Yeah, there you are," Naruto laughs, his brows raise slightly, but you ignore him as you toss the blood-soaked pad into the trash and grab a new one. "You’re not fooling anyone, are you baby?"
You sigh, holding the pad tightly in your grasp. Even with him sitting on the toilet seat he’s still a head taller than you. Looking down, you grimace when you see your outfit. You blend in more now that you did when you first got here. A final girl, moment. That drunken idiot had spit out blood and it got all over you. So much for being an angel in white.
“I can fix that, if you want.” Your eyes flash to his, but his gaze is lingering on the white bodysuit.
“I’m not done.”
“It’ll heal.”
He’s up and out of the bathroom before you could blink. You follow behind him, eyes darting around his room, but they keep coming back to watch as his muscles move and ripple with every step he takes. God, this cannot be happening to you. Not a frat bro. Not the fucking president of the stupid fraternity. What the hell is wrong with you? But it’s too late. Much too late. Because this idiot, this sunshine personified, he already fucking owns you—and he knows it. A lump forms in your throat, your body plopping itself on the edge of his bed, fingers toying with the edge of the black comforter.
“Here.” You jump at the sound of his voice, making a blond eyebrow raise.
“Thanks.”
He watches you fiddle with the shirt he handed over. It’ll swallow you whole. A dress in its own right. A hand wraps lightly around your throat, Naruto grins at the sparkle in your eye. His voice drops lower, making heat throb in between your legs. “Kinda pointless to put my shirt on when I’m going to have you naked spread out on my bed, huh angel?”
“Yeah, probably. Kinda was thinking I wanted to ride your face first, though.”
“God dammit, angel. You can’t just say things like that.”
“Come on, Naru,” you whisper, standing up to bring your face closer to his. “Bet you can make me cry with your tongue.”
“Fuck,” he mutters.
There is no preamble. There are no sweet nothings. Your skirt is yanked off, hot kisses pressed to the inside of your thighs. Moans are pulled roughly from you when he begins to suck, leaving his mark on you. Your knees rest on either side of his head. Clothed center rutting up trying to find friction. You ache, you burn. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“This won’t be sweet,” Naruto breathes against your core, hands gripping you to hold your legs wide open, you hear the flick of his pocket knife, the one you know resides on his night stand, and fuck, you know what he’s about to do. You aren’t even angry that he’s going to destroy your clothes. Whatever gets you out of this stupid costume. “This won’t be gentle.”
The blade cuts through the fabric and you whimper.
“I know, Natu. I don’t want it gentle.”
“Think you can handle it?”
You pull his blond locks, making him groan. “Yeah, baby. I’m certain I can.”
His fingers dig into your thighs before trailing towards your core. He groans, feeling how slick you are. Curses fall from his lips, his finger running up and down your seam. Back and forth, back and forth before he shoves a finger inside you. It’s not enough. You want so much more. Need it. Your Naruto, your boyish, chaotic and mean sunshine boy knows exactly what you need. Pulling his finger out only to shove three in, you keen, hands running up his neck and into hair. Your hips are moving on their own, fucking yourself on his hand. He curves his fingers, reaching up in a ‘come here’ motion, and your thighs begin to shake. Speeding up his hand even more, Naruto starts to flick his tongue over the sensitive nub. His grasp on your thighs holds you down so you’d stop running away from him. His grip is so tight you know you’ll have bruises later. He can feel you quivering, you’re so close, but he isn’t quite done with you yet.
Pulling his hand out of you, he immediately smacks your pussy. Your hips rut up trying to chase the pleasure. He smacks it again before rubbing at your clit. You’re almost screaming from the pleasure. Hands knotted in the sheets, hips canting in the air.
“You’re sensitive tonight,”
You glare at him. “‘I wonder why.”
He laughs. “This is my fault?”
“Yeah, Naruto. It was your damn idea! A celibate angel. What a joke.”
You see the flash of his smile before his lips are crashing against yours. He’s ripping off his costume, throwing it behind him as he springs himself free. Your breath catches as you stare down at him. He’s leaking, hard, and throbbing. You pull yourself up onto your elbows as head tilting to look at him. His pupils are blown, black encompassed by a tight blue ring. It’s hot in the room, sweat slicking up every inch of available skin. You run a thumb over the tip, smearing the precum. Your nails nip at his skin and he shivers.
“Nah, all I got is a horny goddamn brat.” He says with a sharp grin.
“Watch it.”
“That’s not how we get what we want is it?” His voice is thick with want, but you can hear the underlying tone.
Pushing yourself up, you're quick to flip your positions. You hover over him, slowly running your soaked folds across him. He hisses at the feeling, sharp eyes glued to where you’re teasing him.
“If you wanted someone compliant, you came barking up the wrong tree.”
Slowly you sink down onto him. He’s almost too big. The head of his cock snags at your entrance, forcing you to start over. You breathe in nice and slow, working yourself slowly until you’re at the hilt.
“Holy fuck,” he hisses with a sharp buck, you had given him permission and he’s taking it, demanding more–needing more the second he feels the tight velvet of your sex.
“Naruto,” you whine, forehead resting against his.
He nods. He knows. He knows you need this as much as he does. You're clinging to him, hands tugging at his hair, cunt clenching around him like he’d slip free at any moment. His thrusts are slow, building a slow burn inside of you. Your toes curl because it’s just the beginning. You draw back, hips moving in a smooth tempo. You hit a good rhythm, letting yourself breathe, relax, and suck him in deeper. You’re almost where he wants you. He meets your gaze and his eyes hold something akin to mischief. You clench around him and he groans. He thrusts up a little harder than before, causing your head to fall back.
“Eyes on me,” You whimper and lift your head. “There you are, my pretty girl.”
You watch each other, a breath apart as you circle your hips and ride him nice and slow. You’re waiting for him to break. Any minute now. You go from circling your hips to lifting yourself up and down. He muffles out curses, hands gripping your hips to help you set a pace. It’s not a nice one. You flex your cunt, lower muscles bearing down as you grip him. He groans, the sound booming in the tight small space.
There’s pleasure coiling behind your pussy. “Naruto, fuck,”
“What do you need, angel?”
“Fuck me,” You whine, pulling on his hair. “Please, baby, please. I need it, need you.”
His gaze drops from your face to where he’s burying himself in your tight cunt. He nods before lifting his eyes. “Stay with me. Ready?”
You flash him a grin and he jolts, his cock twitching deep. You cling to him, desperate and a little dizzy. Your knuckles turn white with each rough, hard thrust. He slides a hand up your stomach, between your breasts so his hand can wrap itself around your throat. He loves to watch you come undone around him, and he’ll never let you forget it either. Your cheeks are flushed, pupils blown with lust, and lips parted as each of your clipped breaths turn into whimpers. He’s so big and you’re so fucking full. He fills you to the brim, cock dragging against your falls. You love every minute of it.
He hasn’t started yet. Not really, but your orgasm takes you by surprise. The course graze of his hairs against your clit. You lurch against him as a whimper escapes. You melt, boneless, like jelly. You’re loose and wet and fucking perfect. His nose presses into your cheek as he grinds into you.
“I love the way you feel when you’re coming on my cock.”
You snort, pulling yourself closer to him. Guttural grunts and low growls meet your ear. It’s a brutal taking, and you are not wet enough. Tears pool in your eyes, threatening to fall with every harsh thrust. You take what you're given, no complaints. You feel him firmly plant his feet, delivering a sharper thrust that has your head hitting the headboard. He mumbles a shitty apology (clearly not sorry at all) but his grasp on your waist is unforgivable. You’re bouncing on his cock now, meeting his every thrust. He’s deep, so deep you’re surprised you can’t taste him. You pull his hair, grinning when he hisses.
“You gonna come for me again, angel?”
Naruto knows you can’t talk. He knows you’re fucked out, gone stupid on his cock. He loves when you get like this, even better when you ask for it. You shift, opening up your legs a little wider. He groans feeling himself sink deeper into you. You’re swollen and raw and you’re living for it. Nodding, his name falls from your lips, breathless–he’s your only savior.
It builds and builds and builds until it has nowhere to go. It roars forward, jolting you, a scream ripped from your throat and your nails digging into him so hard you can feel when he starts to bleed. Naruto is right there. He holds you into place, stubble grazing your cheek. He fucks you through it, jamming himself into your searing overstimulated sex, he meets his end. His grip tightens, a low gravel filled groan comes from deep in his chest, filling you up. Shuddering he falls back against the bed, gasping for air.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, breaking the silence.
You fall forward, hugging him tightly to you. You hadn’t realized how much you’ve been missing him until you were drunk off of him. You’re aching and sore but you refuse to move away from him. His eyes are still dark and heavy-lidded as he regards you.
“Keep me in there,” he reminds you.
“Mhm.” You hum, scratching his head with your nails. “Missed you.”
“I’m right here, angel.”
“I know, still. You haven’t been inside me in almost a month.” You lightly run a finger over his brow making sure not to touch the gash along his cheek.
“Apart from my birthday.” His words make you grin. “You’re right though, it’s been a shitty month.”
You laugh, lifting your head to kiss him. Both of you jump when someone bangs against the door of his room. You press yourself tighter against Naruto.
“If you guys are done fucking, I’d like to win a game of beer pong.”
Your eyes widen. Kiba. Naruto laughs and pulls his shirt down over your head. You adjust yourself the best you can, watching Naruto as he stands to put his costume back on. He looks back at you, sunshine pouring out of his smile.
“What am I supposed to tell people I’m dressed as now?” You ask, wrapping your arms around him.
“Mine, angel. You’re a mean, nasty brat and you’re mine.”
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