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theorist-fox · 4 months ago

Text

Hesitate

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3 >> Part 4

It can also be read as a standalone!

The description you'll read of Simon is heavily based on this fanart by @tiggerriot (give the creator some love!!!) because it has been occupying my mind 24/7. I'm in a chokehold.

Word count: 6k

Summary: Simon loses sight of you for far too long. In that time, he realizes he can't go a day without having you within reach. When you return, he tells you in the only way he knows.

18+

CW: smut (fingering, PinV), but with plot. Tiny angst, fluff. Protective and possessive Simon Riley. Mentions of stabbing and blood. Minor injuries.

Masterlist 🦊 | Series Masterlist 🦊

“Quiet.”

He barges in. Because of course he does. There isn’t a piece of flooring in this godforsaken base that hasn’t been violently reclaimed by Ghost’s boots.

Not even in your goddamn room.

Thankfully, you have the reflexes of a trained operative and have moved out of the way in time, otherwise you'd be sporting a wonderful, purple knob in the middle of your forehead. And while there is a certain distaste surging in your chest – the kind that makes your lips pucker and your stomach knot –, you know there is very little you can do to move the mountain that is Ghost.

So, you close the door behind you with an exhausted sigh, as he ventures further into your room.

“Good eve-“

He swivels on his heel as soon as your mouth parts to speak. “Where the fuck ‘ave you been, uh?”

The balaclava on his face does absolutely nothing to hide the hatred sizzling in his eyes. Funny, because you’ve always thought that it was the whole point of the thing – to hide his face. You wonder, sometimes, if he knows just how expressive his eyes are.

Does he know he tells so much more with those than he ever does with words?

Nevertheless, yours are as telling as his own, as they bulge out of your sockets. The odd look you give him is comical, compared to the ire that's practically singeing his clothes.

“Uh,” you stutter. “Deployment?”

He narrows his eyes at you into tiny slits. So tiny you have to squint your eyes yourself to catch a glimpse of his irises.

“Alone?” He asks, clearly skeptical.

To match the distrust in his tone, you tilt your head toward his, brows furrowing in confusion.

“…Yeah?” You reply, and the more you go on the more sarcastic you sound. “We do that, sometimes. Lone ops, recon. Y’know, we’re in the UKSF, in case you, uh – forgot.”

He hums gravelly. A sound that causes his body to straighten up as if the cogs have finally started whirring and working seamlessly once again.

“Don’t get smart, now.” He warns, freezing you with a look.

You pucker your lips and instinctively show him your palms, cheekily replying with an “I would never.”

Wrong move, unfortunately.

You are your worst enemy.

If this conversation goes downhill, you are the one to blame. Schedule a punishing whipping for yourself, later – you better fetch the goddamn cat o’ nine tails.

The movement causes the long sleeve of your loungewear to slip further down your forearm, pooling at your elbow, and exposing a large bruise. A galaxy of greens and mauves in the shape of five fingers and a large palm.

Ghost’s eyes zero on your arm with the rapidity of a hawk. Price has always said it, after all: he only knows one sniper who’s better than Ghost, and she’s a thousand klicks away now. You miss her – Farah would’ve been a lot nicer about this than him.

When his focus returns to you, he doesn’t even have to ask. As you’ve already stated time and time again, he conveys a lot more with his eyes.

And they are absolutely fuming.

You suck in a sharp breath, nodding your head slowly while returning your sleeve where it’s supposed to be. Fucking traitorous piece of cotton that should stick around your wrist.

“Y’know,” you start, your chest all puffed because – well, you ain’t breathing right. Not with Ghost staring you down like you’ve gone and killed the King of England. “I had to sneak in, grab the USB key our contact set up for us, and then – bang, vanish. And I did it, yeah? I was brilliant at it.”

The smile on your face is as fake as the cheerful tone you’re using to dispense this information. It cracks as soon as you see the fabric of the balaclava shift on his jaw.

He’s grinding his molars into dust.

“And?”

You gesture vaguely. Shift your eyes to the ceiling. Tongue your cheek. Try to downplay it. “Well, ‘s nothing really.”

“Sergeant.” He barks. If he had hackles, they’d be dusting the ceiling.

You sigh.

God, how long have you been holding onto that breath? You’re positive it was the air you’ve inhaled, like, ten thousand years ago.

“Someone thought I was acting a bit dodgy and had me pinned to the floor.” You made grabby hands with a cheeky smile, “I have meaty forearms. Plenty to grip.”

Humor is usually the key to lessen the tension that would strangle your and his lungs. Normally, he’d let it go. He’d listlessly smack the back of your head or pinch the flesh of your biceps and call it a day.

Now, sarcasm seems like the last thing you should’ve resorted to. His posture is stiff and straight. The night lamp on your bedside table sheds light against his back, making him look like he's the wolf ready to pounce what it's going to be his dinner.

It makes your blood curdle.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff, digging your fingertips in the back of your neck to release some tension. “Nothing happened. I jabbed him in the throat before he could shout for help and shoved him under a desk. Got myself a proper blood shower.”

Ghost’s eye twitches.

And then he goes silent.

Not the news of the year, of course. He’s always silent. You know he doesn’t get his callsign from that, but you can’t help but find his personality incredibly fitting with the military nickname.

However, this isn’t the usual Simon shut-up-and-sod-off Riley. He’s so still you wonder if he’s breathing. You have half a mind to wave your hand in front of his eyes to check if he’s gone catatonic.

You don’t, of course. Dogs bite.

You sneer, more in concern than anything, and gingerly take a step forward. Initially, your question comes out simply as a sideway tilt of your head paired with a puzzled look – a question mark would be floating above you, if physically possible.

But when that doesn’t seem enough to coax an answer out of him, you blurt out an “Oi.”

His eyes are jaded as they swivel to your face. Always with the heavy-lidded gaze that makes him look like he’d love to be anywhere but where he currently is.

He seems… calmer. You're not sure whether it's a good or a bad thing. You prefer it when he's fuming because, as the saying goes, better the devil you know.

“Off.” He states.

Of course, he prefers syllables to full, clear sentences. Expressions you (or anyone else, really) don’t seem to catch, unfortunately. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told him that if he wants to have a conversation, he should start stringing words one after the other instead of settling for just one.

“What?” You deadpan. “Off with the bullshit? Off with my head? Words, L.T.”

You don’t seem to have learned from your past mistake of using humor to sneak out of a predicament when Ghost appears to have all hell ready to unleash.

He roughly points at your chest, “The shirt,” and then aims his finger to the floor. “Off.”

Look at you: dumbfounded.

Sure, you two have fucked, occasionally – ever since he’d come to terms with the idea that he could do it without getting into trouble. It’s not like he gives two shits about someone finding out, he just doesn’t want to deal with commanding officers explaining to him why he shouldn’t stick it anywhere he finds fitting. God forbid someone puts him through one of those seminars about relationship policies and how they can disrupt the chain of command.

You splutter, “Wha – Excuse me?”

“Ya heard.” He reiterates. “The shirt. Off.”

You scoff. “You wanna fuck now?”

“Didn’t say tha’, did I?” He says flatly.

“Oh, sorry!” You snark. “Didn’t think there were other reasons why you’d want me to flash my tits.”

“Didn’t say tha’ either.” He deadpans and swipes his index finger in the air again. “Off with the shirt.”

You huff, pinching the bridge of your nose while, stubbornly, still wearing the t-shirt.

“Not in the mood to have sex, honestly,” you explain, trying to stay calm in the face of the implications of the request. “I came back this morning, I’m beat. I need a cuppa and some sleep –“

He switches, then. “Take off that fucking shirt, sergeant.”

You bristle. Anyone would, at that tone.

Suddenly, you’re back to basic training in Pirbright with your wench of a drill instructor calling you a fucking idiot.

Needless to say, you follow through with his order and rip the shirt off with more spite than cooperation. With a big frown on your face, you turn on your heel and start stomping angrily towards the bed.

“Make it quick.” You snap, getting on your knees on the edge of the mattress, ready to get pounded into oblivion.

You’ll like it, eventually, even if you’re not really in the mood.

Ghost fucks you good. It’s undeniable.

You’ve soaked his sheets, his clothes, his mask – he’s that type of good. You won’t tell him though; his ego is already too big. If it grows more, HQ won’t be able to contain it and the whole base will blow up into smithereens.

You’re saving lives, here, by keeping your mouth shut about it.

But he has other plans, it seems.

“The fuck are you doin’.”

It is not, in fact, a question.

You look over your shoulder and find him still standing where you left him, a few paces back.

You quirk a brow, and shoot it back at him, “The fuck are you doing.”

“Why are you bendin’ over.” He states.

"To fuck?" You say, an unsaid obviously lingering in the air.

Something shifts under his mask, as if he’s scowling. “Who said I wanted to fuck?”

You splutter, yet again caught by surprise. “You made me get naked.”

He sighs, sounding exasperated, and approaches you, who is – by the way – still shamefully on all fours on the tiny bed of your quarters.

Suddenly, all that spite sublimates under the heavy, hot weight of embarrassment.

What are you doing, on your knees on the bed, half naked, if he doesn’t want to fuck?

In your defense, while the two of you often spent time chatting about everything and nothing, that happened in public places. Not once has he knocked on your door for a spot of tea and decent conversation.

Regardless, as soon as you manage to stand on your knees, you can feel him right behind you. Scorching fingers of shame crawl up to your neck. You feel your chest warm up, all the way to the apples of your cheeks. Awkwardly, you bring your arms up to cover your breasts.

“Off,” he orders, again.

You swallow dryly, offering an insecure smile. “…With the pants?”

He gives you a glacial look. Your blood freezes in your vessels. You think you might have turned cyanotic.

“Fuckin’ hell – Off the bed.”

Obviously, your feet touch the ground with impeccable speed, because after that display, the least you can do is follow through with his orders before you make a fool of yourself twice in under a minute.

You feel his fingers curl around the top of your head, only allowing the pads to tangle through your hair and touch your scalp. It’s as if he doesn’t really want to touch you, but feels compelled to do so.

He flicks his wrist to give you a sense of the direction he wants you to turn to, and you do, waddling a little on your feet as you slowly twirl.

Your hands are tucked under your biceps, which are currently strangling your ribcage in an attempt to cover as much of your chest as you can with your forearms.

When you’re finally facing him again, you look up at him through your lashes. His eyes, however, are not on your tits as you expect. He’s not even ogling, to be honest – which would be a blow to your ego, if the situation weren’t so… odd.

Your brows are pinched. Your mouth parts only so you can suck in some air and then worry your lip between your teeth.

This is much too intimate than what you’re used to.

You realize, as he studies your body, with that weirdly placed hand on your head, that Ghost has never… seen it.

Or – well, he’s seen it all right, but he’s never looked at it. Your encounters are usually very quick and to the point.

He fucks you.

You come – once or twice. Thrice, if he’s feeling particularly generous.

He comes.

Get yourself a glass o’ water and jog on. ‘M knackered.

Yeah, okay. G’night, prick.

Right back at ya.

That’s it.

Sometimes, you don’t even take off each other’s clothes. Sometimes, he doesn’t even turn on the lights.

Now, his gaze is heavy as he looks at the dip of your waist, then at the fuzz below your belly button and where it leads, until the hem of your slouchy sweatpants that have seen better days. It’s like having lasers pointed at every nook and cranny of you, leaving scorching lines along your profile.

He taps his finger on your forearm, the one without the bruise – a silent request to take your arms off your chest. Your hands are shaking as you comply, but you’re too preoccupied with him to notice.

Ghost seems utterly uninterested at the sight of your tits bouncing down in response to gravity, instead setting his focus on the edges of your ribcage.

He flicks his wrist again, and you slowly turn the other way, giving him your back.

You feel his fingers twitch against your scalp, before a cold fingertip brushes against your right side.

"Here." He states, barely tracing the lines of your ribs.

It's been so long since he's last spoken that you feel goosebumps rise along your neck. God, his voice will never not make your insides churn.

Regardless, you spread your elbows out, lifting your right arm so you can look at where he's pointing. You can't see much, but you definitely feel how the slight movement of your shoulder causes your right side to ache as if the skin were ready to burst at the seams.

“Ow.”

You frown and curiously try again to take a peek at the cause of the pain. After some squirming, you spot the darkening patch of flesh, speckled with purples and yellows.

“Mh,” you muse. “Didn’t know that was there.”

The hand on your head finally abandons it, allowing the muscles on your neck to relax.

You continue, somewhat feeling the need to explain why there is yet another bruise. “When that man saw me, he knocked me onto the floor. Must’ve hit it harder than I thought.”

He hums noncommittally. You could’ve told him the most absurd tale, and he wouldn’t have batted an eye, much too focused on the expanse of your back.

You shrug, then. “’S alright. It’ll pass. It’s just a bruise.”

It’s then that he meets your eyes.

There’s always a sort of veil over his, whenever the air around you both thickens. You wish you had scissors to rip it, sometimes. Or walk to the curtain and take a peek inside.

“What is this?” You gesture at the two of you, looking back at him over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

He deflects your questions with the same reflexes he uses to dodge bullets, answering instead with a question of his own. “You went to medical?”

Your lips twitch and you have to school your face into more muted frustration.

Your response is a little petty, but you can’t help but give it to him. “No, just a couple of bumps, nothing that needs a trip to the doctor."

He is a looming shadow behind you, encompassing you with dark tendrils that threaten to swallow you whole. He sucks the warmth of the room with the ice embedded in his eyes – it forces you to look away, finding comfort in your own hands cupping your biceps.

You don’t even manage to reach for your t-shirt again, feeling the need to cover yourself up, that he curls an uncharacteristically gentle hand around your jaw.

You stiffen.

He seizes that moment to turn your head, his other fingers already hooked at the hem of his balaclava around the neck. He slides it up and off naturally.

There’s always some sort of solemnity when his face comes into view.

Each groove and bump tell a story of their own, not a single one coming from the same tale, nor the same blade.

He has crow's feet, but he rarely smiles – if ever. There are lines originating from the sides of his nose tipping at each corner of his mouth. They should symbolize happiness carved, but you fear it’s the opposite.

Thick, convoluted scars paint him like rough brush strokes given by an angry hand – bristles of steel, paint of blood.

Teeth peek out from a particularly gruesome injury that has torn the flesh off his upper lip. He constantly looks like he’s scowling at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was. Would fit the character, and all.

Truth is, Simon rarely cares enough to scowl at anyone. You can either get a cold side glance or a disinterested one – if it’s the former, then you might be in his good graces.

Right now, though, you don’t think he’s giving you either. His eyes are murky; a mud of anger, annoyance, and disappointment. He looks like he hates you with all his might, staring at you as if he could, by sheer force of thought, scoop out the eyes from your sockets.

“You wanna kill me?” You mumble, finding it hard to speak as he holds your jaw between his fingers. “Get in line, mate. There are at least a bunch a’ Russian men and their mothers before you, ever since I shanked their colleague.”

Then, his eyes leave yours to glance at your lips. He must think you haven’t noticed, because he doesn’t bother to hide it. However – and you’ve always found this incredibly interesting – Ghost tends to forget when he’s wearing the mask and when he isn’t.

Each time, it’s like watching a child learning how to rein it in. Or, you know, like that sibling you have to surreptitiously elbow under the table at Christmas dinner when your pissed uncle is going off a tangent regarding the most idiotic, misplaced subject ever known to man.

That’s Ghost right now.

The sibling elbowing him? Simon.

He blinks out of his headspace and then frowns, returning his eyes to yours.

“Don’t need to.” He grunts. “You’re doin’ a fine job by yourself.”

You scoff. “It’s just a bruise.”

His jaw ticks.

“Yeah, but it’s on you.”

It’s said low and bitter, as if he’s had to fight tooth and nail to yank it out of his chest.

You, on the other hand, are stock still in place – not only because of his hand holding you firmly by the jaw, forcing you to look over your shoulder to where he stands, but also because what was that?

You swallow but it's futile because your tongue is stuck to your palate. The air surrounding you crackles. The oxygen is lacking, and your lungs are suffering from it.

You blink. That’s all it takes, and he lands his mouth on you.

Ghost’s kisses are always rough, determined to take your breath away and leave you wondering if you’ll ever say any other name but his own. This one is not much different, but you have to recognize that it is somewhat angrier.

His lips part as if he could swallow you whole, working his tongue against yours and hindering your movements with his fingers holding your face, and a hand over your belly.

You can work with this. This, you know how to behave around. This is charted territory – the hunger, the stress, the need to decompress and find solace in the oasis you offer so generously between your legs.

You know the dance, and so you press your bum against his groin. You weren’t in the mood, like – ten minutes ago. You were a different person back then.

If Ghost now wants to split you in half, you’d hand him the butcher knife.

You’re already turning feverish, lifting your right arm to tangle with his hair, ready to grab and pull and bite and –

He stops you. Palm to your knuckles, guiding it down once more. He doesn’t hold your hand, instead removing his own as though your skin were burning coal.

Not as carefully, though, he snakes under your sweatpants and unceremoniously dips his middle finger inside your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

You weren’t that wet, and while you're not one to say no to a bit of pain, this has caught you so off guard that you decide to chastise him by nipping at his lower lip.

It’s not much of a punishment, you guess, because his hips jerk to rub himself against you.

You wish to move and take this to the bed, where you can lie down and be his pillow princess. Let him fuck you until his heart's content, because you're tired and you'd love to get used for his pleasure and yours.

But he’s an unmoving statue, boots glued to the floor and hand shackled to your pussy, dipping in relentlessly until your knees buckle under the sheer pressure of his finger buried to the knuckle.

When your hips start undulating to increase the friction – specifically of his palm against your neglected bundle of nerves where your pussy tips – he inserts a second finger, and you positively melt against his chest. It’s then that he releases your lips, allowing you to moan under your breath.

He starts sucking blindly at whatever piece of skin he can find, leaving love bites on the length of your shoulders all the way to your neck. Teeth and tongue and words that escape his lips, while he curls his fingers inside you, drowning your thoughts in frayed growls from his mouth, and raunchy squelches from between your legs. His offhand gets busy and starts toying and pulling at your nipples.

You're being absolutely ravaged; his nails are talons and he wants to rip you apart and eat you inside out after he's prepped you alright. It's juxtaposing - the pleasure, and the crudeness. It's new, but not unwelcome.

“You should’ve told me.” He grunts. You don’t pay it much mind, he usually murmurs a lot during sex, and less than half of the time you catch what he says – the other times, you’re already too stupid to use your senses.

“Should’ve.”

He snaps his finger upward, burying them to the knuckle.

“Told me."

Then rolls his palm against your clit.

"You were being posted."

Finally, he curls his fingers inside, making your legs quiver.

You whimper and your eyes roll back. Is this your punishment? Hell fucking yes, then. You’ll keep your secrets more often.

But alas, you do feel compelled to at least explain and apologize.

“M’sorry,” you breathe, “It was a last-minute thing. Got called the day before.”

Surely, he’ll understand. That’s how deployments work: they give you a timeframe, and you might or might not get the dreaded call. If you do, then you’re off – one day you’re lounging at the beach, the next you’re buried in gore.

No in-between.

You don't want to distract him though. You're so close. If he just – moved a little, maybe? Or allowed you to rest your legs somewhere.

You shift imperceptibly so that you can rub your clit at your preferred pace against his palm. The callouses on the heel of his hand make it somehow even better.

He allows you, meaning that even if you’ve kept the deployment from him, he’s feeling magnanimous.

You roll your head against his shoulder to nuzzle his neck, the tip of your nose tucked behind his lobe. You pant as he fucks you with his fingers, and murmur sweet things about how good he is to you, because he’s being kind and for that he deserves a generous stroke to his ego. You leave open kisses on his neck, his jaw, lapping the sweat off his skin with your tongue – to try and give back some of the pleasure he’s offering you.

When you come, it is with a loud groan muffled in his neck, and he holds you by the waist before you keel over. The orgasm almost stings, since he’s ripped it out of you so quickly and forcefully. It tingles from the tips of your toes, curling against the linoleum, all the way to the knot that finally snaps in your gut.

Only then, when your vision clears and your skin still prickles in goosebumps, do you hear him through the ringing of your ears.

“You don’t understand.” He’s saying, like a prayer repeated gruffly to the skin of your neck.

He doesn’t say it once, he doesn’t say it twice. He repeats it with fervor, and the more it escapes his mouth, the angrier it gets.

You feel the back of your knee being pushed by his own, and you stumble forward on the mattress. You’re confused, still descending from the high of your orgasm, feeling your limbs move under his command and notyours. Trying to find sense in his words.

You don’t understand.

Your ears are cottoned – the orgasm has been that blissful – but you still catch the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Your front is plastered against the mattress, cheek buried in linen of freshly washed sheets.

You don’t have the strength to stand, nor to look behind, so you can solely rely on your hearing, on your touch.

Shallow breaths.

Shuffle of fabric – he’s taking off his shirt.

His hand skims over your back, purposefully avoiding the bruise on your side.

A finger pulls down the sweatpants to your ankles – the air feels cold against your skin, flushed and burning.

Wet fingertips trail down your legs with uncommon reverence, until they reach down and yank the pants off your feet.

The denim of his jeans shifts. A thud – he’s on his knees.

He forces your leg to bend and kisses your ankle. Then the arch of your foot. Your toes, and it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. The actions are paired with a wet, rhythmic sound – he’s touching himself the way you’d touch him.

He has fingered you with such voracity you thought you’d rip in half on his hand, and now he’s on his knees, kissing your feet. He’s switching rapidly – angry, then devoted.

The former you know, but the latter is different. It’s new.

You feel the mattress dip and protest under the additional weight, each of his thighs on either side of yours, keeping your legs flush together.

A hand appears in your vision, gripping the sheets.

You kiss the knuckle on his thumb, and he flicks it gently over your nose.

His chest exudes warmth even if he isn’t properly touching your back. He simply hovers above it, putting his weight on his palm, while his other hand is busy stroking his cock.

You're wet and prepped just how he likes, in fact he slides in easily.

You already came, which means you're hypersensitive – it feels like he's inserting something long and scorching hot inside. Your breath hitches in your throat at the intrusion, and he dips his forehead to your shoulder, leaving an apologetic kiss.

He fucks you slow and deep, dragging backward without ever pulling out. He wants to stay sheathed inside. He wants to bury himself in there, with your velvet walls squeezing him dry. You won’t complain. You’ll keep him snug until he’s sated. Until you are, too.

This dance you know as well, and so you fold your arms behind you, bending your elbows so that he can grip both your forearms with one hand and use them as leverage to rail you until you’re only babbling nonsense.

But he… doesn’t?

He still fucks you, sure, but his hand doesn’t reach for your arms, preferring the sheets instead, and it makes you feel a little neglected, wondering if you're doing something wrong. Sure – you just came, he’s treated you to your nice little post-operation orgasm, and then proceeded to fuck you. So, he must still be into this – into you.

Right?

You thought this could’ve been a nice way to reciprocate, since you know how much he likes to get you to bend as he pleases.

A thank you of sorts.

You reach up with your fingers, tickling his abdomen to make him notice that you’ve prepared yourself for him, arms knotted behind your back like a bow on a present – just in case he’s missed it, you know?

But he reaches down only to guide your arms back to the bed, distending them ahead. He goes to hold one hand but stops, instead digging his palm back into the mattress.

Just when you’re about to protest, lifting your head from the bed, he drags his tongue around the shell of your ear.

You shudder.

"I- I'm not good at this." He grunts as he fucks you slowly, dragging breathy moans out of your lips. "So jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s then that his pace picks up, punching a ragged groan out of your lips at the first abrupt thrust.

He’s either doing it to shut you up, or to make you focus on something else while he speaks. So, maybe, if you’re busy molding your pussy around his cock and rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you won’t hear what he’s saying.

“Lieut –“

“Simon.” He chides loudly. “Fuck – Told you it’s Simon, ‘ere.”

You grip the sheets as your head bobs to the pace he takes. Your breathing is more akin to a wheeze, and your belly flutters each time he hits you just right.

“Simon,” you whimper.

“Yeah,” he croons. “Simon. Good.”

Simon is as breathless as you are, but much more contained.

“Need to know where you are,” he murmurs under his breath. “You got no idea wha’ I –“

He releases a shuddering breath that tickles your ear.

You’re keening and shivering, trying to focus on his words but it seems like he’s trying his best to prevent you from listening, even if he’s the one who’s asked you to.

There’s something rabid in his motions. He bullies his cock as deep as it can reach, his hips brutally slap against your ass. You can feel the fat recoiling, the vibration tipping at the base of your skull. He’s feral and yet it’s so different.

He groans, but it's frustrated more than satisfied.

“You got no fuckin’ idea, do ya?” He mutters the sentence like a curse. “No fuckin’ idea. You – “

You reach for his hand with your own, but he swats it away.

You try again and he nibbles at your ear.

“Don’t." He warns lowly, stilling his motions until he’s hilted all the way inside.

You suck in a breath as he shoves himself until there’s not an inch of space for him to move.

He’s ramrod stiff above you, struggling to keep his chest off your back – denying you of his skin. Of intimacy. Of contact.

You twist your head that much to look at his face and find him staring blankly ahead.

To say it worries you would be an understatement, especially if paired with the puzzling behavior he’s had all evening.

You follow the trajectory of his gaze with your eyes and heartbreakingly discover that he's burning holes in your bruised flesh – the hand of that now-dead man still darkly imprinted on your skin.

Skin still untouched by him.

You feel yourself falter. “Si-“

“You’re hurt.” he croaks. “I’ll hurt you more.”

You don’t know what staggers you the most: his cock up your cervix making you dizzy, or the hesitance in his voice.

Hesitance.

Simon doesn’t hesitate. He’s not tentative.

He takes.

If he can’t take, he delegates, and whatever he needs eventually will fall into his hand.

You fell into his hand without too much of a fuss. He gave you the impression that you were the one demanding and obtaining, but the truth obviously lies elsewhere.

Simon wanted you, too. He wants you, too.

He gave you the chance to sneak into his office and request an immediate closure to the cat-and-mouse chase. He delegated it to you.

And then he took.

Hesitance, clearly, isn’t in his daily vocabulary.

This dance, you don’t know. You’re out of your zone. You don’t know which steps to take without tripping over his toes and disrupting the music.

He’s unmoving inside of you, catching his breath with his lips on your ear.

“Can’t hurt you.” He breathes, and you have to focus to even catch it.

“You won’t,” you whisper, trying a first step. “I’ll tell you if – “

And it’s the wrong one.

He starts again, pulling out and fiercely slamming back in. Your breathing snaps, palm coming down to slap against the mattress, “Fuck!”

It would feel oh, so good, if you were in the right headspace.

He won’t allow you to talk. He’s begging you, in his contorted ways, to let him speak without judgment. Without the fear of knowing he has dropped the mask too low.

This is his time.

You should’ve shut your mouth, for once, and allowed him to speak. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He asked for one thing.

Jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.

You purse your lips in a line and nudge your head against his own, a silent way to prompt him to go on.

I’m sorry. I’m listening.

“You got no idea.” He repeats again, but this time his voice cracks – overwhelmed.

He starts his voracious pace that always steals your breath and fucks your brain into a mush.

“I’ve looked for ya, asked ‘round – no one fucking knew. Got told you were off on deployment, and that’s it.”

Each word is as accusatory and irate as the cock he’s drilling inside of you.

“You weren’t comin’ back. One. Two. Three weeks. No fuckin’ sign of ya.” He thrusts in for each week you’ve gone missing, “I was – “

He stops. Inhales sharply. Hesitates, once again.

“Don’t wanna feel tha’ again – don’t put me through that again.”

Suddenly, you can feel everything at once.

Your body perks up.

Vision, hearing, touch, taste, smell – all filled of him.

And it’s not about sex anymore.

It never has been, but how obvious it is now.

You want to hold his hand, but you decide to leave him space.

The hand-shaped bruise on your arm glares at him like a promise he silently made with himself and failed to keep. You won’t make him feel like he broke a thing, because he hasn’t.

If anything, you’ve never felt more whole in your life.

You and Simon have never gone further than physical. You don't know how to soothe a heart so afraid if it belongs to him. So, you do the only thing you’ve learned that manages to get through to him.

You keen and moan and breathe, allowing tiny praises and sinful curses to leave your lips.

Like that – yeah. Shit.

Yes, yes, yes.

Deeper. Please.

His name – not his callsign, not his rank.

Simon, you croon. Simon, Simon, Simon.

You feel the pressure of his come spurting out, flooding your walls like a dam has broken and crushed. His mouth on your ear won’t allow a single sound to pass, but he’s clearly overly affected – you know, by the way his breath comes. As if he’s clinging to life and has found purchase for survival right on your skin.

You want to kiss him, but you leave the choice up to him. You won’t squirm under the press of his forehead against your temple, but your lips are there for him to taste – moist and plump and ready.

Simon’s lashes flutter against your cheekbone as he regains his bearings. Looks at you. His eyes hint at regret – it’s a fraction of a second that has your stomach knot. But then he squashes it down, when he realizes that you saw nothing wrong in his words.

He kisses your cheek, and then your lips. Thankfulness seeps through.

"Don't hide from me again," he murmurs and gingerly hooks his thumb around your pinky. Not touching you yet, not so close to where you’re already aching.

You curl your finger around his own. “I won’t.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #ghost x reader #smut #cod smut #x reader #foxy

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vagabond-umlaut · 2 years ago

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every rose and its 'twin prickles'

Or: you and the two fearsome monsters, your knightly husband must wage a war against everyday, for the sake of a glimpse of you.

▸ dad!gojo satoru x mom!reader; 1.45 wc; fluff, fluff, gallons and gallons of fluff; a pair of cute, possessive and too-wise-for-their-age babies who love their mama wayyy too much; poor miserable deprived 'toru; sprinkles of humor too added in there; implied no curses!au

▸ i dump the blame of this on @afortoru's shoulders. A, look what you made me do ▸ writing this genre for the 1st time! characters, image or divider used aren't mine. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

Do you know what’s the best thing about work?

Every evening it ends early.

Do you know what’s the best thing about home?

Every evening you’re there.

Walking into the barely-lit flat, a soft smile lights up the expanse of Satoru’s face as the quiet sounds of snoring float over from the bedroom. Dumping the bag on the sofa and shrugging off the coat, the man moves silently further into the apartment – weary mind conjuring images of you in an oversized black tee [of his], curled into yourself in the king-sized bed, the cutest little pout on your lips as you babble in your sleep – then pauses, a hand on the doorknob.

Two pairs of blue eyes sparkle at him from the almost-darkness of the room.

Satoru closes the door behind and slumps against it.

Two matching grins aim at his heart from the human blanket over your form.

Sharp. Shrewd. Cruel.

You wrap an arm round each of those two monkeys – the latter back here from their grandparents', two days before schedule.

Ten years ago, were anyone to tell Satoru there would be a day in the future when he would have to fight for you, only to taste defeat, again and again and again, the man would have emptied his glass of champagne on their clothes, then kicked them out of the reception party.

Yet, now... as he trudges closer to the door and extends a hand to brush a few wily wisps of hair away from your forehead – only to have it slapped away harshly by a little palm – he can’t help but wonder what sin he committed in his previous birth, to have received an angel like you as his wife, but two demons like them for his children.

Sachiko, the older of the twins, glares up at her father. “Papa, no!! Mama’s sleeping,” She whisper-yells, eyes darting from him to you than back to him, lips tugged down in a scowl, the likes of which he has only seen in a mirror. On your other side, a mop of white hair nods, albeit not without a tiny yawn – Sachiro’s definitely inherited your sleepiness in a rainy weather.

Satoru lifts an eyebrow in return. “I can see that, you two. Now go, play with your toys or something. I wanna cuddle with my wife.”

“But we too wanna cuddle with Mama,” Sachiko retorts as she slips out from under your arm and sits up on the bed. The tiny ponytail on her white head stays in a complete disarray; your husband watches your daughter tug at it a couple of times, frowning, before she gives up, returning her glower to him as she continues, “So, you can’t cuddle with her. Mama is ours now.”

Your son again gives a small “yes” at her words, followed by a yawn – a reaction which Sachiko doesn’t deem to be enough, apparently, given how she throws a glare his way next. “Hey, whose team are you on, dumbo? Mine or Papa’s?”

The answer arrives in an instant, in the most matter-of-factly voice possible from a five-year-old. “Yours, obviously. I don’t want Papa to steal Mama away. She’s ours.”

The smug grin directed his way next makes Satoru want to flick two foreheads pretty hard – but he doesn’t. Any rash or impulsive action can only do him more harm now, driving him further away from his goal.

So, cogs whirring in his brain, he crouches down to his kids’ eye level and smiles.

“What do you think of a compromise, kids? Why don’t you make a deal with me?”

Two pairs of blue clash with the original pair of blue for a while, suspicion in one, suspicious curiosity in the other, while challenge swirls in the last; before a huff breaks the staring contest and your daughter folds her arms across her chest. Exchanging a glance and a nod with her, your son too sits up and announces, “Okay, we’re interested. What’s the deal?”

Your husband lets out an internal whoop of victory.

“Belgian chocolates in exchange for a cuddling session with my wife.”

“Bleh!” Sachiko makes a disgusted face – something which takes him back to his younger days when Suguru and Shoko used to imitate his expressions – and whines, “They are so bitter, yuck! Suggest something better.”

“A doll house for you and a car for Sachiro, if that’s the case.”

The latter is the one to turn down this time. Tone brimmed with disappointment – something he can only ever learn from you – he says, “But you just bought us one last month, Papa! Mama always asks you to save money... why don’t you ever listen to her?”

A knife of guilt lodges itself into his heart and twists. Satoru sighs. “I do... I try to, always, but you two make it so difficult for me to! Why are you like this? Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her? She is as much my wife as much she’s your mom.”

“We know,” The addressed two answer in unison with sage little nods of their head. The girl continues with a grave expression matching her brother’s, “But we can also ask you the same, Papa. She is as much our mom as she’s your wife. Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her?”

“Besides, you spent five extra years with her, before we were born. We just want to make up for the time lost,” Sachiro chimes in with a pout. “Tell us, Papa,” The two again speak in a heart-wrenching chorus, “Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her?”

“The kids are right, y’know?” A mumble pops the gravity of the situation at hand, and Satoru looks down to find you awake, cracking an amused smile at them. He huffs, rising from the floor and plopping on the bed next to you, arms folded against chest.

“Can’t believe I am so unloved and unwanted in this world. My kids don’t love me. They don’t listen to me. My wife too doesn’t love me. She never supports me. Welp, got to be the unluckiest to be in my shoes right now, I guess.”

Your husband pauses, giving a small break for the words to sink into everyone, before you let out a long exhale and send him a minor twitch of your lips. Sachiko moves to pat his head, the same moment Sachiro reaches over to clasp his small arms around his neck. You too rise and embrace him from behind, placing a small kiss in between his shoulder blades.

“Y’know, it’s not like that,” You say, placing your ear on his back, “Just ’cause the kids love me more doesn’t mean they don’t love you. And it’s not even your fault – my personality is so awesome, everyone can’t help but adore me the moment they see me – isn't that right, babies?”

“Right, Mama,” A pair of wonderstruck voices ring out in reply to your jocular question – you continue in the same note, with another kiss, this time on the nape of his neck.

“And because your awesome Mama’s asking you now, will you two be good babies and let Papa too sleep here with us? Look at him: he’s so tired and sad. You don’t want your dearest Papa to be sad and tired, right? You will let him cuddle with us, won't you?”

Satoru watches the twins look at each other for a second, then the younger acquiesce, “Papa can cuddle with us. That’s okay, maybe.” The two then proceed to shoot a particularly sharp look at him; one he responds to with a cheeky smirk, which disappears into a soft smile when he feels you manoeuvre his face towards yourself, a light grasp on his chin.

“See, the kids agreed. Now, are you feeling loved and wanted?”

“Infinitely more,” He replies with a peck on your lips – however, before he can deepen the kiss a tad more, you bring him into a sleeping posture beside you, the kids immediately piling on top of the two of you. You offer him something between a cute pout and a sorry smile, which earns a wink from your husband.

Turning to one side, Satoru drags you, Sachiko lying on top of you and Sachiro lying in between him and you, into himself, letting him be lulled to sleep by the melody of your laughs and your kids’ half-hearted harrumphs.

Do you know what’s the best thing about life?

Every tiniest bit of it he gets to spend beside you, the light of his life, and the two imps, your and his love brought into this world – even if he knows he’s going to get kicked out of bed the very microsecond you fall asleep again.

▸ masterlist

#dad!gojo x mom!reader #dad!gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo fluff #gojo fic #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #kit posts 📝

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leclerity · 8 months ago

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just another stranger

Charles Leclerc x Ex-Girlfriend!Reader count: 1.4k words summary: After Charles's win in Monaco, he seeks you out, to mend things. a/n: everybody cried at the monaco gp but let's cry some more! (happy ending)

He wins in Monaco. You knew he would—it was only a matter of time—but you always thought you’d be by his side when he won.

Yet here you are, in your friend’s apartment, watching him as if you were just another stranger to him.

“He won,” your friend says, a moment too soon, and then: “CHARLES LECLERC WON IN MONACO!”

The room erupts into cheers and you’re watching half the race playing on the TV, half the track from the window, hearing the roars of the audience match those of your heart. Your friend hugs you and the rest of your friends are screaming, popping champagne as if they were the ones in the car, not your ex-boyfriend.

You feel an arm around your shoulders – it’s your best friend. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Promise,” you lie. “I’m fine.”

She goes away and you lean out of the window, hoping to catch the sight of his car passing by. If he drives slowly enough, if he remembers that this is where your best friend’s apartment is, if he looks up… You tell yourself not to hope, but your heart thumps in your chest, anyway.

The roars of the crowd come before the car, and then you see him – the striking red car with 16 stuck to the front. You’ve been here before—in Monaco, with him, in the paddock—yet now you’re watching him from a distance. It was his choice, all those months ago, but your final word.

He doesn’t look up.

Not that you see, anyway.

The victory lap finishes and your friends all rush to the couch to watch the podium, even though you can just about see if from the window. It’s not close enough to see anything more than tiny figures, dressed in splotches of colour, but it makes it just a little more real.

The podium comes and goes. You tear up, on the balcony, shifting between looking at the events in real life and on the TV. There’s the tiny voice in the back of your head, wondering if he’s wondering about you, too, but you try to push it down.

Still, on the podium, even with tears of joy in his eyes, you see him searching the crowd. They’ve already shown his family and most of his friends are down there and he knows it, and the voice suggests he might be looking for you, too.

“Let’s go out,” your friend says. “Celebrate.”

“I think I’ll sit this one out.”

“You don’t want to meet him by chance? Congratulate him yourself?”

You give her a look that tells her it’s just about the last thing you want.

Eventually, your friends leave, and you’re left by yourself, scrolling social media. He’s everywhere—all your friends from Monaco are posting about it, even those you haven’t seen since you moved away—and his face stares at you, guilt brewing in your stomach.

You’d made him choose.

He didn’t choose you.

When the door buzzes, you think it’s your friend who forgot her key—they’ve been out for a couple of hours now and they’d be at least a few drinks down—yet when you buzz them up and open the door…

It’s he who stares back at you.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says. “Can we talk?”

You let him in. He sits on the couch, still wearing his Ferrari shirt,

“I thought you’d have gotten changed by now.”

Charles shakes his head. “I, uh… I came straight here.”

You sit down, opposite of him. Through the open window, you can hear life from the streets of Monaco – loud, drunk people, celebrating the win as if it were their own. Your friends are there, amongst those people, but you…

“Why?”

“I know you moved away,” he says. “And I remember where your friend lives. And I hoped…”

He doesn’t finish. You see the cogs turning—the words flying around his brain, refusing to come out—and you smile at him. “Congratulations.”

He sighs. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You’re not happy?”

“No.” Charles looks at you, his eyes crystal clear, and you know exactly what he’s going to say. “How could I be, without you?”

“Charles—”

“How many times have we spoken about this? About the win, at home, with you by my side?”

Your body shudders as memories flood you: the nights spent together, whispering about it in the dark… The dream of him driving up the car and running up to kiss you, knowing that you made it… The promise of being there to watch him step on the podium as the anthem is played…

The guilt grows bigger, and you stifle a sob.

Charles shakes his head. “I wish you were there. I wish I hadn’t pushed you away. I wish I’d appreciated you more.”

But you didn’t, you want to say, but you don’t.

Old you would. Old you wanted to be the first, the priority, the number one to the great Charles Leclerc – only to always fall second, behind racing. Behind the car. Behind practice. Behind excercise. There was less and less time made for you, until you told him to choose.

He puts a hand on your knee. “I know this isn’t fair, but it’s been nearly a year, and I… I was wrong. I was wrong, okay? Coming home to an empty bed, not knowing how your day’s been, not seeing you in the paddock every race, Y/N, it’s killing me.”

It’s killing me, too, you want to say, but you don’t. You can’t—won’t—admit that out loud.

Someone’s laughter pierces through the night. Charles’s eyes dart to the window before they’re right back on you and he moves closer, and the part of your thighs touching shocks you to the core.

You try to remind yourself you’re just another stranger to him. You weren’t worth more than racing to him then, you’re not worth—

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers.

A tear falls down your cheek – he wipes it away before you can, and then he’s looking at your lips with water welling up in his eyes, too.

“Charles…”

“I wish I could—I want to go back to a time before it was too late. I want to fix things. I want to do it right, and not be a damn fool again.”

His hands are on your cheek and you can feel his breath on your lips – all it would take is for you to lean in. Just a little movement, just a little show of faith. You whisper his name again, this time no more than a breath.

You feel him sigh. “It’s not winning if it’s not with you.”

Your lips are on his, tentative then desperate, trying to make up for all the words you can’t bright yourself to stay. His hands are on your cheeks, then your waist, then your back, and you feel like he’s touching you all over just to make sure you’re real, that he’s truly holding you, and not a dream.

You don’t say that the past few months have been the worst of your life. You don’t say that you were selfish, and that maybe you failed to account for who he is, and always will be—a racer—and maybe you were the one who was asking too much from him. Maybe you’d rather be second to him, than be anyone else’s first.

And maybe you’ve known this all along, but admitting it was too much – until today.

Until now.

The kiss comes to a close and Charles pulls you into him, skin on skin, and you’re melting into his arms. He places kisses all over your hair, your face, your neck and your chest, not letting go of you even for a moment.

Later in the night, when you’re lying in your friend’s spare bed, you see the winner’s smile for the first time as he kisses you yet again. Monaco is alive outside, with the night still a long way to go, but partying couldn’t measure up to the electricity surging from his touch.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Mhm?”

His thumb traces your lips. You’ve been here before—a million times—but this time, it’s different. It’s old and new, fresh and familiar, and just a little, you start letting yourself hope again.

“Now, I feel like I’ve finally won.”

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #formula 1 rpf #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #m.fic #all my fics are angst with a happy ending i'm sorry!!!#i should maybe do a masterlist #charles leclerc angst

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enwoso · 8 months ago

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SEXIER IN BLACK! — lucy bronze

*something that’s been in my drafts for a few weeks, sorry for the lack of fics but i am writing little bits in between studying but exams are nearly over so should be able to get more done soon<3*

navigation

“black or pink?” you questioned holding up a black satin dress where the straps crossed over the front and in the other some a matching light pink suit. lucy looked up from her phone as she lying on the hotel bed. looking back and forth between the two outfits several times.

you were leaning towards the black dress, it being a while since you had worn a dress or even had the excuse to dress up fancy. so what better excuse than lucy and the lionesses going to an award show. although you weren’t nominated for anything due to spending half the season out with an injury - you still wanted to be there to support lucy and the other girls.

you and lucy went way back and had been friends for a while before any feelings actually came into the picture. knowing of her since you began in england U17s youth teams.

it not being until you were called up to the senior team, and she took you under her wing, lucy having joined a year earlier that you started hanging out more often, until you both confessed your feelings for each other — ever since then the two of you had been inseparable.

the award show was paying tribute to young and upcoming stars both domestically and internationally, the girls being nominated for their work done at the euros. it also being a chance to see new and old faces.

“hmm.. well you do look adorable in pink but-“ your girlfriend pausing, her face deep in thought you could see the cogs moving behind her eyes as she looked between the two outfits still not giving you an answer.

why was the girl so indecisive?

second felt like hours had passed and she was still looking between the two outfits, the clock ticking and you already didn’t have a lot of time to get ready as the two of you decided to have a thirty minute nap which actually was two hours.

“so i’ll just pick the pink then?” you ask, your arms getting sore from holding up the two outfits for so long like some sort of clothes statue.

“no, no!” lucy quickly said as she moved to sit on the side of the bed, “you look cute in the pink but the black.. you just um what the word..” lucy continued, she was dragging it out on purpose now knowing how short of an attention span you had to begin with and how much your hated waiting.

“you look sexier in black” lucy smirks, as your stomach begins to do flips. “so go with the black!” she confirms her answer as you nod satisfied that you had finally gotten an answer from the girl.

“could have just said that in the beginning!” you mumbled, but still loud enough for lucy to hear you as you turned around to move back into the bathroom to get changed.

placing the dress down on the counter as you began to get changed, the black satin dress which hugged your curves just right and for once maybe lucy was right — you did look sexier in black.

not that you would ever admit that to your girlfriend’s face knowing the smug smile you would get if she knew you thought she was right.

the ego of hers did not need to be boosted anymore than it already was on the daily,

fixing the straps to ensure that they sat on your chest in the correct way, feeling a pair of eyes staring you down from the doorway.

moving your head slowly to the direction of the doorway, your eyes were met with lucy as she stood in the doorway a large oversized hoodie which will definitely make its way into your wardrobe later, and some shorts that she always slept in.

little flyaways coming from her bun as her hair was all messy from the nap the two you you had just woken up from but still she managed to look gorgeous, her tattooed arms standing out as she stood with a giant smirk across her face.

“yeah?” you asked wondering she she needed anything as she stood there in her own thoughts, while you began to rummage through your makeup bag for a certain product.

“oh nothin’ just admiring how beautiful my girlfriend is!” lucy smiled as she came and wrapped her arms around your waist her head resting on your shoulder.

“mhm that so?” you mumbled as you began to press makeup into your skin, drawing lines and dots on your face.

“why are you even puttin’ that on your face?” lucy asked, as she focused on you dabbing your face as the product blended into your skin. lucy of course knew the basics about make up but she didn’t wear it a lot — in fact very rarely. the most makeup she wore was mascara other than that her makeup supply was very limited.

“makes me look more put together!” you shrug as she hummed, “you look gorgeous with and without out!” lucy whispered as she placed a gentle kiss to your neck, a grin appearing on your face like a child at christmas.

you carry on with your makeup as lucy does everything in her power to slow the process down by teasing you.

placing sloppy kisses to your sweet spot on your neck, sucking slightly on it every few seconds as you body tried to remain calm, your head had other plans.

“luce, please… you need to go and get ready” you squeaked out. however you weren’t sure if you were wanting her to stop and listen to you or if you were wanting her to carry on kissing you.

your breathing increasing with each kiss she placed on your body. seconds beginning to feel like hours as she removes her hands from your waist, lifting you so you were now sitting on the bathroom counter.

kicking the door shut with her foot, as she placed on hand on your lower thigh and the other moved up to your cheekbone and gently tucks the loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

you swore you could hear her pulse as she brings her lips to yours as you can feel the fire crackle under your skin. the same feeling you get in her tummy as you did when you and lucy had your first kiss appears once again.

if there was one feeling you could have for the rest of your life — this would be it.

you don’t let yourself think about how your going to explain to the rest of your teammates why the two of you are so late.

all you wanted to focus on right now was the way her hands slowly roamed your body, your body feeling flushed just at her touch.

the way her mouth tastes, the way your tongue somehow knows how to follow hers and the way your hands grip her neck to pull her closer into you.

burying your fingers into her hair, tugging gently at it as her hands find their way fumbling with the straps of your dress. feeling the smirk on her face as small whines fell from your lips as she nipped and tugged at your body.

“lucy! y/n!” georgia yells banging on the bathroom door startling both you and lucy as you jump away from each other a the sudden noise. “are yous’ in there” a thick milton keynes accent of leah williamson sung out as they both began to bang on the door at the lack of the answer.

“hang on!” lucy yelled back, while the two of them still banged on the door — probably just to be annoying.

lucy helped you down, smiling as she kissed you one last time before opening the door. both leah and georgia nearly falling over at the sudden moment of the door opening.

“how are the two of you not ready yet?” leah asked as her and georgia stood all dressed and ready while lucy opened her mouth to say something before being cut off by leah pulling a face of disgust, “you know what don’t answer that i don’t wanna know”

“can yous like hurry up, everyone’s waiting and im starvin” georgia complained as you stood their beginning more to wonder how they even got in when neither have a keycard for you door and for a good reason.

"how’d you even get in-" you began.

“okay cool- also lucy you’ve got lipstick on your face!” georgia cut you off before you even had a chance to get your sentence out, directing the last part to lucy as she pointed to your girlfriend. before the two left giggling, quickly leaving your room.

“do i really have lipstick on ma face?” lucy asked turning to you as you smile to yourself reaching to rub it off with your thumb.

“darling you need to get better at puttin’ makeup on!” lucy cheekily says as she watched you fix up your own lipstick.

“and someone needs to learn to keep their hands to their self!” you sass as a gasp comes from your girlfriend as your quick remark.

“don’t wear that dress next time.” lucy mumbled as you stood dumbfounded as she was literally the one who told you to wear the black dress.

“go and get ready, we’re already late!” you smile at lucy hitting her slightly in the shoulder as you pushed her out the bathroom.

#lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze #woso community #woso #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso x reader #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barca women #barcelona women #leah williamson #georgia stanway #enwoso

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facefullofsadness · 1 year ago

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Can I request sub!Sakura x soft!dom!reader? Basically fluff smut (-_-")

sakura unnie being just the submissive bby girl she truly is 🥰

content - loser gamer!sakura (bc she literally is just a loser who happens to be an idol u can't change my mind), smut (cunnilingus, corruption kink kinda but not really inflicted, reader is a lil intoxicated), fluff (I guess? like kinda?)

wc - 2148 (might've gotten carried away...)

sakura is a sensitive girlie.

and this doesn't just apply to in bed but in real life too. when you first met her, she was so shy and jumpy. seeing her at a pc café with the cat ear headphones she brought from home, wearing glasses, gray sweatpants, and a graphic tee way too oversized for her small body.

going up to her because u recognized her from your biochem class, asking if she did the homework yet.

"oh uh, hi, you know my name? uhm, sorry I'm a mess. wait a second, sorry," kura would stumble over her words, balancing her focus between the pretty girl talking to her and the intense league match she had going on.

sigh, how fucking adorable.

the way you grazed her shoulder with the tips of your fingers as you *intently* watched as she tried not to feed the enemy team (failing by the way). your focus was more on the way sakura's body tensed at the gentle contact.

it flicked a switch in your brain watching her bite down hard on her lip, trying so hard not to break in front of you. this only whirred you on, needing to see her desperate. and so you made it your goal to make this girl yours, in every way.

wooing her (easily bc pretty girl) into becoming your girlfriend, making her feel so loved and special, making her feel like you were the only person in the world for her. yes of course you loved her truly, but the switch that was on in your head always shone a light so bright that reminded you of how obsessed you were with the submissive aspects of this girl.

starting tame in your relationship, holding hands, cupping her cheeks and rubbing your thumbs against them, planting soft and gentle kisses on her, giving her sweet cuddles. it would eventually progress into brushing fingers against her sensitive waist, hearing as kura would release shaky breaths at the contact, deep and passionate makeout sessions where she would be breathless and sweaty under you, kissing and leaving dark marks on her neck and across her chest which would have her whining, trying to push you away because god how embarrassing it felt to be so small against you.

seeing her face so flushed pink and eyes dazed after an intimate moment drove you insane. you absolutely just needed to see more. and so when the first time you guys had sex, you had to remind yourself not to take it too far. after all, she's still your lovely sweet loser girlfriend who wouldn't hurt a fly (mostly because she's probably too scared of it).

and by sex, I mean eating out your precious girlfriend while she was gaming. you had gotten a little tipsy that night, drinking by yourself in the living room, dragging your body into kura's bedroom where she was focused in on a match of overwatch. too buzzed to act interested in her game, you pull yourself onto her lap and nestled your face into her neck.

you smiled against her skin as you felt the girl's breath hitch at the sudden gesture, your hot breath hitting her sensitive spot.

"y/n baby, I'm k-kinda busy right n-now..." she'd stutter, losing focus.

you shush her, planting wet kisses against her jaw and neck, "keep playing kura, don't worry about me. just focus."

the cogs in your brain speed and your heartbeat races with the corruptive thoughts running through your head. you feel yourself heat up at the need to feel her fall apart against you, shaking in your hold. hearing her shaky voice make callouts to her teammates over comms, your greedy hands brushing her sides and trailing her abdomen, mouth leaving wet spots across her exposed collarbone.

you moan against her skin, her body so tense when you touch her, exciting you more than you think is possible. though you wanted to be patient and gentle with her when it comes to intimate moments like this, in your drunken state, it was hard to think straight. and so it slips your mind when your hands trail up to cusp her tits, thumbs rubbing her hard nipples in circles.

your brain short circuits when you hear her whimper right against your ear, kissing her on the cheek and grinding down against her core. you push one of the headphone muffs back, whispering in her ear.

"do you like that baby, like when I touch your naughty little body like this? like when I grind against your aching pussy like that?" you rasp breathily, biting the lobe of her ear and chuckling lowly.

one of her hands fly off of the keyboard and quickly mute her mic, bringing her hand to tangle her fingers with your hair.

"ahhh fuck, y/n-ie, I'm.. that feels so.. ahh," sakura can't contain the moans slipping out of her mouth easily as your grinding continues and your fingers pinch at her hardened buds.

you pull your face away from her heaving chest and bring your lips to grace her own lips, "baby, why'd you stop playing? be a good girl and win for me."

how evil, sakura must be thinking in that little head of hers, clouded with lust.

she whines needily against your lips and you kiss her sweetly in response, "c'mon baby, I'll reward you if you listen to me."

and so she gulps and nods, leaning forward against you before unmuting and returning back to the game. hm, how easy it is to control you my love, you think sinisterly.

pulling ur hands away and getting off of her, looking up at her darting eyes, full of nervousness and excitement, you smirk at the sight. you bring your hands up to the waistband of her sweats, untying the knot and slowly pulling them down.

your eyebrows raise when you see how dark her panties have gotten, wet and practically soaked with arousal.

"you DO like this baby, don't you? looks like a little too much, what do you think?" you bite your lip as you drag a single finger across the whole length of her slit, feeling how damp her underwear truly is.

she whimpers uncontrollably above you, clamping her eyes shut and throwing her head back against the headrest, trying so hard to hold back. you just know her hands are gripped tightly into fists as you press your thumb firmly against her clit through the cloth.

"guys please, we're so close," sakura begs her teammates to wrap up the game, almost a double entendre to your ears.

you look up at her sweetly and innocently, "or take your time my love, I can wait."

she peers down to look at you and frowns, eyes welling up and face scrunched with pleasure. aww, my poor baby, she wants you to stop teasing so bad and just let her fucking cum.

you hook your fingers around her panties and pull them down to pool at her ankles with her sweatpants. you pull her to the edge of her gamer chair by her thighs, your strong grip pushing apart her legs.

"you'll get what you need so bad when you win," god you're so mean :(((

she's aching so bad, the way you can physically see her hole clench around nothing, just by your words and the sheer amount of arousal that courses through her. you can't just let her go untouched, so when you throw her panties and sweats off of her ankles and to the side, lifting her legs to rest on top of your shoulders, hearing her squeal at the movement, and hotly breathe out onto her core, you go dizzy. you swear you're probably much more fucking soaked in your underwear than she is by how turned on you were by the effects you had on her.

none of that mattered right now though, all that did matter and the only thing you focused on was sakura. your precious sakura and her leaking hole. you couldn't resist anymore, diving in and sucking her entrance directly, using your tongue to lap at all the juices that she produced messily all over her pussy.

"fuck y/n!" she moaned, not caring about the game and throwing an arm over her face, hiding behind it.

"shhh, play," you'd mumble against her, flicking your wet muscle on her bundle of nerves.

"I-I can't baby..." kura whined, hearing her start to sob.

no no, couldn't have your baby suffer now could you?

"you can do it, go kura, make me proud," you'd caress her legs sweetly, moving away from her center and kissing her trembling thighs.

"we.. I'm almost, d-done," she shakily said.

at that moment, you heard cheering explode from her headphones, sakura throwing them off and muting her mic.

her hands would fly to gripping one of your hands around her thighs and your hair, "y/n, please please please, god please it hurts so bad."

looking up at her pained and desperate expression, you smiled again, "don't worry, I'll give you your reward my good girl."

diving in greedily finally, thrusting your tongue into her hole, making the most graphic wet noises from your needy mouth and her leaking pussy. the girl above you uncontrollably moaning out your name, gripping your hand and hair tightly, it hurt.

it didn't matter to you as the juice on your tongue was so delicious, the whines filling your ears sounded like music, and the body you held was trembling with pleasure. you closed your eyes as you dug your wet muscle into her and brushed your nose against her clit.

"baby ahh! fuck fuck fuck, yes yes, please don't stop, please god, it feels sosososo good y/n, I beg you, your mouth is insane," sakura would ramble mindlessly.

you listened, being crazily pussy drunk, not being able to breathe but not caring, borderline deep throating her pussy with how deep you dug your face into her. being so horny yourself, grinding against the air and panting into her. your fingers gripped painfully against her thighs, forgetting your entire plan to treat her caringly.

not that sakura seemed to mind, her head was thrown back and mouth hung wide open, eyes rolled back and screaming out profanities with your name. her hand in your hair pushed you deeper into her, grinding her hips desperately against you.

you loosened your grip slightly to let her fuck your face. you wanted to see her lose control because of you badly, so you opened your eyes to look up at her, and you swear you could cum on the spot just by how sinful the sight was. you moaned deeply into her pussy, the vibrations making sakura go insane, her body started to thrash and jolt, humping your face even more.

you slurped hungrily at her, losing any thoughts of technique and simply eating her out how you needed to. after all, kura doesn't care and grinds against your face rabidly, everything feels too fucking good to think.

"CUMMING, CUMMING!" she'd scream out, grip on you tightening even more.

"cum for me," you try mumbling as much as you could, airways practically blocked with her pussy.

sakura's body convulses, shaking with a screaming orgasm, juices squirting from her and drenching your face, chest, and clothes. you almost drown at the contact, but drink all the arousal that escapes.

her body stops violently jolting, only jerking every now and then from the aftershocks of the mindblowing climax she just came from. you release your tight grip as she does also, caressing her thighs softly, and kissing all over her sensitive core and legs. poor baby is completely gone, dazed and exhausted. you pull away from her pussy but make your way up to her face, never fully ripping away from her.

cupping her face and looking at her spent figure. chest raising and falling, mouth open, drool leaking out, cheeks stained with tears, body limp, thighs marked red, neck littered with hickies, her eyes half-lidded, and mumbling.

"y/n-ie, I'm can't," you giggle at how fucked out she is.

the throbbing at your core hurts honestly, but you ignore it, carrying your baby girl off of the chair and onto her bed. your clothes were soaked with her juices, looking back at her desk and seeing remnants of it there too. you'd clean it later, what matters is taking care of your girlfriend now.

"you did so well baby, you can rest," you'd whisper comfortingly in her ear, kissing her lips softly.

"do you want me to get you water? I can run the bath for you?" you offer, rubbing your hands sweetly over her red thighs.

"no, need you here," she'd say, pulling you into a cuddle, passing out on the spot.

you smile and place a peck on sakura's forehead, "okay."

need her so bad...

#ffos reqs #sakura #miyawaki sakura #le sserafim #le sserafim fanfic #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim smut #fanfiction #kpop #kpop gg #sakura smut #girl group smut #chaewon #yunjin #kazuha #eunchae

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

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idk if this is really boring but could you do a leah x alessia x reader where r isn’t a footballer but has to do some charity football match for work or whatever (u can work out the details idk😭) & her gfs get competitive over teaching r how to play and prepping her for the game then they go support her at the match and r does really good IDK feel free to ignore if that’s rubbish lmfao

psa; just because i write this does not mean i ship these two irl! offence and defence II a.russo & l.williamson

"baby?"

you looked up from your book with a hum to meet alessia's raised eyebrow, leahs head in your lap as she lay down on the sofa dead asleep. "what is this?" your girlfriend questioned, turning her phone to face you as your eyes widened.

"where did you find that less?" you sighed, the snap of your book closing causing leahs eyes to flutter open as she mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, burying her face in your stomach.

"its all over your companies social media, i hardly had to go looking." alessia holding up a screenshot of a poster for an upcoming charity football day ran by the company you worked for. "i'm not doing it anyway so it doesn't matter." you rolled your eyes.

"and why not?" alessia scoffed, locking her phone and crossing her arms. "because football is your thing, not mine." you gestured between your two blonde lovers and back to yourself. "babe its for charity!" alessia pointed out and you groaned, knowing now she'd latched on there wasn't a chance she'd let it go.

"i'll still go and help out with the fundraising and the event itself, i'm just not playing." you chuckled, leah pulling her face out of your hoodie with a tired scowl. "shut up!" the blonde grumbled tiredly, fixing the two of you with a glare, annoyed at the interruption to her afternoon snooze.

"sorry lee." you apologized softly, running a hand through her hair and kissing her forehead. "no you'll wanna be awake for this, get up!" alessia smacked the back of her legs, taking a seat on the opposite end of the lounge as leah groaned.

"leave her be and drop it alessia!" you warned the striker with a firm look who only poked at the back of leahs legs repeatedly until she finally sat up with a huff. "what?" she spat toward the other blonde with an unimpressed glare as the girl handed her the phone.

"so?" leah questioned, not quite putting things together still half asleep. "she's refusing to play." alessia spoke about you as if you weren't even there as leah paused for a moment, cogs turning until it clicked.

"you're playing." she rounded on you, handing alessia back her phone and rubbing at her eyes, face still a little puffy as you exhaled deeply.

"no i am not, please just let it go!" you pleaded, your puppy dog eyes which normally worked a charm to get you whatever you wanted not working for you this time as both your girlfriends stared on unfazed.

"suddenly i feel a cramp coming on. oh this might be fatal!" you groaned, clutching your hamstring with a dramatic cry of pain, a smile tugging at alessia's lips as leahs remained pursed into a thin line.

"guess you better rest it tonight then, we start training tomorrow." "what!"

"come on love, training time." leah clapped the moment the three of you returned from a run as you groaned, laying down on the floor in protest.

you'd hardly ran far, only enough to keep the girls legs warm on their day off, but kicking a ball around your backyard was the last thing you felt like doing.

"i'll just watch some football games, study them. that's fine!" you waved her off as alessia watched on amused after chugging a glass of water.

"no you won't. you're dating two professional footballers babe this is our area of expertise. let us help you!" leah loomed over you, holding out her hands to help you up, wiggling her fingers impatiently.

"i didn't ask for help, thank you though." you slapped her hand in a lazy high five before they slumped back to your sides. "baby." leah now addressed alessia who raised an eyebrow. leah only clicked her fingers, pointing to you and striding off outside.

"hi gorgeous." alessia grinned down at you, blonde hair tied back in a messy bun as she chewed on gum, a habit which stressed you out to no end when she'd do it while playing or exercising.

"fine." you gave in with a sigh, knowing what came next as you held your arms up straight. alessia grabbed your wrists, hauling your body up and over her shoulder, walking the two of you out to the backyard.

"first lesson. kicking!" leah announced as alessia placed you down on your feet, leaving it to leah as she sat down on your back steps, leaning back on her elbows and watching on with a toothy grin of amusement.

"okay babe. kick the ball!" leah ordered, placing it down by your feet as you glared at her, poking the ball with your toe as it dribbled a mere thirty centimeters and stopped. "the more you fight us on it, the longer we spend out here." leah warned, tapping the ball back as it returned to your feet.

"kick it." she repeated as you wound up, this time booting it with all your force as it went sailing up and over the back fence. "oh we lost the ball...what a shame!" you shrugged, turning on heel and trying to return inside as alessia grabbed the back of your shorts.

with a shake of her head she pushed you gently back toward leah who'd already returned with another ball. "you're gonna make a perfect striker with that right foot baby." alessia smiled happily causing leah to scoff.

"she's gonna be an even better defender with that power in her kicks." leah rebutted with her hands on her hips. "okay my loves lets not-" you tried to intervene, knowing all too well where this was headed, cut off before you could even finish.

"striker." "defender." "striker!" "defender!" "she's playing offence leah!" "she'll be playing defence alessia!"

you gave up at that point as their bickering erupted, alessia jumping to her feet as you rolled your eyes and headed inside. you gave your boss a quick call, updating you were in fact available to play and wincing at he announced the only position left.

"baby you ran off." alessia appeared as you'd hung up, leah not far behind. "no! the two of you started arguing like children, so i took a leave of absence." you quipped, staring them both down as they smiled guiltily.

"doesn't matter anyway, there was only one position left." you sighed, both your girlfriends staring at you eagerly awaiting your answer. "well?" leah pushed impatiently as alessia shoved her with a look.

"goalkeeper."

"okay baby we're gonna start slow. lee will throw it and you'll just catch it." alessia instructed as you exhaled but nodded, readying yourself.

"see? easy love." leah smiled happily as you caught the ball, repeating the activity for a while, leah starting to throw in different directions causing you to have to move to catch it.

"now we move onto kicking and saving." you'd moved in front of the small goal which took permanent residence in your backyard. "go easy!" you warned nervously, having seen many a time just how powerful alessia could kick.

"ready?" you nodded, readying yourself as the blonde took a step back, boots hitting the ball with a thud as it came sailing toward your head and you darted out of the way.

"you're supposed to stop it not avoid it babe!" alessia lectured as you fixed her with a glare. "i will stop it when you don't kick it at my head!" you growled, booting the ball at her as hard as you could as she was now the one to dart away.

"stop laughing!" you turned your glare on leah now whose chuckles ceased, holding her hands up.

"okay! i think that's enough for today."

"baby think fast!" you barely had time to lift your head before alessia's trainer came flying at you, smacking you in the side of the face as leah choked on her mouthful of food beside you.

"alessia mia teresa!" you yelled, the blonde sprinting out of the room as you hauled her shoe after her. "something funny?" you challenged your other girlfriend, her smile dropping as she shook her head and you huffed, moving to the sink to wash your dishes.

"why are you so grumpy this morning my girl?" leahs arms wound round you from behind, her chin resting on your shoulder.

"why do you think? all week the two of you have been throwing things at me, kicking stuff at me, hitting me with shoes and fruit and books!" you scowled, trying to push her body away from you but the taller girl held on tightly.

"it was part of training! and hey you caught most of it...the last couple of days." leah winced at the memory, her and alessia perhaps a little too passionate in their mission to mold you into the best goalkeeper they could.

"well i didn't ask to be trained!" you reminded firmly, placing your dishes in the drying rack and shoving leah away. "i am not a dog." you warned her seriously, poking at her chest and turning, barreling right into someone else's.

"good morning i love you?" alessia tried, holding your body tightly to hers with a guilty smile, ducking her head to repeatedly kiss the side of her face where she'd assaulted you with her shoe.

"you're lucky i love you too."

"baby! you did so so so so good." you laughed as alessia picked you up in a bear hug, spinning you around for a minute before leah whined it was her turn, tugging you into her body and peppering your face with kisses, mumbling how proud she was.

"okay okay i am still at a work event." you gently pushed her off, face flushed bright red both from the game you'd just won and the showering of pda.

"-then when you did the dive??" alessia gasped, the three of you now sat in her car and on your way back to your shared home. "yeah love where did you learn to dive like that?" leah asked, leaning forward with a curious frown.

"watched a bunch of videos of mary. i told you if you just left me be to study i'd have been fine! instead of assaulting me with a barrage of household objects all weeks." you rolled your eyes playfully, alessia squeezing your leg with a smile, other hand on the steering wheel.

"well we're exceptionally proud of you baby girl." leah beamed, pinching your cheek before kissing it, dropping back into her seat. "good! because do not expect that ever again, god i don't know how you do that every weekend i am exhausted." you groaned tiredly.

"not too tired i hope love, we still have to celebrate you." alessia smiled suggestively, meeting leahs eyes in her rear view mirror as the eldest blonde leaned forward again, placing a few gentle kisses to your neck.

"yeah baby, gonna make you feel like a winner. our winner!"

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #alessia russo x reader #engwnt #alessia russo #woso blurbs #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso

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beemochi-art · 3 days ago

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(unless it’s spoilers) I must know more abt this overlord

Yes! So we all know now Overlord is Elita and Op’s bio son.

In the beginning Elita called him Giga. But he started going by his gladiator name.

The thing about cybertronians is they can get stronger depending on their environment even if it’s not necessarily in their genetics. And Kaon was a very brutal place to live. So overlord Giga got big, very fast.

At the beginning of the decepticon war elita was forced to leave him behind. She did try her best to get him to flee with her but he was admitted on not staying with the decepticons. He warned her…

He idolized Megatron. That was something he felt megatron just got about him. Overlord would became like a pupil to Megatron. He was fiercely loyal to him.

Then an incident happened that heavily damaged megatron rendered by the senate. Megatron was never the same after that. Overlord could tell whenever megatron was making his speeches he was mostly just acting. His personality is very different now, and he can’t stand it.

Overlord was assigned to work with a mech that could semi match his power. This was Thunderblast, she is a massive power hungry, bloodthirsty lady (Star is her side piece.) Overlord doesn’t mind her. Her personality is similar to Elita’s. She is a rank higher then him, she likes that he listens to her and that she can boss him around without anything bad happening to her, yet. They sometimes would spend years together in solitude patrolling. So they have gotten pretty used to each other. Thunderblast is attached to him but I wouldn’t say the feeling is mutual.

There’s something him and op have in common. So so many upgrades… he did and yes, he still is a phase sixer (with some twist. 😉)

Much Like his dad he as had many upgrades and a lot of work done. That’s the main thing he had done was the endoskeleton coat which allows him to be a phase sixer. His cog has been heavily modified too.

He’s got his Bot mode, alt tank, alt jet and he can slip in two into a smaller jet and tank. If you notice that’s only five alts and not six. He hasn’t chosen a sixth one yet.

All of these modes and modifications take more power from his spark and takes more energon then your average bot.

So he runs on a enhancer substance called nuke, it allows him to move quick and with a ton of strength. (Cough cough steroids.) all cons take it but only a little. But overlord needs the stuff to function properly, it’s highly addictive and can have horrible side effects. The amount he takes would short circuit any normal bot.

#transformers #my art #asks #transformers au #elita one #overlord

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icarusredwings · 3 months ago

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"Shh... shh It's alright.."

Logan's eyes flutter open, hearing the raspy voice. Like he's been crying. Sitting up, he watches as his husband was once again in the corner of their bedroom, rocking and patting his babydoll, sitting next to her wooden crib that Shop Class had made for him, Fordge's great niece Cherri to be exact. Sweet kid. Wade ruffled up her ears every morning, despite her groans to stop, she would giggle and become upset if he didn't.

God those kids loved him.. but it seemed recently this specifc kid, Their plastic kid at that- had his attention most evening's.

"Wade..?" He whispers, but he's ignored. This isn't uncommon. Usually, during these episodes, it was best to let him go. To let him rock the baby until she 'stopped crying' or until HE stopped crying.

"Yeah, I know sometimes things might not always make sense to you right now. But hey, what daddy always tell you? Straighten up, little soldier. Stiffen up that upper lip. What’chu crying about? You got me.. daddy won't let no one hurt'cha... Promise" He whispers, giving their daughter a small kiss on the scalp, holding her so gently and yet so firm, afraid of hurting her by squeezing and or dropping her.

The way he sat cross legged and stared at their daughter, Logan could almost see his cogs turning.

Was that so hard for his own father to do? To protect him? Not hurt him? Love him?

"Shhh... shhh..Now, hush little baby don’t you cry everythings gonna be alright. Stiffen that upper lip up little lady I told ya, Daddy’s here to hold ya through the night."

Was that... Eminem??...

Of course Wade of all people would since Eminem to his infant...

He whispers, rocking back and forth with closed eyes, holding her tightly, patting her as he went on.

"I know mommy’s not here right now, and we don’t know why. We feel how we feel inside. I might seem a little crazy, pretty baby, but I promise mama's gon' be alright."

Look- Logan was old. But he wasn't that old. Wade had changed the lyrics. Just slightly enough to still match beat, but it meant so much, telling the baby doll that her 'feelings' mattered even if irrational, telling her that he was insane, and promising her everything was going to be alright.

You may not think so, but this was progress. Moments like these were looked down upon, and while people might not realize it, this sort of play IS a form of regression and was just as good as a coping mechanism as him playing with horses was, the only difference was he was playing with dolls. By comforting Evelyn, he was sootheing himself. It was much easier to tell someone else it was okay rather then yourself.

He was tricking his brain. Subconsciously forcing himself to believe things would be fine. The only part that he wasn't sure of was 'Evelyn's' need for a mommy. Was this Wade missing his own mother.. or was this missing Vanessa and what they could have had? V was still around. They saw her once a week at the very least. Still went on dates, Still hung out afterward (if you get my drift) The only thing really different was that the 'baby machine' was no longer in business. Having shut down a while ago. She had (at least- if Logan understood correctly) Had a partial hysterectomy so her painful periods would stop.

"And daddy’s gonna buy you a mocking bird. Imma give you the world, I’ma buy a diamond ring for you. Imma sing for you, I’ll do anything for you to see you smile." He sang quietly, giving her sweet hugs, soft kisses, and the patting became lighter, more off beat and calm.

It wasn't that Wade would be a "Bad" father but he could barley take care of himself. Anyone who knew him- actually knew him- knows Wade wouldn't ever be able to hurt a baby. Not on purpose anyway, but with how his mind was, it wasn't a good idea. Kids? Sure. A baby? No.. And it's not like Ness didn't talk to him about it beforehand, letting him know that she was keeping her eggs but they would never be able to have a baby unless someone agreed to be a surrogate. He wasn't mad. No, not at all. He understood perfectly.... a bit too perfectly.

Logan, being the person who he is though, could smell him crying in the shower later that day. He couldn't imagine being in those shoes.. to be told the person you were planning on having little kits with- Er I mean kids with- wouldn't be able to carry them anymore.

"And if that mockingbird don’t sing and the ring don’t shine, Imma break that birdies neck! I’ll go back to the jeweler who sold it to ya and make him eat every karat, dont fuck with dad.. hah....you like that? Yeah?... Daddy's little psycho.." He smiles, seeming to have finally 'calmed' Evelyn enough for her to stop 'crying'.

Deep down, Evelyn scared him. Wade behaved as if she truly was telling him things at times. At first, he thought it was just his own voices playing tricks on him. And then he thought it was lingering elements of a bad dream, a random little girls voice running through a nightmare.

Wade went into detail about each dream, talking about it for days afterward, describing how his darling girl was reaching out for him, calling for her daddy with open arms. From the sounds of it, she wasn't an infant, though. Fluxuating ages but the ones where she begs him not to leave well... leaves him like this. In shambles, crying on the floor at 2 in the morning.

"You comin' to bed, papa bear?" He teases.

Glancing up, Wade sighs, the kind of relief in which he could finally lay Eve back in her cradle, giving it a good push before coming to crawl under the sheets. "Comin' mama bear."

#deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #logan howlett #wade wilson #deadpool #deadpool 3 #wolverine #deadclaws #Babydoll Evelyn #Evelyn Wilson Howlett #coping mechanism #finding home au #finding home #interactive fanfic #eminem #vanessa carlysle #SoundCloud

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lucettapanchetta · 4 months ago

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[IN-GAME CONVERSATION] - Five Pebbles, Gourmand, Survivor, Monk or Artificer. [Sky Islands - Dark Blue Pearl]

[ Returning again I see, very predictable that you would. ] [ Brought another pearl? Fine, I'll read it to you. ] [ It seems to be an old message from, Looks to the Moon and a friend. This interests me. ] === [ 1491.160 - PRIVATE ] Looks to the Moon, No Significant Harassment ] "I don't understand this at all. She left us and we don't even know what she did to cross herself out!" "Maybe she added some salt to her conduit system?" "Please, I don't wish to hear you make a mockery of the dead. I came to talk to you about my thoughts." "Bad timing I suppose, sorry Moon. If you are looking for somewhere to vent, I am here to listen." "Have you ever felt like we... haven't made any progress? That perhaps if we worked harder, we'd get to a solution that could match whatever Sliver of Straw did." "Am I wrong for that? Am I wrong for wanting to push forward a plan to finally let us rest once and for all? Is that bad of me?" "That, is a complicated question... and while you aren't in the wrong for wanting to try harder, it may do more harm than good. For everyone's sake that is." "Explain how doing better for the sake of every iterator is harmful. I perform to my maximum input constantly and I don't see how it does me any harm." "Well, for starters. What you describe as 'maximum input' is the bare minimum, for lack of better words." "You underperform, I underperform, we all underperform. The ancients never built us to find solutions to our ascension, they had their own methods under them the entire time! From what I remember, we created, we advised, and we sat there doing whatever they needed us to do. Skip forward thousands of cycles and then they disappeared." "They figured it out before we did, and here we are!" "...so, are you saying we will never be able to calculate a solution beyond our limitations?" "Now, now, don't get it twisted. You could if you want; however, you have to realize there are unforeseeable consequences when you attempt to progress an already delicate problem such as ascension." "What you are doing is fine enough as is, the bare minimum is what we're supposed to work with! Also, I think you know better than me that sustainability is favored more than exponential progress. You are a senior iterator after all." "I just dislike this system very much, I wish it could change." "Well, that’s just how it is. You can either drive yourself mad or be a cog in the machine. We all face the same fate, so why be torn over an iterator we barely knew? Why change our ways just because she found the solution first? It feels like extra work for little reward." "...I just, don't want to be a cog anymore." === [ ... ] [ I think I've read enough, little creature. ]

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mmogurl · 4 months ago

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In The Shadow of Dragons Chapter 3: Rude Awakening

18+ | 4.5k | Daemon Targaryen X Female OC | possessive, protective, objectifying, simping, raunchy Daemon | Uncle / niece incest, Smut, Dragons, Political Intrigue, Plotting, Murder, lots of old timey concepts that don't make a lot of sense today, but are still kind of hot/fun.

Now just how is Daemon going to pull this one off? Continuing the story from Daemon's POV.

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8 | CH 9 Also on AO3

The guards outside the King’s chamber regarded him with a suspicious glare, but Daemon just gave a smile and pushed his way inside despite their presence.

“Good morrow, Your Grace!” Daemon shouted loudly as he walked into the room, already fully dressed for the day and as chipper as any man could be so early in the morning.

Viserys startled awake and just as Daemon expected, he looked like he had been dragged through some maester’s leech pit. His face was pale with red-rimmed eyes, tired and blood-shot.

“What is the meaning of this, Brother!? Has someone perished?” Viserys sat up, pulling the sheets around his waist as he looked at his brother with disoriented concern.

“No, no. No one has died, Brother. There’s no need to worry,” Daemon was already opening the curtains to let streams of bright morning light into the room, knowing it would add to the king’s discomfort. “Quite the opposite in fact.”

He turned back to Viserys with a smirk plastered deviously across his face, looking like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. “I do have a solution to all of your troubles, dear brother! Where our precious little Ryna is concerned.”

The king rubbed his head gingerly, letting out a low groan as he turned away from the sudden brightness. “By the Mother’s mercy! I hope whatever you have to say is quick. My head feels like it’s about to split in two.”

Ah yes, exactly as I had hoped.

“Oh, it most assuredly will be brief,” Daemon chuckled, but not without a small pang of sympathy. He’d been in Viserys’ shoes quite a few times, so he knew the feeling all too well.

He stood at the edge of his brother’s bed, resting his hand against the corner post as he continued, “But, first, I want to make sure we are on the same page. I know you wish to see Princess Ryna married, but to a suitable match, yes?”

“Yes, of course!” Viserys shouted clearly irritated by Daemon’s stating of the obvious. “But the girl will not give a man a second glance, let alone a chance to court her!”

Daemon tried to temper the smirk that pulled at his lips as he answered. “Quite simply, Brother… I’ve found a match for our darling girl that she will agree to. No, better than that, a match she will desire.”

The king looked up at Daemon, confusion wrinkling his brow. “And just who in the Seven Hells is the fellow then!?” he grumbled, cogs slowly turning in his groggy head as he tried to figure it out.

The look of bewilderment on his brother’s face was priceless. Oh, this is just too good. He let the anticipation build a little longer before giving the answer he had longed to say.

“Myself, of course,” Daemon finally replied with smug nonchalance.

“You and Ryna!?” Viserys was instantly wide awake and alert, the shock of his words jerking him to the edge of the bed as though he meant to stand. His eyes grew wide as saucers and his mouth fell open slackly. “You want to wed my girl?”

Oh, this is even better than I imagined.

“Yes, Ryna and I, but there is no need to look so startled, Brother,” he retorted, making an effort to keep his voice level so as not to give away his true amusement. “I’m sure once she hears of my proposal, she will gladly accept. Why, it was practically her idea.”

“And what makes you so sure she’ll agree? Have you been conspiring behind my back to ruin another of my daughters?” his voice was growing angry, making his distrust of Daemon’s ‘plan’ known.

Daemon rolled his eyes at Viserys’ question. He knew his brother had a tendency to always think the worse of him, but the accusation still stung.

“Conspiring behind your back? Hardly. I prefer to think of it as finding an effective solution to a problem we both agree needs to be addressed,” he said allowing a touch of frustration to color his words.

“And for your information, it was your lovely daughter who approached me at the banquet last night laden with worries,” he continued, keen to cement his intentions before the king. “She feared you might force her into a marriage that she does not wish.”

Daemon smiled again at the thought of his conversation with Ryna, feeling a surge of excitement at the memory of her in the dark. “I inquired why she’d had such difficulty in choosing a suitor and she admitted that she prizes her Valyrian heritage above all, but does not care for her brothers. And then after speaking to you, it seemed the answer just fell into place.”

Viserys stared at him for a long moment before letting out a groan, rubbing his temples again.

Come on, Brother, you ’re so close. You know it’s the only way.

Finally, the king spoke with a thoughtful, yet slightly melancholy tone. “My lady-wife held onto the hope that Ryna might embrace Aegon as a husband, either by choice or compulsion. The match was a strong one to preserve our bloodline, so I had no objection to it. Yet, I desired for my daughter to have agency in her own contentedness, for we both know that my first born son…. Well, he is not particularly suited for the role of husband to a gentle and spirited young maiden such as my second daughter.”

“That boy is an utter twat! He is even more scandalous than I,” Daemon hissed back with incredulity at the Hightower cunt’s aspirations. How dare she even plant the seed of marrying that rapacious little shit to his darling niece.

The king gave a small resigned sigh, accompanied by a defeated nod. “So, it would seem,” his brother replied, sounding less than happy that his solution would be coming from Daemon. “I should have you sent to the Wall for even suggesting such a thing, Brother. I must say I am not entirely fond of the situation, but I cannot argue with its potential merits. If Ryna consents to this union, then I will permit it.” Viserys paused for a moment and then his eyes sprung open as he added, “With condition.”

Inwardly, Daemon felt his heart leap wildly, but he did his best to remain composed and kept an expression of mild disinterest on his face.

Ah! I ’ve won. Victory is mine!

Daemon raised an eyebrow and held up his hands in a gesture of mock submission. “Name your terms, dear brother,” he urged, remaining mostly stoic. He didn’t want to appear nervous or overeager, in fear it would drive the king’s price higher. But the truth was, he would do anything, sacrifice anything, to possess that beautiful nymph that was his niece. It was a burning need that he must quench.

“The first condition is that you will not lay with her until the wedding night,” Viserys declared, his demeanor stern and unwavering. “There has already been enough talk of Rhaenyra’s exploits and I won’t have Ryna’s reputation tarnished as well. I assure you, should a single whisper from a servant reach my ears, I shall swiftly send you to the Wall to take your vows as a brother of the Night’s Watch.”

The King knows me all too well! Daemon thought to himself, feeling his enthusiasm ebbing slightly at the thought of not having his sweetling before the wedding. Then again, he liked the idea of using creativity to circumvent the rule.

“Agreed,” Daemon conceded with a nod. “What else?” he inquired, silently hoping the next demand wouldn’t as torturous.

“Secondly, you will court her in a proper and honorable manner. You will perform all the duties expected of a suitor. You will spend time with her, in appropriate settings. You will stroll with her in the garden, dance with her at gatherings, and present her with gifts. You will demonstrate to me that you are truly serious about her, that she is not merely a temporary amusement or a means to further your own ambitions.”

Viserys spoke slowly and deliberately, each word imbued with a sense of authority, his directives explicit and firm.

Daemon had to suppress a scoff. I don’t need some courtship game to make her fall for me. She’s all but ripe for the taking…

He kept his expression neutral, determined not to betray any hint of irritation while simultaneously appeasing his brother, and nodded in affirmation once more. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall be the epitome of courtly refinement, a suitor unlike any that King’s Landing has ever witnessed,” he promised as convincingly as possible.

Viserys laughed boisterously, his expression gladdening substantially. “I should like to see that, Brother.”

Don ’t sound so unconvinced, you prick!

Daemon fought hard to repress his grin, but a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth nonetheless. “Be careful, Brother,” he cautioned. “I just might surprise you in this.”

He paused a moment and then tried to conclude the conversation. “I suppose I should begin my courtship then, barring any further objections or stipulations from you, Your Grace,” he said, stepping back from the bed, unable to keep a hint of eagerness from his voice.

“Do not look so pleased, Brother. I am not finished yet,” Viserys said with a glaring smirk. It was clear he was beginning to enjoy holding this over Daemon’s head. “Should I be satisfied and give you my daughter’s hand, I expect you to behave as a proper husband would.” The king was sitting up at the edge of the bed now, arms crossed and sheets still covering the lower half of his body.

His next words made Daemon’s heart beat faster. “You will not see other women, you will comport yourself with decency, and I will expect to hear news of a child on the way within a year of the wedding.”

By the Gods …

Everything the king was demanding was to be expected, but the thought of having to be a proper husband with all the obligations that came along with it was a struggle to bear. Surely his brother’s strong hand would grow lax after the wedding, for there was only so much a man like him could endure.

However, the final condition of Viserys’ terms made him stiffen with arousal. He could already imagine his beautiful girl full and round with his babe… Gods give me strength. The mere idea made him dizzy, but he knew he had to focus on the task at hand, so he pushed all thoughts of that glorious image as far back into his mind as possible.

Daemon finally spoke again with a hint of hesitation in his voice, knowing he needed to be on his best behavior so he wouldn’t lose this opportunity. “Of course, I will behave as an upstanding husband should. I have no heirs, save my twin daughters, and have wont of a male to carry on our name.”

“That pleases me to hear, Brother.” He gave Daemon a thin lipped smile, before letting out a conclusive sigh. “I have my doubts that you will be able to uphold your end of this bargain, but if you make good on your word… If the courtship goes well and it is what Ryna truly wishes, than I shall give my blessing and my second daughter’s hand in marriage.” The king took a moment to collect himself, and a more relaxed expression settled over his face, a hint of satisfaction in his features. “Perhaps it shall go a long way towards mending old wounds, Brother.”

Viserys opened his arms, welcoming his brother into an embrace. With a slight hesitation, Daemon accepted his brother’s gesture of goodwill and leaned in to encircle his arms around his back. It wasn’t often that the two shared such a moment of peace, and he found it refreshing that such a potentially hostile topic might end well. He clapped Viserys on the back before standing upright again, given neither man was taken to such displays of affection.

Daemon looked down at his brother with as much honesty as he could convey. “Old wounds and old grudges, Brother. Let us hope that I shall do us both proud.”

“Join the family for the morning meal and I will announce the courtship,” Viserys said with surprising fondness. “I do not look forward to the irate glances my lady-wife will surely give me from across the table, but The King has cause to make his own choices once in awhile.” He chuckled and laid back in bed, likely ready to slumber for another hour before rousing.

He chuckled, imagining the look on Alicent’s face when she found out. No doubt she will do her best to sabotage this courtship.

“I am quite eager to witness her reaction. I am almost certain steam will shoot from her nostrils.” Daemon replied with a hint of amusement in his tone, barely suppressing a grin. “But I will see you at breakfast, dear brother. Now, I must take leave. I have a princess to court.”

Viserys waved his hand in the air to shoo his brother away, his head already nestling into the plush pillows. With a satisfied nod, Daemon turned and left his brother’s chamber with a grin, already planning his next move.

He could feel the blood coursing through his veins, a burning passion igniting his every step as he moved closer to his prize. The thought of his sweet niece, soon to be his bride, fueled his desire and set him ablaze with a fierce intensity.

His hands curled into tight fights at his sides as visions of Ryna danced through his mind. Soon he would have her all to himself, and he would make her squirm and whine, begging and pleading for him. She many never fully grasp the extent of what he had endured, just to earn the chance to call her his own.

Daemon found himself walking down the hall towards his niece’s chamber, the desire to tell her of his victory, to hear her response and see her smile with delight, now almost irresistible. He knew that such thoughts were driven by his own impulsive nature, and that he must remain rational and patient for the time being, but he could not help himself.

He stood quietly at her door and listened, wondering if she was even awake yet. He heard the sound of shuffling inside the room and then the soft padding of bare feet across the floor.

He could only imagine what she would be wearing. A nightgown, so thin and flimsy it might as well be see-through, and her skin glowing in the morning light. He tried his best to push those lurid thoughts aside, but the mental picture of her was too enticing and it lingered persistently as he finally knocked on the door.

There was an abrupt silence from within the room, followed by hushed whispers as footsteps approached the door. A crack of light shined through and the outline of a young handmaid filled the doorway.

She spoke nervously with her head hung low, avoiding eye contact, “Greetings, My Prince. How may I serve you?”

He was annoyed for a moment that it wasn’t Ryna who had opened the door, but he kept his composure and nodded his head to the girl.

“I’ve come to speak with your mistress,” he replied in a tone of authority. “It’s a matter of great importance.”

“Pardon me. M’lady is not yet ready to receive you,” she said apologetically. “Would you be kind enough to wait a moment while I make her presentable?”

Daemon suppressed the growl that threatened to rise up, knowing he had little choice but to wait, especially if he was going to play by Viserys’ ‘proper’ game.

“Very well, but be quick about it,” he grumbled. “I haven’t got all day.” The last thing he wanted was to sit there while the maid brushed Ryna’s hair and tidied her gown. He wanted her now.

The handmaid nodded adamantly and replied with urgency, “I will make haste, My Prince.”

“See that you do,” he answered with finality as the maid disappeared behind the closed door.

He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms restlessly. The wait was a slow and excruciating one. He found himself tapping his foot impatiently as the sound of whispers drifted from within the room. The young women no doubt discussing the impropriety of receiving a male in her chambers at such an early hour.

His thoughts began to run wild as time passed, envisioning the scene inside the princess’ chamber. Ryna half dressed with ivory skin spilling out in all the right places, standing before her maid, looking beautiful and sweet. She was likely surprised and a bit flustered to have him at her door, and he could almost envision the rosy blush on her cheeks. The urge to open the door and push his way past the servant became so strong it was practically unbearable.

How will I ever survive this courtship?

The door suddenly opened, causing Daemon to look over with anticipation, only to be greeted by the sight of the same maid that had come to the door moments ago. He tried not to let his displeasure show at not seeing Ryna herself standing there in wait, but it only served to make his irritation grow.

“Well?” he inquired. “Is the Princess ready to receive me?”

“She is, My Prince,” the young woman said shyly and backed up, opening the door and standing behind it to let him enter the room unobstructed.

He strode into her chambers with measured steps, his gaze fixed intently on her petite frame. She was so deliciously small, hardly reaching his chin in height, and he savoured the thought of how soft and supple she would feel against his own body. His eyes devoured her from head to toe as a sly smirk crossed his face.

She wore a simple dress of crimson, the bodice lined in yellow gold with a black insignia of the three-headed dragon embroidered in the center of the bust. Her hair hung loosely against her shoulders, golden silver curls brushed out, but not yet braided. She was a sight for sore eyes, his in particular.

“You look lovely this morning, sweetling,” he said with a low rumble as he closed the distance between them. He reached out for her hand and brushed a light kiss against her knuckle.

His delightful, little niece blushed just as he thought she would, a charming look of innocent embarrassment upon her face. Daemon held onto her hand as she began to speak.

“Thank you, Uncle,” she replied nervously. “What brings you here? I was not expecting you.”

My sweet girl.

She was truly adorable with her shy demeanor and her struggle to look him in the eye. He was surprised how easily he had been able to cast aside years of torment with just the simple notion of her returning his affections. The very purity that had once kept him at bay now only served to heighten his desire to corrupt her further, to make her whimper and plead for more of his touch.

“A matter of great importance, my dear girl,” he continued, keeping the caress of his fingers light as he stroked the back of her hand. “I’m here with a proposition, and I should very much like to have your answer. Now.” He winked at her, keeping up the pretense for the handmaid that was still present.

“Oh?” she asked with a curious gleam in her eyes. “What could be so urgent that it could not wait for the morning meal?”

Daemon tried his utmost to resist the urge to seize her and draw her into his arms. The way she looked at him was almost more than he could stand. If only that blasted handmaid were not lingering, watching them like a hawk, he would have her bent over the bed in less than a second.

He took a deep breath, trying to focus on his words, rather than his cock. His voice was softer now when he spoke, but just as insistent, “I spoke to your father this morning… He has given me permission to court you, Niece. I would hear your decision immediately, for he wishes to announce it at breakfast.”

“What?” she looked remarkably surprised. “How!?”

He had to admit, her shock was a refreshing sight to behold. Daemon half expected the girl to throw herself into his arms at the news.

“I have my ways, sweetling,” he answered cryptically with a smirk. “But, first I need your answer. Will you allow me to court you?” There was a soft gasp from the maid and Daemon realized her presence wasn’t quite as aggravating as he’d originally thought. Who better to spread rumors like wildfire than the servant caste. Soon, everyone in the Red Keep would know that he was courting the princess.

And they will all know that she is mine. Just as it should be.

“I cannot believe you managed to convince him. Even for your velvet tongue, that is quite a feat, Uncle,” she looked thoughtful for a moment, as though considering everything that might have been said or promised to make it so. “And it was Father’s wish that we court? A test of devotion, I take it?”

“A test of devotion, indeed,” he said, nodding as he continued to hold and dote on the soft skin of her hand. “Though, I’m sure your father is still not entirely convinced of my sincerity.”

Suddenly, his free hand snaked around her slender waist, drawing her closer until their bodies were nearly touching. A startled gasp escaped the maid at the sight, and Daemon relished the knowledge that their little performance was received so well. He allowed his face to shift closer to her ear, so he could whisper.

“But I have every intention of winning your favor, my sweet, little princess. What say you, hmm?”

Ryna placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back to a comfortable distance once more. Her eyes brimming with eagerness, “Yes, positively yes!” She took both of his hands in hers with a beaming smile that made his chest ache.

She said yes. He had expected the answer, of course, but to actually hear it confirmed was a feeling he could have never truly anticipated. Years of pent up desire and frustration were starting to release and it took all of his restraint to not just kiss her there in front of the damned handmaid.

Daemon pulled her hands up to his lips so he could place a kiss on her skin once more.

“Very good, my sweet girl,” he said with a smug look of satisfaction. “Very good indeed.” Daemon allowed his voice to drop once more so only she could hear. “And I promise to court you properly, so long as you do your part and be a good girl for me. I will not abide any misconduct from my wife to be.”

His voice was practically dripping with mockery for he knew how to play this game. This was all a part of the dance, to lure his niece into giving herself up entirely to him. To make her his, once and for all.

“You know I will not go easy on you just because you are my favorite niece?” His gaze darkened and he allowed a small smirk to play about his lips.

“I w-would never!” she stuttered out anxiously as though he were actually serious. The poor girl was so flustered by what he’d said in front of her maid, that she didn’t even realize he’d been jesting.

He chuckled, amused by the uncertainty in her flickering gaze, and he couldn’t help but smile. He knew he would thoroughly enjoy himself during the coming moon, playing with her and indulging in his desires. However, it was also becoming obvious that the challenge of their courtship would test him like no other had before, as his lustful temptations gew harder and harder to resist.

Daemon smiled wolfishly. “Your decision pleases me greatly, sweetling,” he said in a low voice as he continued to place kisses against her knuckles. “Now we must get you ready. Quickly. We wouldn’t want to keep the king waiting, hmm?”

He let go of her hands regretfully and stepped back to allow the maid to take over. Daemon watched as the handmaid scurried back to the foreground and immediately began busying herself with finishing up Ryna’s morning routine.

With her touch gone, he longed to reach out and grab her once more. His hands burned with the irresistible urge to feel her body beneath his touch. It would be exquisite torture, having her close at hand and yet unable to take her in the way that he wished.

He could feel something primal and possessive stirring inside him at the thought. She was his and she always had been. Since she first came into this world, he had treasured her more than any other. And, once she came of age, he had fought against his desires, finding them wrong and ruinous, yet all of these years later she had chosen him of her own accord. Now, nothing would keep him from her again.

“Uncle,” she interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up in a daze. “I shall need some privacy. I’ll look forward to seeing you at the morning meal shortly.” She smiled, a hint of knowing in her eyes.

“Of course, sweetling,” he managed to get out.

His mind and body were suddenly at odds with each other. One part of him wanting to linger in the room just a moment longer, to catch another glimpse of her sweet smile, while the other part was more than eager to be out of there so that he could have a quiet moment to himself and gather his fraying control.

“I’ll be waiting…” It came out as more a growl than words and he mentally berated himself. You sound like an impatient little boy, you fool.

“Until we meet again, Uncle,” she spoke softly, before turning her head so that the maid could continue working on braiding her hair.

Daemon nodded to her with a grin, his eyes fastened on her for just a moment longer than appropriate, before turning on his heel and exiting the chamber. The door closed behind him and he leaned back against the cold stone wall. His eyes closed as he lout out a long, shaky breath.

Gods give me strength… Read Chapter 4

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prima-after-dawn · 14 days ago

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Dumbass thought. Made me laugh.

Do you think there was an adjustment period when the bots got their cogs and went through growth spurts? Yeah the bumping off walls/chairs/tables because they don't realize their doors and wings will catch, but also realizing they can't fit in places they used to be able to.

On that same note, do you think Optimus would've, like, routinely given himself concussions for a while? Cause getting his cog made him Big, and then getting the Matrix made him Bigger. He'd still want to be where his friends are, except he is still quite literally twice most of their heights.

Does he need to be reminded to slow down, that he's got the longest legs there? How long does it take Elita or Jazz or Bee to realize that he can and will bash his face into beams because he's paying attention to them and not where he's going?

There’s no way there isn’t a cooldown period between all their sudden massive growth spurts and being self-aware of their sizes and strengths. Like the buildings in the mining sector that were designed for cogless bots are just straight up unusable for anything but storage now bc they all just too fuckin’ BIG.

And dear Primus don’t even get me started on Optimus. You thought Sentinel looked too big to be in the mining sector? He about hit his helm on the med bay ceiling, and Optimus is definitely taller than him!

Optimus is 100% out there smacking things and bots with his big ass limbs by accident when he gesticulates (as we know he does a lot when he gets excited), making turns too soon and too fast in truck mode, and misjudging how much space he needs to transform back into bot mode without clocking himself in the helm on something. Elita has herded him into more med bays than she knew existed in Iacon, and B thinks it’s the most hilarious thing that Optimus just can’t watch where he’s going when he’s matching his yapping energy.

#transformers #transformers one #tf one #author speaks #sentinel prime #tf one sentinel prime #asked and answered #anonymous #optimus prime #tf one optimus prime #tf one elita #tf one b 127 #b 127 #elita one

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justatypicalwizard · 7 months ago

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Until The End Of The Night | Ch 4

-3 am.-

✦ College!au, characters in early twenties, support!reader, slight angst to happy ending

✦ Synopsis: after over three years abroad you come back to continue your education. Despite gaining new friends and living a great life in Europe nothing feels better than home. You are quickly sucked in the everyday drama and everything would be just as you left it if not for Bakugo. Three years ago you two shared a moment, a short and meaningful moment that no one knows or should know about. That is until the situation gets out of control.

✦ Warnings: smut

✦ Word count: 3k

✦ Chapter: Stubbornness leading to a fall, unspoken words and a dam undone after three years.

Masterlist

Miruko’s legs were spread, arms resting on the back of the chair. Her stance, persona and confidence matched the glass palace of her agency like a puzzle piece, like a core and a foundation at the same time. She was rightfully the queen of this see-through beehouse.

Your conversation was not too short, nor too long. She valued both of your times, at the same moment asking you about all the important matters. Did you work with Bakugo earlier? Yes? Great, then you know what to expect. What are your goals and how will you execute them? You can write them all out into a nice spreadsheet? Fantastic, that’s the involvement and care about details that she seeks. Are you planning on staying in the country after you finish college? Depends on your work offers? Not the classic approach but what she needs are young and fresh minds that don’t beat around the bush. Either way if you prove yourself, there’s a big chance you’ll have a place in her agency after university, she likes to keep her employees.

Bakugo was dismissed earlier than you. It only took him a few strides to disappear out of your sight. Not that you could really turn your head to trace him between the desks and busy coworkers. Your full attention was on Miruko, who now layed down the terms and conditions.

It was nice to feel a routine sink into your bones. The weekly plan, term-long goals and your personal aims all threw you into a whirlpool of work but at the same time put your mind at ease. In between lectures and the agency you met with Mina and Denki, occasionally Kirishima. The only thing you had to swear was not to get too drunk, scout's word. You will have all the time in the world during college break, but now you have to be on guard. Mina pouted and Denki tried to spike your drinks a few times but they mostly understood.

One of the few things that posed a problem right now was the lack of a certain someone. You wondered, tapping your nails on the flimsy wooden desk. The chair squeaked under your ass as you scooted closed to the edge of your workplace.

Ever since the start of your work for Miruko and with Bakugo, you started to keep track of all the changes to his gear. With surgical precision you prepared lists of replacements and alterations that have been made for his gauntlets. Each and every time, like a little cog working in a huge clock, you marched to Bakugo’s workstation and left the file of papers on his desk, with specific places to put his comments. And every time you got them back, all filled out with concise tips and evaluations. To your utter shock and fear everything went smoothly. Too smooth for a Bakugo-related job.

The man himself never met you. His presence was visible, from his neat handwriting on the spreadsheets, through every new scratch on the gauntlets, to emails the two of you sent back and forth. But his person was lacking. The blonde vanished as soon as you entered the agency. You heard the booby secretary talking to her colleague about how he shrugged her off this morning but he’s just such a tough nut to crack. You picked up his hero name, Dynamite, on others’ tongues, turning your head slightly to throw a glance at the person. He was there, but at the same time he wasn’t. You wondered why.

It could have become too peaceful for you to accept if not the one ick that he sported ever since the beginning of your cooperation. You asked Bakugo multiple times, through emails and texts, to come take off measurements for your own use but he never did. Too busy, don’t have time, use the ones that are in the system. The blonde brute always brushed you off and that problem grounded you back to earth. There’s always something off when it comes to work with him, guess this is the plague that he decided to treat you with this time.

And so days passed on without much excess. Laying in your bed, with the lights out, forcing sleep on yourself, your mind betrayed you. Was it possible that you got what you wanted? You were using him to your own advantage, not sparing the time of your day to try and repair what has been broken, and actually getting off with it. Was it really going to be that simple? Forgetting him and pushing him off to the sideline in your own little race for glory.

Of course it wouldn’t. No matter how hard you wanted to let it slip, how hard you tried to bury it in the depths of your mind, the touch of his lips came back. Or at least the reminiscence of the kiss, because the thing itself has been scraped from your memory like an old sticker that you forgot about in the corner of the rear window. You know it was there but what exactly was the picture?

You tried to remember what his touch was like. Was it harsh, did he grab and squeeze on the soft parts of your body? Or maybe he was delicate. The latter, giving it was his first time. But did he really tell you the truth? Why would he lie about something like that? Usually, people did the opposite, hiding their virginity, too embarrassed to open themselves truthly.

And you would groan, trashing on the bed, turning from left to right. You were alone in this sea of thoughts, dragging a huge fish that was your heart to shore and letting the sharks of anxiety and regret bite at it and tear off pieces. You really hated Hemingway for writing that book, gave you too much food for thought.

Bakugo avoided you, it was as plain as a pikestaff, and as always, his actions spoke volumes. Over time you grew more accustomed to the thought of letting go of his words, whatever it was he tried to tell you at the lab. The man wasn’t exactly a master of rhetorics and it was stupid of you to value what he says above what he does. You should focus on the ignorance and never ending games that he put you through rather than his empty confessions from three years ago and mysterious lab riddles. Maybe this way it would be easier to forget, to forgive yourself for that stumble, to accept that Bakugo and you meant nothing.

It has been easier this way up until the point when once more the one and only forced himself into your mind and life in a drastic manner.

You were sitting between an elephant with a hoover pipe instead of a trunk and Denki who played the flute, listening to a lecture about something important that you couldn’t exactly make out. The letters on the huge blackboard seemed like a different language. It was going on forever, you felt like you lost a few days in that seat but the man at the centre just couldn’t stop talking, and you couldn’t stop listening.

Suddenly an annoying chime cut through the air and you saw the lecturer take out his phone. He answered it and began to climb the widening stairs of the grand room. He walked and walked and walked until he was right in front of you.

Denki was still playing the flute, now matching the demonic tune of the phone that didn’t stop ringing even after the lecturer picked it up.

“It’s for you.” The man said, handing you the device. Unsure, you brought it to your ear and…

Oh that freaking alarm! Blindly, you pawed your sheets in search of your phone. Five more minutes, you just need to swipe up and the alarm will ring in another five minutes. Yet, when you unglued your eyes to grace yourself with a few more minutes of sleep, you saw that it was not the alarm, it was indeed a phone call.

The fat letters read: M Agency Office.

It was nearly 2 am.

Rubbing your face to shake off the sleep you picked up. What you expected was the voice of boobie-the-secretary, instead it was the boss herself.

“Hello. I’m sorry to bother you at this hour but we need you at the agency right now. Can you get here? Do you need a lift?”

“I can come.” You muttered, already pulling on some random pair of pants. What the hell has happened?

The place was dark and abandoned. You were stupid to think it was boobie calling you at this hour, even if it’s usually her at the entrance office. She couldn’t be here, not at this hour. You shouldn’t be either.

After multiple twists and turns in the see-through maze that now gave you a view of the city at night, you found Miruko in her office. She gestured for you to sit, taking a place herself. Her eyes were slightly puffy, sleep-deprived, back slouching and cracking when she rested it in her throne. That’s the reality of pro-heroes, lack of sleep and a multitude of problems.

“I don’t want to keep you here longer than necessary. I will get straight to the point.” Your head bounced back and forth, like a puppy following its master. “Bakugo had an accident. He’s getting discharged from the hospital right now. Nothing deadly but he’s gonna need some time to recollect before he gets back to work.”

A lump nested itself in your throat. Bakugo had an accident. How bad was it? Not deadly, okay, but what did she mean by time to recollect, how severe, what happened exactly? You wanted to ask so many questions but in reality, couldn't even swallow properly for fear of Miruko hearing it.

“We examined what was the reason for the accident. From the quick research it came out that your alteration to his gear was at fault, it seems to be poorly measured. And now I want to ask you, did you measure him yourself? We really don't want to be looking into it more than necessary. Your thruthfulness would save us a lot of time.”

You blinked a few times, your eyes growing wider and wider, not leaving Miruko’s face. Suddenly, you looked to the side, afraid of her, as if she could turn you to stone with her stare.

The measurements, the measurements were wrong. Bakugo had an accident because of you, because of your faulty work. What did it mean to you as a wannabe support? They say high risk high reward but an accident due to poorly put-up gear? That’s not a rookie mistake, that’s not a common thing, that’s a very bad strain on your page. That will be opinion making, that will be career breaking.

You felt a twist in your guts. You sent so many emails, so many texts, asking him to come and give you those damned measurements. He never agreed, he always slipped past your due dates, shrugging you off like an annoying fly buzzing next to an ear.

Gripping the armrests you locked back at Miruko, breathing in a solid dose of air to tell Bakugo off, to spill what shitty attitude he had. You will tell her how he put personal life before work, how he avoided you and refused to cooperate on such an important matter because he was bitching about a past fling you had. You will tell her that, as much dread as you feel right now, it was still him asking for trouble, he brought that accident upon himself by not listening to your demands! And just when you were about to start your rant, realisation hit you and you deflated like a forgotten balloon after a party, your lungs collapsing into a hiccup.

You weren’t any better. You know how Bakugo is. What exactly stopped you from going to look for him yourself. To find him at work, at the uni, in the dorms, anywhere! Oh yes, it was your pride and fear. You were too proud to be seen searching for him, to let it get to his ears that you were the one reaching your hand first once again. You were too scared to see him, too comfortable in your little pit of despair, too caught up in forgetting to remember that you had duty to him. You put your personal prejudices before work.

“I’m sorry, I should have pushed him more.” It came out in a whisper, as tears or regret and shame started to roll down your cheeks. “I asked him multiple times to give me the measurements, he refused, but I should have pushed him more.” The longer you talked the quieter. You weren’t even exactly speaking to Miruko, more like to the pen laying in front of her.

It was quiet, the air-conditioning shut down, the buzz of lamps non-existent. Just you, your breath and sorrow.

“I understand.” Miruko tried to gain your attention but she surrendered seeing that you will most probably not look at her face again tonight. She knew fear well, could smell it in the air. Right now you were frightened and she didn’t want to deepen it more than necessary, turn the blade already sheathed in your guts. But she had to tell you one more thing.

“As much as I dislike it, given Bakugo’s attitude, I cannot let this situation slip. It must be put down into your work history. That doesn’t mean I kick you out, you still have a place here and you still work with Bakugo, at least for now. Today nothing much changes but… You’re a smart girl, you know what it means.”

You do, so you nod your head. Then you go home, then you go to bed, then you don’t sleep for the whole night feeling like emptiness that weighs thousands of tons.

The morning is dizzy, you feel tired but unable to fall asleep. Or maybe you did fall asleep for a bit? No clue. You make yourself black coffee, a bitter one that will not irritate your stomach. And you sit on your bed, thinking, looping on the events of last night. They play in your head like a movie but you lack comprehending.

Mina sent you a text asking where you are, why are you not at the lecture? You try to reply, you really do but the messages don’t feel right. I’m feeling sick, have a headache, nearly lost my job, can’t stop thinking of Bakugo, help. They were not lies at least, but none of them felt like sending.

Before you had time to properly think of a response, which would take you long, she was already calling.

“Where are you, you left me on read?” There was commotion in the background, multiple footsteps crossing the university halls and voices talking over each other.

“I-I’m home” You muttered. “I think I need some help.” It came out by itself, you didn’t really think.

“Be there in ten, don’t move.”

It was not only Mina who popped through your door. Denki and Kirishima were also there, worry written all over their faces. They looked around your room, at the semi-mess that you made last night. Unmade bed, clothes from the office scattered on the floor, your hair ruffled. It was not bad but it was not like you, not like school-week you.

“What happened?” Her pink head was right in front of you, kneeling between your legs, clutching your palms. The boys, even Kirishima with his gargantuan posture, shuffled quietly to the side giving Mina as much space for action as they could. They feared that if they breathed too loud you would fly away through the opened window like a leaflet in a townsquare.

“Bakugo had an accident. My gear was at fault. That was because he refused to let me measure him and I made all the changes with the numbers from the system. And he didn’t want to come to get measured because we are fighting.” The words spilled out of you as if you opened a dam, one that was closed for years.

“Why are you fighting with Bakubro?” Kirishima couldn’t resist, too caught up, too caring.

“Because on the bonfire night, the end of school one, we had sex and now he is somehow angry because of it, I don’t understand.” Letting the truth out felt weird. It gave you the sensation like you lied to your friends for the whole time, and deceived them somehow. It wasn’t emancipating at all.

“You and Bakugo had a thing?” Mina was shocked but she held her composure for your sake.

“I wouldn’t call it a thing, I don’t know. We just went away and we talked and one thing led to another. Then he was… He was nice, you know, real sweet. He gave me his v-card but didn’t explain anything. Then I went abroad and ever since I came back he has a problem with me. And now it escalated into work issues and I hate it!”

The pink haired patted your back looking back and forth between her boyfriend and Denki.

Later on, when you were taken care of and sleeping off the awful night they talked, asking each other whether the other one knew about you and Bakugo. Denki shook his head, sparing everyone backhanded jokes right now. Mina bounced on her feet asking why you didn’t tell her about something that huge. Kirishima assured her that it’s Bakugo we’re talking about and she agreed. You could never know when it came to him.

Everyone agreed that it was unexpected, shocking, weird maybe? No, not weird, rather changing everything. Now, when they will look at one of you, they will think about that intimacy shared, those things unspoken, they will seek the hurt on your stubborn faces. They will know that you were Bakugo’s first and that something's wrong with it, maybe with him? There’s an elephant in the room and no door big enough to lead it out peacefully.

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