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jokeringcutio · 9 months

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Stepdad!William Afton x Reader "Barbecue" - Mature/Drabble [ 1 ]

FNAF | William Afton (stepdad!) x (f) Reader | MATURE Warnings: Mention of arousal, Jealousy. AN: Wrote a quick drabble. For my Grabber fans, he is my favorite neighbor to crossover with (: Enjoy.

The sun beat down on your exposed skin as you stood in the backyard, the scent of sizzling meat filling the air. You were dressed to impress, hot pants hugging your curves and a tight top that left little to the imagination. Your neighbor Mr. Shaw manned the barbecue, his chestnut hair cascading down to his shoulders, the roots already touched by grey revealing his age.

"Great day for a barbecue," he smiled at you, his eyes twinkling with warmth.

"Absolutely," you agreed. You came to stand next to him, hungrily trying to have a peek to see if anything your taste was being put on there.

The conversation was casual and rather dull at first, with Mr. Shaw talking and you smiling kindly while listening and asking polite questions.

You hadn’t been much in the mood for this barbecue, but you didn’t want to disappoint your parents. Your stepfather was an intimidating man, always criticizing you. You tried your best not to irk him, to be polite and kind when around him. All you wanted was to have him praise you, even if it would only be once, and call you a good girl.

You just wanted his approval.

You felt the weight of your stepfather's gaze upon you from across the garden. William Afton, the man your mother had remarried not too long ago, was watching you intently. It seemed as if he was watching you most of the time these days, his scrutinizing eyes following your movements across the lawn.

You were doing your best to be the perfect stepdaughter, to get him to like you. You dressed up nicely and were socializing with his friends. What was it that you were doing wrong that he watched you like a hawk?

Mr. Shaw started telling you about his side job as a magician, catching your interest and distracting you from your stepdad’s watchful gaze. You couldn't help but let your enthusiasm show. His tales of dazzling tricks and spellbound audiences drew you in, and you found yourself leaning closer, eager to learn more.

"Really? And then what happened?" you asked, caught up in the excitement of it all.

But your stepdad had other ideas. In an instant, William was beside you, gripping your arm with a force that made you wince.

"Excuse us, Albert," he said through gritted teeth before dragging you into the house.

You stumbled along, trying to keep up with his angry strides. You didn’t miss how he led you into a room far enough from the party to ensure privacy before slamming the door shut behind you. Confused, you looked up at him.

There was a harshness in his eyes that for a moment seemed to flicker. As if your innocent eyes angered him even more.

"What do you think you're doing?" he spat, his voice harsh and cold.

"Talking to Mr. Shaw?" you answered hesitantly, unsure of where this hostility was coming from.

"Keep your distance from him," William growled, his fingers digging into your arm. "He's old enough to be your father."

Your stepdad’s words puzzled you. Keep your distance? Less than an hour ago he had wanted you to step up to them, had been lecturing you about it.

"But you're friends with him!" you protested, trying to make sense of your stepdad's sudden change in demeanor.

"That's different," he snapped. "Stay away from him, understand?"

"Fine," you muttered, your heart racing with confusion and fear. "I didn't mean to upset you," you murmured, searching his face for answers.

His touch lingered on your arm, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You slowly became aware that he was deliberately finding excuses to touch you. When you passed each other in the hallway, his arm would accidentally brush past yours. When you needed to get to college in the morning, his hands would linger on the lunch he had prepared for you.

You knew exactly how his fingers felt.

The texture of his skin, the roughness of his palms, the warmth they exuded. You knew it, because he kept brushing his hands past your bare skin – whenever your shirt had no sleeves or whenever it slid down your arm to reveal your shoulder.

"Older men like him, they only think of one thing," William said, feigning concern. "Pretty young girl like you…” you saw him press his lips into a thin line, thinking before he spoke again. “I just want to protect you. Even though I'm not your real dad."

His words made him sound like the concerned father figure, but something in his eyes betrayed him. You saw through his act, recognizing the jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

"Okay, Dad," you whispered, meekly apologizing. "I promise to behave better."

The way you called him 'Dad' seemed to ignite something within him. His grip tightened, and you could swear you saw a hint of arousal in his eyes. With that realization, you made a silent vow to test your theory. Could it be that your stepfather had the hots for you?

"Thank you," he said, releasing you. "Now, go back outside and enjoy the party. But remember, no boys."

You locked eyes with him, searching for an answer to the many questions that swirled inside your head. “No boys,” you promised, thinking that Mr. Shaw was, after all, a man.

Not a boy.

You returned to the garden, feeling his gaze on your back as you went. The sun still shone brightly, casting long shadows on the grass. Laughter from the guests mingled with the sizzle of the barbecue. It all felt so normal, yet you couldn't shake off the tension that now wrapped around you like a second skin.

After weighing your options, you slowly made your way back to the food again. Most of the guests here were male. Men around your stepdad’s age. They were his friends mostly, after all. The women had gathered in a corner, your mom included, talking about topics that didn’t interest you at all.

"Are you okay?" Mr. Shaw asked, noticing your return. His kind eyes searched yours, genuine concern etched on his face.

"Of course," you smiled, pushing the unease aside. "Let's talk more about your magic tricks."

You leaned in closer, engrossed by his stories once more. But this time, you kept one eye on your stepfather, watching as he glowered from the sidelines. There was a small gesture of his hand as he stroked the obvious tent in his pants, rearranging himself discreetly, blue eyes still burning upon you.

You leaned a little closer to Mr. Shaw, eager to see your stepdad’s reaction. His eyes darkened, lips clipped. And then he took a step toward you.

You felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at his reaction – now you knew for sure.

"Wow, that's amazing," you said to Mr. Shaw, your voice louder and more enthusiastic than before. "You must be an incredible magician."

"Thank you," he replied, grinning. "I enjoy sharing my passion with others."

“Perhaps you can share your passion with me one day,” you said, aware that your stepfather must have heard every single word.

Mr. Shaw’s movements stilled, his strong hands holding the tongs in mid-air, veins clearly showing. His eyes seemed to darken. He was an attractive man, you noticed. Perhaps you could -

“I’d love to,” his deep and gravelly voice came.

But your eyes were no longer on Mr. Shaw. You couldn't help but notice William's clenched fists and darkened expression as he hurried toward you. This dangerous game was only just beginning, and you were fully aware of the risks. But somehow, that made it all the more enticing.

The moment was fleeting – the sudden grip of William's hand on your arm as he pulled you away from Mr. Shaw once more.

"Sorry to interrupt," he growled, a forced smile plastered on his face. "But I need to talk to my daughter… again."

"Of course," Mr. Shaw said, eyes narrowing slightly in concern.

William led you into the house again, his fingers digging into your flesh. You were certain bruises would form later. The thought, however, made you feel fuzzy on the inside. As if he was somehow marking you as his, and wasn’t that a thrilling thought?

Once inside, he pushed you against the wall, the action making you gasp. You squeezed your legs together involuntarily, your core hot and slick by nasty thoughts. Your stepfather looked powerful like this, dominating. His chest heaved up and down, gritted teeth showing. His blue eyes blazing with anger.

"Didn't I tell you to stay away from him?" he hissed, his breath hot on your face. "You're being a bad girl, deliberately, aren't you?"

"Wh-what do you mean?" you stammered, trying to maintain your composure. His proximity made it difficult to think straight.

"Your outfit," he spat, his gaze scanning over your tight top and hot pants. "It's too revealing. It's like you're inviting him to look at you."

"Thank you, Daddy," you whispered, your voice trembling as you started to talk. But then you caught sight of how his eyes slightly widened at your words, pupils blown.

You continued, "for being concerned about me."

As you slid past him, your fingers brushed against his arm, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Returning to the garden, you decided to join your mom, settling down beside her on a lawn chair. The sun warmed your skin, but you couldn't ignore the heat radiating from William's stare. He watched you intently, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if he could barely contain himself.

But you obliged to his rules, avoiding eye contact with any of your stepdad’s male friends and sitting with the females of the party instead.

The little silly cat-and-mouse game the two of you had played was pushed to the back of your mind as you listened to the conversations around you. Dull as they were, they took away the ache you had started to feel dance between your legs.

Until your stepdad appeared in your vision, placing a glass of freshly made juice before you.

"Here," he said abruptly. "I thought you might be thirsty."

"Thank you," you murmured, meeting his eyes as you brought the straw to your lips. Slowly, deliberately, you sipped the cold liquid, watching the way his pupils dilated with each movement.

"Is everything all right?" your mom asked, oblivious to the tension between you and William.

"Everything's fine," you replied, eyes still locked with his. The air crackled around you, electric with unspoken desire. It was a dangerous dance, a game of control – and you were both playing with fire. ~ AN: For more, follow me (: ~~ Masterlist - Request Box - Support me on Ko-Fi ~~

#reader x william afton #william afton #william afton x reader #Stepdad!William Afton #FNAF AU #Reader insert #older man x younger woman #stepdad AU #matthew lillard!william afton x reader

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hutahuta · 10 months

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Thoughts on Pavia introducing his GF to his wolf family? Maybe they already knew bc he’d come home smelling different and now they know who that other scent belongs to. I love the domestic idea of GF living with Pavia and telling the wolves to “go to papa” like GF is mama to the wolves also

P.AGE OO.5 — 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐌 & NOBILITY : 交 ✦ ⏱

fem!reader // x pavia

✦ — this is SO cute awkawksjsdksj our precious babyy <33 i love you so much for this wjsjajsjs my heart ;(((

He was never one to settle down for a domestic life. But to think— You'd make such a good wife for him, though. Wouldn't you? Hearty meals every single day, venturing out into the world beyond together and preparing him that tender bath he needed after spilling ever the amount of blood when slaughtering his prey alive when he's out and about on his job.

You, however, have yet to meet his family. Pavia was 100% reluctant at first. This is his blood, his kin. The only family he'd ever grown to have and love. But you're his beloved girlfriend, aren't you? That famous, sweet voice of his bitterly adding the cold tone in which he spoke of.

' Come in, it's fine. Just be careful not to be eaten by them. '

What did he mean by that? Those playful 'jokes' of his always left you rendered silent, but your innocent mind nervously laughed it off.

It was jarring how someone like you could even become his S/O. You're perfect in more ways than one, and he can see it. So why meddle yourself with someone so tainted as him? That man has blood on his hands. Human blood.

Nevertheless, it seemed as though you were adamant on being with him. But he always told you in such a playful manner, that you're an idiot for thinking to fall in love with someone like him. But your persistence and your constant support on his behalf had both annoyed him and made him adore you.

Here you were now, simply waiting under the humble sofa which you had sat neatly atop. Your eyes transfixed on the battered, torn papers left in a mess within the tables, the dimly lit room proved to be no more than his fault.. and this distraction kept you at bay before you felt something wet sniff the bridge of your leg.

Whether you looked down in quiet silence or you freaked out is your choice, but Pavia couldn't help but quietly watch from a distance, not involving himself unless if needed. He saw this as a test of some sort.

This was the only family he'd have back then. Darkness swelled around Pavia, and he'd be forever alone until that faithful day he had met you. No longer shall he fester in silence and fight his constant urge to burn every building within the area whenever he'd spark back to the day he'd been locked up. Everyone has some trauma in them, and it often shapes them how they are today:

For Pavia's case, he may say things that he doesn't mean or struggles to pick up on social cues, but that doesn't make him any less different when you tell him that you love that he's fighting for your love day in, day out.

But the moment his fellow canine friends surrounded you with the constant sniffing and your patient nature making them seem like you're no threat, you were greeted by a sudden lick against your cheek. They knew. Of course they did. They have a better sense of trust than most humans.

You were sure Pavia may have prepared them by adorning his wall with the many pictures of you within his room, and that familiar face definitely echoed something within their minds, but it proved to be all content when Andrea started drooling on your shoes and Pavia seemed to scold her for it; snapping out of your thoughts in an instant.

Your scent to a wolf is everything. This is how they trace you, mark you, and familiarise themselves with you. When Pavia returned home with a different scent to his own, the constant barking to the foreign scent made them seem like you were harming Pavia.

You didn't flinch, but you waited until their eyes gave some sort of approval for you to touch, and when you did, by the gods did the angels send you directly to heaven when they tickled you with their noses and pulled off one another just to be seated by your sides, or your lap. Constant pets, adorned with kisses on their foreheads, gentle giggles breezed a reminder of how utterly mother-like you are..

To think, Pavia would ask himself. Would you treat his own children like that one day?

The sight nearly drowned the merc in a wave of relief, but a heavy laugh followed over from how you, yourself, were getting mercilessly drowned by the constant affection feeding into you seconds after. You muffled a plea for help and mercy, but your body was overcome with the shadows that happily lapped up heavy affection from just a few touches from you, patience and understanding.

Whether you knew how to handle dogs or not is genuinely your own skill choice, but Pavia will never forget how you willingly offered your safety to allow yourself as to get to know his own kin.

Trust radiated between human and beast, connections transcended out of the boundaries between the ordinary world and it offered them a place where they could wonder the touch of a woman's hand. So gentle and patient, yet firm and strict.

What might've taken a few weeks, turned into months when you were regularly greeted by whimpers that direly needed your attention so often, fur being shoved against your bare skin became a norm for you.

Pavia couldn't hold back the moment you kneeled down and spread your arms for Peter to dash in almost immediately:

Or the time you'd hold back your laughter from the drool being trailed against the floor to the cupboard when Andrea brushed past your leg.

Being patient with Maleficent, offering gentle pats and kisses for all to love.

When they'd all huddle around you, you're constantly in a battle of affection when they'd refuse to leave your side. They've lacked feminine touch, and neither the pups or Pavia realised how much it truly meant for your warmth to strike them all in the gut.

'Go to papa darlings.' ' Go help your papa, okay?'

To say he was astounded by how patient you were with them is something he'll never grow tired of. And 'Papa'? Pavia swooned.

How dare you attack him with that beautiful feeling of a heartache that swelled nothing but love and admiration for you?

When sleeping, they'd all huddle around you both. As if you were their parents, the ones they'd long for. Pavia never realised he needed such a domestic life until he had found you. When you offered that place of comfort, the only thing he'd need to ever worry about was straying too far away from you.

Gentle lips touched his own as you quietly mumble a soft 'thank you' as if to say you were honoured to have spent a lot of time with his blood. He couldn't explain how he wanted to thank you, but no words came out. He just held you. Right there, in his arms. And rocked back and forth as if to claim that he was grateful for all your hard work. Something he truly admired..

Your protection is guided by him, and your kin. You're one of them now, and you're entirely his. <3

#reverse 1999 #pavia #pavia reverse 1999 #reverse #pavia x reader #paviarev1999 #r99 pavia #reverse 1999 pavia #pavia fluff

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fullsunfilm · 4 months

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fix | l.dh

haechan x gn!reader

slightly suggestive, angst

found this buried in the drafts, not proofread soooo yeah :)

wc: ~1.2k

---

you wonder if you could have fixed donghyuck. the thought plagues your mind with each waking moment. it knocks at your self-esteem and draws an abundance of salty tears from your pretty eyes he once said he loved oh so much.

all your friends tell you that no, you couldn't have fixed him. you couldn't mend the scars that marred his heart no matter how hard you tried. in spite of the soft touches between silk bedsheets, warm kisses in the morning sunbeams, and the loving exchanges of glances and giggles, you couldn't fix him and his issues.

because lee donghyuck is beyond repair.

that's what you tell yourself when you lock gazes with him from across a busy house party. in an instant, your conversation with jisung and chenle seems to fade into the background as the bass radiating from the speakers is drowned out by the pace of your heart. it's been six months since you last laid eyes on him, but he still has a dizzying effect on you.

the black jean jacket he's wearing makes your brain short-circuit. you recognize it as the one you got him for his birthday last year. the tan peaks of his collarbones look more alluring than ever in his familiar white tank top, the one that you used to tear off him each night. his hair is longer, coming down and creating messy frills at the base of his neck, just the way you liked it. for someone who ghosted you when you needed him most, he seems to keep up well with your preferences.

the world stops for a second when he meets your gaze. even with bumping music and the obnoxious laughter of wasted seniors, you swear you can hear a pin drop. because nothing matters in that moment.

because it's just you and donghyuck. that's how he makes you feel. when you're with him, the worries of the world fry away and become muffled static.

he's always made you feel like this. ever since the day you met him at one of jaehyun's themed christmas parties, you'd been completely enthralled in his carefree nature, honey-dripped voice, and witty tongue. it all came crashing down the moment you brought up your messy relationship status after months of being trapped in friends-with-benefits limbo and found yourself blocked on all social media platforms.

"you okay?"

a soft nudge from jeno brings you back to reality. you force yourself to tear your eyes away from your ex.

"yeah," you hum, opting to focus on the sickening red liquid in your cup. "i'm alright."

you can tell jeno's concerned, but he doesn't pry. instead, he offers you a comforting smile and a pat on the shoulder. "let's find nana, he's probably waiting for us to get back with the drinks."

the two of you collect an array of beer cans, oversized soda bottles, and a few cups of whatever was left in the punch bowl before heading towards a quiet corner of the house. the only noise emanating from jeno's bedroom door is the hushed chatter of the television.

"you're back. i got the tv working." jaemin helps you with the drinks, setting them carefully on the bedside drawer while he sneaks a glance at your troubled expression. "what happened to you? you look like you've seen a ghost."

you can only give him a strained smile. "nothing... i just.. donghyuck's here."

jeno's face contorts for a few uneasy seconds of silence before he speaks.

"i invited him, i'm sorry," he sighs. he looks apologetic as he runs a hand through his messy black hair. "he wouldn't quit bugging me about it, so i just told him he could come.. as long as he stayed away from you and didn't try anything."

jaemin scoffs. "he's donghyuck. of course he's going to try something." he stands to shut the door to jeno's room and plops himself right onto the bed. "but let's forget about it for now, okay? he can't do anything if we're up here watching movies like losers."

that makes you laugh. you nod your head in approval, this time flashing a genuine smile to jaemin and a small nod to jeno, who takes it as a sign of forgiveness and settles in his seat next to you on the scratchy old rug he's had since freshman year.

the hours fly by as the three of you get through movie after movie, making snarky comments and gasping at unexpected twists and turns. by the time the third movie ends, jaemin's snoozing upright on the floor, an empty beer bottle still in his hand. jeno's eyes are wide open and focused on netflix's overwhelming catalog of rom-coms when your bladder decides it's time.

"bathroom break," you say as you stand and dust your sweater off.

"want me to wait?"

"no, i'll be quick." you yawn and slip out of the secluded bedroom.

by this time, the party has died down and the house is quiet save for some soft whispers. you can see the lights on in renjun's room as you pass and hear a few voices discussing inside on your way to the bathroom.

you jump when the door opens. you nearly have a heart attack when you notice who's coming out.

"y/n?"

your blood runs cold. you could recognize his voice anywhere.

you're quick to compose yourself before you turn to greet him, your brain forcibly tugging the corners of your mouth up into a fake smile. "hey, donghyuck. didn't know you'd be here."

his lips twitch a bit in amusement as he examines you. you can feel his sultry eyes wandering along your frame as he takes in the familiar sight of you, one that he vividly remembers waking up to on a regular basis.

"damn, full name? what happened to 'hyuck'?" he banters. his slight smirk widens a bit as he sees through your obvious act. "jeno didn't tell you i was coming?" he seems entertained, a small chuckle leaving his plush lips.

you shake your head and avert your gaze to the floor. you're afraid if you stare at him any longer the last of your emotional resolve will crumble and you'll end up crying. you can already feel your eyes welling up, and if this goes on you know you'll burst into tears.

"n-no, he didn't. but i actually have to go now so i'll just.." you shakily gesture towards the end of the hallway.

donghyuck stops you before you can make your mad dash, closing in on your figure. his footsteps are light against the carpeted floor. he stops just in front of you and reaches a hand up, gently lifting your chin.

"so soon?" he asks. his voice is seductive and feathery.

it's alarming how fast your brain short-circuits when you finally meet his gaze. he's always known how to bother you, annoy you, seduce you. you have the hots for him, and he knows it well. he plays the game of love like he owns it, like he owns you.

in an attempt to escape, you push his hand away and take a step back. "yeah. jaemin and jeno are asleep anyways so i-i was just gonna head out."

he pauses for a bit before responding. his response nearly puts you into cardiac arrest.

"alone? it's two a.m." he hums. "maybe i should drive you home."

"i-i don't think that's necessary, donghyuck. i can walk or call an uber or something. and you've been drinking right? so it's just not a great idea—"

"i haven't been drinking." you feel small under his gaze. "and it's dangerous. just let me take you home."

his tone is more demanding this time, like he knows that's all it takes to get you to give in. he's spot-on.

the car ride to your apartment is quiet, with only the soft chatter from the late-night radio filling the space. you sit stiffly in a seat you once owned as donghyuck's passenger princess, spotting a few remnants of previous affairs in this cupholders and floor mats. bobbie pins, scrunchies, and even a few pieces of jewelry are scattered on the outskirts of his car.

when you finally arrive, you sense him turning towards you. he stops you as you move to unbuckle your seat belt.

"i miss you." he says softly.

it's incredible how he draws tears from you with just three words. the affirmation is all it takes for your walls to crumble completely. it's the last crack that demolishes the dam keeping your watery eyes and emotions in check.

"hyuck.." the first few tears flow down your cheeks. "stop."

"stop what?"

"this. you ghosted me after i told you i loved you. i don't need to be reminded of that."

he sighs, a twinge of annoyance present. "that's in the past. you're still mad about that? it's not even that big of a deal. i mean, come on, you knew we were never that serious, it was less than two years so—"

you cut him off before he can even begin speaking. "hyuck, you really haven't changed at all. you're just like back then. you don't miss me, you miss feeling like you're in control. i'm not there anymore to boost your shitty ego or be your go-to every time you need a quick fuck. i'm not begging you to stay and crying every time i hear you're out with a new girl. i bet you miss making me cry. you're probably really enjoying this now, you fucking monster."

if there's one good thing this interaction is bringing, it's the truth.

there's a sense of catharsis that bellows from your core as you ream him in his own car. for months, you'd been wanting to tell him how much you resented him for leaving you without any answers, but he'd made it clear he had no intention of seeking you out or hearing your inquiries. not until today, at least. even with your answers now, you're not satisfied.

"are you done?" he asks. it feels incredibly condescending, but there's a familiarity to it that makes you whimper internally.

donghyuck always made you feel like it was just you and him. because he made you feel special. because he called you love and swatted off anxious texts regarding your whereabouts from friends and family. because he completely isolated you from the world and made you incredibly reliant on him. he blamed you for anything and everything. that was just who he was. and you learned the hard way that there was no fixing him, no matter how much you thought you could.

regardless, you gave in then.

and you give in again now, pulling him into your apartment he knows like the back of his hand while feverishly pressing your lips against his.

#nct dream #nct dream x reader #haechan #lee donghyuck #nct donghyuck #donghyuck x reader #haechan x reader #haechan angst #nct 127

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streets-in-paradise · 5 months

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Secret Presents

Relationships: (platonic) Faramir x Sister!Reader, (platonic) Boromir x Sister!Reader.

Genre: family fic, sibling bonds, fluff, birthday fic.

Warnings: Denthor's terrible parenting, use of she/her pronoums. I am not sure if birthdays are culturally accurate for gondorians, but since in lotr we saw at least one hobbit birthday let's pretend they also could have birthday customs for the sake of this.

Summary: Boromir and Faramir surprise their sister on the morning of her birthday filling her with affection while furtively bringing her different sorts of gifts their father wouldn't approve.

Note: (Late) birthday gift for my bestie @beautifultypewriter, also inspired in her gondor girl concept. I hope the fluff will be good enough to compensate the delay <3

She didn't expected anyone to remember, there were allways more important things going on in such convoluted times.

Completely absent from her father's thoughts, only her brothers could possibly think about it. During the occassions in which Denethor do cared to celebrate her, he was always actually celebrating himself. Birthday parties that were generic social events for the nobiity, occassions for him to show off his might in decline and pretend for the public that he could resemble a father.

If he could possibly be thinking on doing something, she would rather hide far away from it for as long as possible. The only good reason the Steward of Gondor could have to remember that he had a daughter were the men arround him making the recall. He would only use it as an excuse to push yet even more insufferable nobles in her direction.

Feeling the call of the servant announcing her waking time that morning made her groan of frustration, wanting it to be over before it ever began. She emerged from the covers only caring to make sure to be in a visible state before opening the door, trying hard to remember not to share her mood with the servantfolk through terrible manners.

What she found instead were her two brothers hidding their presence on the usual call, ready to join forces as soon as they will find her. Their happy faces said it all, and she almost regretted her grumpyness.

" What are you doing here? "

To a gestural sign of Faramir, Boromir went ahead to lift her up from the ground. Almost like a father would do for his child, only with tons of chuckling in between.

" HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR SISTER!!"

In a matter of instants she was smiling again while being carried back inside her bedroom.

" Are you insane? What is this? "

Faramir calmed his own laughter to explain.

" Your birthday surprise! I bet you thought we would forget. "

She was perfectly aware of how strongly they loved her, but war kept them always bussy and she was perfectly ready to forgive them if that was the case.

" Orcs are constantly pushing the limits of our borders, of course you could forget! "

" But we would never. " Boromir cheerfully insisted, releasing her on her bed. " Have we ever failed you? "

She giggled and nodded negatively.

" ... Then why did you seem so upset looking at us from you doorframe ? " Faramir inquired. " It think somone really needs to get their spirits lifted. "

With a mischievous look he approached for a strong hug ending only when he sneaked one hand to her already known ticklish point. Her loud laughing comforted them all, so Boromir encouraged Faramir to keep going untill she started fighting back and the situation could escalate into an actual tickle fight unleashed right in front of the servants.

She was red from laughing and playfully smacked them in return, when her eldest brother gave premission for the maidservant to enter. She was carrying a curiously long chest with the help of one lad and presented it to the lady by command before retiring.

" See, if we would have waited untill you would come down for breakfast, we wouldn't be able to bring your presents. " Faramir continued. " These are of the kind our father will not wish to see. "

A sparkle of excitement lighted her eyes.

" Certainly not fitting for a lady, by his expressed opinion. " Boromir added. " He would be very dissapointed of me if he would find out I'm letting Faramir present you with this."

" Not as much as when he will see what you got her. " He commented in response. " ... And yours can't be hidden easily, as one can do with mine. "

Curiosity was growing with each of their teasing recalls and she rushed to open the mysterious casket used to hide such secret present from the world untill reaching her.

It revealed a bow, perfectly new and with its matching quiver following the style of the one that was her brother's favorite.

" Nurturing your passions is important to me, and being honest i'm slightly jealous you have gained more practice with Boromir's weapon of choice. "

He was joking and she could perfectly tell. Her brothers never had to compete for her love the way their father intended them to.

Here eyes were roaming the weapon with increasing surprise, then inmediately directed to look at her brother with the happiest adoration.

" It's perfect!! Just, ... perfect!! Beloved brother, I would love to practice with you. " She thanked, hugging him from up front and practically jumping from the joy. " I can't wait to try it!! "

" We will tell father is an harp." Faramir joked, sharing her excitement. " I doubt he would ever ask you to play music for him, so he will never discover it."

You chuckled together seeing that Boromir was allowing you the mean spirited commentary.

" My gift will also work as a distractive strategy: he will never get a moment to wonder about anything else. "

She questioned Faramir with her glance, but he provided no clues.

" Boromir ... what have you exactly done?? "

Their eldest brother began to chuckle, assuming the mysterious guilt for some possibly memorable mischief.

" Come down with us and you will find out. "

She smiled and quickly followed the instruction, begging them to leave her proper space to at least dress decently before being publicly perceived for the first time in the day. Neither of her brothers wanted to miss what was about to come, so they awaited outside only to find themselves going after her later because excitement made her run her way down.

Hardly catching his breath, Boromir indicated her to go outside. Her cluelessness made her even more desperate for finding the surprise, but she inmediately stumbled with it once the final instruction was correctly followed.

A magnificent horse, one that she never recalled to have seen before.

" It was almost impossible to import, but your dear brother planned things with time and sent clever merchants on the quest for it. " Boromir recalled, pridefully. " They wouldn't have sold this easily for a mighty lord of the city, but couldn't refuse when told it would dissapoint a young lady. "

She looked at him in disbelief, unsure of the guess she was about to make.

" No,no, no ... There is no way. You couldn't ... "

" Send men to Rohan despite the uncertain danger it implies just to get you a horse? " Faramir followed, finishing her sentence in a wondering tone. " Don't worry, your present also worked as harmless excuse to obtain trustable testimonies about the state of our old allies. Something we have been wanting to find out for a long time, but father kept refusing to investigate. "

The clarification amused her more than the explanation itself.

" You are unbelievable!! How are we going to hide this? "

Boromir wasn't troubled by her very logical reasoning.

" We won't, and I will assume all guilt. Wait to see how fast he will find a reason to excuse me. "

He made her laugh through that lighthearted mock of his unwanted privilege, aspect he manipulated in contructive ways when it could bring a side benefict to his siblings.

Looking at her smiling brothers awaiting her final verdict made her feel the luckiest girl in Middle Earth.

" I have the best brothers in the world. "

#lotr #lord of the rings #faramir x reader #boromir x reader #gondor girl

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benk625-blog · 2 years

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The New Gods

“I vote against Contact.” Nordrix said with a heavy sigh.

“This is unprecedented.” Andrynn sputtered. “In all my years of surveying unaligned civilizations. I’ve never heard a concern from Cultural Studies. Economics and Warfare tend to quash admittance to the Interstellar Union.”

“I am aware.” Nordrix replied. “I did not come to this conclusion easily or lightly. My full and thorough report will be available soon.”

“Can you summarize for the committee?” Asked Gr’chykk of Warfare. “These deathworlders would formidable foes to the IU. If First Contact is handled properly, they could instead become our allies.”

“First Contact is inevitable.” Hypool of Science added. “They are on the verge of developing FTL transport and communication.”

“In my full report I strongly argue for Interdiction.” Nordrix answered. He wished they would just read the report. Confrontation made him uncomfortable.

“Unacceptable!” Screeched Smathley of Economics “I have never seen such a potential for mutually beneficial trade. I demand a preliminary summary this instant.”

It was unavoidable now. Nordrix was prepared for this demand. He stood up and prepared his files and notes to be displayed to the Contact committee. It would have to be a convincing argument and be made succinctly.

“My area of expertise is comparative religion. Specifically, I analyze cultures through the lens of what abstract concepts they deify. Certain motifs are repeated in each and every member culture in the IU. Gods of warfare, natural cycles and bountiful harvest are universal. This is apparent to most people without the academic knowledge I hold. May I assume that as given?” His colleagues agreed.

“Humans have an archetype previously unknown in the IU. They call this god-type ‘The Trickster.’ It occurs through out the cultures of this planet. The Trickster is hall marked by cleverness, deception and transgression of the taboo. So far, I have not discovered a major religion that centralizes this figure. Despite that, I have found that Trickster behavior is endemic to human society.

“If humans were to enter the Interstellar Union, they would unleash chaos and anarchy on our society. The number of words and phrases they have dedicated to untruths are staggering. It is routinely accepted that contracts will be voided, treaties broken and objective facts can be ignored.

“Culturally normative behavior is a paradox to them. It is expected that during their maturity that youths will violate customs, taboos and laws. As human adults attain maturity, they will begin to enforce the social values they ignored only a few years previous. When they become elders, they will mourn a false past that exists only in their imagination.

“Worst of all, they constantly improve on these techniques. If a human practices deception with innovation and novelty, they will usually do not face consequences. Legal systems seem designed to malfunction in this exact way. Social approval is similarly fickle. There is absolutely no standard for when a behavior is praised, normalized, politely ignored, forbidden or condemned.

“Here are some specific exam-“ Nordrix stopped talking as the audio-visual broadcast system seemed to go haywire. A rapid series of painted images flickered, creating the illusion of movement. He knew these were called cartoons. Loud, instrumental, march music assailed the sound wave receptors of the committee. A man in a green out fit wearing a horned crown laughed. A robed woman threw a golden apple. A monkey rampaged across a banquet table eating everything in sight. Spiders, crows, raccoons and coyotes in a parade.

The last image was a grey rabbit, standing on its hind legs holding carrot in a gloved hand.

“Nyaaaaaaa, What’s up doc?”

Humans had made First Contact.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are aliens #humans are confusing #humans are silly #humans are space australians

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soadawritesstuff · 1 year

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Pillows

Pairing: touya todoroki x fem!reader, quirkless au

Wordcount: 2.2K

Synopsis: What started out as the innocent intention of building a pillowfort turned into a pillow-ruining night that washes away any remains of an exhausting week

Warnings: 18+ (Minors, don't test me), unprotected bangin', reader has female genitalia but isn't adressed by any pronouns, fluff, smut, penetration, too much plot, established relationship

A/N: Boy, this is LONG. I made this one extra fluffy and sweet so enjoy to your heart's content. The author takes no responibility for any possible cases of cavities which may occur as a side effect.

It was a slow friday afternoon, the weekend was ahead, nothing fancy was happening or planned to happen. Your usual routine slowly drifts into endless boredom as you watch the sun crawl past the horizon out of your apartment window. There was simply no motivation to make dinner. You ran out of ideas and canned ravioli for the 3rd time this week didn't sound particularly exciting. But there was no need to rush it anyways.

Your string of summernight-melancholic thoughts was cut short by the sudden yet soft ring of your doorbell. You weren't expecting anyone so you decided to just pretend you weren't home. Probably some sales-associate or a package for an absent neighbour. Unnecessary social-encounters should always be avoided.

It rings again. No movement.

And again. No reaction, also again.

Again. Again. Again. Whoever was at the door was determined to get on your nerves. Under a storm of doorbell-rings, you begrudgingly open the door.

"The fuck took so long?"

In front of you stood your boyfriend with a pissy expression and two bags overflowingly full of what looked like groceries. Disheveled white spikes hang low in his face yet still allow his haunting blue eyes to flash through the fluff.

"More like the fuck are you doing here?", you step aside to let him in, Touya pushing past you awkwardly as you give him a puzzled look.

"Didn't feel like eating alone today so I'm invading your personal space", he drops the bags and takes off his shoes. "You're WELCOME". That man desperately needed new sneakers but you KNOW he won't replace them until they'd literally fall apart.

"Why didn't you call first? I could've helped you carry."

"Would've ruined the suprise-factor", your boyfriend flashes you one of his classic grins that gives you tingles all over your body. He just knows what to do at the right times, especially after a stressfull week this was just heaven. You didn't know how in need you were for some comforting until you found yourself in a warm and safe embrace that took a good couple of minutes.

"Thank you Tou" came out slightly muffled for your face was smooshed between his chest and arms. "No problem, baby", the words drawl out as a sigh, his hands slide down onto your hips, foreheads and noses touching, eyes shut. He was exhausted as well, his breaths gently fanning over yours. You gently run your fingers through his messy hair, getting a deep sigh of approval. You could stand in this hallway hugging him for eternity.

The low grumble of your stomach breaks the moment, earning you a snort from Touya.

"C'mon, we'll have all the time in the world after we've eaten", your boyfriend gives you one last squeeze before sliding out of the embrace to grab one of the heavy plastic bags. He thought of everything, instant noodles, fresh veggies, snacks. The guy knew you better than you knew yourself, it would be creepy if it wasn't so impressive.

You spend the next 10 minutes in silence, carefully sorting all the groceries into their respective spots in your small apartment-kitchen. It was nice having Touya's presence in your home. The feeling of loneliness slowly evaporated into nothing, a spreading warmth taking it's place. It bubbles down your throat straight down to your stomach, the entire space smells just like him. Musky yet fresh and overly comfortable. No matter how long you already were together, he never stops making you feel hazy merely with his existence.

"...babe!"

"Mmm?", you got lost in your train of thought.

"I asked you what you want to eat. 3 times", Touya has snaked behind you, taking hold of your waist and pulling you into him as he leans against the kitchen counter. You feel warmth radiating off his torso, smothering you with a wave of relaxation as he gently presses kisses into your hair. "What's up with you, hmm?" Touya's voice has grown low and soft, letting a shiver ripple through you.

"Sorry", a sigh gives away the exhaustion that has been building up for days now. "Week's been shitty", you allow your eyes to close for just a few seconds while leaning into your boyfriend's chest. Everything was a mess at the moment.

"Mm, 'm sorry babe" the hands on your waist lift to give you gentle head scratches. The room turns into a comfortable silence as you let yourself drift in the moment. The evening sun casts it's last rays through your window, bathing the small kitchen in a beautiful red hue. He makes it so easy to forget.

After a few minutes you force your eyes to open again, drowsyness a weight on your eyelids. "Tou, we need to make some food, I'll fall asleep without dinner..." No response. "Touya...", still nothing. "Touya?". Soft yet deep breaths tell you all you need to know. The motherfucker fell asleep while standing up. You wriggle around to face him, a deep sigh rises your chest as you face the white haired man that shamelessly dozed off in your kitchen. His features look ever so peaceful in his half-slumber and your eyes linger on his lips just a second too long.

But this isn't naptime and you were still hungry.

"Babe, wake up...wake up, damn", you couldn't surpress a snort at his now irritated expression while barely cracking one eye open. He takes a deep breath before pushing himself off the counter-edge. "Right...", if it weren't for your stomach, both of you woul've eventually fallen asleep right then.

"We'll make somethin fancy tomorrow"

"Instant Ramen?"

"Instant Ramen."

You attentively watch Touya pour the steaming hot water into both of the shabby plastic cups, making sure he doesn't dare overfill them. Chicken Teriyaki. The boiling water slowly crawls over the dry noodles, the flavor powder and comes to a perfect stop at the line. You propped up your head on your palms, elbows resting on the kitchen counter as you listened to the the clock on the kitchen wall softly ticking it's busy rythm.

"You know what we haven't done in forever?", your boyfriend's attention shifts from the freshly poured cups to your bored figure and blank stare. "Hmm?"

"Built a pillow fort. Why'd we ever stop doing that?"

For a brief moment the room turned silent, the soft ticking of your clock now somehow louder but your boyfriend's expression 2 notches more in thought than before. "You know what, that's not an unreasonable question". Of course it isn't, after all it was you who asked it. "Tell you what, after we finish eating we'll build the best damn pillow fort this world has ever seen, hm?" A wide grin spreads over your face. You can always count on him when it came to whacky or silly ideas. Steal a shopping cart? He's in. Scribble moustaches and glasses on movie posters? You don't even have to ask.

After a silent but comfortable round of eating, burning your mouth due to your misjudgement of the broth's temperature and Touya's nasty laugh after announcing your tounge's unfortunate demise, you quickly tidy up the table and kitchen. There was absolutely no time to waste as your mission was a serious one: Scavage the entire apartment for anything remotely soft. Touya threw in the idea to place a timer to decide who was better at finding the most building material. Only a fool would challenge you on your own battlefield and it seems like your partner will learn that lesson the hard way.

You grin triumphantly as Touya stares at your loot-pile consisting of multiple blankets, pillows, a mattress and various plushies. Poor dude only got the couch cushions and some T-shirts so naturally you force him to (begrudgingly) admit his obvious defeat. Both of you are quick to plan and construct a suprisingly impressive fort. There were some collapses here and there, but you managed to build a decently stable pillow-paradise in just under an hour.

"Well what can I say, we did it again", shiny eyes look upon your creation like it's your beloved son. Pride, exhaustion, satisfaction. No lesser words could describe the feelings your baby of blankets and pillows triggers inside you. And the fairy-lights are a nice touch you added last minute. "We did it like no child could dream of achieving", you prop your elbow on Touya's shoulder, or at least attempt to do so until it unavoidably slips off that very same shoulder.

"Yup, we are definetly geniuses".

"Undeniably."

....

"You wanna fuck in it?"

"You know me so well."

What started as an innocent idea quickly turned into giggles and a heated make-out under a pile of blankets and pillows. Your head in his hands, drowning you in passionate kisses that steal your breath little by little.

The fairy-lights cozily twinkle, the blankets used as walls give a sensual ambience as Touya's soft kisses travel all over your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps. That man knew how to make the butterflies in your stomach party. Soft and gentle touches up and down your sides as he traps you under him, forcing you deeper into the comfortable pile of pillows. Touya's hands slide under you, grazing your back and unclasping your bra in the process. Said bra is then tossed aside, as is your shirt and his shirt. Together they disappear in the depths of the fort and will only reappear with the next washing.

His hands gently squeeze your breasts, a shiver in his breath giving away your boyfriend's arousal. Deep breaths, Touya's broken-off moans and desperate dry humping shoots tingly electricity through your body, the air grows hot, steamy. Meanwhile both of you grow more impatient. A hand slides down your abdomen, past your panties and right towars your pulsing pussy, pushing the lacy material aside and massaging your clit in slow circles.

All you can press out is a breathy "Tou..." before his long fingers sink inside the clenching wetness that is now your cunt. Slow and deep and way too intense for you to handle. Circling thrusts and gasps.

"Feeling good, princess?", Touya stars nibbling at the shell of your ear. "Hmm?" his voice just a whisper and his shallow breaths trickling down to your neck, warm and overwhelming. "Mmm, 's so so good", god you sound so whiney, soft moans grow louder and louder. The wave of your growing orgasm is oh so close to crashing.

His breathy moan at your clench chucks you over the breaking point, waves of tingly pleasure wash over your body, pupils blown wide as Touya finger-fucks you through your first orgasm. "Shhh shh baby, you're doing soooo well". He has a way of drawling out his praises so deliciously. It doesn't stop your entire body from quaking but the praise is oddly pleasing. Maybe a tiny bit too pleasing.

A deep chuckle steers your attention back to the personification of sin himself. "You ok there doll?"

"Mmm, just perfect..", your heart skips just a bit when Touya pulls you towards him, grabbing the backs of your knees in the process and folding your legs over your torso.

"Then I presume you are up for more", a lustful glint flickers in those devilish eyes, "right?"

You could also always count on Touya's immaculate talent of having you yelp under him in no-time. The guy has your entire body burned into his mind and makes sure you know it. Deep, intense thrusts and sweat pearling off his body. Deep moans spilling past his lips as high pitched ones do past yours, the sounds of sex alone leave nothing to the imagination. His tight hold of your hip and the underside ouf your thigh forces his body even closer, the slow pace slowly fucking you into absolute oblivion.

"Damn babe, fuck", his low drawls send shivers through you. "y'feel so damn good". By now the squelching between your legs has grown louder. You catch your boyfriend's eyes roll back shortly before his head is thrown into his neck as he hits your special spot, having you clench in an instant. Hitting it over and over and over, all you are capable of doing is scream his name and desperately clutching the soft pillows beneath. Pressure builds up in your core, tighter and tighter. Snap.

White ecstacy ripples over your body in a tsunami of tingly bliss. All bodily controll leaves your body as you turn into a puddle beneath Touya, who follows up right after. Thick ropes of release mixing with yours as the white-haired man collapses right on top of you.

"Shit..", erratic panting fills the small pillow-filled space followed by light breathy laughter.

"We shamelessly ruined those pillows", that gives you a snort and a kiss pressed to your sweat-dampened temple. "We love making a mess huh". Gentle kisses get exchanged once again as both of you come down from your high.

"We should definetly toss the cases in the wash before shit dries". The last thing you need now is crusty pillow cases over the weekend.

"We should give the fort a name"

After cleaning up your mess, both of you got cozy in your usual sleep-attire. It was decided that you might as well spend the night inside the fort.

"How about Kevin?". Touya snorts.

"Babe, this is so not giving Kevin"

"Oh yeah? Then let's hear your suggestion"

"Ok, hear me out", you quirk an eyebrow as Touya stretches his arms out and dramatically pictures the name in the air.

"S h e l b y"

...

"Absolutely not"

"You are such a hater"

Who needs sleep when you could spend the next hour bickering about Pillow-fort names?

#questioning all my life choices that lead up to me writing this rn #my parents would be PROUD #touya todoroki #touya fluff #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki smut #bnha dabi #bnha #bnha smut #mha #mha smut #dabi x reader #dabi fluff #dabi smut #quirkless au

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noirs-pages · 1 year

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Diavolo and Lucifer 1

Summary: You have a particular way of greeting Diavolo every time you see him, to the chagrin of Lucifer.

Lucifer was… odd to you, to say the least, in terms of the lens you view him under. When not inflated with his pride, he’s someone you can generally tolerate and be able to have civil conversations with, but there’s a distance you want to keep with him.

It’s not out of fear, you can’t fear someone who’s pride gets so easily bruised that he flares up like a bird. No, you keep your distance because the longer you stay around him, the more Lucifer gets the idea that you’ll be happy to be subservient to him. To be his little assistant to bully as he pleases, like a dog hoping for a reward.

You can’t say you’re surprised. A demon of pride like him would value his own pride more than your own, and as such, would want for the taming of your pride with his presence.

You can’t even ask him for help. You just refuse to feed into his pride in any way.

You’re polite when you need to be, but that’s about the extent of it. It irritates you, how your status as a human being leads to Lucifer treating you like less than a capable adult and more an entertaining thing to press and prod.

It’s why you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Diavolo walk into the council room.

In an instant, Lucifer stopped with his teasing smile and lowered his head just a bit in a subtle but clear show of respect to a demon he deemed superior. It can easily be seen as him giving a friendly greeting, but you knew better.

“Ah, Lucifer!” And, of course, Diavolo presence and voice was as loud as ever.

You slipped out of your chair and past Lucifer. You felt a small flare of heat from him, probably for breaking one of his social taboos that he’s so stuck on, but he can’t full out show his anger.

Not when Diavolo was in the room, and certainly not when he’s focusing on you.

Alright, time to internally kill Lucifer.

“Hey there, Big Pup,” you reached your hands out, up into the air, and let your smile get softer when Diavolo instinctively lowered his head towards you, “how you doing?”

You sunk your fingers into his hair and ruffled it around, like you would with any good dog. You almost snorted when you heard Lucifer behind you choke on his own spit.

You didn’t start off with these kinds of friendly greetings with Diavolo, you’re not exactly a person that easily shows open affection. However, you are a pretty blunt person all things considered. You were zoning out and ended up focusing on Diavolo’s hair just because the color was so rich and told Diavolo as such when he asked you why you were staring.

And when Diavolo asked if you wanted to touch, the rest was history. Poor man, the first hair ruffling really left a number on him. His eyes went wide and you can just see the dopamine being shot into his veins. And for the rest of that meeting, his eyes kept drifting back to your hands.

It was silly as well as cute. And now you have the added bonus of it being endlessly entertaining because Diavolo has no qualms with getting your hands on his head with his friends watching.

“I’m doing quite fine, thank you,” Diavolo rumbled out after a delay, almost losing himself to your hands, “Barbatos has been working me to the bone. There’s so much to do.”

“How horrible, but there’s nothing to be done,” you sighed before backing away, pleased by the little sigh of disappointment that left Diavolo’s lips.

“Diavolo,” Lucifer finally recovered enough to speak up, “while it is only us here, it’s best for you to conduct yourself as someone befitting your position. What are you going to do if someone else witnessed you being pet like and called a ‘pup?’”

You just shrugged your shoulders, knowing full well Lucifer was not talking to you, “Hey, he’s the one that gave his stamp of approval. If he wants the pats, he gets the pats.”

His opinion doesn’t really matter and it’s nice to remind Lucifer of it.

“There’s no harm being done, Lucifer,” Diavolo laughed with some shame but you’re glad to see he didn’t give into it, “it’s just a cute human greeting. Perhaps you want to give it a try?”

You pulled your hands out of your pockets, shaping them into claws as though you’re ready to pounce on Lucifer’s head.

“Well?” You asked with a light tilt of your head, knowing he won’t say yes.

“I’ll have to pass,” the vein on Lucifer’s head thickened a bit, jaw tense, but ultimately let it go with a sigh. He’s fighting a losing battle.

Ah, no wonder you and Lucifer don’t quite get along. You both like having your prides fed.

#obey me #omswd #nightbringer #noir's pages #noir's pages exclusive #drabble #demon lord's castle #diavolo #house of lamentation #lucifer #reader insert

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webtechmonster · 1 year

Link

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#Instant Approval Social Bookmarking Sites #Best 200+ Blog Submission Sites List #free image submission sites in usa #free infographic submission sites in 2022

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misseviehyde · 1 year

Text

TOXIC REINFORCEMENT

Sienna hadn't been sure when she first joined the elite women-only gym.

Sienna hadn't even been her name back then - but for some reason it was what she had written on the application form... it had actually been the name of her bully in high school.

Now she felt more comfortable as Sienna than she ever had as Sarah. She wouldn't even dream of using that pathetic fucking name again.

Sarah was a boring, vanilla name. Sarah was the name of some pathetic little bitch who couldn't get a man. She hated Sarah.

Just as she hated all unfeminine women. Being girly was all that mattered. Her looks and her attitude were what defined her. Being sexy and getting what she wanted, her reason to be.

Sarah had hated the gym at first. The way the instructors mocked her for being fat, the way the personal trainer made her stop socialising with her usual friends and start hanging out with other girls from the gym.

But the payoff had been instant.

After only a few days her butt was rounder, her waist thinner and her boobs seemed bigger. She was hooked.

Sarah found that now the bullying didn't bother her. One word of approval from her instructors made her giddy with excitement and gave her such a rush. When new girls joined, she joined in with the bullying. It felt good.

The gym had strict dress-codes. She had to start wearing designer gym wear that showed off every curve of her body. She began wearing more makeup - got her hair dyed blonde like the other girls...

They went out clubbing.

Sarah had never been very sexual - but Sienna loved it.

She was a magnet for big black cock, and after she'd sucked a few and had her pussy stretched out a few times she swore she'd never fuck a white boy again.

She had no intention of dumping her boyfriend. Bullying and humiliating him was far too much fun. Cucking him was even better.

Sienna now spent every available moment at the gym. The magazines were full of toxic feminine trash, the TV only showed lifestyle TV and the wifi could only be used to visit social media websites.

It was like her brain was rotting, but in a good way.

She loved what an entitled white Karen she was becoming.

She spoke now with a bitchy twang, she quit her job and became an influencer. Before long she had her own onlyfans.

Sienna's nails were long and slutty, her body toned and tanned. All her clothing was now designer. She had no ideas of her own. All that mattered was being popular and pretty... doing what all the other girls did.

As she sucked another big black cock and filmed it for her onlyfans - she heard her boyfriend crying next door.

He should really hit the gym, he was such a fucking beta...

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sk3tch404 · 2 years

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Yandere Phantom Troupe with a s/o who gets friendly with other partners

Characters: Chrollo, Phinks, Nobunaga and Franklin

A/n: Ehhhh just a small thing. Brain fried from school and lack of proper sleep. Hope my HXH fixation stays strong for a while longer 😍 Also i think the writing is lowkey ugly but I think it's mostly the brain fog

Also wanted to do Uvogin but miss girl I really can't with ts rn... Btw I dont do Franklin I just like his character. ONE TIME THING OK 👌

Also in my ghosting era. Sorry moots I'm dying but bitch im alive but I'm dead 💔

Chrollo

Now what the hell do you think you're doing?

It's good to see that you're still capable of social interaction, but getting all buddy buddy with the other partners will make him extremely jealous.

His jealousy doesn't stem from his fear of them taking you away from him, it's purely because he thinks that HE should be the only one you spend your leisurely time with. Not some nobodies.

Chrollo is very straightforward and verbal in his expression of feelings. He will tell you to knock it off and stay near him for now on.

Maybe he will be more lenient when you talk to them from a distance.

Disobey and you will lose many privileges. It's not too often the troupe has meetings, so if there is a next time to prove yourself, (Assuming you've made up a lot for it and have obtained outside pleasures) you'd better either keep your head to the ground, or your eyes boring into his.

Eyes are the windows to the soul aren't they? Personally, Chrollo agrees with this sentiment.

But if you're planning on escaping with the aid of that other partner, you better pray he takes some kind of psychological pity on you.

He WILL find out about it. Chrollo is a master manipulator and can read others out very well after some time.

Regarding that he has taken everything from you, he will know that you are keeping something from him.

It's not as if he didn't predict this, but it still dissapointed him.

Punishment is never tortuous, but it's direct and precise. Chrollo takes want he wants no matter how he gets it.

Sometimes you think of it as a blade hidden under his long sleeve. He closes in, saying things you wish not want to hear again, and strikes you in the most vital parts.

Phinks

Literally does not care that much if you don't make a big deal out of it. Though, he does make sure you stay close and listens in to check you're not conspiring or anything.

He will only get pissed if you seem really giddy after interacting with the other partner or if you keep looking around like an idiot for some kind of opportunity.

Somewhat playful about it. Phinks will tease you condescendingly, implying things you know you would be immensely punished for.

Your terrified face and nervous defensive speech strokes his ego a lot.

Yeah that's right, you're his. Only he works to make you that happy. Any other being trying to lure you into their untrustworthy hold will get their head spun around back and over.

But if you're planning something against him, he will have no hesitation and will take you back home that instant.

Informs troupe members he encounters that he has personal business while dragging you out by your arm.

The boss is more understanding when it comes to partner business, so he approves of his actions.

Punishment is painful yet effective. The next time the Troupe meets up, you dare not to look at anyone else. Especially that other darling.

It seems like they were punished too.

Nobunaga

Why the hell are you ruining everything for yourself?

He's a very moody and emotional person. Seeing you enjoy yourself with that other person will make him extremely envious and agitated.

If you're REALLY enjoying it then things will take a turn for the worst.

Nobunaga will walk up to the two of you and intimidate the other partner. The yandere of that partner will most likely not take kindly to that, and they will start to have a verbal dispute.

Chrollo will have to silence the two and might even toss a coin to decide what to do about the outburst.

When you two get home, you will be heavily interrogated. If you don't declare your very existence and devotion to your "relationship", then off to the lions you go.

Nobunaga always makes punishment personal; Insulting you and putting words in your mouth. Never leaves you alone and makes it a point to let you know how much you hurt him, and how bad he is going to hurt you.

But if you are simply having small talk, then Nobunaga will pull you aside and tell the yandere to keep their partner away from his lover.

The yandere will most likely agree or wave off to his demands, and keep what's theirs to themselves.

His grip is swift and harsh. You feel like a brick in calloused hands waiting for an open opportunity.

Nobunaga doesn't think before he acts in social situations. His feelings take over and his sword swerves up and around, aimed towards person contradicting his own view.

He is greedy, not selfish.

Safe to say that you now don't open your mouth at meetings anymore unless you're told to…

Franklin

Eh as long as you're happy and not doing anything stupid.

He knows you need to talk to someone else other than himself. You are human after all.

Franklin will question you about your conversations. He secretly hopes you talked about him in a flattering light, but he knows that most likely was not a subject brought up.

Unless you want to get smart and start conspiring, you best not let him hear in on too much or find out.

Franklin is an observer and only acts when needed. His quiet and large stature is enough to intimidate most, so when he tells you he knows, confess and apologize as if you life depended on it.

He is a very patient, rational and calculating man, so he knows what you need when you need it.

It's better to stay docile rather than to mess up because you thought you could fool him. Did you think just because you found an easy way out, that you had even the slightest chance of keeping it a secret from him? Franklin of all people?

The man who is basically the troupe's second leader, the man who literally shoots nen bullets out of his hands, the man who could SNAP YOU IN HALF if he wanted to.

Punishment is not as bad as it would be if you actually did escape, but it still resulted in you being closed off to others much more than to him.

But other than that he doesn't mind you a few friends here and there. Just as long as you're loyal to him, he carries on without much issue.

Isn't the jealous type. More possessive.

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lestappenforever · 11 months

Note

Heyyy! I just wanted to first say I love your page it is absolutely a happy place for me tbh and I love the interactions you post. That being said, body language anon caught my attention in their last ask when they spoke about lestappen’s passion for the sport and f1 as an institution and would like to add some thoughts from a social-psychological pov.

I have also been thinking a lot about why lestappen stands out to many of us and why and how we got here and I think body language anon gets it right about how rather than big loud moments it is the smaller things that is so engrossing about their interactions. An account on tik tok (i have tried but can’t find it now) posted about how lestappen is “female gaze coded” precisely because of the little details (the boots, waits grab, shared history that is actually fanfiction worthy material). It is the purity and the meaningfulness of their interactions that make them so special rather than having two guys who are very obviously overzealous in their interactions (which has its appeals but clearly not to us- we like the angst and enemies to lovers trope too much for that)

Now from a socio-psychological standpoint I really want to take shipper goggles off for a moment and look at their relationship in their specific environment and the importance of homosociality. Homosociality is a theory that refers to the relations of same sex individuals in a society or given institution that sets them apart from the other sex- and other instituons/groups. And added layer that is slipping into Freudian territory-though I’m cautious- is that there is a latent homoerotic nature in same sex interactions- especially with men. This is not necessarily in a sexual way but more in a mutually reinforcing emotional way. Men in a give institution will seek the reinforcement of other men in their group and that is the crux of masculine homosociality and masculine relations- being self-reinforcing via socialisation with other men you hold in high regard due to their gender and their standing in the institution/group.

F1 as a male dominated institution and full of such reinforcing masculine interactions (driver-driver/TP/mechanics/fans (which is also why men find it hard to digest that women like F1 because they consider it an invasion of their sphere)) within this little system max and Charles have carved out special roles for one another where they seem to both especially seek out reinforcement from the other precisely because of that special shared passion for the sport and most likely because they both consider themselves above the rest of the men in the institution but equal and the same to one another which is why they seek each others reinforcement which can be literally anything that conveys approval (active listening, mirroring/mimicking, referencing shared history, accepting/initiating touch, laughing at jokes). There are some videos especially of Max in post race interviews where he looks almost jealous of Charles talking to another driver-and giving another driver the approval that belongs to Max. It becomes childish at that point with Max likely acting in a way that indicates his want to re-establish his special position with Charles- this may be by making jokes, eye contact or anything else which would result in instant approval. I can go into neuroscientific reward processes associated with seeking approval being equivalent to a drug and the best way to describe it is that if one of them shows any approval to the other it hits literally like neurotropic crack precisely because of the nature of their institutions and the special position of the other relative to themselves within that institution.

Which is also why I think that no matter how many times they interact publicly or privately they won’t ever have a relationship like Max and Daniel or Charles and Carlos where it is openly friendly and there is no slight tension (expressed by childish giddiness- like body language anon says with fidgeting and leg bouncing) caused by the fact that they have a long history that has carved out a specific place for the other driver as the approval-giver and becoming close friends would alter that dynamic to an un-acceptable degree. They will most likely alway remain flighty around each other, afraid of overstepping and messing up.

Anyway I’m sorry if this is messy this just popped into my head and I wanted to write it down.

Happy race weekend 🤍✨

Hello, my lovely anon! I'm going to refer to you as my beloved social-psychological anon, if that's alright with you.

First of all, thank you so much for your kind words. I'm so happy you're enjoying my blog, and that it's a happy place for you. That brings me so much joy to know. 💕

And babe, this anon has given me a beautiful start to my day. I've loved every single part of this ask, but this part right here is my personal favorite:

"There are some videos especially of Max in post race interviews where he looks almost jealous of Charles talking to another driver-and giving another driver the approval that belongs to Max. It becomes childish at that point with Max likely acting in a way that indicates his want to re-establish his special position with Charles- this may be by making jokes, eye contact or anything else which would result in instant approval." <<< Because this is the most spot-on thing I have ever read.

This social-psychologial insight into their relationship has truly added a whole other layer to Lestappen for me, and I don't think I could even begin to express to you how much I appreciate this. You and my body language anon are truly a beautiful combination, and I hope that you, like my body language anon, will return as often as you feel comfortable because it's such a wonderful treat to be able to read your insights.

Thank you so, so much for this, social-psychological anon. I love you.❤️

#Asks #Anon asks #Lestappen asks #Lestappen dynamics anons #Social-psychological anon #Lestappen gate 2023

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ofsappho · 1 year

Text

Heartless, Chapter 5

🔞 Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, SMUT

You get into trouble and Ghost disciplines you for it.

CHECK TRIGGER WARNINGS/TAGS UNDER READ MORE

TRIGGER WARNINGS: in the first part of this chapter, homophobic slurs (fag, faggot) and insults are tossed around. From an inconsequential side character towards Soap. I want to note that I myself am queer/nonbinary, and I have been harassed/attacked/bullied for being queer. Additionally, this scene is directly inspired by real events. A friend of mine, who is queer + nb AND is a veteran, got into a fight during their service with another Marine on their base for saying vile homophobic shit. My friend dropped the guy in an instant. My friend knows I am interpreting their story in this chapter, and they approve.

SMUT TAGS: degradation (a lot of it), humiliation, spanking, bondage, dumbification, edging, spit kink, dacryphilia, bratting/brat taming, choking, face slapping, praise kink, overstimulation, squirting, care taking (tbc next chapter!). Knife kink. All consensual. By degradation, I mean degradation in the context of the smut.

Everything goes wrong like this:

You’re out with Ghost and Johnny to explore the base.

They show you the fields where people like to play soccer. “It’s football,” your friend insists in his thick Scottish brogue. Ghost agrees with a grunt like the traitor he is.

Your heavy, exasperated sigh draws out chuckles from them both. “I’ll stop calling it soccer on the day you beat us at football.” And you don’t even like football. But fuck the British if they think they can get one over you. Well, the British and Scottish. Whatever.

The two of them start chattering- correction, Johnny chatters, and Ghost genuinely listens, you can tell, about sports and teams, and you regret bringing up the topic at all because you can barely follow.

What’s the difference between Manchester City and Manchester United? Isn’t that, like, the same thing?

As your husband discusses a recent game, a few guys kick around a ball, and some people smoke a few feet outside the designated smoking area. You watch a guy stub out his cigarette on the sign that says not to smoke elsewhere.

You’ve gotten too comfortable referring to Ghost as ‘your husband.’ Hm. You should check that impulse before it spirals into something that might validate Alejandro and Gaz’s conspiracy theories about love at first sight. Gross.

Do you know what else isn’t helping? Ghost’s refusal to let you be alone with them again. He doesn’t try to stop you or interfere, but you can’t ignore him lurking in the background like a little stalker whenever you socialize.

It’s… kind of cute.

Oh, and you finally encountered Roach in the wild. You spotted him in the mess a couple of days back, collecting the randomest assortment of snacks (Cool Ranch Doritos, a pre-workout drink for balance, you guess, a chocolate milk, and three lemon sugar cookie flavored energy bars).

He had on some interesting cat ear headphones, so you just waved and wordlessly gestured that you liked his headgear. He waved back, then shot you a thumbs up.

You tap back into your surroundings. Ghost has wandered into the smoking area to light up, and you might as well join him.

When you stretch out your hand, he plucks a smoke from his pack and places it delicately in your palm. He even lights it for you from a Zippo engraved with skulls, with one scarred hand cupped around the flame to keep it steady.

Johnny wrinkles his nose. “That’s gonna kill you in five years, you ken?” He stands on the other side of the painted smoking area line to hang while letting his disapproval be known.

You take a drag instead of laughing in his face. After all, he was the one who charmed every convenience store clerk at the young age of 17 into buying what he wanted without getting carded, smokes included.

“Since when have you been so health conscious?” You say as you blow the smoke away from Soap’s face.

Ghost does the same without thinking - like he’s stood somewhere and smoked while chatting with Soap enough times to make it a routine.

You envy the easy way they complement each other. You used to be like that with Johnny, and you wish… you want your own routines with your new husband, to know that he goes out into the world and does something different for the rest of his life because of you.

Distance is only natural, you tell yourself. You’re new to their friendship.

But Soap has been one of yours for so long, and Ghost is becoming yours faster than you thought possible. Like a rapacious strangler vine or fungal colony occupying a rotted tree, you find that you’re plotting all the ways you can twist yourself around and into Ghost.

Soap laughs. “Aye, well. You try getting shot a couple o’ times. Am not goin’ down over one of them cancer sticks.”

You hear it just as you tap some of the ash off the end of your cigarette.

“...can’t believe they let those fuckin’ fags…”

You bring the smoke to your mouth to conceal your grimace before turning ever-so-slowly. You’ve learned this lesson many times over; gathering further context is important— no need to bring a knife to a situation that does not call for knives.

The same guy you heard before continues with his little rant.

He’s a miserable-looking dude with a pasty milk face, no defined chin, a bad haircut, and a shitty name tag on his shitty uniform that says ‘Pvt. Langford.’

But somehow, despite lacking any discernible charisma, he holds rapt court with a bunch of other similarly-miserable peeons. “They’re a bunch of pussies, like, it’s pathetic, bro. Gonna give me fuckin’ AIDS or some shit if I gotta be in the same room. Criminal.” By now, he’s seen you watching him.

The corner of his thin-lipped mouth lifts as if he’s said something funny.

Eh. He’s maybe got half of a foot on you. At most. There are worse odds.

Then he slides his smarmy, revolting gaze from you to just over your shoulder, and his smirk grows. He’s looking at Soap.

You’ve seen this exact look before. You know what it means, what nerves motherfucking Langford is trying to trample on.

Before anyone can stop you, you’re across the smoking area and in Pvt. Langford’s face in about five seconds.

Soap thinks he’s about as level-headed and reasonable as the average man, but Langford has been getting on his nerves for way too fuckin’ long. For the whole time they’ve been stationed at this base, so, weeks.

Everyone knows Langford is a little shit. Everyone hates him and his bitch boys.

You’re just the first person willing to do something about it.

So while Johnny has never felt the urge to personally handle the Private’s homophobia because swatting flies is beneath him, he’s content to sit back and watch the show.

Naturally, Ghost tries to follow you. You’ve got the poor fellow whipped and wrapped firmly around your little finger.

He supposes he shouldn’t have expected any less.

Soap holds your husband back with an outstretched arm. “Let the lass do her thing,” He advises. You won’t appreciate it, and Soap has no intention of being on the receiving end of your wrath.

Ghost rolls his shoulders back. “Not gonna stop her?”

The Lt. doesn’t know, does he? “D’ya really think ya can?” Even more reason to let you go off. This will be fun and, frankly, a necessary introduction.

Ghost stills. “…” Not so new, then.

What a bloody buzzkill. Now look who’s fussing and clucking? Like a rooster.

Soap watches his teammate flex and crack his knuckles and decides that you owe him for what he’s about to say. “If she needs it, we’ll grab her before it goes too far,” He reassures Ghost before leaning against the ‘Smoking Area’ sign.

It’ll work out one way or another. No big deal.

The scowl on your face as you stare down Langford is somethin’ real ferocious. “What the fuck did you just say?” You demand, voice low and proud and loud enough to catch the attention of everyone in a ten-foot radius.

Langford laughs and tries to play it off. “That’s classified.” Oh, haha. Real fuckin’ original. Like half the girls in town haven’t heard soldiers try that line a million times.

The Army sure didn’t take Private Langford for his brain cells.

Next to him, Riley shifts from foot to foot. “She always like this?” He asks as if the words are throwing themselves against his mask and demanding to be let out.

“Mmm. Since we were wee mates.” From here, Soap can see how viciously you throw your cigarette to the ground and grind out the lit ember with your heel like the poor thing did something to you.

“No. Say it again,” You snap, cracking the sentiment over Langford’s thick head like you’re breaking a chalkboard in two.

Ghost stiffens up even further, and behind the mask, his eyes glint in the sunlight like that flame you just put out.

Is it possible that he’s… impressed by you? “Go on. I just want to make sure that I heard you correctly. That we all heard you correctly,” You say icily.

Global warming would be solved in a day if they could translate your tone into real ice.

Watching Langford take a small step back without realizing it is funny as hell. Even his minions have backed away as your aura of menace sets off their self-preservation instincts with the subtlety of a pulled fire alarm.

Lt. Riley’s eyes narrow as he memorizes your scowl and how you crowd Langford forward without letting up. “Spitfire.” Damn. That’s some bloody high praise coming from him.

Heh.

Riley’s hood can’t hide the shadowy hickies on his throat; one would think that Ghost has realized it by now.

Are those teeth marks he spots? “You sound surprised. Figured she was teachin’ ya that already,” Johnny leers.

Ah, the expression he can make out under the skull mask. He wishes he had a camera so he could show you later.

Ghost closes his eyes for a long moment. “Shut your face.”

Across the way, Langford musters up a little courage. “Aw, are you mad? Did I make you mad ‘cause I spoke the truth, snowflake? Did those faggots get to you already?”

In the aftermath, even the birds stop chirping.

“Fighting words. Surprised you’re not out there with her,” Ghost says.

Only a fool would think the Lieutenant is relaxed right now; Johnny can tell that his breathing has slowed, that he’s holding perfectly still with an unbreaking focus on his prey.

That’s part of how Ghost manages to disappear in broad daylight. When those subtle signs of life go away, it’s easy to overlook him, unsubtle mask and all.

He’d best save it for the field, but that’s none of Johnny’s business.

You two are so well-suited. “That’s the thing. About bein’ her friend. That bird- that bird’s a psycho.” If your marriage outlasts the bets everyone’s placed on an irrevocable breakdown, Soap figures he could make a killing on a matchmaking side hustle.

You take a deep breath. “I didn’t hear the truth. I heard a bunch of yapping from a little boy who a recruiter conned into signing his life away to lick the boots of his COs because he was a complete waste of resources otherwise.”

Yikes.

Occasionally, Johnny regrets quitting. He regrets quitting now, specifically; he could use the calming rush of nicotine. You’ve never ended fights in a good way, but this will end… spectacularly badly. He can see it already.

Ghost lets out a low whistle. “Jesus fucking Christ.” Then the Lieutenant looks around, and Soap realizes he’s checking for their Captain or any other superior officer.

Soap was planning on doing that anyway, and your new husband wins another point of approval in his book for thinking of it on his own.

“Pretty nice though, canny lie. Who else d’ya know that would fuck up a man for you without hesitatin’?” He says as he watches you open your mouth again.

“How does it feel to know you’re just that worthless?” Your voice rises and rises, acrid enough to melt paint, and it keeps Langford frozen in place.

“How long have you known her?” Lt. Riley asks.

“Eh… give or take sum’ ten years, prolly.”

“She like this the whole time?”

You go in for another round. “Thank God you’re not deployed anywhere important. It would be like the Bay of fucking Pigs all over again.” You’re close enough to spit on the Private, right fuckin’ close to his sallow face, and as your lip curls up, Johnny knows you’re definitely considering it.

Anger thrums in the air as bitter as gunpowder; it’s infecting Lt. Riley, churning in his posture, and it’s (unfortunately) starting to break through Langford’s shock.

“Aye. Never seen a law, or a rule, or a fuckin’ polis stop her. It’s nice not to fight alone, an’ if she had her way, I wouldn’t have lifted a finger in school.” He pauses, then looks at Ghost.

Johnny picks his following words with care. “Bet that one could carry the world on her shoulders if we’d let her. You know that she’s taken to you right quick?”

And then…

“Shut the fuck up, you dumb whore. Who even are you? Some slut whose only accomplishment is spreading your legs for a uniform? I’m not afraid to hit a little girl.”

Fucking Langford. Way to ruin a moment between mates, when Soap was just trying to help you.

God knows you need it; Lt. Riley is a piece of work.

The other man puts out his cigarette.

Now Soap has to think about how many soldiers he needs to threaten into silence after Ghost is through and how Soap will hide Langford’s body once he gets the final hit. “Lieutenant-“

They start moving in tandem, trying to get to you as fast as possible, like sharks circling after tasting blood in the water.

“Yeah, well, that’s funny ‘cause ‘little girl’ is what your mom calls me when we fuck,” You jeer before raising your hand.

Johnny loves you a lot, but man, do you make stupid choices sometimes.

Private Langford stumbles to the ground like a little bitch.

Damn. You didn’t backhand him that hard, and you’re not wearing any rings.

You can take a slap way better.

You stand over him as he clutches his face, practically cowering on the ground, and your knuckles are stinging, and all you feel is the adrenaline flash-flooding through your veins like cocaine or a really good fuck.

And then- strong, immovable arms clasp around your waist and yank you away.

Your hair’s in your eyes, and you can’t tell who’s holding you back, but whoever they are… you’re gonna make them regret it.

“Fuck you!” You howl at Langford, kicking and thrashing against the stranger’s grip.

You try to get an elbow in the side of whoever it is, but they evade it with ease. “Let go of me! I’m going to fucking kill you, you inbred motherfucker!” You scream as Langford gets to his feet.

The stranger carries you a few steps back and eliminates your chances of getting your nails in Langford’s face.

You redouble your efforts to free yourself. “Let me go! Let me at him! I’ll rip his fucking head off!”

The person shakes you like a rag doll. “Calm down. Calm the fuck down, lass. It’s me, Johnny. Stop your fucking fighting,” Soap hisses.

Oops. You stop moving all at once, causing Soap to almost drop you.

The adrenaline levels off, leaving you empty, and you drag breath after breath into your lungs to make up for it.

You shove your hair behind your ears just in time to watch Ghost put Langford in a headlock with beautiful, immaculate, careless ease.

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him take anyone down, and it takes away the breath you just found. Like, your mouth goes dry, and you forget Soap is restraining you.

Just… holy shit. He moves like the hand of God, eyes flashing and skull mask fierce.

Langford blacks out the same second Ghost gets his arm around the other man’s neck, crumpling to the ground like a chewed-up paper doll.

Oh. Oh no.

Now you understand why Soap keeps you in place because Ghost tosses Langford’s unconscious body to the side without blinking twice and then beelines straight. towards. you.

Your hands push and hit Johnny’s arms. You need to- you need to run this time, get away, and get out of Ghost’s path.

Flee. You need to flee before he unpicks you with his teeth and eats your fucking bones like a fairy tale monster.

God fucking damn it, why won’t Soap let you go?

A rush, you can’t breathe, oof, your stomach hurts, have you been swept onto Ghost’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes?

The upside-down sight of his very well-formed ass in his jeans tells you that, yes, you are hanging from his shoulder as he takes you to a secondary location.

All the blood in your body surges to your head. “Ghost. Ghost, let me down,” You tell him, voice jostling with each step he takes.

No reaction.

If you could just breathe, an action obstructed by his stupid shoulder jabbing into your stomach, and clear the fuzz from your mind (thanks hanging upside down!), you’d make him regret this.

“Put me the fuck down. I’m not fucking kidding.” Again, nothing.

If anything, Ghost actually tightens the hold he has on your hips, accurately predicting that you’re seconds away from kicking him.

Fuuuuuck this. “PUT ME DOWN, YOU OAF. I AM YOUR WIFE, YOU CAN’T JUST-“ You try to be as loud as possible, so maybe someone will hear and save you? Or irritating enough to make him set you on the ground?

Ghost keeps walking. “No,” He tells you before digging fingers into the back of your thigh. It’s painful, and you inadvertently shut your mouth, teeth grinding together. For now.

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T SET ME DOWN THIS INSTANT-“

Once Ghost unlocks your front door, he shoves it open viciously with his boot and locks it behind you without letting you go.

You fully expect him to unceremoniously drop you on the bed, but he- he doesn’t.

He pulls you into his arms like a husband carries his wife on their wedding night and lays you down gently.

Then he backs away as if burned by your skin, backs all the way to the other side of the room.

Shit. Shit. You’re in trouble. You’re in so much trouble, Ghost leans against the wall and crosses his arms, and you can’t meet his gaze; you can only look at his shoes.

He sighs. “You know what’s gonna happen next. Nod if you know.”

You nod, still looking at the ground, and feel the humiliation and anticipation trying to strangle each other in your stomach.

“If you don’t want it, you need to get the fuck outta my sight. Right now. I can’t look at you,” Ghost tells you.

You’re not sure how to find the right words. Do you want to beg? Resist? Ask him if he’s proud of you? You end up shaking your head in a negative and propping yourself up on elbows planted firmly in the bed.

He doesn’t say or do anything for a few minutes. You know he can see you squirm, how your fingers flex and feet tap the ground.

You pick yourself off the bed and walk towards him like a moth drawn to a flame.

Ghost moves as soon as you cave. He plants his large hands on your shoulders and pushes you back, back, back, until your back slams into the wall with his body boxing you in.

Before your head can hit the wall, he slides his palm around the back of your skull to cushion you.

He braces that same arm on the wall as he speaks. “That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some stupid shit.” You’re not really listening because his flexed bicep is right there, above your head, and he has to tap your cheek to get you to focus.

You look up into Ghost’s mask and his eyes- his eyes burn, greedily eating up your blush and your throat bobbing as you swallow your nerves.

His other hand trails along your neck and then wraps around it. “Thought you were s’posed to be smart. My smart, clever girl,” Ghost croons, all condescending like he’s talking to a misbehaving animal.

Then his voice deepens to a sound that’s just a touch inhuman. “You could’ve gotten hurt. That fuckin’ wanker almost laid a finger on you.”

Your heartbeat pounds fast, screaming in your chest. “I got him first,” You point out.

Ghost’s eyes crinkle at the ends. “That you did. You were brilliant there, love, won’t deny it.” Here’s where your flush brightens, where the praise makes you look away. “I see that went straight to your pretty little head.”

He falls silent when your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

“But oh my fuckin’ god. You can’t go ‘round gettin’ into fights like that.”

“It was for Johnny,” You protest weakly. You don’t regret a single thing, but you find yourself caving at the slightest pressure.

The hand on your throat tightens, not tight enough to do anything other than remind you that you’re his. “I don’t bloody care if it was for Jesus Christ himself. Nothing is more important than you. Than your safety,” Ghost amends.

But you heard him. Nothing is more important than you, he says.

Why does he care?

Ghost sees the fight flare up in your face. “Listen to me. Nothing. Not Soap, not me. You- you are…” He’s supposed to be scaring you right now. He’s meant to be reading you the Riot Act, and the part you play is the frightened doe he teaches a lesson to.

You’re scared for a whole different reason.

Ghost is looking at you, looking through you, and it’s like you’re a little girl again, learning that the only time people give a fuck is when you do something for them.

‘Nothing is more important than you’ plays over and over in your mind.

He lets go of your throat to grab your hand, the one you hit Langford with, and his gaze drops to your reddened, bruised knuckles.

When he talks, his voice sounds odd, like he’s shaking the rust off his vocal cords. “Fuck. I was so-“ Ghost cuts himself off.

His fingers are gentle with your fingers. He turns them over, runs his thumb along your palm. You’re not used to people touching you like that.

You find your words as fast as you can. “What? You were so what?” You challenge him.

You feel him drop your hand in favor of digging his fingers into your jaw. “You’ve talked a lot today, doll. The next thing you say better be a fuckin’ apology.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That’s how you wanna play this?” Ghost asks, eyes flat and unreadable.

You let him apply more pressure so your mouth lolls open, you let him think he’s got you. “Yep.” Then you poke your tongue out and lick the side of the finger pressed into the corner of your lips.

“Another stupid choice,” He tells you before letting go.

He wears holsters strapped on his back and jeans, and for the first time, you’ll get to meet what he keeps in them. “See, I was gonna be nice. Was gonna… fuckin’, I dunno, say some sappy shit, be real sweet, make sure you were okay…” Ghost says matter-of-factly as he finds a single-edged switchblade that is definitely illegal for civilian carry.

There are rules for that sort of thing. The blade is an inch too long, and that popping mechanism was outlawed in 1958.

You know that he keeps bigger knives on him, ones that look like they violate the Geneva Convention. In comparison, this is small fry.

Ghost deliberately pinches the collar of your shirt between his fingers. “But you’re gonna be a bitch about this, aren’t you? I’m gonna have to get it through your thick fuckin’ skull?” He asks, moving far slower than he’s capable of, slow enough that you can stop him if you want to.

You hear yourself pant desperately, you look at him with wide, vulnerable eyes, then hold perfectly still so that he won’t nick you.

The tip of the sharpened knife pokes a tiny hole in the fabric. “Hope you’re not too attached to these, doll,” Ghost tells you before slicing a clean line down the middle.

It’s cold in your bedroom, you had the air conditioner running earlier, and you blame your instinctual shivers on that instead of the need brewing under your skin (and between your legs).

When he pulls the tattered remnants of your shirt from your shoulders, you let him.

Your bra goes next. A swift rip and then your tits hang free and bare, nipples already beginning to harden.

He makes sure to click the blade back into the handle before reaching out to caress the heavy swell of your breasts, unable to resist stroking your soft skin even when he’s mad.

You picked a good day to wear a skirt that falls just past your ass with a hemline that dances teasingly around your thighs. To be clear, it’s not a good day for your skirt itself.

When the blade comes out again, Ghost cuts your skirt with steady fingers that brush your curved stomach.

Then he slips the knife between your underwear and your skin, carefully aiming the sharpened edge out so you feel the cool metal press into your heated skin without risking an accidental cut.

He doesn’t react to how your panties stick to your cunt when he takes them off you, most likely to deprive you of the satisfaction of any reaction at all.

You see part of his balaclava twitch, and after a moment, you realize he’s raising an eyebrow.

Right. Shoes. You kick them off with far too much eagerness.

He returns the closed knife to its designated holster. It’s very safe of him, very proper.

“I won’t go easily,” You remind Ghost.

He answers by covering your eyes with his hand and kissing you, his mask bunched over his nose and pressing awkwardly into your skin.

Each kiss makes you dizzier, hazier, you forget why you’re fighting, he ravages your mouth with his, and when you moan, it makes him even more feral.

He sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, and you shout at the pain and try to curl away. But the hand over your eyes keeps you in place, and you shudder against him, naked and helpless.

The webbed straps of his chest holster grind into your breasts and leave rough streaks of chafe wherever they touch your skin.

His tongue slips against yours, Ghost tastes like smoke and something uniquely him, it feels like he’s pouring nicotine into your synapses, and your spine relaxes, your muscles soft and compliant.

When you try to bite his lip back, he pulls away without acknowledging your unhappy whine.

“Open your fucking mouth,” Ghost snaps.

You do that and even stick your tongue out for good measure. You might not be able to see him, but he can see the little tease of how good you can be.

You hear him spit before you feel the glob of his saliva land messy and hot on your outstretched tongue. Your legs shift, and you press them together, anything to help with the pressure beginning to build in your core and the arousal trickling down your thigh.

Cloth rustles, and then Ghost removes the hand covering your eyes. His mask is back in place like he never lifted it at all. “Step away. Hands behind your back.”

You turn around on unsteady legs, then put your wrists together behind your back as ordered.

Something unclicks behind you, and then he pulls it off his… pants? His belt - he’s cuffing you with his belt, deftly weaving the nylon strap between your wrists and securing it into place.

As you test the strength and make sure he’s restrained your hands in a way that doesn’t cut off circulation, Ghost gathers your hair and drapes it neatly over one shoulder so it won’t bother you.

He touches your back and neck with an almost unbearable fondness. Fuck.

You feel him kiss your shoulder through the mask, closed-mouthed and chaste. “This isn’t coming off until you’re ready to behave,” He murmurs into your skin before sliding an arm around your waist, pulling the mask down, and biting the place he just kissed.

You struggle and twist in his grasp, but he holds fast, and you slump into him with a pained moan. Is he trying to fucking brand you? It sure feels like it.

When Ghost releases you, he turns you around with a hand on your bound wrists and then walks backward faster than you can keep up.

Then he sits on the bed as proudly as a king on a throne and beckons for you.

Without your arms free to help you balance, you stumble a few times, and Ghost watches you with a pleased glint in his gaze. That may be the point.

By the time you get to him, you’re thoroughly unbalanced. “Come on. Yeah, over my lap.” You kneel without complaint, too busy avoiding eating shit to consider resisting.

He helps you lower your torso with an arm placed below your collarbones and a hand flat on your stomach so you don’t face plant into the sheets.

“Are you going to-“ You feel him guide your hips up, encouraging you to place most of your weight on your face and shoulders.

Conveniently leaving your ass exposed. And- and he can see your dripping folds, see proof that you crave him.

He goes on as casually as if he were describing the weather. “Spank you? Yes, I am. A slag like you can’t see reason, obviously. Got to train it in ya.” You practically jump out of your skin when you feel him drag a finger along the inside of your thigh, tracing the rivulets of slick trickling from your pussy.

You feel like a thing, like putty in his hands that he can bat about and talk to like you’re not even there.

“Don’t act like you don’t fucking get off on this. Be honest. Or are you too stupid to do that?” Ghost asks as if he’s just remembered that you can answer questions.

You clench around nothing and desperately wish he’d take that finger playing with the sensitive skin of your thighs, and do something useful with it. “…I do.”

“There’s my needy girl.” He neatly fists a hand in your hair, somehow mindful that you won’t appreciate losing a few strands without you telling him.

His free hand caresses your ass, then up and down the backs of your thighs. You feel him grab one cheek tightly, grinding down with his fingers so he can see red marks bloom under his touch.

You jerk forward with a cry when he hits you the first time, though the hand in your hair keeps you from going very far. Ghost doesn’t spank you hard, more of a warning tap than anything.

The shock smarts more than the blow did. But you’re determined to show that you can, in fact, take a hit better than Langford, so you dig your knees in and psych yourself up for the next spank.

“Fuck is wrong with you?” His voice cracks like thunder, then he follows it with another spank.

This one hurts. Hot, hot pain radiates from the spot he hit, but your body wrenches with a different sensation as your body processes that pain as… well… pleasure.

When he spanks you again, he takes the time to force your head further down into the blankets. “Hm? Running your dumb fucking mouth, talkin’ all that big shit?” Ghost snaps at you.

Each time he spanks you, you cry out, your eyes roll back, and it hurts, and he keeps hitting the same spots, so even when he isn’t touching you, you’re sore.

Another set of blows, each one harder than the last.

You gotta- you gotta tell him- you push back against his grip, and he lets you lift your head. “God, Ghost, please-“ Your voice is choked-up and pleading, mirroring your thighs trembling with want and your aroused, needy core that he’s fucking ignoring.

He slaps your ass again, this time right where your ass cheek meets your thigh, close but not close enough.

“Please, what? Please, what, doll? Come on. Dumb little doll doesn’t know how to talk?”

Your breaths are ragged, labored, you’re shivering and there’s so much pain that you can’t tell where it stops and where the want begins.

“Harder-“ You cut yourself off with a gasp when he does just that.

That one burns. That one feels like an open flame, like Ghost’s touch is burrowing into your muscles, down down down, like it will leave a lingering mark that you don’t want to fade.

He rubs over your heated skin, massaging away the worst of the soreness. “You’re welcome. Now listen to me,” Ghost speaks in a low, reassuring tone like he’s gentling a startled animal.

He notices the exact moment you get lost in the feeling, when you push back and fucking present yourself in the hopes that he’ll give you more.

Then he cracks his hand against your ass; the sound is louder than your answering shriek. “Listen. You are going to apologize for almost getting hurt. You’re going to mean it. You’re going to swear you’ll never get into a fight again.” Ghost tightens his hold on your hair and twists his wrist to push your face back into the bed, taking back the advantage he granted.

“Or what?” You won’t be able to sit comfortably for a week at least, the ache and the bruises forming have you strung out for the tiniest scrap of pleasure… but you did tell him you wouldn’t go easily.

“Or…” Ghost trails off slowly. Your scalp begins to tingle as his grip grows even tighter.

It’s so painful that you almost miss the two thick fingers he slips into your pussy. Almost.

“Fuck!” You keen, your mouth open as your nails dig into your palms.

He thrusts them into you slowly, lazily, totally unsympathetic to your pleading noises and your muscles quivering around his fingers as he drags them in and out of you.

Your cunt has to stretch to accommodate them, and he grinds into you each time he gets knuckle-deep. And then he holds your head down like you don’t get the privilege of looking at him… Your pussy clenches around him at the thought.

Eventually, Ghost stops moving at all, but you’re gone, you’ve been gone, and when you start fucking yourself on his hand, he lets you.

You can tell he’s rock hard, you can feel his dick through his jeans, but he has far more willpower than you could even imagine, and brushing up against it does nothing. “Oh- oh my god, fuck, that feels…” You pant as you chase the sweetness, chase the tension twisting up your guts that’s so close to boiling over, so close.

Your clit is aching, screaming for pressure, for stimulation, but he doesn’t grant it to you. You can only work your hips against his hand, over and over.

Your eyes close as you speed up, you’re whining, you’re gonna come any second, your cunt can’t stop twitching. “I’m so close, wait what-“

Ghost pulls his fingers out before you tip over the edge.

“Or you’re not coming tonight,” He informs you, and you can hear the stupid fucking grin in his stupid fucking voice.

When you try to protest, to get up and fucking bite him or some shit because that’s not fair, Ghost spanks you with the hand you soaked.

You’re sort of blissed-out, sort of pissed, and a lot horny. “I’m sorry-“ You start in the hopes that Ghost will fold and give you what you fucking want.

His mask rustles as he shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.”

Then he slides you off his lap like you weigh nothing so he can stand.

Ghost keeps you in the same position, head down, ass up, and nudges your thighs open a bit wider.

You can’t see him through any of this. That seems to be something he’s taking full advantage of. You can’t touch him, you have no idea what’s happening next.

The only clue you have that he’s taken his mask off again is when he puts his tongue on your sensitive, aroused clit.

(He really should just take the damn thing off more regularly. This is inconvenient, and it’s not like there’s anything under there that could make him less attractive.)

He laps at your swollen folds with his hands on your hips to steady you, and the thoughts melt straight out of your head and drool from the corner of your mouth.

You struggle against the belt in earnest this time, maybe you can loosen it enough to slip your hands out and get away from Ghost and his planned torment. As much as your body pleads to stay put, as much as you want to push yourself back and let him consume you, let him fuck you stupid with his tongue, you know it will end soon.

And he’s going to be fucking mean about it.

Ghost takes his breathing break as an opportunity to taunt you. “You’re not goin’ anywhere,” He promises, leaving handprint bruises on your thighs.

Your stomach churns as he sucks on your clit, like there’s a knife slicing through you, and it’s the hot, burning pleasure pulsing through your body.

You’re not sure you can hold yourself up any longer, your knees waver like you’re a baby deer, and oh God, you’re going to come again, you can feel the spasms in your cunt grow stronger and stronger.

The beginnings of your orgasm tremble through your muscles, so close that you can taste it, you feel it throbbing with every beat of your heart.

He keeps sucking, his wet mouth relentless and dragging you painfully to the edge of the cliff. “Ghost, please, please let me- Fuck!” You wail as he backs off.

Tears well in your eyes as the tremors fade into nothing.

You get yourself upright before he can stop you. “Why are you being such a dick?” You blurt out, lurching forward on your knees like if you can get to him, you can do… something. You’re not sure what, other than that you want to kill him.

Ghost blinks a couple of times.

In the silence that follows, the deadly, threatening silence, you realize your mistake. “Just- just let me come, I’ll be good. I promise. Just wanna come.” You beg, you sit down and tilt your head up like a dog doing a trick, and you pray he gives you grace.

He gets his hand around your throat faster than a snake striking its prey. This time, Ghost squeezes the sides hard enough to make you see white lights. “I am being a dick,” He agrees congenially. “But that’s not what you need to say, is it?”

“…no,” You mumble.

The next thing you feel after he releases you is his palm meeting your cheek. Hard.

“Have I spoiled you that much? You think you can fuckin’ ignore me?” Ghost sounds so calm, so authoritative.

After the ringing in your ears clears, you’re proud to see that you’re still upright. “No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” You stretch your jaw a few times to release the ache from his slap.

He hunches over, puts his hands on his knees, and gets right in your face. “Oh, but you did,” Ghost whispers.

There’s something about the fogginess clinging to your eyelashes and the inside of your ears and the folds of your brain that makes his skull mask seem more than real.

A hovering specter of exposed bone, hollow eye sockets with no end, and a gaping, horrifying maw.

You’re starting to understand why people call him Ghost and mean it.

Your mouth goes dry. “Please, I’m begging you,” You whimper, eyes round with awe and flustered blood rising in your cheeks.

He nods, and you swear there must be hearts in your eyes at his approval. “Mm. I like that. Beg again.”

“Ghost. Husband. I’ll be so good. Anything. I’ll do anything. I can’t take it, I need to come so badly.” You lean forward to touch your forehead to his, making yourself as obedient as possible. For the most part.

“That’s not an apology.” Then he sighs, long and drawn-out and aggravated. “Anything, you say?” Ghost asks.

“Y-yeah.”

“Alright. You can come…. When you promise not to fight. And you’re gonna wait until you do,” He tells you as he slips his hand between your slick thighs.

“No…” You moan. He’s doing it again, torturing you again, you just want to give up, you feel him play with your throbbing clit, and it hurts so good.

Ghost clamps a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to roll your hips against his hand. “Sounds like you weren’t listening. Now that makes me think you don’t care.” Shit. Shiiiiit. He pushes a single finger into you, and you collapse into him as you start to ride it, hips jerking unconsciously.

He laughs when he hears you squeal. “You’re just a mindless whore who’d let half the fuckin’ base run through you, aren’t ya?” He’s found your g-spot, he rubs the patch of ridged flesh inside your cunt over and over.

Sweat beads on the back of your neck and drips down your spine, your fucked-out gaze can hardly focus on him, you feel like you’re burning alive in your skin.

“Don’t even need me at this point…” He circles your clit one more time and your mouth hangs open and you want to beg, but you can’t focus-

Tears fall down your cheeks when he wipes his fingers on your heaving breasts.

“No, no, no, Ghost, I need you. I want you. No-nobody else. I do care, please, you’re the only one,” You sob into his chest, pushing your nose into the fabric of his hoodie because it’s soft and smells like him, warm and like home.

“Yeah?”

You feel him rub your back, then slip a few fingers between the belt and your wrists to test your comfort.

You nod without lifting your head. “I- I was- I’m listening, promise, I can’t- you gotta make me come, don’t want anybody else.” You’re so tired, so worn out. There’s a patch of dampness on his jacket from your weeping, and you let out little high-pitched whimpers like a neglected kitten.

He frees your hands in an instant. “If I gotta repeat myself, I’m gonna leave you here,” Ghost tells you, though his voice isn’t as mean as before.

Your arms cling to his neck as you nuzzle your face into the space below his sharp jaw. “Ghost. Don’t go.” The edge of his balaclava muffles your words, but you don’t have the strength to say them to him straight.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being so stupid,” You sniffle before bringing a hand to your nose to wipe a little snot.

Ghost gently knocks your fingers away and replaces them with the edge of his sleeve, delicately cleaning the mucus from your upper lip.

Next, he dries your cheeks with the shadow-black fabric.

You protest when he unhooks your arms from his neck, and your hands scrabble for purchase in the hood of his jacket.

One soft look, his fingers brush your chafed wrists, and you let him lay you down. “Took you long enough,” Ghost quips as he unbuttons his pants and pulls out his dick, mouthwateringly hard and long. He pumps his cock a few times.

You’re in a daze, hovering in that raw space on the other side of crying but wanting him anyways, needing him more than anything.

“Spread your legs, love.”

Ghost leans in like he’s about to kiss you. Then he remembers his mask and changes his mind, having lifted it enough today.

He taps your sensitive clit with the fat head of his cock, and you suppress your shudders, how your legs automatically try to close and get away from the feeling. “I won’t do it again,” You tell him, voice breathless and sweet.

Once he’s coated in enough of your arousal, he keeps one hand flat on your pelvis as he pushes in. “Fuck- fuck, I…” You groan. There’s never any room in your body left for air when he fucks you. Never.

He’s so large that it hurts a little when he’s bottomed out, you can hardly twitch or clamp down like you desperately want because of how fucking full you are.

You can feel every inch of him, you’re on the brink of crying again because all of those denied orgasms are tearing at your insides, and your painfully aroused cunt screams that you can’t take it, that it’s too much, too good, he’s too big.

You have to be good. “Uh, I won’t fight, aah-“ That’s the only thing that gets you to say the words he wants through numb lips, especially when Ghost starts to thrust, and your pussy convulses around him each time.

He moves slowly, really slowly, shallow at first, your tits bouncing in time, and you’re crying out underneath him, so used to all that edging that you subdue your pleasure on instinct.

The slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out are loud and profane, filling the room more than your weak, almost pathetic whines do.

The solid, imposing weight of his body settles you down so you can enjoy his faster, harder pace, and his balls slap against your ass as he fucks you open. “Promise?” Ghost pants, his hands pressing your knees almost to your chest.

He’s looking for something. He moves your legs every few thrusts, opens you up a little more, tilts your pelvis up and-

When his dick catches on your g-spot, your tears cover your cheeks and trickle into your hair in earnest. “Yes, yes, shit, hngh- I promise…” You’re so wet that you can feel it dripping down to the bed and pooling under you, you feel that familiar pressure building, except this time it’s stronger, it’s got a stranglehold on you.

Every time the fly of his pants brushes your engorged clit, your eyes go large and you hiccup, unable to moan properly because it’s like electricity is coursing down your spine.

He kisses the side of your face before nailing that sensitive spot with terrifying, mind-breaking accuracy.

“Come on. You can do it,” Ghost groans, cursing under his breath when you squeeze him so tightly that he almost loses his grip on your thighs.

Oh. Oh. He wants- he’s trying to make you…

“I can’t, I don’t know how, I, I-“ You sob, the pleasure is so intense that you feel nauseous, he’s rutting into your body furiously, and you’re stuck on a horrible knife’s edge of needing to come or you’ll die, but it’s not happening.

He nudges your knee until you wrap one leg around his hips. “It’s alright, love. Let me help you. That’s it, that’s a good girl,” Ghost shushes you before slowing down so he can place his hand on your throat and restrict the blood rushing to your head.

Everything goes sweet and hazy, and you give him a cock-drunk smile in return, eyes rolling back and drool stuck to the corner of your lips.

Once you’re suitably pliant, he slides that hand between you and finds your aching clit. “Just focus on me.” He’s pressing his forehead to yours, you look into his dark, fathomless eyes ringed with pale lashes.

The coil tightens, and you arch into him, gasping and biting down on your lip so hard that you draw blood.

“Ghost, fuck, can I-“ You beg, voice choked and strung out as his fingers move faster on your clit, circling it in tandem with his cock pounding you so deep that it feels like he never ends.

“Go on. Come for me. I know you can.” Ghost pinches your clit, and you come with a wail, thighs shaking, your cunt seizing and it fucking gushes out of you, you soak his jeans, you clamp down so tightly that he slips out.

He replaces his dick with three fingers slotted right on your g-spot, moving in quick, jerky thrusts to see you through it. “Holy fuck. Did you just…” He mutters as your eyes screw shut, and your nails snag his shoulders.

You feel like you’re dying, you can’t stop fucking squirting, the waves grow and grow-

Your hips jerk for the last time, and you’re left a whimpering, quivering mess of oversensitive nerves, the last of the aftershocks still simmering in your muscles.

Ghost kisses your forehead as he carefully withdraws his fingers. “You’re too good to me,” He tells you with something like awe in his rough voice.

You slump to the bed, boneless and empty, not even giving a fuck that the sheets are all messy with sweat and… squirt?

That’s new, you think blearily. That kind of shit only happens in porn? Right?

Your head lolls to the side so you can watch him through lidded eyes.

He moves you out of the wet patch with one arm under your back and the other under your knees, then tucks himself back into his boxers.

“Wait… you didn’t- you didn’t come…” Your voice is fucked up and hoarse, and maybe you should give in to the overwhelming urge to sleep, but…

Did he not want to? You did everything he asked.

He shakes his head. “Nah. Don’t need to. You were perfect, you learned your lesson.” He splays a hand out on your stomach, luxuriating in your squishiness.

Your brow furrows. “Ghost…” Then you rub the sweat and crusted tears from your eyes and set your mouth in a mulish, determined line.

He watches you like a hawk. “Yeah?”

“Please? Fuck me?” You ask as you touch his forearm with a weak hand.

A beat passes. “You’re crying. And you drenched me, the bed too,” He tries to reason with you. You see him swallow harshly, you know he’s shifting where he sits because he’s given himself blue balls.

Your eyes flutter when the exhaustion almost gets you, but you power through it. “It’s okay. I- I’m tough. I want you to come.”

“Yeah. Alright… Tough girl.” Then Ghost reaches for your hips with all kinds of enthusiasm that tells you the truth.

It was sweet of him to try and be gallant. You’d rather he break you open and fill you up.

To be extra nice, you even hold your knees apart so he can push back in.

You’re not going to come again, you’re too fried for that, but it still feels… incredible. You’re glad for all the extra lubrication and that you can make him feel good.

Ghost fucks you with abandon, and deep, animalistic groans echo from his throat. “Shit- I could fuck you forever, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, fuckin-“ He grunts, head tilted back the tiniest bit and composure gone.

Breathe, you tell yourself, breathe. Do it for him.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Your swollen pussy spasms from the praise, constricting him so tight that he cries out. You just can’t help yourself when he says shit like that, especially when he’s making you ache in such an addictive way.

His hips move faster. “You like that? You like it when I tell you how good this fuckin’ pussy feels?” Yeah. Yeah, you do.

“Fuck, fuck fuck-“ You feel him orgasm, he paints your walls with his cum, then grinds those last few thrusts so deep that you cry out.

His pelvis bumps the backs of your thighs like he’s trying fuck his cum in as deep as it will go.

Ghost catches his breath as he softens inside you, panting as raggedly as you are.

He pulls out before dropping his chest harness to the side and unzipping his hoodie so he can clean you up.

You can’t stand the thought of anything touching anywhere near your beat the fuck up pussy right now, so you shove his hands away and drag Ghost down to snuggle.

Of course, he obliges you and helps you rest your head on his shoulder as you curl into his muscular frame like a little bug.

“What happens if the fight comes to me?” You ask.

He’s running a hand up and down your spine, soft touches to bring you back to earth in a gentle, comforting way.

His hand stops until you kick his shin, gently, then he starts up again. “You run,” Ghost says.

“What happens if I can’t run?” You press your cheek into his t-shirt, so close that you can feel the heat of his skin through it. And a little rhythm that must be his heartbeat.

Next, Ghost threads his fingers through your sweaty, messy hair and attentively smooths it away from your face. “You call me. I’ll come get you. Every time.”

Hope y'all liked this one! Next chapter will be super soft/sweet/fluffy with lots of caretaking, I promise.

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