#only to be stabbed in his guts like what even | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

feelfreetopleasemexo · 3 days ago

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Fem reader x bakugo He finds them hurt on the battlefield, Takes reader home and takes care of them then they dance together

The first slow dance

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️✴️✴️✴️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

song at the end

You lay there in a pool of blood, dirt and sweat as the edges of the world started to haze. As you looked up to the pinky purple clouds sprinkled in the sky, all the colours started to turn opaque and the loud ringing in your ears deafened you, suddenly the clouds became enshrouded in smoke as the air around you grew darker, thicker, heavier on your face. You couldn't feel the lower half of your body anymore, all you could feel was the cold puddle clawing it's way further and further up your arm, tainting your hair a pinky brown on the ends. You see sparks twinkling in the skies as you swear you saw the end, started to picture Kacchans face screaming at you, panting above you, tears falling onto your face, was this your 7 minutes? You thought it was memories, a montage to your best bits in life, not the most heart breaking scene you'd ever seen...then suddenly he slaps you. Hard.

As he shakes you to keep you conscious, the slap starts to fill your cheeks back with warmth, only slightly, but the contrast of this against your grey cold skin makes you shudder slightly. You blink slowly at him, as if it takes every single ounce of your soul to keep opening them back up as they fall closed. His mouth is moving but you can't comprehend any of the words that are being thrown at you. You glance from his lips to his eyes, your eye lids fluttering slightly, desperately trying to stay open, as a smile curls its way to the corner of your lips. He really was the most beautiful man you'd ever seen, even if he was an asshole to you most of the time.

As he lays your head gently on the floor, you feel your chest start to aggressively rise and fall, you can't even muster up the energy to move your eyes to his anymore, they just hung staring at the blood stained brick wall next to you. As he pumped your chest aggressively, trying to help keep your heart beating, he forced his mouth over yours and forced air into your lungs. He was trying to perform CPR, thinking you've finally died. Your mind started to wander to memories of your first day at his agency, the way he looked at you, barked orders at you, smacked your ass sometimes to get a rise out of you. Then the way he always brought you coffee in the mornings, always made sure it was you that went with him on important missions, the stares that lingered a little too long sometimes, the way his hand would always rest on your leg as he drove you around. Your only regret in this life, was not telling him how you truly felt.

After a few more compressions, you coughed and spat chunks of blood from your mouth, barely able to move, but enough to force it out. He scrambled up your body and held your face in his hands, resting his forehead to yours, letting his tears fall into your eyes and all over your cheeks. As he lifted his head back up, you saw him swing his head around and blast off quickly to your left. As you tried to sit up, a sharp stabbing in your ribs forced you back down. You couldn't move, so you had no choice but to focus on your breathing and try to stay conscious, he must have gone for help or something. After what felt like hours, your hearing finally started to return, slowly you heard his blasts and booms filling the area around you, and as you try to lift your head to see where he was, a body was dropped next to you. He bent down, grabbed a fist full of the mans hair and forced him to look at you. The man's face was completely unrecognisable, eyes puffy, blood staining every inch of his dyed pink hair. You glazed over his face, trying to figure out who it was, when it dawned on you. This was the villain that had cut you down, the villain that you guys had been chasing all night, the one who promised to gut you and leave you like a pretty present for your 'boyfriend' to find. Tears barely managed to fall from his swollen lids as Kacchan let go of his hair and dragged him back away from you. You could faintly make out that he was telling him 'thats what happens when you fuck with my girl. You get your first near death experience. You're lucky heros don't fucking kill.' your hearing still faulting but you knew him well enough to fill in the gaps you missed. Your eyes collapsed again as you fell unconscious to the sound of his footsteps coming towards you.

You wake up hazed and your head in agony. The white clinical walls burn your eyes, forcing them back shut as the beeping of the hospital machines ringed in your ears. Suddenly you hear him jump up from the chair he was sat in next to you.

"Fuck you're awake! You're actually awake!" He grabs your face and presses his forehead to yours, his grab forcing his eyes shut.

"Oh shit, dynamite actually has feelings? Damn I really must've nearly died huh." You snark, relishing in his embrace.

"You fucking asshole. I thought we promised we wouldn't die? Why the fuck did you have to go and nearly break it...." He turns away and pretends to sort the chair as he hides the tears forming in his eyes.

"I heard you by the way. Something about your girl I think....I couldn't really hear shit but I'm hoping it wasn't wishful thinking." You smirk at him, wincing as you grab your side as you try to sit up. He turns his head back over his shoulder to look at you from the corner of his eyes,

"Fuck off." You see a slither of a smirk start to push his cheeks up as he walks out of the room grabbing his phone.

After a few days of hospital rest, him by your side every single second he was allowed to be, you were finally allowed to leave. He carried all your bags for you and helped you into his car. As he drove you home, he tenderly placed his hand on your thigh like he always did, but the softness this time felt like feathers dancing on your skin, instead of talons squeezing at your flesh. Instead of driving you home, he drove to his place. When you questioned him about it, he scoffed and ignored you. Pulling into his drive, he unpacked your bags from the trunk, put them into his front room, then came round to your side, opening your door and tenderly carrying you bridal style and placing you on his bed.

"Bed rest nerd." He pat your head and messed your hair up as he then walked to the kitchen to get you a hot drink and some snacks. "Hospital food is always shit so I got you some of your favourite snacks.....dumbass." A smile creeped it's way to your lips as you slowly shuffled to the end of his bed, wanting to try to stand to meet him, but not gathering enough strength to maintain your balance, you stumble back onto the soft mattress.

He walks back into the room and scoulds you for not listening to him. He sets the food and drinks on his nightstand and picks you up again, wanting to put you under the duvet this time and tuck you in so tightly you couldn't move even if you tried, but you stop him.

"I've got a bit of a weird request Katz...." He looks down at you, less irritated as usual and more drinking you in as you were cradled in his arms. "Can we..... Maybe..... Dance? Like yano, slow dance or something?' your face flushed red as you stared up at him. You fully expected him to laugh at your request, expected him to throw you on the bed and walk off, but he doesn't. He sets you down at the edge, walks over to his phone and starts to play 'It's Been A Long, Long Time - kitty kallen'.

"Your favourite song right?" He turns to you and smiles, not his usual dirty smirk, but a genuinely soft, delicious smile. He walks over to you and picks you up, as he does this he helps lower your feet slightly so they're lightly stood ontop of his, as he holds your body weight up with his arm around your waist, and starts to sway with you. You place your head on his chest as you both slowly dance in the dimmed light of the street lights peaking through his window.

You start to hear him hum quietly along as he rests his head ontop of yours, as you make sure to burn this memory into your brain. His voice soft, shaking slightly, almost whispering into your hair,

"I thought I lost you. For real this time. Don't fucking scare me like that again, okay?" You lift your head to look up at him as he stares down into your eyes, as you flutter your lashes at him and smile, he leans in and places a sweet, tender kiss to your lips. As you stop swaying momentarily, you can feel his smile break your lips apart as you nearly kiss into his teeth.

"You're fucked now, you'll never be able to get rid of me. We're dancing to my wedding song yano..." He kissed you again, with slightly more force but still tender and passionate.

"I know."

#bakugou x reader #bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katuski #bnha bakugou #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #bnha bakugo katsuki #kacchan #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugou #mha bakugo katsuki #katsuki x you #bakugou x y/n #mha bakugou

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karumbusarr · 1 year ago

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the entire 15 years later scenes was such a dream that was taken away too fast. when you finally calm down thinking all the issues are sorted and they're finally freaking together only for it to be snatched like that. ep 8, you're a wonder, you gave everything and took it all away

#lovely runner #ryu sun jae #im sol #I know you all watched that kiss scene on repeat #the confession omg #the entire comical shitshow at his house #him running around #grabbing his heart cuz he can't calm down around her #THEM MAKING OUT IN SUCH A SWEET AWAY #oppa?#boi headbutting steering wheel cuz he finally got what he been yearning for #only to be stabbed in his guts like what even #i wish we got more hospital scene clarity cuz what if he was stable and he'll recover and they could've happily been together forever

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sluttish-armchair · 1 year ago

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I just drew the most tragic thing I’ve ever drawn in my life

#Ugh Winstonnnnnnnnnnnnnn! I’ll break you and Julia out of there and spoon-feed both of you whatever foods you want #His poor knees #oh my god what have I done I’m a sick sick woman #I have such a high threshold for disturbing imagery that even if what I did rationally is sad; it doesn’t feel like it to me #so I keep making it worse and worse until I practically have myself in tears over how pitiful the character is #Therefore every sad or scary thing I ever do is not only sad or scary; but absolutely horrific gut-wrenching and almost traumatizing #You see I want to rip people’s hearts out and CRUSH them and STOMP on them and STAB them with a KNIFE and— and— and—#I end up doing precisely that to myself in the process sjshsjddjjddndjdjdjdk #Anyway the camera will start at his face and slowly pan down as O’Brien proceeds to be a complete asshole to him #(have I mentioned that I want to beat the shit out of O’Brien?)#“You have almost no teeth and the ones you have are falling out.” [plucks one out] You’re filthy and smell like a goat.” Fuck OFF

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screampied · 7 months ago

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#WANNA PLAY PSYCHO KILLER? t. fushiguro

☆ sum. you know girl, usually when someone’s about to get stabbed, they scream—not moan. ghostface is supposed to be scary, intimidating, terrifying. but what happens when he’s tall, hot, and has a scar that runs down the right side of his lip? maybe his motive this time was to make you scream out his name in another way. welcome to act three.

wc. 7.0k

warnings. fem! reader, ghostface!toji, pwp, roleplay, unprotected, slight dacryphīlia, glove / mask kink, scream spoilers + references, dumbification, knīfe play, biting, he's crazy but your pússy's crazier, fīngering, riding his face mask, hair pulling, first time squīrt, cunnīlingus, pússy drunk toji, spīt, praise, dirty talk, petnames.

➤ kinktober mlist.

“now girl, what the fuck was that,” a husky voice that sounds a bit muffled murmurs out to you. you’re laid on the ground, quite literally seeing the life flash before your eyes as the edge of his jagged knife glimmers against the ceiling light. peeking one open, you’re met with the covered soulless eyes of an infamous ghostface mask, and he’s tilting his head at you. “did i hear ya right?”

as he hovers over you, you speak in a breathy voice. growing sheepish, you glance away. “um, hear what?”

“you moaned, doll,” he replies, and the cottony flaps of his costume brush against your skin the closer he gets. as the coolly aerating air turns dead silent for a few moments, you could hear the sounds of his irregular breaths – deep sinister breaths . . and for some reason, it makes your thighs clench, and not in fear. “right as i said i was gonna gut ya like a fish,” and your own breathing hitched once his gloved finger strokes down your lip. “and i put the knife riiiiiight down here,” he slowly drags the prop down your nearly torn top, “you moaned right as i was about to strike. why?”

“i think . . you’re hearing things,” you rub the back of your neck, but you left off yet another moan the second he slides a knee between your legs.

“nah,” the masked man jibes, and it’s as if he’s staring right through your clothes. with a gloved hand he pulls up his mask, only showing part of his face. he pulls it down inches below his nose as you glance at his scarred lips that show. “think i heard quite well, princess,” and he slowly grazes the soft end of the knife further and further down your skin. “besides, like i said earlier. . i wanna play a game—and we can start with me asking,” and he pauses, leaning up close to your shell of your ear, warm breath tickling against your lobe. “you’re not wearing panties right now, are ya, princess?”

right at his words—your thighs stuck together and you felt a shiver run down your spine. it’s cold, and it made your eyebrow twitch at how insanely turned on you were.

usually, most people would scream or run—hell, even fight back. but it’s different when it’s you.

as he continued to straddle over you, you could have sworn you saw this movie before. .

and now, here you were—helpless indeed and on the floor as he hovers his weight over you, waving a his knife—(a knife that looks like a sort of cheap knockoff version of the one michael myers walks around with) in your face while his other hand mockingly cups your cheek.

“and if i’m not?” you mumble, fixating your eyes solely on the hole parts that shield his eyes.

it’s like you were staring at empty black voids, and no matter how hard you squinted – you just couldn’t see him at all. all you could make out was white and black plastic mask, and as he tilts his head again, he’s returning the gaze. fuck, each time he head tilts and cocks his head to a certain degree—it’s like he’s challenging you, taunting you even, and you’d constantly feel your thighs squeeze together tighter and tighter.

“ah, well,” he thinks for a moment, feeling his covered eyes bore at your body. in his mind, you looked so pretty sprawled all out and underneath him. with your chest heaving in and out as he continues to strum his gloved fingers down your exposed skin, he hums.

“maybe i’d just have ‘ta take a look for myself,” and your breath hitches again once he slowly drags the whetted edge of the knife down your polka dot blouse. with a loud tearing ‘shiiiiek’, a few of your buttons go loose as he’s easily dividing through the fabric with the blade. “cute, i’m assuming you’re not wearin’ a bra either,” and you felt yourself throb the moment he pauses his hands, staring at your perked tits. “phew,” he whistles, giving your pretty physique a nice three second stare. “nice rack.”

“you . . aren’t gonna—”

“—what, kill ya? oh, no doll. now that wouldn’t be fun,” he purrs, finishing your sentence.

it was almost embarrassing at how your body responded to him. you didn’t just wanted more, you craved it. staring right back at you were those same dark holes of a mask that you desperately wanted to see his true identity.

just who was he?

but judging from his voice though, it was a raspy low. . somewhat sounding of a way of smoker would speak. the voice sounded a bit older and of course—he had the body shape of a fucking tank.

as he lets off a low sigh, he shrugs his broad shoulders. “you’re too pretty for that. besides, i’m hard ‘n that little moan you did nearly ruined me if i’m bein’ honest.”

as a small impish smile forms against your glossed pursed lips, your nerves lessen. you stare up at the man before exhaling slight sudden relief. so you were gonna be in the sequel, score.

“so . . . what, is this the part where i’m supposed to beg for my life, mr. ghostface?” you had nothing really to lose, so why not play around with him for a bit – reverse psychology.

“actually,” he clicks his tongue, swiping a thumb down the keen edge of his dagger. it’s an eerie dead pause that whistles in the air once his gloved hands brush against your skin before he continues.

“this would be the part where you scream,” and as he presses his mask all the way against face, he’s so close that you get a glimpse of his scarred lips that poke underneath the cover. “but fuck it. since y’er not scared yet, guess i’ll have ‘ta get that heart racin’ one way or another.”

and toji—who was apparently his name, does this in no other way but propping himself right between your legs.

long story short, everything escalated quickly. so quickly that one minute you were on the floor quote and quote “fearing” for your life and the next . . ? you find yourself being tossed on your velveteen cushioned sofa, voluntarily spreading your legs out for him like some slut out of a cheesy predictable horror movie.

if you were being completely honest, the real killer was his tongue . . because for the life of you, you just couldn’t get over how sloppy he moved it in different directions.

toji kept his mask on the entire time, but it’s pulled up just a tad bit to where you’re only getting a tiny glimpse of the lower part of his face. the fabric just barely shields the bottom part of his nose as his scarred thin lips press their way against your sopping folds.

“fuuuck,” you’d whimper, preferring this over death any day.

right away, you spot the scar that slashes straight down the right side of his lip and it’s a small but attractive feature. every few seconds, he’d purposely smear that part of his mouth against your cunt, earning out a candied ‘ooh!’ from you. within seconds, your numbed thighs were already starting to stick together – like glue.

letting off a sharp drawn out gasp, you glance near your nightstand and the alarm that sits above it. the time was a quarter past two . . and well, some would ask how you’d even get yourself in this situation.

truth is, you didn’t really know either but you damn sure weren’t exactly complaining either. toji found you a bit strange though.

usually people would run from him but you . . you moaned right as you were about to meet your maker. weird, and he’s heard countless screams but never once like yours. that’s kind of because yours wasn’t even a scream, it was a literal moan.

and he wanted to hear more and more of it.

it intrigued him – you intrigued him, and he sort of wants to make you scream in a whole other way though, especially since he’s got you right where he wants. sprawled all out, legs fucking spread . .

“do you . . have to keep this stupid thing on?” you breathlessly grouse, a cute pout curling against your lips as your hands grab the top of his head.

it sort of irked you how he kept his ghostface mask on the entire duration he’s positioned between your legs. with a tight grip, you yank him forward and he groans against your cunt. toji peppers sloppy kisses against your pudgy folds before staring up at you, a faint smirk twisting against his own lips. huffing out an annoyed exhale, you grump. “ ‘s not like ‘m gonna turn you in or anything. i never even found ghostface scary anywa—”

toji snickers. “yeahhh, right,” and you shiver, watching with low hooded eyes as he gathers a glossy string of spit in his mouth.

as your legs quivered from the single grip of one of his hands, he spits right on your teary pussy, watching the lustrous trail of slime drag down his chin. “i’ll think about it,” and he laps his own mess right up, dexterously creating nasty slosh sounds with his exaggerated smacking lips.

with a teasing pat of his gloved hand, he smears the slick puddle that rests on your entrance before humming. “cute, seems like y’er pussy’s tryna seduce me though.”

you let off a whimper, not knowing how long your legs could remain open as he’s toying with your clit. fat clothed fingers drag their way down your slobbering cunt, drawing various circles and shapes around your knobbling nub as a breath snatches from your full lungs. “s- shit, spit on it ‘s more,” you’d weep, feeling your own lips part into a curling ‘o’ shape as you’re in carnal awe.

“now, doll,” he’d whisper against your folds, slurping you clean and savoring the taste of your bittersweet fervor on his tongue.

toji brings two thick fingers toward the outer part of your clit before it slowly starts to disappear inside. it’s like a magic trick — you watch them slowly disintegrate inside of your sopping cunt and you whimper, feeling them curl their ways inside.

as he’s preparing to pump both digits inside, your tummy caves in and you let off a sweet moan the second his long digits start to scissor inside of you. “since ‘m gonna spare ya, i think it’s time we set some ground rules,” and as his hot breath continues to fan against your twitching sex—your grip tightens near the top part of his mask. “don’t tell me how to eat, yeah?”

a timid whimper was your response and you watch how his lips carve into a haughty smile. with a second thought, toji spanks your cunt and he hums, hearing the wet back-talking chatter of squelches leave from your pussy.

as you’re twitching and pulsating from the tender stimulation—you feel him starting to lay his long tongue flat. starting from bottom to top, he eats out your cunt as if it was served to him on a silver fucking platter. “afraid ‘m gonna need an answer, little girl.”

“y- yes,” you let off a soft shrilling gasp, feeling his callused fingertips prod deep inside your gummy clenching walls. toji’s gloved digits felt scorchingly warm inside you, and with just a swift motion, he twirls them ‘round and ‘round, barreling each long inch inside of your pretty pussy.

god, if his fingers were this long, you only imagined imagined what his dick would feel like. the feeling alone made your stomach flutter uncontrollably as your teeth sink into the skin coating your bottom lip.

this was bad, this was really really bad . .

you were probably breaking every cliche horror movie rule in the book . . or in this case, the script. you were supposed to run, not open your legs. but, what’s the saying? you only live once, and that’s if you survive his tongue.

toji was ruthless.

his head moves back and forth as he munched on your pussy, playfully nipping the pearly edges teeth against your clit. each time he does that, you’re sensitive and you whine out a sweet battle cry, rutting your hips further into his greedy slick mouth. your legs nearly suffocated him but he didn’t care, and each long stripe that he creates with his sticky tongue earns out a bundle of whiny whimpers from you.

you had no panties on, and he was basically eating you out with nothing but a skirt that’s pulled up toward your waist—clinging against your jerking, active hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you abruptly gasp, feeling your legs already starting to weaken.

by this point, he’s not even eating your pussy anymore, he’s damn near making out with it. toji’s making out with your pussy – with tongue, and lots lots of it.

he’s creating darting motions with the pointed tip of his tongue, barely batting a single lash of an eye that his chin��s starting to glimmer with sheeny slick. your sheeny slick. as you occasionally look down, you only see that same part of his face that’s shown—but it makes you throb regardless, just imagining just what he really looked like.

you knew he was tall—that much was apparent, a strong burly build and a cocky persona to match.

“yeah? give it to me then,” he interrupts your thoughts as a wolffish grin spreads across his lips like butter.

toji’s thick fingers resume to mercilessly plummet in and out of you and he feels his jaw locking. your taste—he couldn’t get enough of it, and pretty soon he’s the epitome of pussy drunk.

you tasted so sweet, and you let off a whimper once he pulls up his mask just a little bit further. “heh,” he huffs out, and he stops it just at the hem of his button shaped nose. as that same wry smirk compresses against his lips, you spot his dimples stretching out near the corners. leaning all the way in, toji gives your cunt a three second sniff before cupping his lips over your pulsating cunt. “mmph—actually, hold on doll.”

as you’re panting heavily, a look of confusion marinates against your features once you watch him prepare to take off his mask. with a bubbly ‘pop’, toji slowly slides his fingers out of you before glancing at your impatient face.

“ah ah, close ‘em,” he clicks his tongue, watching your pretty clit twitch at his demand.

you pout, feeling a brief sting as you’re being delayed of your long awaited release. with a cute sigh, you place a hand over eyes, your vision turning completely dark. “good girl . . now,” he huffs lowly, and you hear a bit of shuffling. toji sits you up and you feel something place underneath your legs. his voice was close, and it sounds like he’s near the side of you. “cum on my mask, pretty girl. can ya do that for me?”

“uh, okay,” you shakily reply, feeling him prop up your hips to sit right up against the ghostly mouth part. it’s eerily carved into a long hanging oval shape and you moan—feeling how warm it was from the front. it makes you pulse, knowing that his mouth was just behind that exact spot a few seconds ago.

even though your eyes were still covered with your own hand, you feel a daunting chill run down your spine yet again, sensing his cold haunting presence.

whoever he was, he was watching you right now, get off . . on his mask.

you let off a quiet moan as your hips started to rut against the propped plastic. you were drenched, and a bit of slick sticks down against your thighs.

toji feels his dick strain in his ripped jeans as he openly stares like a stalker — pretty, you looked so pretty like this. grinding your sweet cunt against the mask he wears on a daily. now that he thinks about it, it’d be a pretty good souvenir.

“touch yourself too,” he’d rasp, kneeling down closer to you. toji gets behind you, and you whimper once you feel the frigid edge of his knife slowly drag down your skin. he starts a trail, and he’s safe surprisingly—making sure to not nip your skin, but it’s close enough to where you feel the coldness of the steel.

as your needy whines pitch louder, you find yourself now guiding a hand near your bouncing breasts. a bit of the ripped fabric of your blouse runs against your fingertips and toji feels himself getting more hard just watching you. “yeah, baby. that’s it. get my fuckin’ mask wet so i can taste it after.”

“tojiiii, ‘m cumming—fuck,” and as he’s got one of his own hands grabbing onto your left tit, you end up finishing.

you’re cutely hysterical, creaming all on the mouth part of his mask as shame swells in your chest. “ngh, fuck fuck.” you babble, your thighs submitting defeat as he pulls you back against his chest. it felt hard, and you couldn’t help but imagine how built he probably was.

toji presses a cold kiss near the left side of your neck. his frigid lips makes you whimper as your head tilts to the left.

his touch . . you only wanted more, and he could tell from the way that the hand that was at first cupping your breast now starts to reach toward his wrist. “atta girl,” he whispers, and right as you were about to remove your other hand off your eyes, he places his own back over your face. “nice try, sweetheart. gotta be patient.”

you continue to pout, and toji slides the drenched front part of his mask from underneath your legs and brings it up to his lips. “mhm, would ya look at that,” and as you’re panting on his chest, still frantic from your recent orgasm, you hear him cleaning it off with his tongue.

he trails his tongue to where your cunt sat against the mouth part, lapping it up and relishes in your sweet taste entirely. “fuck, sweetest thing i’ve had in a while.”

you dig your nails into his thigh as you’re trying to get over your high, speaking in a needy voice.

“t.. toji,” and he finds it cute how you’re speaking through gritted teeth. he could tell you were annoyed with him, how you weren’t fond of his teasing at all.

“hm, what is it?” he replies, giving his mask a satisfied glance once he finishes. it shines in the dim light—and he licks his lips as the right side of his mouth twitches into a devious simper.

“can . . can i have a kiss?” and the words came out of your mouth oh so sweetly.

you don’t know what came over you, but your body was just fed up. something was screaming at you, hollering at you to get a taste. you throbbed, secretly yearning to feel his lips crash on yours. the entire time he was buried between your legs, it was all you thought about, constantly.

toji hums, tilting his head as he faces you. “a kiss, huh?” and he’s still got a hand covering your eyes.

he ponders about it for a while before a low guffaw leaves from his thin lips. “aw, you want a taste of yourself too, don’t you dirty girl?” and once you shamelessly nod in response, toji’s shoulders drop. “fine, you’ll get that kiss. c’mere,”

and you could feel him inching closer and closer closer. toji’s cologne was loud—it’s a manly musk of what you think was rosemary and cedarwood.

it practically blinds the insides of your flared nostrils the more he closes the awkward distance between you both. your cunt’s pulses start to quicken before he’s merely just inches away from your lips now. “stupid, stupid girl,” he pulls your bottom lip down with a gloved finger, and that’s when he stares at your pretty plump lips before whispering. “beg me.”

“i’m not gonna—”

“no beg, no fuckin’ kiss,” he cuts you off, and you grumble. it was almost embarrassing at how your pussy gave away your true dirty feelings. you continued to twitch, and you let off a defeated sigh once his smears a thumb over your wet lips.

“please . . please, kiss me,” and as you speak, he continues to softly caress the curvature of your mouth. you could hear him breathing from behind the mask. it was short raspy breaths and what would usually frighten most people, turned you on.

toji runs a hand through his jet black tresses before a cunning smirk pierces the corners of his lips. “that’s more like it,” and his lips were almost touching yours – almost, a mere breath away.

you could never get over how deep his voice. it’s as if he didn’t need a voice changer like the ones they’d always use in the movies. his was naturally just as gritty, just as husky.

“obedient . . good,” and as he playfully licks near your bottom lip, toji grunts, “mouth, open.”

you moan, feeling his hand reach between your legs, squeezing your pussy. once your lips part and your mouth opens, toji spits right inside, staring as your cute tongue tries to catch it all.

it’s quick, and before you knew it – his lips hurriedly crash onto yours. within seconds, teeth starts to clash amongst each other and you helplessly whine in his mouth. this, this was what you wanted. a kiss.

one gloved hand of his remains covered over your eyes whilst another snakes its way between your legs. toji’s rubbing against your cunt, feeling your cute hips grind against him as you try to squirm and writhe. you were still so tender. his mouth was cold, and you can’t help but moan at the literal taste of yourself washing back against your tongue.

you feel his scar that slants down the right side of his lip rub off against your lips and his lips curve into a sly smirk. “nasty girl,” he murmurs between hot kisses, and you gasp once he starts to maneuver quicker circles against your cunt.

you were soaked already, still sensitive from your recent release but that’s when he lies you back down. as you fall down on the sofa, toji deepens the kiss for a few extra seconds, abruptly pulling away. a pretty decorated string of glittery saliva tugs away from both lips and he wipes your wet mouth, snickering. “such a damn baby. got me spoilin’ you already, tch.”

he’s still got your eyes covered, but that’s right when you reach out . . not expecting your hand to grab near his hardened bulge that hides underneath his cloak.

toji pauses, staring at you before you squeeze it and he groans. “what now, doll? still not satisfied?”

“fuck me,” you murmur, but it’s more of a pathetic whine.

you didn’t care anymore—you were at your wits ends. the erotic two words and six letters easily flowed past your lips as if you were dying to say it for the longest, and in this case – you were.

toji’s amused more than anything, and he’s well aware that you’re far not like the others.

this wasn’t just a usual psycho killer versus helpless victim, this was something more . .

“strong words, baby,” he purrs against your ear, licking a stripe down your neck. toji holds your weak rickety hips in place, still shielding your eyes with his palm before showering a good part of your collarbone with a plethora of sloppy kisses.

uh oh, he was starting to get attached. already, he could feel it . . and he knew you were gonna be nothing but a fucking problem in the long run.

a problem he didn’t mind tampering with for a bit.

“say it again,” he whispers, and this time he picks up his knife once more.

it gradually tears down your blouse all the way from the center, openly staring your tits spring open. “tell me what you want me ‘ta do to you again,” and as his husky voice lowers a single octave within each coarse sentence, you squeeze your thighs together.

toji focuses the edge of his knife against your skin and you shiver, feeling it softly brush against the bristles of hair that coat your skin.

the thing that pissed him off though was that you weren’t even scared of him . . no, far from it actually.

you were aroused—hell, maybe even just as crazy as him.

“fuck me, toji.” you repeat, taking it upon yourself to grab the handle of the knife. he raises a brow as he watches, and you bring the wooden end up to your lips, deciding to be a tease and lowering your mouth down it. toji huffs, growing annoyed at your audacity — but fuck, he’s into it.

and all he’s imagining at the moment is your pretty lips that’s wrapped around the handle of his knife being wrapped around his dick instead. you start sucking on it until it taps near the scaled back of your throat, reaching past the roof of your mouth and he scoffs.

brat.

“got some nerve, suckin’ on my damn knife, girl,” and he snatches it away, softly turning you around, pushing you near the right arm of the couch.

you gasp, feeling him swat a hand against your bare ass before he grabs your hips. his movements were so fast that you could barely keep up let alone react. “fine, i’ll fuck you,” and he’s not covering your eyes anymore.

right as you were about to turn around, toji grabs the back of your neck with a gloved hand, tittering. “don’t try me. eyes forward, head down,” and you moan, feeling him pick your hips up—making your rear grind and jostle against his hardening bulge. “ass. fuckin’. up.”

you kiss your teeth, feeling another breath of air leave out your lungs before you whine. toji’s rough, and he’s got a firm grip against your waist before springing out his dick. he grunts, rolling his eyes as he watches you impatiently wriggle your ass, hoping he’d hurry up already.

“can’t wait, can ya baby?” he utters, stroking his length.

as a thumb of his nearly grazes his throbbing vein, his eyes gaze toward your sopping creamy pussy. all wet, and just for him. the antagonizing wait for him to just fuck you like you wanted became almost unbearable, and the second you feel his tip side-swipe against the entrance of your cunt it was over.

a swollen fat tip smacks vigorously against your pussy, and one smack turns into two, then three, then four. .

as he’s slapping his mushroomy cockhead against your drooling pool of heat, you hear a low chortle from behind you. “god, she’s a fuckin’ wet one, ain’t she?” and you whine, hearing yourself squelch each time his angry tip whacks against your poor soddened flaps. ‘whack’ after ‘whack’ and the sounds of his dick slapping against your pussy slowly started to clank through one ear of yours and out the other.

but doing so—the pulsing sensation between your legs only increased, and by now, you were starting to chew on your tongue.

anticipation was eating away at you as you let off a moan, cutely grumbling. “just fuck me already.”

“how ‘bout i leave you ‘n let you fuck yourself,” he snaps back, matching your sass.

oh. you weren’t really used to someone matching your energy—especially a masked man walking around in a ghostface mask but well, that’s besides the point.

toji’s still got a gloved hand wrapped around his hefty length that’s covered in lighting-like twitching veins before he groans.

he’s so fucking hard . . and the more he stares at your pretty sobbing cunt, the more he understands why. “don’t think you’d like that now though, would ya?”

“n- no,” you reply truthfully, letting off a pornographic moan once he starts to align himself between your gaping slit.

it’s fat, and you could tell from the feeling of the size of his monstrous tip alone. you sort of wished you were facing him but alas, you’d just have to use your imagination for now. “fuckk,” you breathe, already starting to feel your eyes rolling back.

the stretch, god the stretch. you thought his fingers was something but it’s nothing compared to his cock. your toes were already curling up, and oh, you knew you were fucked.

toji’s got a few curly black specks of hair that resides near his base—and as he’s slowly easing himself inside, he feels you tightening. right as you do, you feel a vein that runs down his shaft prod.

he feels it – you feel it, and you both hiss in unison. “goddamn,” he grumbles, staring as your own sappy slick starts to glue against his sculptured pelvis. tiny glimmering strands stick and tape against his skin all because of you and it’s just messy. toji smacks your ass one more time before lightly pushing your head into the satiny covered pillow. “move, move those hips or ‘m gonna pull out, doll.”

“mmph—s- so fuckin’ big,” you babble, bringing a bawled up fist into your mouth.

your sweet moans become muffled as his dick’s gradually expanding through your gummy walls, leaving his very mark with his tip. he’s rummaging through every part of you and you gasp—feeling your cunt welcome him wholly, your squelches becoming louder and louder. your tummy starts to churn the more he sinks in deeper and your lips form into a cute gasping shape. “oh, fuck. ‘s gonna break me, toji.”

“pft. don’t be dramatic doll,” he purrs, swatting another smack against your ass. the shape brief sting that only lasts for about five seconds makes you moan once your hips finally starts to move.

it takes a few lengthy seconds before with a wet ‘pop’, he bottoms out. so . . much . . girth, your empty brain was spinning cogwheels, trying to process just how could a guy be this fucking big.

your reaction to how well he stretched you of course, fueled a good portion of his highly cocky ego.

toji’s got a hooked curve too—and you feel it all. toji teasingly gives you one thrust, just one single thrust and you felt like you were gonna snap in half. it was that much power of his hips—you felt the wind get snatched out of you and the prettiest moan left from your lips.

biting down on your lip again, you’re feeling all of his hefty length massage the insides of your cunt. milliseconds shortly past before you then start to feel yourself shamelessly drooling on your split knuckles.

“fuck, fuck,” you chant in a quiet mumble, seeing nothing but inky black as your eyelids continue to flutter open and close.

toji had the kind of size that left butterflies in your tummy – a school of them to be specific, and you felt every single inch of him plummet its way inside. as you’re still babbling incoherent whimpers and whines at how snug he’s buried in you—toji starts to move faster with you.

with two hands, he holds you in place. darkened brows of his crease into a furrow as he sighs. “mhm, atta girl. see, look at you,” and you could hear the playful sarcasm seeping off his tone.

“takin’ it like a fuckin’—champ,” and right at that last word of his sentence, he starts to roll his hips just a bit quicker.

toji tries to match your berserk movement with his own hips, but he ends up beating your pace entirely. you’re trying to keep up but failing miserably and it’s just so cute. . but your face probably wasn’t as cute.

you probably looked a sight—mouth all open, jaw dropped and dangling, eyes bulging, pathetically drooling for more and more and . . you get it.

“hng, harder. fuck me,” you whine, the sound of skin and hips clashing repeating in your ears.

your sloppy cunt’s soaking him from the back, and his backshots were just brutal – killer.

each thrust serves its purpose every time and you’re left speechless. after a while, both bodies start to move rhythmically as your jaw’s just dangling.

damn, randy meeks would be shaking his head, tossing ‘n turning in his grave if he saw this.

under no circumstances . . never ever fuck the masked killer, and yet here you were.

but, who gives a fuck about movies?

you didn’t—not really, and when he had a mean stroke game like toji, you weren’t the type to complain. he’s hitting you deep with his fat splitting tip, filthily cruising his hips into you at such precise vigor until you’re just spouting a whole load of nothin’.

“ugh, right there. right fuckin’ there, fuck,” and you let off a cooing mewl once toji’s hand wraps around your throat.

with a few fingers, he gives you a safe squeeze that earns out a faint gasping croak from the back of your throat. toji uses your neck as leverage as he’s pounding into you rawly, ravaging your insides and all. your pearled clit’s repeatedly getting hit with his plump crown and you gasp, squeaking loudly once he taps against your precious g-spot.

all of a sudden, your brain’s fuzzy and you’re seeing stars—somewhat like a cartoon character. you were silly, literally being fucked silly. “fuuuck!” and it catches you by surprise.

once he reaches past that cute ‘lil spongey barrier of yours, it was over.

you were pronounced dead—dead from cock, and pretty soon you were starting to feel yourself go into a lewd white fantasm for a few seconds.

you’re dumb, dumbly fucked stupid from his sloppy enticing hits that you could barely speak coherently. it felt good, it felt so fucking good, and as you feel his heavy base slam back into you again and again, you start to moan. “yeah, i know, i know, baby,” toji huffs, and your cunt’s just addictive. your walls cling onto him tightly, hugging around him like a vice—threatening to never let go.

your sheer sweltering warmth from the inside makes his head slightly toss back to a certain degree and it’s sexy. if only you were to see it. “god, clampin’ down on me so good. work those hips baby, yeah. give me a fuckin’ show.”

as you try to match his crazed tempo. . eventually, you start to feel a tender feeling arise in the lower part of your tummy.

its familiar, and you can recognize that hot brewing sensation from anywhere. you’re close, and as wanton shrilling whines continue to drag away from your lips you start to spasm.

“fuuucck, toji something’s coming,” you whimper, dragging out your words, and you don’t think it was a regular orgasm.

it was far different . . the feeling was equivalent to someone harshly pressing a palm down on your stomach. your eyes squeeze shut before you repeat yourself through quivering glossed lips. “toji, ‘m gonna—”

“yeah yeah, i heard ya,” he maunders, and he’s feeling himself reaching his inevitable peak too.

it doesn’t take long before he feels the undersides of his meaty thighs starting to burn with hot intensity. toji’s fat cock continues to drag in and out of your goopy walls, hearing you squelch over and over him and he snarls. “fuck,” and he punctuates his thrusts, watching as your ass swiftly slams back into him at such speed. his abs that hide underneath his dark cloak tensing. “same time, baby. finish with me.”

“o.. okay,” you moan, and he’s still got a gloved hand wrapped around your throat the entire time. a thumb of his caresses down your nape, humming at your pretty twitching body underneath him.

it’s a sight he’d love to get used to.

as you’re both chasing your delirious orgasmic peaks—toji presents to your cunt one final thrust that sends your entire body into a crazed stupefied state. your plush cheek near the left side of your face smushes against the pillow before you whimper, starting to feel yourself spritz on him.

your eyes widen as it happens. a spraying geyser shoots out you as you let go—and oh, you’re soaking toji right with you, glossing his entire cock from the base down.

“oh my god, fuck, fuh—fuck!” you sob in craving pleasure, flapping eyelids sticking together from the pretty glassy tears that start to form. so good, it’s a feeling you’ve never felt before and you felt like a weight was gradually being lifted off your shoulders . . including your sweet pussy.

toji finishes seconds later and he groans, stilling his hips against you. creamy velvety bundles of ribbons pours into your cunt and he lets off a low growl. “fuck,” and his hand smacks against your ass again for the nth time.

you felt warm as he’s continuing to spill such a mass amount whilst at the exact same time, you’re drenching his cock – putting faucets to shame at just how damn wet you were.

toji’s cock eventually turns flaccid and soft as his tip and peeled frenulum spits a good amount, watching your body limp underneath him.

with a sly exhausted grin stretching across his scarred lips, he traces his fingers down your spine. “my, oh my,” and you whine, finally finishing. toji stares at your body, feeling you weakly writhe your hips before finally submitting defeat. “did you jus . . fuckin’ squirt on me, pretty girl?”

you did,

and you end up dampening up the cushions of your burgundy colored sofa in the process. you felt like you were floating, panting and heaving ridiculously like a dog. toji brings his hips to a sudden stop, gazing at the ivory wads and ropes of cum that fill inside of your cunt.

slowly but surely . . it starts to race down the crevices of your thighs, splotches of white splattering against your skin. in a dirty, filthy way, it’s pretty – in toji’s mind at least.

he luxuriated at the sight of you all fucked out and speechless. not a word came from your lips except for the occasional whimpers and moaning sobs that would tear out your throat. you were still arched over, moaning once you feel him slowly starting to pull out. “ain’t that a pretty sight,” he rasps, hearing his cock sweetly ‘pop’ out of your creamy fat folds.

you’re oozing out with so so much of his gooey lush cum and it makes him licks his lips. you looked delicious, and he couldn’t help but swipe a finger down your runny cunt, bringing his eager digit up to his lips just to get a taste for himself.

toji was a nasty man—but with the way you tasted, he was even nastier.

as he licks his gloved finger that contains the concoction mess of both sappy liquids, he hums in amusement. “mhm,” and as his leafy viridescent colored eyes linger down towards your cunt, he smears his leaky tip over your pussy.

toji grunts, making sure to paint the entirety of your entrance with his pasty cum that sobs down parched folds. “good girl, good . . fuckin’ girl.”

toji stays like that for a while, and it’s only after an abrupt pausing moment that he makes you turn around to face him. he makes you lie flat on your back, and there, you’re met with the eyes of a handsome smug man. his features were as sly as his attitude, and his ruffled black hair was naturally messy.

“surprise,” he mutters, and you intake a breath once he gets on top of you again. toji doesn’t have the mask on anymore—but he still has on the costume part, a ghoulish black cloak that had slits near the edges of his sleeves. “scared yet?”

“not . . really,” you sheepishly say, slowly trailing your eyes down his body.

squinting just enough, you saw right through the outline of his muscular frame. he was fucking ripped, and you felt yourself throb the moment you started to imagine him wrapping those big burly arms around your—

“figures,” he scoffs, though his tone’s a bit more playful than annoyed. toji runs a big veiny hand through his hair before bringing his watch up to his face. wrinkling his nose, he hums. “gotta run, doll. ‘s been fun.”

a pout pulls against both sides of your lips as he says he has to depart. sure, you didn’t exactly expect him to stay . . well who were you kidding, you sort of did. but you knew he had to go.

your thighs stick together as he remains on top of you, watching him pull his mask back on. with a slightly worn out voice, you murmur. “you can’t stay?”

“no, i can’t stay,” he snickers, knowing you wanted more. toji’s head friskily tilts as you stare at him with a cute doe-eyed expression, still pouting and he rolls his eyes behind the mask. “god, fine. greedy little thing aren’t ‘cha?”

and you hear a bit of shuffling, watching him fish a hand in his pocket as his jeans were now pulled up and made presentable again. toji grabs a sharpie out of his pocket before pulling your waist closer toward him. “tsk. stay still,” and you’re curious to what he was about to do, not daring to move an inch.

you’re all bare and exposed, and you let off a soft exhale once he starts to write something right below your belly button. just a few more inches down and he’d be writing on your pussy.

it lasts for about seven seconds before he stops, adding a heart near the end of what was a ten digit phone number.

“alright, princess. here’s my number. whenever you’re feelin’ horny, just give me a call, yeah?”

and before you could even reply, he leans up to you—pulling up his ghostface mask over his lips, giving you a long teasing kiss. you moan into his mouth, smelling a scent of his cologne before he leisurely pulls away. toji whispers against your lips for one final time before pressing a thumb toward your throat.

“i’ll always come back.”

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amtrak12 · 1 year ago

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*runs back to Tumblr dash and slips it over my mouth like an oxygen mask*

*gasping*

You don't even know what they're doing out there, you guys. Those fans… okay, those fans, eeeeee :S ….. They want to punish Eve for kind-of-definitely instigating a demon mutiny after her boyfriend broke up with her -- WHEN WE ALL KNOW SHE'S VALID FOR THAT! Even if it wasn't her very first break up in the history of humanity, she's a woman with really pretty brown eyes! That's an automatic get-out-of-jail free card in TV land, we all know that. Don't we all know that!??

(Breathe, breathe)

*slips mask back on*

*rips it back off*

Oh, but then -- BUT THEN YOU SEE! -- these same people also want to woobify Michael and make him a misunderstood twin instead of the shittiest angel to ever shit. HE FUCKING KILLED CHLOE!!! Stabbed her right in the gut with a super blunt object so it probably hurt like a bitch on top of the dying! So how is him being played by the same actor as Lucifer make him redeemable? Huh? HUH?? RIDDLE ME THIS BATMAN!! Why is it oh so fucking sad that MICHAEL, the evil scum, was treated appropriately as scum in the show, but MY FUCKING BEAUTIFUL EVE WHO NEVER DID ANYTHING WRONG IN HER LIFE is the true criminal who should have obviously been punished after S4 if the writers knew anything?

THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE OUTSIDE WORLD?! 😱😫😭

#This is actually inspired by some comments made several days ago but I just now thought of how to be funny with it #Those m/f shippers are W I L D you guys O_O #'I hope Michael isn't a dick in this 😥' <- actual sentiment left on my fanfic!#Not 'I hope he doesn't kill Chloe this time'#No no we're not worried about that #Because why should anyone worry about Chloe? She's being a big meanie to Lucifer after all (also sentiments left on my fic)#No we only care if MICHAEL -- the SEASON 5 VILLAIN -- gets treated fairly and is liked by everyone #... 😐#Well I've got news for you FANDOM!#I hate Michael's guts and the only reason he's not my least favorite character is because Cain exists #And I for one think his scheming manipulative quest to make God retire so he can become the new God is the most interesting thing about him #So if you water that down then what do you have? A nasty bowl of mush that no one wants to watch on their screens #And regarding Eve: I'M GAY! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ She's canonically gay!#What do you expect me to do: lock her up?#FOR WHAT??#For being too pretty???#She didn't kill a main character!#Just the season villain who was trying to kill her first!#And even then all she did was stab him and said 'hey when you get to Hell tell the demons to come get Lucifer'#The demons were the ones who didn't like what they saw on Earth and chose to mutiny over it #The demons were the ones to kidnap newborn Charlie to be their new king #Eve helped stop the mutiny!#Just admit you hate her for being so pretty and for being beloved by every other character on the show!#or better yet: JUST BE MORE GAY!#/rant #(a not so serious rant but a rant all the same lol)

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evilgwrl · 9 months ago

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ExHusband!Simon x Reader

You Want a Divorce? (Two)

Note: I feel like this is so bad im sorry!!!!

CW: Angst, titty sucking, passionate asf sex, simon missed ur pussy and you very much and vise versa, breeding kink, PIV (no protection, pls use it irl), squirting, simon eats the FUCK out of ur pussy, multiple orgasms, praise, hint of degradation, possessive!simon, OVERSTIMULATION, slight daddy kink… sorry

Part One

It was a quiet ride, the subtle sweeps of cars fleeting by as Simon gripped the wheel, eyes trailing off to the side to look at you briefly. Your head was leaned against the window, your knees knocking together anxiously as your daughter babbled in the back, cooing about how Mummy and Daddy were now back together.

You tried to hide the shed of tears that filtered across your iris, every small childish mumble like a stab to the gut as you listened to the genuine happiness in her tone. You would turn around occasionally with a small smile as you reached out to tickle her foot, giggles filling the car.

Simon pulled in, the car bouncing slightly as it hit the gravel carpark, his hand swerving into a spot before he turned to the back. “You excited, baby?”

Ella’s face lit up as she fumbled to take off her seatbelt, “Get me, Daddy! Get me! I wanna see the lions!” It was refreshing knowing she still viewed Simon as her hero, no matter how distant he was in their lives. You knew that even though your ex-husband was rarely around, his time with them did everything it could to mend the time apart. Toby woke up at the commotion, the toddler having slept the whole way there despite his older sister’s constant bickering about what animals she had to see first.

Everything seemed to flash past you as you walked inside, the whir of kids and noise sending your brain into overdrive as your eyes flickered to Simon with Ella swinging around on his shoulders and Toby kicking his legs in the stroller. You looked away; breath shaky as you attempted to compose yourself. This was supposed to be a happy day, for all of you, yet seeing him with your children, something that was supposed to be normal, felt so distant and unknown. Gathering yourself, you plastered a fake smile, hands reaching out to pinch your son’s cheeks as you grabbed the stroller.

Your heart hammered in your chest for the remainder of the day, fingers tingling with anxiety that bled into your veins, consuming your lungs with what seemed like everything but oxygen. It was a series of squeals and commotions from your young ones, their elation evident through the bright glow of their face, soft red resting on the apples of their cheeks. As the day quieted down, Toby slumped in the stroller as you tucked him into the car seat, his new plush crocodile cradled into his arms, mouth wide open as subtle breaths snored out.

Ella was cradled into Simon’s shoulder, her shoes half hanging off as she clutched onto him, dead asleep. You settled into the ride home yet your anxiety only seemed to heighten. You were alone with Simon, with no kiddish voices to break the tension, brown orbs glaring into the side of your face.

“Should we talk about this morning?”

You scoffed. “You have some nerve asking to talk about this morning,” you screamed into a hush, “What you did was completely disrespectful. Not only did you break into my house and kick my date out, but you left our kids in the car! What the fuck were you thinking?”

He cleared his throat, almost like he wanted to hold back how he felt. You noticed the white in his knuckles as he gripped the wheel, right eye twitching as he stared at the squiggles of tar ahead. “I don’t want our kids growing up thinking it’s normal for parents to separate. They need their mum and dad together, y/n.”

The world silenced for a second, the screams of the wind rushing past you seemed to slow as your voice cracked, seeps of emotion pouring out as you choked on your breath, “Then you should have fought for your family, Simon. There is no us anymore, it’s just them. They’re all that connects us now.”

You felt like all the ivory had been sucked out of your eyes, endless pits of your pupil consuming you whole, blurring your vision with fog as you blinked, hot streams of liquid salt spilling onto your cheeks, brimming at the cracks of your lips as you sniffled. You could feel his hesitation as he looked at you.

His words regurgitated in his throat as he stammered, tangled limbs reaching out to grip yours as you pulled away.

“Just drop us home.”

Your eyes had dried now, soft stains of bare skin caving through your foundation as you smudged your fingers against it. Simon stuttered as he pulled up to the driveway, tyres screeching to a halt as you sat in silence.

The soft strum of fingers caught your attention as you turned around, the innocent face of Toby looking back at his parents, tongue blabbing out of his mouth. “Dadda! You have dinner?”

“No, sport. Daddy’s gotta go-“

“Yeah, baby. Daddy will have dinner with us.”

You blinked at your own words, Simon’s surprised expression meeting yours. The wrench in your heart would never subside, the entirety of the beating organ still belonging to your ex-husband, but being a mother was a sacrifice. And you would sacrifice yourself in every existence you become one if it meant your children didn’t have to battle the same internal wounds.

“They’re tucked in,” Simon said, voice soft as he noticed your withered body in the couch. Your hair was messy now, strands spitting out as you anxiously tucked them back in, smoothing them down with the dampness of your palms as you ran around all night, ushering to the demands of your children.

“Thank you.”

You felt ill, your tongue cascading down your throat as you palmed at your knees, desperate for him to leave yet desperate for him to stay. Simon stilled, keys jangling in his hand before he sat down next to you, his weight disrupting the couch as he shuffled around.

“I need you to know that I did want to fight for you, y/n. I have counted every single day since you handed me those papers, waiting by my phone every single night on deployment hoping for you to text me, call me, fuck - blow my phone up. I never wanted the temporary absence that we had apart become permanent. Everything I said,” he breathed, voice cracking slightly as he looked away, “Everything I said on October 6th, 7 years ago, I meant. You weren’t supposed to get away from me - I shouldn’t have - I shouldn’t have let you get away from me.”

It was strange. Simon was never one for feelings, the brutality of his job allowed for any harsh emotions to crack through his fingers as he pulled a trigger, any dampness of tears would sweat through his skin as he pummelled a blade into an enemies head.

But it was you. And you weren’t violent, or any enemy, you were his wife, the person he vowed his entirety too.

Your anxious cascade cracked as you whimpered out a sob, chest heaving as you buried your face, tight with tears, into the pillows of your hands. You felt warmth spread through you, the texture of Simon’s fingers burning through you like wildfire, every ember he felt scorching through your flesh as he pulled you in.

Arms tangled together, intwining like wool as he wrapped you into his chest nimbly. A zephyr ran through you, your wrists clutched in his hands as you straddled him, the weight of you feeling like the grandest treasure upon him.

It was nothing strange, nor sexual but Simon recognised that cry, the differing pitch as you shuffled your frame into his. Simon knew you like the back of his hand, every crevice, every crease, every scar. He knew your backstory, and the one you made up to impress people. He knew the hex of the colour of your eyes and the print of your thumb. No papers would take that away from him.

Soaked eyelashes clumped into one as you looked up at him, orbs resembling once of a doe, innocence seeping through every inch of a salt-stained tear. His eyes met yours, apertures of cocoa reflecting your weary frame as you gripped onto him.

“Let me come home, please.”

Simon’s voice was desperate, it was raw, any shed of arrogance erased through the lines, eyebrows knotted together as he rubbed at the small of your back.

Your nod was subtle, but he could practically hear it, calloused hands gripping at the plush of your cheek and seeping through the tip of your spine, thumb rubbing at your earlobe as he clutched onto you.

Hot, seething pricks ran through your limbs as your lips connected, saline lining your mouth as he lapped at the heat of your tongue, rough groans leaving his lips as he savoured the taste.

Any diffidence left your body as familiarity sunk back into you. Hands pawed at the globe of your ass, gripping the flesh as anguished limbs wrapped around Simon’s waist.

With an easy tug, he lifted you, your hands wrapping around his neck as he pulled you in closer, teeth kissing. You never questioned Simon’s strength, and you wouldn’t start now as you felt your back hit your mattress.

He tugged at his shirt, the black fabric pooling on the floor as you sucked in a breath. Your eyes traced every scar, lighter flesh engraved into the skin of his torso, a short trail of hair disappearing into his pants as you stared at his burly physique.

Simon gripped at your shirt, the material practically ripping before his hands were at your chest, grabbing at your flesh desperately as you tangled your fingers into your bra, sliding it off. His mouth was hot on your chest, the sound of moans and pants filling the air as he positioned himself between your legs, teeth grazing the hard nubs, sucking with fervour as you whined, your hand at the base of his head, cradling it.

“Missed these so fucking much,” he practically whined, groping your tits as he pinched your nipples, lips sucking deep marks of possession into the soft skin. Your pants were desperate, begging him for more as you pulled his hair, fingernails clawing at his scalp.

Your hands fumbled with your pants, hips raising as he slid them off, clumsy fingers chucking them across the room as you laughed, lips connecting once more in a giggly state as his thumb pushed against the wetness of your panties.

“Missed how fucking wet you got for me. Such a good fucking girl,” he groaned, fingers rubbing at your heat through the thin cloth eliciting a pained moan from you.

“Simon - I need more, been so long.”

He choked out a laugh as his fingers hooked into the fabric, lace dribbling down your leg before he mewled at the sight of you. His hands held your thighs apart, your soaking cunt on display as it throbbed, slick folds glistening in the poor lighting.

“Prettiest fucking pussy,” he choked out to himself, placing your legs over his shoulder as he knelt down. Your back arched as you felt his tongue lick a long stripe of your pussy, his body seething for a taste of you as his lips found your neglected clit.

He lapped at you mercilessly, your cries and moans moulding into one with the filthy squelches of his mouth against your heat. Long digits circled your entrance, teasing you, before they curled in.

Your eyes rolled, pools of ivory exposed as you let out a guttural moan, your thighs tightening around his ears as he smirked against your pussy. Cocky fingers rubbed at the right spot, favouring the clench of your tight hole as he pulled every noise he could get from you.

You were barely cohesive as he lapped at your slick, the throbbing of your clit edging him on as he soothed your g-spot with the pad of his fingers. The coil you had only ever felt with Simon began to build, the familiar sensation pooling in your stomach as you stuttered out a whimper.

“Si- too much - I’m gonna-“

“That’s it baby,” he cooed, pulling away from your pussy for a second to take in your expression as you came, your face contorted with pleasure as your legs jerked, pussy wrapping tighter around his abusing digits as he fucked you through it with them. You looked down at him, saliva and your slick coating his mouth and chin as he grinned.

You stammered out a groan as his mouth attached back on your pussy, slurping up your liquid gold as you attempted to push his head away in overstimulation.

“Oh my- fuck - Simon - too much,” you whimpered your words commanding him to continue as he guzzled around your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive bud as your legs shook uncontrollably.

It wasn’t long before the continuation from your previous orgasm rose again, heat swarming your lower belly as you screamed out, your hand slapping over your mouth as you felt Simon’s spare hand wrap around your thigh, squeezing tightly.

You pulled at his hair, tugging at the ashy roots before you were gushing around his fingers and tongue again, sloshing liquids soaking your sheets as he groaned at the taste, mouth lapping it up with vigour. You whined in humiliation, the overwhelming pleasure becoming too much as you heaved.

“Si - no more -“

“I’m sorry baby, too fucking good. Will never get enough of your pussy.”

His words were filthy yet only held the truth, his continuous slurps against your heat causing your body to jerk as you relentlessly bucked your hips. Simon’s abuse continued on your pussy, your pussy gushing and coming another 6 times before he was satisfied, the sheet under you drenched in both your slick and squirt as Simon milked your overwhelmed cunt, claiming he was “making up for the months lost”.

You were dry heaving, throat dry as he captured your lips in a kiss, the taste of you infiltrating into your glands as you groaned, his hands reaching to tug at your breasts as he took in your fucked out state, legs jiggling and twitching as your pussy convulsed at the number of orgasms he dragged out of you.

You felt like you had been lying here for hours, yet you weren’t satisfied. You would only be content when he was inside you, stretching you to the brim as he pumped a load inside your worn-out hole.

“Simon - please - I can’t… I need you now,” you were practically crying, tears shedding at the brim of your eyes, bottom lip jutting out as he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, slicking back the sweat on your forehead.

“I know baby, done so well for Daddy, hm? Even after all that you still need to be plugged full of me don’t you?”

You nodded as a harsh slap landed against your clit, your body jolting as you squeaked. “Yes, please,” you cried, “Please Daddy.”

His hands were like clockwork, tearing at his jeans as they released his cock, a satisfied groan leaving his body as he gripped at the tent in his pants, a sticky wet patch soaking the material before his length throbbed out, angry tip slapping his stomach as a trail of precum glistened against the base of his cock.

His dick was flushed red, begging for release as he ran it through the squelch of your sopping folds, rubbing against your manipulated clit as you moaned.

Your hands gripped his head as he leant down to kiss you, his arm holding him up while the other positioned himself at your entrance. He stilled for a moment, cock almost pressing in before he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

The words were soft yet meaningful, your eyes interlocked as he began to push inside, your mouth gasping open as you clutched onto his shoulders. It was hard when you were together all those years to get accustomed to his frightening length, and now it had been a year and the stretch was searing through you.

“I know, sweet girl, you can take it. Such a tight cunt for me, so fucking good.”

Fingernails clawed at his back as he pushed in, your whines muffled by the palm of his hand as he held himself up his elbows. “Holy fuck,” he spluttered as he bottomed out, his lips connecting to your neck as he sucked, resting inside you for a second as you whimpered.

The burn slowly faded as you rutted against him impatiently, the tip of his cock resting against your sweet spot as you gasped.

“So fucking impatient, always been such a slut for me. Haven’t you?”

You nodded, whining as he began to move, moving his hips slowly as he rubbed inside you perfectly, your mouth wide open as your head lolled back. A series of expletives tipped from your tongue as you choked on the air, Simon’s pace picking up at your dramatic noises.

“Fuck - taking me so well-“ he grunted, hands groping at your tits as he watched your pussy absorb his length. It was an obscene sight and he loved it. Every fibre of your being belonged to him and it was something he constantly craved.

“All fucking mine - shit - my fucking pussy,” he grunted, thumb rubbing at your clit as you mewled, twitching below him as he spat, “my fucking wife - got the tightest fucking cunt just for me.”

You clenched around him at his words, knowing it was true as his balls slapped against your ass, skin spanking against each other as the sound filled the room, ecstasy roaring through both of your veins as you made love.

The squelch of your pussy was taboo as he lapped in the missed sound. His eyes took in the way your body reacted to every movement, no matter how small. He took in the way your breasts bounced with each thrust, lower stomach bulging as he pounded into you.

“Fuck - Simon - oh my God,” your words were a mere blabber, barely making sense as you clutched onto him, pulling him down to meet your lips.

“I can’t pull out, baby - fuck - gotta cum in this pretty pussy. Give you another kid, hm? - shit -“

His hips didn’t falter as his pace fastened, chasing his own high as he rubbed at your clit, your breaths growing shallow as your orgasm began to build. “Gonna fill you with my cum until it takes. Need your belly round again and your tits full - such a good fucking mum, makes me so fucking proud.”

His words were the final straw as the build up in your stomach popped, your whole body convulsing as your pussy clenched around him, a loud groan leaving his throat before you felt the hot splashes of his cum pumping inside you.

“That’s it baby, milk my cock. Such a good fucking girl for Daddy, gonna break you apart everyday on my cock until you never forget who you belong too.”

He didn’t pull out immediately, his cum plugged inside you as some seeped out, rolling down the crevice of your ass below you. Your eyes shut, gentle pants leaving your lips as you felt Simon’s absence before a soft cloth was wiped gently across your sex and masculine arms were gripping onto you, carrying you into the guest room before engulfing you into a thrill of heat, Simon’s chest against your back as you fell asleep.

TAGLIST: @kiiwiipie @nijiru

Disclaimer: im sorry if this is disappointing im super tired :(((

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sakuraszn · 2 months ago

Text

﹒♡ CONFESSION ft. katsuki bakugo

cw: lots of fluff, flustered bakugo. he’s such a cutie

The ramen shop was packed, the air filled with laughter, chatter, and the rich aroma of broth and grilled meat. The entire Class 1-A had squeezed into the cozy little restaurant to celebrate Todoroki’s recent jump in the hero rankings.

Bowls clinked, chopsticks clashed, and the energy was electric as the group indulged in warm food and lively conversation.

And at the center of it all—Katsuki Bakugo sat stiffly, arms crossed, scowling into his half-finished bowl of ramen like it had personally offended him.

Not because he wasn’t happy for Todoroki.

Not because the food was bad.

But because of you.

You, sitting just a few seats down, laughing at something uraraka had said, your eyes crinkling, shoulders shaking.

And it was driving him insane.

For weeks—no, months—Bakugo had been dealing with this… feeling. This stupid, irritating, suffocating feeling every time you were near him. It was different from the rivalry-fueled adrenaline he felt in battle, different from the pride he carried when he improved as a hero.

It was something he didn’t understand, something he couldn’t control.

And he hated that.

But tonight… tonight was the night he was going to do something about it.

Or at least, that’s what Kirishima and Sero had forced into his thick skull before they even walked into the restaurant.

“Dude, you’ve been acting weird around them for weeks.”

“Just tell them! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh, I don’t know, idiots, maybe they laugh in my face and never talk to me again?!”

“Oh please, she would never—”

“Shut up. I’ll do it when I damn well feel like it.”

But now that he was here, surrounded by people, nerves bubbling in his gut like an active volcano, feeling like it was a lot harder than he expected.

“Bakugo,” Kirishima’s voice cut through his thoughts, low enough that only he could hear. “You good, bro?”

“I’m fine,” Bakugo growled, barely glancing up as he stabbed at his noodles with his chopsticks.

Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? ‘Cause you haven’t insulted Kaminari in like ten minutes. I’m starting to get worried.”

Sero snickered. “Pretty sure that’s a new record.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Kirishima and Sero exchanged glances before the redhead leaned in again. “Are you actually gonna do it?”

Bakugo exhaled sharply, gripping his chopsticks so tight they nearly snapped.

“After this.” His voice was firm. Final.

Kirishima grinned, nudging Sero. “Told ya he’d do it.”

“Hey, I had faith,” Sero said, shrugging. “Just not a lot of faith.”

Bakugo shot them both a murderous glare, but before he could verbally rip them apart, Iida clapped his hands together, signaling for attention.

“If I may have everyone’s focus for a moment!” Iida said, standing up. “I’d like to propose a final toast to Todoroki!”

Todoroki, who had been quietly enjoying his meal, blinked as everyone raised their glasses. “Oh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Thank you.”

“To Todoroki climbing the ranks!” Iida declared.

“To Todoroki!” the class cheered, clinking their glasses together.

You turned, smiling at the dual-haired hero. “You really deserve it, Todoroki. We all knew you’d make it far.”

Todoroki’s lips curled into a small smile. “I appreciate that, Y/N.”

Bakugo scowled.

It wasn’t Todoroki’s fault, but hearing you say his name like that, so softly, so encouragingly—yeah, it bothered him.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

As the night wound down, people started finishing up their food, settling their bills, and stretching lazily before making their way out.

“Damn, that was good,” Kaminari sighed, rubbing his stomach. “I think I ate too much.”

Mina laughed. “You definitely ate too much.”

One by one, people began saying their goodbyes, heading off in different directions toward the dorms or home.

And that’s when Bakugo knew—this was his moment.

You were slipping on your jacket, adjusting your scarf when he finally forced himself to move.

Kirishima shot him a thumbs-up from across the room, and Sero winked.

Bakugo rolled his eyes before stomping over to you, heart hammering wildly in his chest.

“Oi.”

You looked up at him, blinking. “Oh, hey, Bakugo! What’s up?”

He inhaled sharply through his nose. Okay. Just say it. Say it, dumbass.

But the words wouldn’t come out.

Instead, he found himself standing there like an idiot, fists clenched at his sides, staring at you.

You tilted your head, confused. “Uh… you okay?”

His jaw tensed. This was already going horribly.

And then—because frustration was the only thing that ever helped him push past his nerves—he blurted out:

“Are you really so oblivious?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair before pointing at you aggressively. “You! You’re oblivious! Have you seriously not noticed?!”

Your confusion deepened. “Noticed what?”

He exhaled sharply, cheeks burning. His whole body felt like it was about to explode.

He had two options: Keep making a fool of himself or just say it and get it over with.

He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled, and then—

“I like you, dumbass!”

Silence.

Bakugo cracked one eye open, stomach twisting into knots.

You were staring at him.

Not laughing. Not recoiling. Just… staring.

Then—

“You… like me?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s what I just said, idiot.”

A slow smile crept onto your lips. “You like me?”

His face turned an even darker shade of red. “Yes! Stop making me say it, damn it!”

You let out a laugh—light, airy, and filled with something he couldn’t quite place. “Wow,” you said, grinning. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy.” His voice was gruff, but his hands were twitching at his sides, resisting the urge to do something—anything—with them.

You stepped closer, peering up at him. “You know… I like you too.”

Bakugo’s brain short-circuited.

“…What?”

You laughed again, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I like you, Bakugo. Have for a while now.”

His heart stopped.

Then jump-started at triple speed.

“What?”

You shrugged, smirking. “What? Are you oblivious?”

His eye twitched. “You—you little—”

You poked his cheek and laughed. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed kat’ I’m just messin with ya.”

He exploded.

Not literally. But his entire soul combusted.

“Shut the hell up!” he barked, face practically glowing red.

But you just laughed again, softer this time. Fond. “So… now what?”

He swallowed, heart still racing. “Now… now you let me walk you home, dumbass.”

You beamed. “That sounds nice.”

And as you started walking together, Bakugo felt something strange settle in his chest.

Warm. Light.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

#✎ᝰ — sakuraszn !#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x black reader #x reader #sero hanta #eijiro kirishima #denki kaminari #mina ashido #ochako uraraka

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writersdrug · 8 months ago

Note

no thoughts just waitress!reader showing up for shifts like nothings wrong after the date situation

just keeping it calm and professional. working her shifts efficiently and no longer bantering/flirting with ghost, who would rather reader melt down and tear into him than putting up the walls around herself hehe

Ok I'm combining some asks here that had some different ideas - I got so many of you guys demanding reparation for making reader cry 😭 here's the comfort chapter! (Still a tad angsty at the beginning)

Ghost had finished your tips for you that night. He had half a mind to slide a hundred in your payout folder as an apology for ruining your date... but what good would that do? That would make you quit for good, if you hadn't already.

He lays in his bed, eyes stuck to the ceiling, still in his jeans and black shirt. He wishes he could snuff out the guilt that sits heavily in his gut. He wonders what you're doing - probably crying, possibly making a half-assed voodoo doll of himself and stabbing his chest with a dull steak knife, because that's all he feels right now.

He gets up early the next day after a rough three hours of sleep. He lumbers down the stairs to the office - Price is there, sorting out cash and working on the next supply order. He looks at Simon, who's rubbing his eyes and looking worse for wear.

"Mornin'." Price says, turning back to the monitor. Ghost grunts in response, dropping himself onto the couch behind Price. His head aches from the lack of sleep, thoughts circling in his mind about how to apologize to you. He can imagine you won't want to talk to him - or, if you do, it'll most likely be profanities wedged between insults. He'd love for you to berate him right now, and make him feel like he got what he deserved.

Price sighs. "You sleep alright?"

"I've had better."

"Nightmare?"

"... yea, somethin' like that."

Price huffs. "I'm workin' front of house today." He says, grabbing the bag of tips and standing up. "Goin' down to drop these in the safe, then I'll help you stock up."

Simon opens his eyes, looking at Price with confusion. "You?"

Price nods. "Dove called out sick. Sounded like she's got the lurgy."

That delivers the final blow to Simon. He knows you're not sick - you're avoiding him now. All plans to apologize are now out the window, and the more time passes, the harder it'll be to do it.

"You've only got yourself to blame, Simon." Price says, heading down to the restaurant floor.

He curses under his breath as Price leaves. How he heard about what happened - he could only assume it had been from Soap. He drops his arm over his face and groans. He wants to call out himself, but then they might as well shut down the entire pub for the day.

Should he try phoning you? Would you answer, let alone allow him to get more than five words out? What would he say? "Sorry I ruined your date, I was jealous tha' ya got a life outside of the pub." There is no variation of an apology that feels like it would be enough. He made you cry, for fucks sake. That was a punishment in and of itself, but he still had to own up to what he'd done.

He sighs loudly; his body feels heavy as he drags himself off the couch, trudging down the stairs. He still has a bar to run.

It had to have been the longest shift of Simon's life, and he even wrapped things up a bit earlier than usual. He didn't have the gift of your incessant chatting or being able to tease you to make the time pass. Price was a solid companion in front of house, but there was hardly a conversation to be held - even with the usual bar crowd. The patrons had a look of confusion for the majority of the night, wondering why Soap wasn't popping his head out of the kitchen to chat every once in a while - and why the hell the owner was serving tables, and not the chipper, spunky waitress.

When Simon had locked up for the night, he noticed your bike was no longer in the alley. Johnny must have dropped it off on the way back to his place.

Today isn't much different - at least, not for Simon. He's still suffering from a lack of sleep, he's irritable (he had a spat with Johnny in the morning, over something he can't even remember), and his work ethic is suffering. He's not worried about slicing bar fruit; it'll give him something to do later, when he needs it. Maybe the rush will kick him back into shape.

He stares at the dishes on the edge of the bar - they're all in need of a good polish, but he finds himself stuck on staring at the bar fridge. There's nothing else he needs to stock up on - it's packed completely full with wine, champagne, and cans of beer. He gently kicks the side of it with his boot. He should be checking the to-go boxes, helping Soap with setting up the condiments and soups, making sure the tables all had full salt and pepper shakers. That's what you would be doing. But, you're not here, and neither is Price. He can only hope tonight isn't as busy as the previous night, otherwise he'll have to close some tables. Which would make customers mad. Which would make Price mad. Which would-

Suddenly, he hears three loud bangs against the back door. He freezes, the sound triggering a Pavlovian response. He immediately looks up to the kitchen window - Soap opens the door, and you come jogging inside. You greet him with a smile. He asks how you're feeling, and you say "much better".

He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he just stands there like an idiot as you hang your bag and jacket on a hook. Stands there as you push your way into the restaurant, barely sparing him a glance as you scurry by him. Stands there as you run up the stairs, two at a time, diving nose-first into your chores so you can avoid Simon.

He can't speak. Should he? What can he say? "I'm sorry," for starters, but it isn't that simple. He thought you might have quit, and was preparing his heart for the worst. But now, here you are, running back and forth through the pub and setting up your tables - and it feels like you've never been farther away from him.

In all honesty, you can't bring yourself to talk to him either. You're feeling just as ashamed with your behavior two nights ago as he is about his own. Why the fuck would you expect someone - let alone your boss - to do your chores so that you could run off and have fun on a date? Not only that, but you'd made a scene; you felt like you had half-assed the ice bins in your scramble to get them cleaned, and then you sobbed in the middle of the restaurant. The cherry on top, however, was when you called Price yesterday and told him you had a cold, calling out of your shift. It was a cowardly thing to do, and you could tell he wasn't buying your story.

But: bills need to be paid, rent is due, and you can't lose this job. So you sucked it up and came in today - Simon is easy enough to ignore, separated from you by the bar.

At first, the quiet bartender was relieved that you had showed up for your shift - he wouldn't have searched for a new waitress if you had quit, instead choosing to deal with the consequences of his actions. But he's quickly getting more and more irritated with the silent treatment you're serving. You only talk to him when necessary: a simple "thanks" when you grab your drinks and run them to your tables. You busy yourself between rolling silverware, (over)stocking napkins and condiments, and even going so far as to spray the menus down and scrub them with a rag. You spend more time in the kitchen with Soap; each peal of laughter shared between the two of you is another arrow in Simon's chest. He's stuck behind the bar, listening to woes spilling from drunken lips, forced to watch you flit around and pretend he doesn't exist.

You can't keep this up forever.

Still, you do for most of the night. Even when your shift is coming to an end, the kitchen closed while you close the tabs for your remaining tables, you don't cave and sit at the bar with Simon. You sit at the farthest table from him, the farthest chair, in fact, skimming over your tip receipts - and talking to Soap (who was only able to sit with you since you had helped him knock out his tasks).

Simon's never been as angry with Soap as he is now - and the worst part is he knows it's not justified. He's watching from behind the bar, polishing glasses so hard they might wane into cups. He wants to talk to you. He will talk to you before the night is over. He doesn't expect forgiveness, but he expects that you'll at least let him offer an apology.

One of the regulars at the bar looks to whatever Simon is glaring at, chuckling quietly when he sees you. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Stuff it, Mike." Simon grumbles.

Meanwhile, you walk back from closing out your last table, plopping back in the booth with Soap. "What are you doing after this?"

"Sleepin'." he replies instantly, tossing back an onion ring. "Been dealin' with a grumpy bawbag since early this mornin', and I'm beat."

You glance over at the bar; Simon's back is facing you as he organizes the beer glasses. You really should apologize to him... you just couldn't figure out when the right time would be. He'd still be working by the time your shift ends, and you don't even know if he wants to speak to you at this point.

"Is he mad at me?" you ask, tapping your pen on the table.

Soap sighs. "I'm not goin' t' be the middle man, Bonnie." he says, looking at you intently. "If ye feel like somethin' needs to be said, go talk to 'im."

You groan, leaning back against the seat. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't! He's already pissed at me, and he probably thinks I'm a slacker. What good is an apology?"

"Ye won't know 'til ye talk to 'im, hmm?"

"What if he fires me?"

Johnny barks with laughter, and you frown. "I'm being serious."

"He'd never fire ye." he says, getting up out of the booth. He stretches both arms above his head and lets out a grunt. "In fact, he was throwin' a fit yesterday n' today 'fore ye came in. Bitch took it out on me."

You winced. "I'm sorry-"

"Save it fer 'im." Soap interjected. He left you at the booth with the onion rings and your tips, disappearing into the kitchen. You huff, hunching back over your tips and scribbling through them.

Deep down, you know Soap is right. If anything, you could just apologize to Simon. If he chooses to be grumpy about it, so be it. You've got tough skin... still, you can't stand the thought of him being upset with you - not because of your work ethic, but because you liked him. A lot. And you wanted him to like you back, even if it was in the most platonic way.

But that didn't change anything. An apology was due, and you were going to give him one before you left tonight.

You grabbed an onion ring and popped it in your mouth, grimacing when you realized they were cold. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Simon making his was across the floor to your booth.

Great. Guess the apology is coming now.

He stops at the edge of the table, wiping his hands in a rag. You pretend to punch numbers into your phone's calculator, but they're all random - you just want to look like you're busy.

"May I sit?" he asks, tucking the rag into his back pocket.

You mumble out a "sure", still not looking at him. You hear his large frame slide into the seat across from you, polyester squeaking underneath his weight. You continue to do random equations on your calculator, letting a thick blanket of tension settle between the two of you. You can feel his stare burning into your head, his arms folded over his chest... and you notice that his mask is in his hand. You finally look up at him.

It's not the first time you've seen his face - you've caught glimpses of it when he smokes in the alley, or when he eats whatever Soap throws under the warmer for you and Simon. But this time, he's not taking it off to be convenient. And, dear god, you're just now paying attention to how scarred, rugged, and handsome he is - but now's not the time for those kinds of thoughts. You feel like he's reaching out an olive branch, showing a possible vulnerable side to himself. So, you place your pen on the table and lean back.

He stays quiet for a moment longer, trying to figure out how to start this. He wants to make sure that you know he's here to apologize, not to ask for forgiveness. From his silence, you assume he's waiting for you to go first.

"I'm sorry about Tuesday night." you say, eyes dropping to the table. Simon's astounded that you're the one apologizing, but you continue. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, and I'm sorry for trying to dump my job on you."

He feels worse, now. Was that even possible? He was expecting anger, insults - a detailed, frustrated explanation of what you did last night since you did not go on that date. But you're the one saying sorry? You think you're to blame for all of this unspoken aggression? Oh, you really do confuse him, sometimes...

"You don't need t' be sorry, luv." he says, gazing at you with a softness you'd never seen before, not in his brown eyes, at least.

"No, I do." you say, nearly pleading with him to let you be apologetic. "I was being a brat, and whether you usually do the ice bins or not, I shouldn't have expected you would do them without asking." You push your pen on the table, doing your best to convey your feelings. "And yeah, I was late for my date, but... well, he sounded like a dick, anyways."

Simon chuckles, watching you stare at the table. "Well, I owe you an apology, too. I jus'..." he sighed heavily, running a hand down his jaw. "I don' even know. Guess I was bein' lazy, or... I got jealous tha' you've got a life outside of this pub. Feels like you belong here."

He immediately regrets saying that - it sounds way too possessive and... just straight up weird. But you smile, taking comfort in the fact that he still wants you here. That this was the whole reason behind the mess.

"Soap called you a bitch. Said you were an asshole all day."

Simon scoffs. "Yea... 'm pretty sure Price would tell ya the same. And he wants ya back, too. Couldn't stand waitin' on tables, he was tryin' t' trade places with me all night."

You laugh. The world seems alright again - not perfect, but good enough. It might take a night of sleeping the tension away before you're fully back to your normal self, but this is a leap in the right direction. You look at Simon, into his brown, steady eyes, as they stare right back at you.

He breaks the silence. "I really am sorry for ruinin' your date."

You smile softly. "Thank you, Simon. I forgive you."

And just like that, the weight of his guilt is lifted away. The lingering sourness remains, a reminder that he had made you cry. But you had forgiven him, which was more than he was hoping to get tonight.

"Are we better?" you ask timidly.

He nods once. "Better."

You smile - you slowly slide your stack of receipts to him, biting your lip. "Cool - can I have my money?"

Just like that, his smirk drops - but you know it's all in good humor. He huffs, snatching the stack from the table and scoots his way out of the booth. "Always got money on the mind, eh?"

"I've always got rent on my mind." you retort, following after him with the bowl of onion rings. You plant yourself at your usual spot on the end of the bar, right near the POS where Simon cashes out your tips. He tries to hurry up, assuming you want to dip and go home after such an intense conversation. He slides the mask back over his face and punches his code in, trying to edit your tips into the system as quickly as he can.

"Simon?"

"Hm?" his response is instant, turning around to look back at you. You've got your phone on the bartop, and your back and jacket on the unoccupied seat next to you.

"Can I stay for a drink?"

He's melting on the inside, only held together by his own skin. He sets your receipts down and opts to do them later, right before whenever you decide to leave. He won't miss on an opportunity to have you stay longer.

"Course, luv. What's it gonna be?"

"You know how to make a cosmo?"

He chuckles, grabbing a glass from the shelf behind him. "Sure do."

#bartender ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod #cod x reader #call of duty

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cherryblossom-enthusiast · 10 months ago

Text

Unrequited (Arthur Morganxf! Reader) - RDR2

A/N: Whoever decided that there could be a button where Arthur Morgan says "good girl" how ever many times you want, I hope both sides of your pillow are cold.

Synopsis: Arthur loved Mary, didn't he? So, why was it he was spouting all this nonesense about loving you?

Warning/ Tags: Angst. But like SO MUCH FLUFF. Allusions to Sex. Mentions of violence. Coarse language. Kissing. Hurt/ Comfort. Angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 6.1K

Masterlist

Even now, Arthur Morgan was a lovesick fool for Mary Linton.

You shouldn’t have been surprised; you weren’t really. Arthur doesn’t talk about her much anymore, but you’d known him long enough to see he’d never really let that part of himself go. The part of him that loves. That dreams of something better for himself even if he thinks he’s the big, bad, scary man that he is.

And maybe in some aspect, he is that man.

Threatening, bartering, killing. Sometimes you look into his eyes and see nothing but a hard, desolate exterior that wouldn’t think twice about shooting anybody up so long as Dutch told him to do it. But the reality Arthur Morgan doesn’t want to accept is that there’s goodness hiding within the moulding of a gunslinger enforcer.

You can glimpse that goodness when he helps a woman on the road or gives medicine to a man dying from snake poison, and you can especially see it when he’s hauling his ass on his horse to help Mary even when he’s being pulled left and right to finish errands for the camp.

So no, you shouldn’t have been surprised that Arthur would ride out the earliest he could to help his past lover.

But hell, why did it have to hurt you every damn time?

He returns to camp just after the sun rises and light starts to colour the world around you. The air is still crisp, and the heat of the sun is non-existent on your skin. You’re brushing your horse’s mane when you hear the familiar holler of his voice towards Bill. You don’t look towards him as his horse trots towards the hitching post.

As he dismounts, he greets you, a little pep in the tone of his voice.

It irritates you immediately.

“Mornin’.”

You grit your teeth and put on the brightest smile you can muster. “Mornin’!”

He takes a moment. His eyebrows crease. “Something matter?”

“Uh-?”

“Nothing it’s just-“ he breaks to think about the right words to say. “You don’t look- Never mind.”

This only encourages you to grow your façade stronger. “So,” you start “what’d Mary need this time?” It comes off a little pettier than you intended it to be. He doesn’t deserve that, hell, Mary didn’t deserve your bitterness either, fine woman she was.

That little fact seemed inconsequential however every time he uttered her name and the familiar feeling of jealousy pricked, downright stabbed itself in your gut.

He picks up on your tone, not appreciating it one bit. The displeasure that carves into his expression almost makes you wince and the fake smile that’s plastered on your face twitches the slightest bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You take the coward’s way out, you always do.

You break eye contact and continue to brush away the embarrasment. You’re rewarded by a loving whinny and it almost distracts you from the ice-cold awkwardness you’ve built around this conversation. “Nothin’, just asking.”

Whether he believes your fib or doesn’t, he doesn’t let it show. But him moving on has you thanking God regardless. He takes out a brush, starting to work on his own mare’s mane. “Good girl.” He whispers. Warmth creeps up your neck as your ears tingle towards the baritone timber of his voice. It makes you lose all self-respect for yourself. He sneaks a look at you for the tiniest bit of time before continuing your conversation. “Her brother was involved in some weird religious group.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep,” he sighs “buncha turtle lovers.”

That gets a genuine chuckle out of you even though you don’t understand it. When you glance towards Arthur’s direction, the indifference has faded away from his features and all that’s left is a sarcastic smirk in its place. All frost has melted away and all too quickly you’re back to the ease that usually came with your dynamic.

You can’t help but throw a snide joke his way. “Gosh, if you’re still this involved in their family drama, you should just make it official and propose again.”

The idea haunts you, of course, it does. But you weren’t going to let Arthur know that. The more you joke, the more it becomes real, the more your true feelings become buried underneath a pile of age-old lies and supportive nonsense. Because at the end of the day, if it would make Arthur happy, you’d keep biting your lip and pushing him towards that happiness.

Love worked funny like that.

His smirk falls and you’re worried you pushed it a tad bit too far. “I tried once and I don’t know if it’ll ever happen.” He turns almost sombre, like thinking back on old memories that were equal parts sweet and bitter and this bothers you in a different way.

“I sincerely think if you were to propose to her right now, she’d say yes with no questions asked.” You hope he sees the genuineness in your intentions.

He merely gives you a scoff, slightly shaking his head. “Yeah well,” he trails off. “It’d never work out now.”

You decide not to continue pushing. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to dig deeper into the situation and even in your sorry narrow-minded state, you could understand and respect keeping your mouth shut when you needed to. You lick your lips and stick another sickly-sweet smile to your face. “Well, you continue on moping, but I can’t say I’ll be sticking around to see you grumbling around.”

That gets him to snort. “And where will the rough and tough princess be today? Helping a rabbit off the road? Wait-“ he pauses for dramatic effect “Talking to the birds and singing em’ a song?” He makes himself chortle quietly at the idea.

“I have a date.”

That gets him to stop cold turkey. He’s only met with a smug appearance on your end. “You?”

You fake great offence and snap at him. “Hey! Even I can seduce someone if I try!”

“No, I know- I” He appears shaken up about your revelation and for a moment, the tiniest fraction of a second, you could almost see the tensing of his jaw. “With who?”

It’s your turn to leer at him. “Why’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t I-“ he stutters “I just-“

You raise an eyebrow. “Well if you must know, he works at the hardware store.” You say as you recall the day you met the gentleman. “I helped him carry out some tasks and he gave me a daffodil in exchange, of all things.” You pointed at the flower currently tucked in the band of your hat. “Cutest thing.”

“Is that right?” He gruffed out.

“Mhm, so I’m gonna escort him and his granddaughter to a birthday party out in Strawberry.” You giggle. “He said he needed a ‘fighter’ with him because of his ‘old bones’ and ‘lumbago’” You roll your eyes. “Sounds like Uncle.”

This seems to take Arthur by surprise. The dark clouds in his eyes clear out and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Wha-?”

You bite your lip to keep your internal laughter from spilling. “Listen, I offered.” You explain. “He’s been giving me discounts at the store and that girl is just the sweetest thing and well-“ you shrug, “I couldn’t say no like the goddamn softie I am.”

The blades in his eyes dull at the statement. The mysterious scrunch of his shoulders from earlier disappears. He steps away from his horse and walks around his mare to shorten the gap between the two of you. It reminds you that he’s tall, much bigger than you are. “That bleedin’ heart of yours is gonna get you killed one day.”

He mutters his words lightly and yet, there’s some odd sadness you don’t understand attached to it. He puckers his lips as if he wants to say more on the matter yet can’t.

You put on your best Arthur impression, puffing up your chest and scrunching your face. “Well, somehow this don’t suit me, now does it?”

He wouldn’t even have to touch you.

At that, Arthur chuckles deeply. “Nah, you obviously ain’t tall enough to be me, shortcake.” He jabs you playfully at the shoulder and in response, you over-exaggerate the motion of being pushed back.

Though, if he really wanted to, Arthur could have you on your back in less than a second.

Before you can go further down that rabbit hole of thoughts, you carry on with the train of humour. “Besides, heard from Jerry there’ll be plenty of cute fellas around to keep me entertained.”

The clouds start to roll back in his demeanour, dare you say with a touch of thunder this time. “You gonna be looking at other men?” The lightness in his voice is gone, only replaced with the venom from before.

You’re befuddled at the quick-changing atmosphere, but don’t go back on what you said. “All I’ve got to look at are you folks all day,” you quip “A girl needs a change of scenery every once in a while.”

He crosses his arms, clearly not amused. “We not pretty enough for you?”

“Well, you are certainly, but I don’t know about Pearson.”

You purse your lips immediately and silently curse yourself at the admission. That same old shit-eating grin makes a comeback. “Is that right?”

You push his arm back, but unlike him, you hardly get the man to move more than half an inch. “Oh shut it.” You quickly un-hitch your horse and mount her. All you want to do is wipe his lips so it turns back into his usual frown, but you’re afraid you’d just embarrass yourself further. “I won’t be back for a while.” You pull your horse away and pat her on the side. “Didn’t know children’s birthday parties could take so damn long.”

“How long will you be gone for?” He mumbles, voice noticeably quieter.

“However long it takes for a fella to get me off.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. The sun highlights the tips of his ears go red. “Wha- What?” He strained out like he wasn’t quite sure of what he just heard.

A real, true laugh comes out of you then as you spur your horse into action, cantering away from camp. You don’t wait to hear the rest of what he has to say. His flushed look is enough of a prize to take with you.

You replay it all the way to Strawberry.

------------------

It was well past sundown when you return. Truthfully, you don’t even know what time it is, all you knew was that you were gone long enough that laying down on your cot would be much appreciated by your aching muscles. There’s a light breeze and you take your hat off, shaking out your hair.

The party was a success. Jerry and his granddaughter got to and from Strawberry safely, and really, that was all you could wish for when you were being hunted constantly because of the bounty on your head. You knew you offered, hell you were pretty self-approving when you did. But even then, you made sure to ask if Jerry really wanted a gunslinger as an escort, to which he replied, “Oh, shove it.”

Wonderful man.

The rest of the camp, well those that were here anyways, aside from Bill who was back on guard duty, are already fast asleep. The crackle of the fire is the only sound filling your ears other than your own footsteps.

There’s a small oil lamp turned on in the corner of your vision, brightening the blue hue and you instantly know the only bastard who would be up at this hour.

He’s drawing again. His brows are focused in that way you loved so much and he only looks up from his journal once you amble closer towards him. You almost hate that you’ve disrupted him. You could watch him draw for hours and hardly get bored.

He closes the book and looks up at you. You nod towards his hands. “You’ll have to show me what you’re working on at some point, Picasso.”

Arthur lets a huff through his nose. “Not gonna happen.” He motions you to sit beside him and you take him up on his offer. You catch a whiff of his scent, something like tobacco mixed with old leather. It may have been slightly repulsive to anyone else, but this was Arthur, and all it made you feel was safe. “You was gone a long time.” He points out, a bitter tinge to his voice. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You tilt your head at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow. “You just went off and didn’t come back until now.” The bitter tinge morphs into something like annoyance. “I was worried.” He mumbles low.

“Oh, I was fine.” You bump your shoulder against his, but it again, doesn’t make him sway. “Besides, I had a fella with me.”

His hand, the one closest to you, balls up at his side. He’s always been hard to read, but he clearly isn't happy at your revelation. You had half a mind in this late hour to stew in that fact. “Did you now?”

“Sure, one of them single fathers.” You let a small laugh escape you and shake your head, kicking the dirt with your worn-out boots. “Don’t worry, I’d never steal one from a married woman.”

“Was he…cute?” He mutters.

“Never thought I’d hear the word ‘cute’ come out of Arthur Morgan’s mouth.” You catch a glimpse towards him and again note the same pink twinge on his ears, probably embarrassed at being called out on something so stupid.

You finally start to feel that familiar flutter in your stomach hidden behind all that supportive “do what makes you happy nonsense”.

No, you couldn’t have that.

So, you bury it down.

It just became easier that way after all these years.

“That ain’t the damn point.” He continues to grumble. “Was he?”

You ponder the question for a short while. “I mean, he was alright in the looks department, not cute-“

He cuts you off quickly. “Just alright?” He scoffs lightly.

You remember the aforementioned single father in question. His looks are the last thing on your mind. He was alright, not cute, not ugly. Sure, you wouldn’t want to sleep with the man, but-

“He was damn good with his kid, and I thought I’d like to get to know someone like that more.” You reveal through a whisper.

This causes Arthur to frown, but his expression softens. Some of that constant bitterness fades away. “You- “he cuts off and thickly swallows. “You weren’t doing anything strange were you?”

You can feel a prickle of heat in your face at the question. “I mean, we talked sure, but if anything, I just maybe wanted to indulge in a fantasy.” You shrug.

He snaps his gaze back towards you. “A fantasy?”

“What it’d be like-“

God, why was it so hard to say? “Being normal, having a family.”

The silence that follows is thick and you immediately scold yourself for ruining a perfectly airy conversation just like this morning. You regret it, you do, but you can’t deny how nice it is to finally get that dream off your chest. It wasn’t original, what woman at camp, save Mrs. Adler, didn’t want that stability?

The feeling of riding was freeing. It gave you the grace of flying during a time when you were being held down and that will never change. But nowadays, you find that instead of being held down, you want to be held close. To be called important, matter to someone, so that when you felt lost soaring, you’d always have a beacon home.

“Damn it, you can’t be sayin’ things like that.” He forces out a murmur, a shred of his usual gruff tone.

“You ever think about that?” You tread lightly. “Having kids? Building a farm out somewhere and just-“ a deep sigh escapes you. “living and not surviving?”

It takes him a while to answer your question.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.” The vulnerability colors his voice and it starts to trip you over the edge.

You nod, pursing your lips. “With Mary?” You meekly ask, the crickets chirping making the exchange more awkward. You almost cringe at the silence of it all.

He tenses at her name and it seems like you get your answer.

“With Mary? I mean-“ He tries to dissuade you with absolutely no conviction in his voice. He pauses and curses under his breath. Arthur shakes his head, closing his eyes a moment. “Y’know, it ain’t always about Mary.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Arthur, it’s always been about Mary.” Sighing deeply, you bite your cheek at the acidic truth. “Even when you met Eliza, it was still about Mary.”

He’s taken aback by your statement and a subtle look of frustration overcomes his features. “No, it hasn’t.”

You want to say more, but your sardonic nature halts at his stoic reply. It’s like your heart stops, a coldness and a shrill wake your senses from the inside out. “What?” Your brain halts, all thought ceasing to exist except to process his next response. He tries to avoid eye contact, but you seek his gaze as you tilt your head sideways. “Arthur, what do you mean?” You repeat more sternly, begging to get a straight answer.

He throws you a stick of dynamite.

The smoke clears and all that’s left is the destruction that caters right in the center of your chest.

“What about you?” His voice is hoarse like this is the most difficult thing he’s ever had to squeeze out of his mouth. “What about when it became you?”

Ka-boom.

There’s no longer just a flutter in your stomach, there’s a whole damn circus, and it decides to release the butterflies you worked so hard to keep from their magical chest of caution.

You shake your head and your body goes rigid. You move away from him and stand abruptly as you place your hands on your hips. He’s quick to follow you on your feet. A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat before you can stop yourself. “Arthur-“

“No, let me finish.” He steps in front of you and holds your shoulders square, turning your body towards him. Even in your bubbling anger, you hate the way your skin immediately melts under his touch. His eyes and actions are pleading for you to stay, so you let him speak, biting your tongue to keep yourself from interrupting. He stumbles over his words. “It’s been you for a long damn time.” He admits. “But I was, I don’t know-“You notice the light sheen of sweat gracing his forehead. “I was scared to say something.”

“If this is some dumb joke-“

“No!” He immediately denies like he’s appalled you would even think of it in that way.

“Well,” you sneer “I’m sorry if I have a hard time believing that.” You remove his hands from your shoulders stiffly and start to trudge away back to your horse.

In the years you’d known him, Arthur had been a force, even more so when he was younger and reckless. He was stubborn as a mule and despite keeping the peace for the most part, there was a strut in his step when he walked because he knew he had the power to change that fact whenever he wanted and get away scotch-free. Arthur was arrogant in that way, always threatening people with a smirk or an edge to his voice.

But this is the first time you see him flinch and it happens to be at your curt words.

A lump catches in your throat, but you’re too annoyed to care, all but continuing the short distance back to the hitching posts. Arthur is hot on your tracks, not letting up one bit. Maybe Bill was overhearing, maybe one of the girls stirred awake. It didn’t matter, you couldn’t care less. You just wanted to get the hell away from here.

His catches up to you in no time, his strides much longer than yours. He steps in front of your path and when you make a move to step aside, he mirrors your actions. You click your tongue, glowering at him from beneath your lashes. “Look,” he starts “now I know you may not like me, but I-“

That gets your anger rising to incomparable heights. “Not like you?!” You practically shout out. Looking around, you remember where you are and it’s the only reason your voice lowers. “Arthur, I’ve liked you since the day I met you!”

His eyebrows pull together and his nose crinkles. Arthur’s face morphs into something like agitation from its previous confusion. “So, why all this attitude?”

You’re dejected. “Why all this attitude?” You softly hiss. “Why all this attitude when I’ve loved you for years and all I’ve heard about is Mary?”

Arthur winces. He steps back from you, recoiling like he’s just been shot by a sniper rifle.

Good, you think. He should feel like a right asshole.

“’Why all this attitude’ he says!” You giggle manically at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Where do I even start?” You begin to rant, hands back on your hips to give you some sort of anchor from sinking towards the ground. “I don’t know Arthur, maybe it’s because while I’ve been here stewing in self-pity, you were always out seeing her. Maybe, it’s because every time you were young, drunk, and broken, you’d come back whispering her name, mistaking her for me, and I was the one helping you pick up the pieces.”

Your heart was racing a million yards a minute, but you couldn’t stop now. All the hurt and sorry baggage poured out like molten lava, burning with years of intensity. “Or maybe-“ you point an index finger at him and snap sarcastically as if you’ve just discovered a newfound truth “Maybe, it was because I worked so damn hard to tell myself I wasn’t in love with you and you just-“ your voice breaks.

Arthur doesn’t interrupt you at any part of your monologuing. Just like usual, you can hardly decipher his emotions except notice the colour draining from his face.

“So, I’m sorry that I don’t believe you when you say It’s been me.” You continue. “You’ve given me no reason to believe otherwise.”

You sidestep him, not taking a single look back in fear of him seeing the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You unhitch your horse, giving her a slight pat before mounting her again.

- - - - - - - - - - -

You don’t see or speak to Arthur for a few days after your argument.

You don’t have much energy to talk to anyone really.

So, you somehow end up back at a familiar field surrounded by evergreen trees and flowers. The crystalline water of the hot springs gleams in your eyes and a chill wind sends shivers up your spine.

You set up camp and stay a while. The serenity of the woods is welcomed. You don’t consider yourself the best hunter, but fishing didn’t require the same amount of dexterity. It's quiet, peaceful even. All you hear is the chirp of the birds and the steady flow of water.

It gives you time to cool off, reflect on everything that’s happened.

The more time you spend out here, the more hesitant you are to leave. It's a nice reprieve from the perils of civilization and you find yourself slipping away, trying to grasp a sense of comfort that's unimaginable for you most days.

Tends to happen when you're an outlaw, you suppose.

But one day, as you’re laying under the shade of a tree, feeling the blades of soft grass beneath you, you hear heavy footsteps starting to approach.

There's no need to bother even acting surprised.

Arthur takes a seat beside you with a deep sigh. He leans back, using his hands to support him.

The both of you are silent for a while, not one peep out of your mouths. You expect it to be uncomfortable but having him by your side brings an ease you haven’t felt in days. Arthur continues to stare up at the sun starting to descend in the horizon and you follow suit, eyes trained to the sky above.

“When I met you, I thought you were nothing more than a naïve, innocent little thing.” He starts, baritone drawl catching you off guard. You don’t realize how much you’d missed hearing it until now. “You were this small girl I needed to protect. ��

You glance towards him and notice the small smile now gracing his lips, his eyes glossed over like remembering memories from so very long ago. “You could barely ride a horse, hell, you could barely mount one.”

The genuine warmth in his voice continues to chip away any frustrations left within you as you recall those days like snapshots in your mind.

“Every day, it was something new with you.” He laughs out, making your heart traitorously skip a beat. “You were learning the ropes of it all, and for a while, you were just a ratty brat who wanted to try on boots that were too big for her.” He pauses and you look at him more clearly this time, head turned towards him fully in an effort to really listen to what he has to say. “But Mary, she-“ he swallows “I could just turn my thoughts off with her.”

He gives out another sigh. “I loved her, I did.” He admits. “It was so easy loving her at the time. We had no expectations of one another, and then all of a sudden that shifted and I don’t know if I could have been the man she needed me to be.”

You ache but it’s not because he mentions his past lover’s name.

“So I ended up actin’ like a goddamn fool. Boozin’, sleeping around.” He groans, obviously not proud of his previous ventures. “Dutch and Hosea, they couldn’t pull me out of it. I mean, they tried everything, but then-“ He releases a relieved chuckle. “Some woman I’d never met before poured a bucket of cold water over my head and pulled out her revolver, threatening to shoot my dumb ass if I didn’t get up.”

You snort as you’re reminded of that day.

It was dry and humid, overall making it a miserable summer afternoon. Arthur stumbled back into camp smelling like he was doused in moonshine, groggy and slurring his words together. Even Hosea, forgiving as he was, cringed at his sorry state.

You just about had it.

After collecting some from the nearby stream, you pushed Arthur down and doused him in ice-cold water. He sputtered, clearly not happy about what you just did and attempted to get up to confront you. You pulled out your gun before he could and shot right between his legs onto the dirt below. “If you don’t pull your damn weight around here, I’ll make sure the next shot hits!” you shouted, utterly disappointed.

“Good times.” You mutter and Arthur’s smile widens.

“Sure.” He agreed. “When my eyes started to clear, I swear to god I thought I was looking at an angel.”

You had a hard time believing that too. “You looked at a woman who just shot at you and thought she was angelic?”

He tries to find better words. “I guess you looked ethereal all together.” He tries to explain. “Like you were something I’d see at the pearly white gates of judgement.”

You sat amused at his thoughts. “That so?”

He’s finally able to make eye contact with you and revels in that fact. “My vision was still a little hazy and you just stood over me, posture straight, hat on.” He takes his hand and scratches his chin. It’s a tick for when he’s nervous. “Your hair had a glow to it from the sun and your eyes, they just- had this fire in em’ I’d never seen before.”

His shoulders drop and the mood suddenly turns mellow. “When we were ridin’ around and ended up at this clearin’, you just took off without me and I realized how much you’d grown into yourself right under my nose. You didn’t change much, you were still the same old, sunshine, animal-lovin’ princess, but the way you carried yourself? Asserted yourself more? God-.”

He holds your gaze as he continues and it’s like the world holds its breath for whatever he has to say next. “You rode off, hair wild, not looking back at me one bit and I just couldn’t stop starin’ at you because I thought you were such a damn sight.”

“It made me wonder-“ his words trail off. He stops for a while and you let him. You know how much courage it was taking him right now to admit this to you, letting down those guarded stone walls he loved so much.

You lick your lips, and in an act of your own bravery, you settle your hand on top of his, to which he visibly softens upon. “Made you wonder?” You urge.

“If that’s what Mary felt like, seeing me go all those times.” He finishes. “Because I hated it. I hated every time you got on that horse and left, and it would only hurt less whenever you came back.”

Arthur’s hand starts to clench, but you flip his hand in yours so you can interlock your fingers properly. You give his hand a squeeze and the tension eases off.

“But then I hear you wantin’ to go off with some man and all I could do was mope like a sorry idiot because what if-“ His throat works. “What if you rode off and didn’t come back this time?”

“Oh, Arthur.” You softly coo.

His hand starts to make small slow circles over your hands. “You know I realized something when I last saw Mary that I didn’t before.”

You’re expectant to hear what it is.

“Every time it got a little too rough between us, she was done with me.” He perceived. “I don’t blame her, she deserves someone to make her happy, but I wasn’t gonna change fast enough in her eyes.” He squeezes your hand tighter. “But you- you didn’t expect me to change on a dime. You were patient, you understood that I didn’t want to start a family not because I didn’t want to, but because I was afraid of feeling that pain again.”

After clenching his jaw, he takes his other palm and cups your cheek with the utmost tenderness a man of his size could muster. “With you, I feel like I can be something else, something good.” You lean towards his touch, begging that if this were a dream, you never wanted to be woken up. His gaze is soft on your features, highlighted by the starlight above.

“I fell in love with you a long time ago Arthur Morgan.” You confess. “I keep running away because no one holds me close enough to keep me somewhere.”

You feel a lump in your throat as you remember all the times you rode off wanting to hear him shout "Wait!", but he never did.

“I know and I’m sorry for that sweetheart, I really am.”

Tears start to escape your eyes and you don’t bother wiping them away. “Loving you hurt so much Arthur.” You whimper. “I started to pack all of those feelings away if it meant I didn’t have to ruin what we already had.”

He presses his rough lips to your forehead and leans back. “I know sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He tilts your chin up with a finger. “If I could go back and change the way I handled it all, I would.”

“Give me something to believe that this is real. That I’m not just making this up in my misery.”

Arthur takes a moment to look at you before he speaks. He takes the time to figure out how he’s supposed to approach what he wanted to convey “Close your eyes for just a second.” He mumbled, his voice pleading.

You don’t question it and do what he wants you to do. You fully accept you’d be one of those pathetic individuals who’d follow him off a cliff if it meant staying with him and keeping him safe.

In the darkness, you feel him pick up your hands and place them on his chest. Under your palms, you feel the fast thrum of the beat of his heart and the laboured way his chest rises. You stay like that for a few seconds and match your breathing to his.

“Okay,” his voice cuts through your thoughts “now open your eyes.” You follow his command and you open your eyes to Arthur with a tender expression. You feel his breathing get faster, like he’s almost waiting for a reaction.

You tilt your head. “What?”

Arthur chuckles quietly at your question. “This is me trying to prove I’m serious about you.” His hands are still around your wrists, keeping your palms on his chest in place.

“By what? Letting me feel you up?” You jokingly say. “Arthur, who do you think’s being lugging your heavy ass around when you’re drunk, cause it sure as hell ain’t Uncle-“

Even in the darkness that surrounded you, you can sense his embarrassment. He starts to sputter to quickly get words out “Wha- no, that’s not what- I- you-“ He stutters, clearly flustered at the comment. He sighs. “Now, that’s not what I meant and you know it, sweetheart.”

“So then, what?” You push. You’re not trying to be obtuse in any way, but you want to hear a proper answer.

Arthur swallows awkwardly. “I’m just- I want you to know that my heart beats for you.”

It puts you in such a complete state of shock, it renders you speechless.

Just a couple of days ago, you would have been thirsty to hear those words drip out of his lips, but now that you’ve actually heard him say it, you don’t know how to exactly respond.

“Sweetheart?” He calls, voice laced with worry.

You slowly lean down and press your ear against his chest, wrapping your arms around him. He smells like gun smoke and mountain air. The fast bu-dump of his heart is intoxicating, making you break out into a smile.

After a few seconds, he slowly places his own arms around you and pulls you in closer. His hold is firm. Secure. A bandwagon of bandits or federal agents could show up this instant and he wouldn’t let anything or anyone so much as even look at you the wrong way.

He tucks your head under his chin. “I can’t give you a house, or children, or land right now, but I want you to know you have my heart.” He places another soft kiss on your forehead. “You’ve had it for a long time and it’ll always be yours as long you’ll have me.”

“Well, I never thought Arthur Morgan was capable of such sweet words.” You tease.

You feel the rumble of his chest as he freely laughs. “Well, there’s a lot we don’t know about each other it seems.”

You give his statement some thought. “Maybe we can start to find those things about each other out.”

He nods against you. “I’d like that.”

You sniffle and follow him in letting out a laugh. “I’ll end up falling asleep here if we keep this up.”

He snickers at your comment. “I guess I’ll just have to carry you to bed then, huh?” He teases back, his tone light and playful.

You push away from his chest and fix your gaze directly at him, a dazed smile on your face. “I guess you’ll just have to, Arthur Morgan.”

His breathing hitches, obviously not expecting to be accepted on his offer. “Yeah, I suppose I will, sweetheart.”

You place a kiss squarely on his mouth and he reciprocates it almost immediately.

You grasp his face with your hands and do something you’ve been wanting to do since the day you met him.

His lips, though slightly chapped are soft and his stubble that he hasn’t shaved for weeks tickles your cheeks, poking you in a pleasurable way. You taste the tobacco on him and though you don’t smoke, maybe through kissing him you get the appeal. Fingers thread through your braid that’s falling apart by the second.

For the first time, you don't hold the butteflies back.

You part your lips to deepen the kiss and allow him to explore your mouth with his tongue.

It becomes hungry. Insatiable. It's years of pent up frustration and confusion exploding into a possession that consumes your whole body. He groans and you barely notice when he scoops you up, hooking his arm under your legs. “God, we could have been doing this earlier.” He growls.

As you giggle against his lips, Arthur continues to carry you, walking briskly towards your tent.

And the world around you stayed silent that night, except for a few hushed noises.

- - - - - - -

A/N: Yee-haw. Pls interact, I need to to talk to more RDR people lmao. pls.

#fanfiction #smut #x reader #fluff #fanfic #rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 community #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #Arthur morgan fluff #Arthur Morgan Smut

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jollyhunter · 13 days ago

Text

Shower Reliever

⋆ ˚｡⋆ COUPLE Dean Winchester x f!Reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WARNINGS SMUT 18+ MDNI, established relationship, menstruating (evil cramps!!), tooth-rotting sweet fluff, mention of blood (light), Dean being dorky and cute, guided masturbation in the shower? (idk how to tag this sryyy), Dean’s misuse of a shower head as a magic wand, no use of Y/N, English isn’t my native language

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY It’s that time of the month; Cramps are tormenting you, but Dean’s there to cheer you up and look after you by giving you some relief. ♡ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 4,2k

It’s afternoon. Or maybe it’s evening.

How are you supposed to know when you’re surrounded by the bunker’s concrete and artificial light all day?

A pathetic, writhing-weeping blood sacrifice wrapped up in bed sheets like a burrito. That’s what you are. Ready to be served. Honestly, though? Big Hellhound pupper toying with your guts suddenly seems much more appealing than a day ago. At least the doggo wouldn’t take three damn days to rip your innards out.

But you won’t complain. Because right now? Things seemed oddly… okay? It’s almost suspicious.

A deep sigh of relief falls of your lips and you dare to sprawl out on the mattress. Star-fish formation. Plain ceiling staring back down at you.

You’re maybe 5 seconds into your newfound content - and then the little bitch ruins it by raking her peeler down your walls. A sharp hiss presses past your clenched teeth.

Nevermind. Here she goes again.

Peeling your uterus out from the inside. Like Lilith herself is down there, having a feast on your unborn – and very non-existent – baby.

Muffled by Dean’s pillow, you scream. Fuck that time of the month.

Why’s it always that time of the month? Again and again and again.

Why can’t you just get the period twice a year like a bitch and get on with it? It’s not like you signed up for this. In fact, you’d very much like to file a complaint.

Not that Chuck would care. “That bastard knows why he doesn’t own an uterus...” you grumble.

A hot flush shoots through your body. Wheezing takes over your breathing. The bedsheets go flying along some of the pillows you’d burrowed yourself in.

Burning up. Hot. Your body feels like your ovaries decided to have a meltdown.

You roll around the bed, aimlessly. A ball of messy hair. Entangled in the sweat-drenched pyjama you couldn’t get yourself to change from. Arms clutched around your stomach, fingers clawing at the hot-water bag which so far hasn’t done much more than give you third-degree burns and only add to the feverish heat steaming beneath your skin.

When the door to your and Dean’s bedroom opens, you can’t even bring yourself to lift your head. Instead you’re curled up like a salted snail, squirming, each and every noise escaping from you thick with pain.

“Hey baby, ‘m back…” Dean greets you from across the room, his voice dying down as he spots you on the bed just where he'd left you this morning.

Your face plants into the sheets when you double over from another stab to your uterus.

“It’s trying to kill me, Dean,” you whimper into the mattress. Dean’s face contorts at your strangled sound.

“That bad?” It’s a stupid question, and he realizes it the moment it leaves his mouth. Of course it’s bad. You look like hell.

And worst is, it’s been going like this the entire day already. First time Dean’s witnessing it from the start, too. You’d been together for a couple of months now, but you being you, you’d so far managed to slip away just in time before your period kicked down the door.

Now that you moved in with the boys in the bunker that didn’t seem an option any longer.

You watch Dean’s face harden, the way it always does when he starts to feel helpless.

Indeed, Dean could feel the frustration claw on the inside of his chest. To the point he secretly wished your state would just be the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong.

At least he would know what to do then, y’know? Clean your wounds, stitch you back together if needed – maybe it wouldn’t look as neat as when you did it, but it’d do the job – because that’s what he’s good at.

But this? He didn’t quite know how to work with this.

There’s no injury he could just patch up. No swig of whiskey to dampen the pain. No way for him to help. And watching you writhe like you were being tortured from the inside, was killing him.

He sighs. The shopping bag in his hand gets dropped to the floor and he rounds the bed to your side. A frustrated hand ruffles back his hair. His eyes taking in the battlefield you’ve caused. And they come to rest on your crumpled form, smack in the middle of it all.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart…” he mutters softly. And he means it. You know he does. The words were simple, yet you know that if he could, he’d take your pain away in a heartbeat. But he can’t. Because for some reason, despite all the supernatural crap you get to deal with on a daily basis, this isn’t an option.

Damn you Chuck.

You make a sound between a whine and a sigh at the grave conclusion, at which Dean’s eyebrows pull together.

The bed dips down beside you and next moment the warmth of his body presses against your side. He slowly runs his hand over your shoulders to rub your back in soothing circles.

“Anything I can do to make you feel better..?” he asks.

“Rip it out. Use it for your next blood sacrifice. Sell it to Crowley. I don’t care- I don’t want it no more,” you wail while crawling into his lap, your face burying into his grey shirt and the blue jacket that’s partially covering it.

“Jesus,”– Dean laughs softly, his deep voice rumbling under your cheeks –“Yeah, not happening.”

His arms wrap around you to pull you closer. The familiar smell of his fills your senses when you nuzzle your nose into the fabric of his clothes. A combination of his musk, fresh lemon and a hint of sweetness of his cologne clouds your mind.

Your muscles relax for a fraction. Melting into his heavy embrace. It’s odd how just a smell can have such a calming effect. As of right now, you wished you could just climb into his shirt, buttoned-up, and pressed flush against his body. All safe, warm and fuzzy.

But Uterus-Lilith had different plans. The sharp wince you try to bite back, doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean.

“My poor baby… C’mere…” He leans down to place a tender kiss onto your crown while he cradles you on his lap like a wounded animal.

His chin comes to rest on top of your head. Lips press against your hair. “It’ll pass… You’ll feel better soon… My brave girl…” he murmurs softly and you sigh.

Another twinge to your abdomen. Your body jolts, then caves in. Dean startles for a moment but then tightens his arms around you, pulling you up against his chest.

While he continues to rub your back, his other hand begins to card through the back of your hair. “Shhh, it’s okay… I got you…”

“It’s like the damn thing is committing sepukku,” you lament with fingers curled into his shirt. Nose buried in his chest. Trying everything to physically ground you until the cramp goes by.

At that comparison, Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and his lips twitch into a pressed smirk. “Damn it, don’t make me laugh.” His stomach contracts and shakes beneath you.

In response, a disgruntled noise gets huffed into his chest. And Dean can’t help a short, surprised snort.

“Sepukku?” He tries so hard to sound serious and to hold in his chuckles, but finally loses his battle. “Seriously?” He shakes his head lightly and his green eyes crinkle slightly when he continues to tease you, “You telling me, you got a wee little Samurai down there?”

A wee little Samurai throwing a tantrum in your uterus? Okay, that image carried a smile to your lips. Sounds a lot cooler than Lilith feeding on your unborn child.

Unfortunately the wee little Samurai was not amused and rammed its katana once more into your uterus.

Another jolt goes through your body. Another strangled sound follows. You burrow your face even further into his arms in hopes that his smell will just work like some narcotics.

Perhaps it’ll just knock me out when I dig my face deep enough into his shirt? A weird thought. But you guess that’s just what menstrual hormones mixed with pain does.

“Yes,” you wince, “And it failed to conceive a child,” then groan in agony, “So now it wants to punish me for it.”

Now Dean actually has to bite back a hearty laughter. “Oh, sweetie,”– he taps your head lightly with his finger –“Look on the bright side. At least we know I didn't knock you up. It's like a free monthly pregnancy test.“

That jab would have earned him a deadpan glare of yours if it wasn’t for the next attack on your inner walls and your body jerked into his arms this time.

Dean’s light-hearted expression contorts into a pained one. Jaws clenched with a twinge of guilt.

“Want me to get you some painkillers? Or – uh – maybe some whisky?” he inquires, his head tilted down in an attempt to meet your gaze. But your eyes are scrunched up, face still hidden in his bunched up shirt.

“Baby, can you look at me for a sec?” he pleads, while his hands slip underneath to cradle your chin now, coaxing you out of your den. You lift your head, just enough to meet his concerned eyes.

“None of that helps…” you mutter. Although you did wonder whether whiskey might even do the trick. Get the wee little samurai bitch a little tipsy down there, hm? Maybe it would pass out?

No – no, now you’re thinking like Dean. That’s a terrible idea.

“Imagine you’re getting stabbed in the stomach and the blade gets twisted. Repeatedly. For hours.”

Dean winces inwardly at your description. A hand instinctively clutches his stomach. He doesn’t have to imagine what that pain feels like. He knows.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to snap out of some memories from downstairs, his eyes back on you just when you writhe again with a stifled groan.

“Okay, that‘s enough. I‘m getting you off the rack,” he declares and you don’t even get the chance to react when he’s already scooping your curled up form up into his arms.

“W-what? What are you going to do, Dean?” you ask confused while he pulls you to your feet and starts leading you out the bedroom and down the bunker's hallway.

"I'm going to distract you," he replies, glancing back over his shoulder at you while he leads you to the main bathroom, "I did some digging this morning... to see what I could do to help with your period cramps, and it looks like an orgasm might do the trick."

You stop in your tracks. Quick enough for Dean to almost stumble into the bathrooms doorframe.

"N-no," you squeak, eyes wide.

"No, what? No it won't work or no you don't-"

"No, I'm fine."

"So it does work?"

"Well- uh-" you trip over your words when the heat rushes to your cheeks, "It's - it's different when I... uh..."

"Hey, it's okay. Nothing to be ashamed of," he chuckles softly and brings up his hand to cup your cheek, "Is it 'cuz of the blood? You do know I don't care about it, right? You really think I won't touch you just 'cause you're on your period?"

"No, but... it's awkward... and gross..." you mumble, eyes averted as you can feel the heat going both ways now.

Because, even if you wouldn't admit it, you did feel a bit horny. It's just one of those many fluctuating emotions a period entails. In those blessed days, it feels like your mood is being regulated by a pinball machine. And as of right now, it hit the tingling nub at the very bottom.

"Gross? Honey, I've been covered in guts, sludge, crap and all sorts of other nasty stuff. Do you honestly think a little blood's gonna phase me?" He tilts your head up to make you look at him, his lips twitch in amusement but his words are genuine, "You're not gross, sweetheart. Not to me..."

"But-" the next argument forms on your lips when he dives down to muffle them with a kiss. Your cheeks cradled by his large hands. Tender, soft, but enough to shut you up and make you melt into him.

When he finally pulls back, his plump lips still hovering inches from yours, he speaks softly.

“Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

His green eyes flick back and forth between yours, intense and yet calming. And really, how could you ever say no to him when he looks at you like you'll break his heart if you don't let him help you.

A sudden twinge in your stomach has you hunch over, and it's enough to finally convince you to let go of your tribulations with a weak nod of yours.

“Okay," you wince under your sharp exhale. The pain in your voice has Dean's hands dart down, one to your contracted stomach and one to the small of your back.

"Alright then, c'mon, sweetheart..." he mutters. Then gently guides you towards the shower after he closed and locked the door behind you.

When he notices how your teeth pull at your lower lip the way they always do when you're overthinking things, he grabs both of your hands. He squeezes them to get you to look at him, just to bestow you with one of his trademark grins. Confident, cheeky and oh so lovable.

“You trust me, right? It won't be awkward, promise. Nothing wrong with giving my girl some relief. Besides... This is purely therapeutic,” he quips and winks at you.

Once both of your clothes are piled up in a corner, you pad over the cold tiles and into the shower. Dean slides in after you, his naked body flush against your skin, his body heat a warm welcome in the cold air of the large bathroom. His arms envelop you from behind, one hand splayed out on your stomach to try and sooth your cramps, the other reaching for the shower head to pull it from its holder.

“Lean back, I got you baby,” he assures you while tugging you gently further back into his chest.

He turns on the shower, tests the temperature until it's the perfect heat and then slowly brings it down to the level of your stomach with the spray of water still pointed to the floor.

“Spread your legs a bit for me, sweetie,” he gently nudges his knee between your thighs, coaxing you into a wider stance while he continues to hum above you, “Mhm, that's it. Now just relax and lemme take care of you...”

Dean rests his chin on top of your head, the stubbles tingling your scalp as he does so. The air around you slowly begins to mix with steam while his body holds you close. Save and protected. The world reduced to just the two of you and the warmth hugging you from head to toe. Your thoughts and worries are drowned out by the rhythmic pattering of the droplets hitting the smooth shower floor as the sound echoes off of the tiled bunker walls all around you.

You feel yourself relax against him, despite the occasional, small jolts of pain which keep reminding you of that fact.

At last, a heavy sigh drops off your lips. The signal Dean has been waiting for.

He tugs at the hose, just enough to guide the water up your legs, then your thighs...

When the first jet of water hits right on your bundle of nerves, you almost buckle over with a gasped, “Oh shit-”

Your fingernails bite into the skin of his forearms, drawing a hiss from him. He moves his free hand to your hip, his grip on your squishy flesh gentle but strong. Steadying and grounding you.

“Feels good?” he asks while playing with the angle of the shower head.

You nod. Jolting whenever one of the water jets grazes your sensitive spot.

“Want me to keep goin‘?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

The hand on your hips slides over the bump on your bones and dips down between your legs. Next moment, calloused fingers slip along your folds to spread them open.

You shiver under the touch of his rough fingertips and at the feeling of him coating them in some of your arousal.

He angles the shower head slightly lower now, until a row of water jets skim your entrance. Your breath hitches. Then comes out in a shaky whimper.

Your legs start to go weak, feeling like jello.

Dean gently tugs you up again and pulls your back flush into his chest to keep you upright, making sure he's your anchor in this tidal wave of pleasure he's drowning you in.

“Just let go... that’s it…” he coos, now his head angled to nuzzle his nose against your temple.

Another shockwave travels through your body and tightens your coil even more, to the point it feels like it’s going to explode soon.

Your head drops back onto Dean‘s shoulder. Neck draped over his collarbone, just where his anti-possession tat lays. Shaky and ragged breaths mingle in the damp air of the shower.

“Just relax,” he places a kiss to your temple, his stubbles tingling the wet skin as he murmurs, “I got you.”

His fingers spread you further while he brings the shower head closer, allowing some of the water to push past your entrance.

“Oh fuck- Dean-” you gasp and whine at the same time.

„Language, young lady,“ he chides playfully, „This is purely therapeutical, remember?“

You choke on a giggle when he moves the shower head a fraction lower and the water jet grazes your sensitive nub just the right way, enough to send an intense jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Ah, so that's the magic angle, huh?” Dean laughs softly, his chest rumbling against your back.

“Uh-huh,” you manage to get out in a weak whimper as Dean's making sure to keep the right angle.

The intensity has your nerves on fire, like your core's being hooked up to electricity with hundreds of little needles tingling your most sensitive spot.

“M-move - p-please,” you beg in a shaky voice that has Dean's smile next to your cheek widen.

“Guide me,” he prompts softly, the hand on the shower head waiting for your instructions. You slip your hand along his strong arm, over the bump of his wrist, until you cover his hand with your tender fingers.

Slowly you begin to guide his hand into small, circular motions. The water jets brush your nub now from all sides, the overwhelming sensation enough to make you whimper weakly and your head loll to the side to bury your nose under his jaw.

“Too much?” he asks, his head tips to the side to look down into your eyes. You shake your head, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as they meet his. Hair’s stuck to your damp, flushed, skin, pupils blown wide, gaze intoxicated from pleasure.

The corner of his lips tugs into a smirk at your blissful expression. It's such a stark contrast to what you'd looked like moments ago when you were doubling over from pain. And if it wasn’t for the special circumstances, he’d make sure to keep you in this state all day and night. The growing pressure of his own arousal heavy against your back is evidence of his thoughts.

But this is about you now. His needs will just have to wait for – for… how long did a period even last? A day? Two? Hm, maybe if you’d feel comfortable enough, he wouldn’t need to wait this long. But one step at a time.

When your legs begin to shake, Dean presses his lips to your ear, murmuring into it, deep and hoarse from his own arousal.

“You’re doing so well for me… Now close your eyes, sweetheart. I want you to just relax and feel…”

You don't have to be told twice. The intensity is enough to make your eyes flutter close, squinting them even as your face contorts from the jolts of pleasure coursing through your body like a firework.

“Now I want you to imagine it's my mouth down there...”

While he keeps you distracted with the images he's painting in his husky voice, the hand on your folds leaves you and he reaches for the tap, increasing the water pressure.

“Y'know... the way I like to wrap my lips around you… and suck on that cute little bean 'til you're sobbing.”

“O-oh my God-” you mewl after the hard jet of water swallows your pulsing nub, causing your legs to buckle. The feeling's like a lightning bolt has just hit you. And it just keeps striking. Your other hand darts to his thigh behind you, fingernails biting into his skin in an attempt to ground you. But the jolts of pleasure set the nerves down your legs on hot white fire now, with everything from your stomach downwards tingling.

“That’s the reaction I was hoping for…” he chuckles and keeps going with his sweet words of praise somewhere outside of your clouded mind.

Images of Dean kneeling between your legs pulse under your eyelids. How his broad shoulders shove your knees apart, keeping your legs spread as they begin to fight him from the intensity of his mouth on your core. How the soft flesh of your thighs is squished under the force of his fingers, how you witness the veins on his arms pop as his muscles work relentlessly to prevent you from squirming away. How he holds your gaze the entire time, pupils blown up wide from hunger and lust as they eat away the deep emerald pools circling them.

Ragged breaths leave your lips. Another row of jolts has your body shaking in his arms. Each one driving you closer to your climax until you’re teetering on the edge. When your body begins to fight him and thrash around, Dean quickly tightens his grip around your hips to hold you in place.

He moves his lips to your temple, planting a tender kiss there, prickling stubbles brush the side of your face while he continues to talk you through it.

“You're doing so well... Let go for me, sweetheart... I've got you, I'll catch you, promise.”

Just when you feel yourself tip over, his free hand leaves your core to the constant onslaught of the circling water jets and moves it to your hand. His fingers slide between yours, intertwining them.

Then the tidal wave crashes down on you.

Dean's hand squeezes yours. The corner of his lips still pressed to your temple.

A guttural sound leaves the back of your throat when waves after waves of ecstasy course through you, enough for your knees to give in as your body goes limp.

“Oh- we goin' down?” he jokes softly as he follows your movement.

As promised, Dean catches you right after you've dropped some inches. Chuckling lightly above you as he pulls you back to your feet. Legs still shaky like a newborn foal’s.

“C'mon, bambi...” - he teases and slides the shower head back into place before he wraps both of his arms around your waist and turns you to face you with a soft smile - “…there you go.” You smile back at him, your hands finding purchase on his hips, gaze still a bit woozy.

He brushes a damp strand of hair out of your face, head tilted down to your eye-level, “Hey there, sweetie. You feeling better?”

“Yes,” you sigh, one of relief at the missing pain. At least for the moment. You melt into his embrace, feeling how your wet and naked bodies lock together like a perfect puzzle piece. “So much better.”

“Good, that’s good…” he murmurs into your hair after your forehead had dropped to his chest.

After a moment of peaceful silence, a mischievous grin creeps onto his face.

He clears his throat.

“You want me to battle that wee little samurai with my sword now?”

It takes your dazed mind a moment to catch up with his rather creative innuendo.

Once it hits you, you sputter an amused chuckle, “Please don’t.”

Dean huffs through his nose, feigning disappointment.

“Aw c’mon… Y'know, I’ve always wanted to fight a samurai… I’d make a pretty good Nathan Algren, don’t ya think?” he quips, then his lips quirk into a boyish, innocent grin as he adds, “...and my sword wouldn't mind getting bloody either.”

Now this has you raise your head to meet his cheeky expression and burst out in laughter.

“You do us both a favour and keep your mighty sword in your pants for now, you hear me? Idiot-” you playfully slap his chest, the wet sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. Dean’s grin doesn’t waver, instead his hands on your back slide down your spine until they reach your ass cheeks.

He clicks his tongue.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, s’all I’m sayin’,” he jabs softly as he pats both your ass cheeks. His eyes crinkle at the corner, and he's got a secret smile on his face, proud of how he made you not only smile, but laugh, despite the hell trip you’re on. Maybe he’s not as helpless as he thought.

His features suddenly harden, eyes narrowed as they dart down to your stomach, a pointed finger now prodding the spot below your bellybutton.

“Now back to you,” he growls, you giggle, and he has to fight to keep a straight face and his voice especially low and warning as he continues, “You leave my girl alone now. Or else I’ll personally come down there and take care of you, Tom Cruise style. You hear me you evil little bitch?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J/NOTES May Dean bring some relief to all of you poor, fellow victims of Uterus Lilith. <3

And thank you, @ambiguous-avery for your help with the correct name for the shower head lol 😌

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x-aefx · 2 months ago

Note

hiii, can i request something about billie x reader, their dating but reader is insecure about Billie’s friendship with Quen and Odessa. Maybe they’re all hanging out and reader feels left out so she isolates herself from Billie.

MIND GAMES - BILLIE ELISH X FEM!READER

A/N: sorry this took so long I took a mini break from writing on here🤍

"Hi baby." Billie walked up behind you in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around your waist in a tight embrace, her chin resting on your shoulder as she placed soft, delicate kisses on your neck.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

Your eyes fluttered closed momentarily, a smile tugging at your lips as you let yourself relax into the moment, into Billie's touch.

"You ok?" Billie mumbled, face resting in the crook if your neck.

You hummed, not trusting your voice to speak.

Wordlessly, Billie turned your body around so that you were facing her. You put on your best smile as to not worry her like you knew she would.

Reaching your hand blindly behind you to the counter, your fingers gripped the bowl of snacks you had preprepared. You held them infront of you, one hand reaching up to cup Billie's cheek.

"I'm alright, I promise." You leaned in and gave her lips a quick kiss.

Whether or not Billie believed you or not , she didn't prey you further for the moment, simply nodding her head and giving you a small smile.

With the bowl In hand you made your way back out to the living room where Odessa and Quen were waiting on the couch, talking and laughing with eachother.

When they seen you return their eyes lit up.

"Finally!" Quen dramatically exclaimed as Odessa placed the bowl of snacks you carried on the coffee table for you.

You smiled at them with a small laugh. "Sorry, got a bit distracted. " You apologised.

"Distracted? We thought you got lost." Odessa joked.

You smiled. Deep down a part of you dreaded this night where Billie had her friends over. You couldn't understand why. It wasn't like you were protective or jealous, you loved seeing Billie so happy when she was with them.

Yet every time she was with them, something in your heart ached as you watched them together. However with that small, easy, interaction with Quen and Odessa, you felt hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different.

Billie entered the room with a large grin on her face as she carried in more food and drinks. The movie was starting and everyone settled on the couch.

You sat at the very end, with Billie beside you, then Quen and then Odessa.

Gradually the sound of jokes being said drowned out the movie, then the jokes turned into inside ones shared only between Billie, Quen and Odessa. Leaving you oblivious as to what was so funny. Then the jokes turned to childish messing around, light nudges and slaps led to games of wresting and fighting for the most space on the couch.

Every now and then, Billie or even Quen and Odessa would try pull you into the chaos, but all you could offer was a quick, forced, laugh, or a small comment to keep your presence known.

As you tried to focus back on the movie that you could barely hear over their laughter, you felt yourself heating up, your eyes pooling and your leg bounced repeatedly. Every laugh, joke or teasing felt like a stab to your gut.

It was silly of you to feel this way, irrational and childish. Yet you couldn't help it.

"I'll be back in a minute." You muttered standing up from the couch.

You didn't wait for a response or to see if they even heard you as you made your way to the bathroom.

Closing the door you leaned your back against it as you looked up to the ceiling, trying to calm yourself as the tears became harder to contain.

With a shacky breath you walked over to the sink, gripping each side with both hands as you weakly looked up at the mirror.

A breathy cry escaped your lips, tears slowly falling one by one. It didn't help that you could still hear them laughing from the bathroom, only their voices slightly muffled.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

You have friends, Billie has friends. There should be nothing complicated about it, you shouldn't be feeling this way. Yet you did.

The aching in your stomach travelled up to your heart. It felt almost as if a rain cloud lingered over your head whilst everyone else basked in sunshine.

You bit your lip to stiffle your cries.

You hated feeling like this.

Why were they so close? What was so funny?

Your head spun with question after question. Your insecurity growing.

You couldn't go back out there. You looked and felt like a mess and you knew seeing them again laughing and having fun would just make you fall apart all over again.

So you didn't. Quietly you left the bathroom and climbed the stairs up to yours and Billie's shared bedroom. You didn't tell Billie you wouldn't be staying with them in the living room.

She would ask you once she noticed your absence, whether that be before or after Odessa and Quen left, and you would make up so dumb excuse to avoid confrontation.

She would join you in bed like she always did and pull you close until you were flush against her, like she always did. Only this time you would tense up and try keep your distance because of your own insecurities.

Instead of dealing with your emotions you couldn't help but isolate yourself from Billie, and especially Quen and Odessa, staying in your own bubble with your thoughts.

Did Billie like them better than you? You couldn't help but wonder. Did she tell them things she's never told you?

Your mind continued to swarm with assumptions and worst case scenarios as Billie and her friends laughter echoed from downstairs.

That familiar ache in your chest returned as you tried drowning everything out, curling up under the covers you held yourself tight as you slipped into a world of your own, your mind continuing to spin with questions.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

#billie eilish #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish fic #billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish wlw #billie eilish x fem!reader #spotify #billieeilish #billie x reader #billie #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x reader #quen blackwell #odessa a'zion

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amomentsescape · 1 year ago

Note

hi hi! I was hoping you could do slashers with a super bubbly and affectionate s/o who would beat up anyone who dares hurt the slasher while still holding their sweet smile

Slashers with Sweet and Dangerous! Reader

Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, Stu, Vincent, & Bo

A/N: So I got a bit carried away and wrote this as if Reader is willing to kill for the Slashers. So hopefully it's not too intense for what you were wanting! Feel free to let me know what you think :)

Freddy Krueger

He knew there was a reason he was so drawn to you

You were sweet, kind, and just an overall ray of sunshine that Freddy never knew he needed

He loves basking in your warmth

But seeing you hold that damn grin while ripping out someone's throat for just punching Freddy has him weak in the knees

He loves the affectionate sweet side to you, don't get him wrong

But knowing that you can do a complete 180 makes him feel like he's in his own beautiful type of dream

He feels more comfortable telling you his plans now and the types of ideas he has for killing future victims

And you just sit there all happily and nod along like he's telling you a bedtime story

It's cute but also so foreign to him

He has a hard time remembering that you can be just as deadly as him when you want to be

Michael Myers

He honestly has no idea how to feel about this situation

It took him some time to get used to being with someone so cuddly and happy all the time

He wasn't much of a fan of it at first, but something inside him refused to let you go or kill you

But seeing you smile over his victims and even step in to prevent him from getting injured has him confused

He is more than capable of protecting himself

He doesn't need you getting involved

But at the same time, knowing he isn't the only one with this grotesque side makes him feel.... content, in a way

He just doesn't like you stepping in too much

His victims are his, and he refuses to share

But if you save him from getting stabbed or set on fire

Well... then that's fine he guesses

Jason Voorhees

You two are practically different sides to the same coin

He comes off as deadly, incapable of emotions, and just an overall killing machine

But when he's with you, he's the sweetest and most kind man you have ever met

You're practically the opposite

You come off as an innocent, bubbly goody-two-shoes to most of the public

But when someone dares hurt Jason, a hidden poison emerges from within you

Jason never thought you were capable of picking up his notorious machete, nonetheless swinging it right through someone's skull

He just froze up in shock at this realization

He was drawn to how sweet you were to him, but knowing that you're capable of killing only makes him more happy

He was always worried that you would leave him after dealing with his darkness for too long

But knowing that you aren't all sunshine and rainbows has reassured him

Thomas Hewitt

Considering what his family eats every night for dinner, he would have hoped that you were capable of similar actions to him

Killing is just a way of life to him, so knowing that you can do the same is so normal

That isn't to say that he wasn't surprised the first time you stuck up for him

But if anything, that surprise was immediately followed by a sense of relief

If you can do that, then you can fit right in with the rest of his family!

They liked how affectionate and kind you were to Thomas, but they were always worried that you were going to be too soft for their way of life

Now he knows there's nothing to worry about

Well, maybe except for getting on your bad side

You always have that sweet smile on your face, and he'll be damned if he pisses you off one of these times

Bubba Sawyer

The first time you killed for him, he couldn't help but jump around in glee

You're just like him!

You're covered in blood and guts but still smile sweetly at Bubba

Just like he does for you

It honestly just reinforces the idea that you were meant to be together in his mind

You stick up for him, and he sticks up for you

With that being said, he does still paint you as this sweet little angel that needs to be safe at all times

He doesn't want you to get your hands dirty unless absolutely necessary

So he prefers for you to stay away from all the carnage he goes through on a daily basis

But he won't try and control you

As long as he is met with that soft smile and big hug at the end of a long day, Bubba is content

Brahms Heelshire

Oh...

He's flattered, don't get him wrong

The fact that you're willing to protect him shows that you really are devoted to him

And he loves that

But he also doesn't want you intruding with his desires

That person is going to die?

Brahms wants to be the one to see their last breath

It's not very often he gets to feel like this, so he wants to soak up every exhilarating second of it while it's there

And you're just so pure and kind that he doesn't want you becoming all tainted like him

Your job is to be the good in Brahms and take care of him

Not to let this darkness take over

You provide, he protects

That's all he asks for

Norman Bates

And to think after all of this time, Norman just assumed you were like him

Quiet, sweet, affectionate

He had no idea you'd be capable of fully plunging a knife into someone's neck just for saying a couple mean words to Norman

But he secretly couldn't help the way he admired your blood splattered face, that smile he loved so much shining through it all

He likes feeling protected by you

It lets him know that you really care about him

And the fact that you can flip from one side to the other is so intriguing to him

In every other situation, you speak softly and gently laugh at the smallest things

But when one bad thing happens, the darkness creeps out

It doesn't freak him out as much as he would have originally thought

He just still can't believe that these sides to you are coming from the same person

Who is he to judge though?

Billy Loomis

Billy was immediately attracted to your warm energy

But he was also hesitant that he would somehow contaminate you with his trauma and dark fantasies

He wanted to keep you as were: the bubbly and happy partner that was always by his side

But when a last minute heist was going wrong, he would have never expected to look over and see you all bloody, a stained knife in your hand and a lifeless body on the floor

When he called your name, all you did was look up at him and smile

Billy just about lost it

He had always thought that he needed to be the one to protect you and himself

But seeing you throw yourself into violence for his sake was absolutely beautiful

He didn't think you'd be capable of something like this

But knowing that you are makes him love you that much more

You're nothing but perfect for him

Stu Macher

He won't say it out loud, but he's the tiniest bit scared of you

Not in a bad way by any means

If anything, he thinks it's sexy

And he can see a bit of familiarity in the way you act too

You both enjoy laughing at stupid things and keeping the energy up when needed

At any given moment, you two are all over each other and smiling so wide that you can feel your cheeks burn

You two make the ultimate power couple

But if someone dares say something bad about you, they're dead the next morning

And if Stu gets hurt by one of his attempted victims, you better believe you'll be there to finish the job

Stu honestly loves how deceiving you can be

No one would ever look at you and expect you to have this darker element

But to be fair, he's in the same boat

No one would ever suspect him of such behavior

And that's probably why you two make the perfect team

Vincent Sinclair

He never thought he'd ever meet some who cared for him the way you do

Especially resorting to violence just to keep him safe

This must be some sort of dream

You practically tore this person to shreds and yet, you're still able to turn back at Vincent and smile sweetly, asking if he's okay

Are you even the same person he was just cuddling with 10 minutes ago?

He worries that you'll get yourself hurt one of these times, so he tries to advise you against doing something like that again

But he won't deny the thrill it gave him seeing you act so... differently

Just please don't step in unless absolutely necessary

If anything happened to you, he wouldn't know what to do

He knows you can clearly take care of yourself, he just doesn't want to risk it

Bo Sinclair

What a precious little thing

It would be a lie to say that Bo wasn't immediately drawn to your softness and positivity

You radiated sunshine, and it was a new experience for him

He has always wanted to be the protector in his relationships

And he truly had no clue that you weren't just another damsel looking to be rescued

He remembers the first time you saved his ass

He turned up to see the man with a metal pipe sticking out of his chest

All the while, you're standing behind him, that sweet little smile still on your face like usual

Bo was at a complete loss for words

He loves this side to you

He still likes to feel all bad and tough

And he loves when you ask him for help and play up the innocence

But when something comes up, he knows he doesn't need to worry about you

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rottenherbs · 5 months ago

Text

Lover

Pairing: F.W x Reader Request: “It sounds so cliche, but my request involves Taylor Swift's Lover song — I think this scene of mine might be fitting around the time of GoF for the yule ball scene and his long hair era. And on behalf of the reader's house, it's really up to you, but I would say her demeanor is a shy or a lone type of girl that prefers to avoid attention and crowded places at all cost (for the sake of the plot 🥲). And because of this, it took some time for Fred to eventually notice her, but when he did, she got him wrapped around her fingers entirely just by existing. Word Count: W/C: 3.2k A/N: Ravenclaw was chosen! Though I must say it is not mentioned frequently so reader! Could be easily manipulated to be Hufflepuff or Slytherin. I also think playing the song once the Yule Ball scene starts is ACTUALLY so cute. Thank you so much for requesting <3 [masterlist] Much Love, Saige

Unbelievable. Your mother has sent yet another letter through the post asking about what you were going to wear to the Yule Ball. It was not your definition of fun…perse, but that was only because you knew no one was going to ask you. Even just the thought of going stag made your hands shake.

Sitting in the great hall alone, you hesitated to open it. The thought of being berated yet again to ‘gain some courage’ or ‘go with a friend’ just frustrated you slightly. You knew your mother didn’t understand your social anxiety or lack of relationships at school, but reading the words felt like a stab in the gut. You set it to the side as you finished your jam and toast, relishing in the morning light. After a few minutes, you took a deep breath, picking back up the envelope slowly.

A boisterous crowd entered the great hall catching your attention; letter still in hand. Their scarlet and gold uniforms almost gave it away before their fiery red hair did. As they walked, they laughed and hit each other on the back, plopping themself into the gryffindor table just a few feet away. Luckily for you, they sat with their backs turned; but even then you could recognize which twin was which. Fred often would whip the dangling hair in front of his face with his head, while George would tuck the hair quickly behind his ears. Their movements mirrored each other in many ways, even the food they grabbed as they built their breakfast plates, but something made you see Fred differently.

After a few moments you looked away, embarrassed at yourself for staring. You held the letter in your hands, slipping your nail under the fold opening it delicately. In her usual fashion, your mother wrote on beautiful blue cardstock, a small drawing of an eagle, sloppily, yet endearingly, on the envelope.

Flipping it open, it read;

“Darling, I know you have read the last two letters I have sent. I know it seems daunting to go to a school dance but you wont regret it. Life is short. Whether or not you get asked should not hold you back from having a good time by yourself.

I love you.

Please don't hesitate to write back~~

Ps. I hope the owl dropped off a sack with this letter. Maybe you could use it to find a nice dress on my behalf.”

Just as you finished the letter, a small owl dropped a sack of coins on top of your empty plate, sending crumbs all over the table. With a small chirp, the owl flew away leaving you alone once more. You sat there for a moment, letter still in hand, looking at the cloth of coins in front of you. Exhaling, you thought over the possibilities of going to the ball. Could you muster up enough confidence to go? What if someone did ask you? You sighed lightly, conflicted with the letter and your own mental gymnastics. Fiddling with the coin sack, you made a mental note to write your mother back after class today.

Glancing over at the twins, you started daydreaming. The idea of being asked by Fred romantically at the Yule Ball, being swept away to the dance floor just as a slow dance started, what the smell of his cologne would be like, how tall he would be with you in his arms, how he would lean down to kiss yo-

Breaking you from your trance, a large old owl barreled through the postal entrance, hitting several candles on its way down. The eyes of all students in the great hall followed the train wreck as it dive bombed towards the gryffindor table.

“Errol! No!” George yelled. The bird hit the table, dropping a large parcel while knocking over several drinks and meals in the process. Your hand flew to your mouth, stifling a laugh as the chaos ensued. You watched the twins attempt to clean the area, opening the box, shooting the bird off quickly.

“Oy, looks like this ones for our little brother.” Fred chuffed, shoving the box down the table towards Ron. A ghastly red dress suit with ancient frills could be seen from miles away. As the table enveloped in laughter and disbelief, you cleared your plate gathering your belongings in your arms, quietly leaving the great hall without a trace; the thought of being whisked away by a certain tall suiter is still fresh in your mind.

———-

Over the weekend before the ball, you decided to shop around Hogsmeade in one last ditch attempt to find something you felt comfortable in. If you didn’t find something today, you were not going at all.

Wrapping your neck tightly with a scarf, you topped your head with earmuffs ready to face the elements. Snow crested the hills and paths; crunching softly under your feet.

Just ahead, two ginger boys formed snowballs in their hands, one sending it up in the air while the other attempted to hit it down with another snow ball. They frolicked and played, stopping students who walked passed.

As you got closer, you crossed your fingers; praying they would let you go through without acknowledging your presence. Of course you dreamed of kissing Fred in your free time, but the idea of him even perceiving you sent shivers down your spine. Walking with your head held down, you took one step after another, thinking if you just kept moving nothing would happen.

“Hey! Sorry to bother you.” You heard a voice shout just to your left. You stopped in your tracks, eyes widening. Please don't be talking to me. Please don't be tal-

“Hey! Wait, sorry.” Fred's voice got closer with each step. You gulped, turning to face him, a small polite smile across your face. Your hands held each other in your hoodie, gripping your coin pouch tightly in any attempt to calm your nerves.

“Could you settle a debate? We could use an outside interpretation of something.” He gestured towards George just off the path. You made eye contact with George, waving you over. The words were caught in your throat. You attempted to find a response.

What could you say?

You stumbled over words, stuttering slightly before huffing and just nodding your head in agreement.

“Great! You wont regret it.” Fred said, pulling you over to George. “I think…” He added, just under his breath. Your arm was intertwined with his for only a moment as he pulled you to the side. George walked up to you both, a smile plastered from ear to ear. You suddenly became aware of what was happening, stopping in your tracks.

”I swear if you are pranking me.” You mumbled, brows furrowed. Fred stopped just a foot ahead of you, his eyes widening. His hands released your arm, holding his hands up in defense. You couldn't help but notice how his eyes glistened against the snow. His nose and cheeks red from the cold, sniffling slightly. He took a small step towards you shaking his head. Fred could feel the sudden apprehension from you, worried you thought they would do something cruel.

“No no I promise. Purely just need your opinion for our business.” Fred waited for a moment, both of your eyes attempting to read the emotion on the others. His heart fluttered as you looked over his face, suddenly taken aback by your beauty. His brain wracked any previous memory of you, in the hallways, or in class, at meals. He had never seen you before and it astonished him. He thought he knew everyone.

You didn’t respond, just a small smile building across your cheeks walking towards him with more confidence. George looked between you and Fred several times, already sensing something growing between the tension. George smirked but kept to himself, knowing he’d be able to inquire later.

“Simply put, we need a consensus of the general public, you see, from students we don't typically sell to, and that's where you come in” Fred gestured to a small box behind George, hidden in the snow. You fiddled lightly with the coins in your pocket, waiting for the big reveal. Fred leaned down, picking up the box and holding it in front of you.

“Now. Just tell me which item you would be more compelled to buy.” Opening it slowly, two large spheres wrapped in foil laid neatly in the box; one gold, one silver. You leaned in, trying to get a better look. The twins stood silent, awaiting your response.

”Gold.” You spoke, looking up at them both. They looked back at you, and then at each other for a moment. Fred nodded in acknowledgment, his bottom lip out slightly almost as if he was impressed by your answer. He closed the box quickly and turned to George. Their movements were fast and abrupt, taking you by surprise. They slid the box in a satchel, Fred lifting the strap over his head and across his torso.

“Thank you so much for your participation.” George dramatically bowed, Fred following. Fred glanced up at you as he leaned, winking at you before he looked back down. Your heart raced, standing still. As they rose, you stayed silent, just watching the way they proceeded, mesmerized by how Fred kept looking your way.

“We will keep in touch.” Fred whispered, turning on his heel and walking away with George. You stood alone for a moment, watching them both go down the path back to the castle. You looked around in disbelief, not sure what happened. Turning back towards hogsmeade, you couldn't stop replaying the conversation, the way he held your arm even for a moment. Maybe you were more inclined to go to the ball, the thought of seeing Fred there made it more appealing.

———- ((Lover By Taylor Swift))————-

The day had arrived and you couldn't be more tense. Like you had thought, no one had asked you to the dance, yet a part of you was happy that you could come and go at your leisure. You told yourself if it was a terrible idea, you could come back to your room and end the night early.

You sat in front of your mirror applying makeup to the best of your ability. You slipped on your gown, struggling to zip the back up, jumping around in any attempt to shimmy up the zipper. After a few minutes of bouncing and movement, you successfully adjusted the dress, looking at yourself in the mirror.

Slightly shocked in the confidence it brought you, you admired the way the dress sat on your hips and flowed to the floor; a slight swish as you moved left to right. Taking a deep breath in, you slipped on your shoes and practiced walking around your bedroom before leaving and heading out to the common room. Many of your peers all dressed in bronze and blue, a slight nod to your house colors. You could feel the tension in the room as students paired up with their partners, walking awkwardly together out of the common room. It seemed more people were more nervous than you thought, reminding you that it was just a bunch of teenagers going to a dance. Conversations in the hall were light; students attempting to participate in small talk, many stumbling over their words, fingers grabbing each other. The nerves were almost palpable coming off the students the closer you all got to the great hall.

Following the crowd, you arrived at the great hall, your hands held tightly together with your clutch, finding it to be a great fidget as your heart raced harder. Students from all houses joined together outside the great hall, not yet entering as they met and chatted with friends. The large group made you hesitate, moving through it slowly to enter the exquisitely decorated room.

You almost couldn’t recognize it. The large tables and benches were replaced with several tall round tables. Beautifully decorated christmas trees lined the walls. Snow fell from the ceiling, magically disappearing before it hit your head. You smiled, turning in a circle taking it all in. The room was beginning to fill, still giving you time to become comfortable in the space before the event started.

Fred was outside in the large crowd, watching you as you passed. He noticed you as you turned the corner, the first thing catching his eyes was your gold dress. His hands shook slightly, gripping the edge of his coat pulling it lightly. Ever since you caught his attention by hogsmeade, George hadn’t stopped teasing the way that Fred talked about you. His mind was constantly elsewhere, not able to focus on their pranks or schoolwork. As much as it annoyed George with how distant Fred was, he knew how smitten he had become and he was happy for his brother.

“You alright mate?” George whispered, noticing how Freds eyes followed you through the crowd. Fred didn’t respond, just sighed and looked at the floor.

“I’m lost Georgie. I don't know what I'm doing here.” Fred whined, his hands shoved deeply in his pant pockets. George rolled his eyes, nudging Fred over in your direction.

“She showed. That’s all you were moaning about all week! Just go talk to her. You did it once before.” George whispered, gesturing towards the entrance. “If you don't ask her, I just might.” George added, a cheeky grin growing across his face.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Fred furrowed his brows, his voice husky and dark. George just laughed, shaking his head.

“No way. That’s all you.” He patted Fred’s shoulder, pushing him towards the great hall, physically prodding him to take the next step. Fred stumbled slightly, taking a deep breath in before attempting to walk in casually.

You took a table close to the stage, sipping a small glass of punch. Glancing at the clock, you noticed a familiar redhead enter the room, your breath hitching in your throat. Almost choking on your drink, you turned and faced the front, trying to look distracted in the band setting up. You held the glass lightly, not letting your agitation show in your body language. You were cool, calm, and collected. Right?

It felt like minutes passed before Fred joined you at your table. Your back facing the entrance, not aware of his presence. He stood for a moment, admiring you from behind, the way your hair laid on your shoulders, how your back was exposed and glistened under the lights from above. He swore he could feel how soft your skin was, even from feet away, his fingers itching to know how you’d react if he reached out right then.

Instead, he cleared his throat, garnering your attention. Your eyes meet with him in a soft embrace. His chest swelled, the feeling of his body tingling just by looking at you. You smiled at him, leaning your arms on the table leaning over slightly.

“Hey.” You blushed softly, inexplicably happy to see him. Fred took a step closer to you, looking at the stage for a second. “Looks like you kept your word.” You added, looking at the band with him. His elbows leaned on the table, his muscles relaxing slightly.

“I'll always keep my word.” He cooed, looking back at you. Every time you made eye contact his brain went blank. He was entranced every time he laid eyes on you. He swore it could’ve been 20 seconds or 20 years, yet he felt under your spell.

“So. Who’s the lucky lady with you tonight?” You asked, lifting your cup to your lips. Part of you hated that you asked, but you’d rather rip the bandaid off now than be in emotional torment all night. The thought of watching him dance with someone else made you sick, but who wouldn’t ask Fred Weasley to the dance.

Fred cleared his throat, surprised by your question.

“Um..” His hand raised to the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “I may have just come for the experience. See where the night takes me.” He smiled down at the table, his eyes unable to meet yours. You nodded your head, feeling of relief rushing over your whole body. You set the cup down, both of your hands only inches apart.

“Huh…. Me too.” You mumbled, smiling at your drink. You swore you saw Fred bite his lip, but he quickly coughed, ducking his head into his elbow. You laughed, watching him regain his balance. He patted his chest dramatically, his hand now outstretched towards you.

“Please, may I get you a refill m’lady?” His voice was dramatic yet sincere, making your stomach flip. You chuckled, your hand reaching up to your lips, thinking for a moment. You reached down, handing over the glass. Both of your hands meet, the feeling of his fingers overlapping yours sending bolts of electricity through your body. Both of your eyes met each other, your hands still touching each other, as if time had stopped. He reached further, holding your hand over the glass entirely.

”Ill be back.” He smiled, your hand releasing the cup into his. Your cheeks were flush, the touch of his fingers still reminiscent of your hand. As much as you’d love a drink, you hated the idea of him leaving, even for just a moment.

“Can i go where you go?” You asked softly, your eyes bouncing between his. Fred swore he would walk across hot coals barefoot in order to hear you say that again. He felt like he could tear down mountains to get you a refill of punch. He couldn't believe what he heard. His empty hand reached down enveloping yours, the feeling so natural and warm. He pulled you lightly, walking ahead of you through the crowd.

Walking across the great hall, you swore the entire school was watching you both, the feeling surreal and uncomfortable, but all you could think about was the boy pulling you forward, hand in hand, just to get you some another drink.

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

Take me out

Take me home

Your my my my my my

Lover

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somnoir · 5 months ago

Text

Demon Twins and Death

Inspired by this post by @spiders-in-the-primrose

Damian had spent years loathing Danyal. The weaker, pathetic son. The son who did not have what it took to carry the name Al Ghul. The twin who had died and was swallowed by the Lazarus pits, never to be seen again.

The twin Damian killed.

His brother had welcomed death with tears and sobs. His last words were stained by the blood he choke out, "It had to be you, akhi." He whispered as the blood spilled from his mouth and a sword was pressed further into his stomach.

When he was sent to his father, he remained with his belief in being the better son. That Danyal was not worthy of being the son of the demon and the son of the bat. He could have been one but in the end, only Damian was worthy for both.

And yet as the years passed, Damian grew and changed. And then he finally understood.

In his family of heroes, his family who strived to make the world better—Danyal would have been a better fit. Instead, Damian had been the one to become his father's son with his own twin's blood on his hands. His father must never know.

The idea of Danyal sparks rage, resentment, and utterly self-loathing. His kind and sweet brother who would have been the perfect son for his father. The son who was clearly the better person. Not in skill, power—but morals. Because like their father, Danyal would never kill.

What would have happened if Danyal was here with him? If he were still alive?

Damain can imagine his brother in the colors that Robin wore, another costume, another name. Because Damian will not give up that name after he managed to take it from Drake. But Danyal would have work the colors, would have been bubbly like Grayson. He would have taken care of the children on the streets like Todd. He would have helped their father in cases like Drake.

He would have been the brother they would have wanted.

And Damian tries not to drown in what his brother could have been. He can't help but admire this figment of his imagination. This hero in his kind that wore what could have been Danyal's face. This light within the darkness of Gotham who had a voice identical to Damian's.

And Damian does drown. Because he wants what his brother could have been.

Danyal Al Ghul died by the hands of his brother.

In the back of his mind, he thinks that he just wants his other half back.

Danny Fenton was born as the girl who would be his sister dragged him from a lake and nursed him to health.

The Fentons were strange people with strange ideals. Jack and Maddie were obsessed, they were not suited to care for children as they grabbed their weapons and hunted down any ghost their could find. When they were absent, Danny was left with Jasmine.

The memory of Damian is strong and cruel and it burned itself into his mind. The memory of that katana sinking into his gut, just as blood bubbles up his throat. He remembers an older brother who had to be the one to kill him.

He remembers and then he looks to Jasmine. She is warmth incarnate, with fiery hair and bright eyes that reminded him of stars on painting. His parents lack the warmth he craves but Jazz gives him so much that he can't help but melt everytime he's in her arms.

Neither of them can forget how fearful he was towards her when she first found him. He had only been six years old, feeling the effects of the Lazarus pit on his skin before he was spat out somewhere far, far away. He remembered being in Nanda Parbat then he was spat out somewhere in Illinois.

Jasmine had found him. Jazz had found him.

And Danny has decided long ago that Jazz was much better than Damian.

Even from the distance between them, Danyal continues to fear Damian. The part of him that he wished died when his own twin stabbed him to death continued to live on.

Then he died.

Again.

And he can't help but hope that Danyal is finally dead. That the failure was finally dead. His body only needed two. He only needed Danny and Phantom. Yes... Danyal was dead.

Danny would kill that part of him himself if he could.

He donned the mantle of hero, even when the people called him a menace at times. Danny was finally a hero, he was finally someone who could do good in the world. It was a blessing for him.

In all honesty, being a hero had been fun, even as he suffered. His rogues that fought him felt like friends that he had missed in his life. Parts of him yearned for when Skulker came out for a fight. He laughed whenever Ember moved to blast her music through the town and he was forced to fight her. He was fond of both Kitty and Johnny, even when they fought and caused havoc. Trouble felt like home for once.

The half of him that was dead yearned for a fight, yearned for an obsession. Protection—he was told—was his own obsession.

To protect, to fight, to make sure that whatever fell into his obsession was safe and sound. He thinks of Amity Park—his haunt, his domain—and assumed it was what he wanted to protect. He had fought Pariah Dark, became King through conquest and continued to protect.

But a part of him knew that something was wrong. He knew that it wasn't Amity Park that he would protect at all cost. No.

It was always Jazz. Always his big sister who cradled him, who figured out he was Phantom, who could tell whether he was himself or not. The greatest part of his obsession fell onto the older sibling who loves him unconditionally, always reminding him that there was another half of him in the world that killed him. But Jazz was none of that.

Danny loved his family. He loved Elle who grew to be his little sister. He loved his parents even when they were difficult. He loved his friends—Sam, Tucker, Valerie. He loved them so dearly and yet they could never match up to Jazz.

Danny doesn't know what he'd do without her.

(Lies. He knew what would happen if Jazz was taken from her. He knew what kind of monster he'd become—one that the observants demanded to be killed. He knew damn well that Jazz Fenton was the only thing that kept him human.)

(Dan existed for a reason.)

(Danny would burn the world for his sister.)

(And he'd kill himself for fear of his brother.)

Fate is a cruel mistress that knew what she was doing. Twins were tied by blood, mind, and soul. An invisible thread that made sure they were connected one way or another. He shouldn't be surprised that they were going to be reunited at some point.

Danny Fenton and Damian Wayne meet.

It's been years. They've changed. They've become new people. Damian is Robin, the son of the bat (not heir to the demons head). Danny is Phantom, High King of the Infinite Realms (not the failure devoured by the Lazarus).

But that doesn't stop Danyal Al Ghul from drowning in fear at the mere visage of Damian Al Ghul.

Danny plays as ambassador, not king. He won't risk himself by telling people who he truly is. He can't. No.

When he summoned and claims that he is an ambassador sent as a substitute, the Justice League accepts what they are given and pleaded for aid.

But Robin is there with Batman. Robin and Phantom meet.

Robin sees Danyal and Phantom sees his murderer.

The moment his body was no longer frozen, Damian sucked in a deep breath as he stared at the face of his own beloved twin. His brother that died by his hands and was claimed by the pits. Had the Lazarus turned him into a creature of the realms?

"Danyal..." Robin sounded hopeful, desperate. He reached forward and almost crossed the circle if not for his father and Nightwing pulling him back with confusion and concern. They look towards the Ghostly being with a face that resembled their father and youngest a little too much.

Danny? Had he been human, his heart would have stopped after ricocheting. He stopped breathing, rendering his lungs useless. This was Damian. A hero of his own right even when he was a monster in Danny's eyes.

Danyal Al Ghul feared Damian.

Phantom was a manifestation of something of Danyal's death.

"You mistake me for someone, Heir to the Demon's head." His voice tore through air, distorted by his own will. Danny was king, he had to remind himself that.

"I am a manifestation. I am born from a concept and emotion. You would not have met me." The lies were not lies. Truths bended to his will as he spoke and pressed against the barrier made by the summoning circle. "But you recognize this body that I have taken form in."

"Then your appearance belonged to a living person." Batman growled.

Danny realizes that this was his father. Perhaps Ra's was right at some point—blood calls to blood.

"What have you done to Danyal?! Where is my twin brother, demon!" Robin's words leak venom as he slams a hand against the barrier.

Danyal tremblesPhantom was amused.

"Bats, tell your brat to back off! That's the ghost king's fuckin' ambassador." The Hellblazer hissed, watching as Batman pulled his son away.

But Damian—Robin—stands still.

Phantom grinned, flashing his teeth as he leaned closed to the barrier. Even when his appearance was born of inverted colors with Lazarus eyes rather than the sky, Damian could recognize his twin's face anywhere.

Both of them knew what happened to Danyal. Killed by his own brother.

But only Phantom knew what happened after.

"Oh little bird... I killed him."

Masterpost

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theorist-fox · 4 months ago

Text

Good Luck

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

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Word count: 5.2k

Summary: There’s only so much you can endure for love. Simon’s avoidance takes him one step too far, and this time, there’s no turning back.

18+

CW: angst, arguments, canon typical violence (GSW, surgery, medical talk), a drop of smut.

I listened to this song while writing!

Masterlist 🦊 | In The Walls Masterlist 🦊

The treadmill runs underfoot when it shouldn't.

You shouldn't be here—when the lights in the base are off, and curfew has clocked in. Not when your side is still aching, and your injury is still mending.

One would think that after ages in the special forces, you'd get used to gunshot wounds.

Truth is—you never do. It's always the same burning pain that makes you piss yourself and throw up your guts. How you survived is still a big, fat question mark—sniper rifles are made to kill, not to neutralize. If that bullet had hit a little higher, you'd be six feet underground, not doing some cardio in the HQ gym.

Even now, two months after the incident, the stabbing ache in your gut still lingers. Granted, it's not fully healed, so any pain you feel is your fault. But sitting idly, twiddling your thumbs, feels far too passive for you. So, you decide to resort to the simplest training—cardio, light weightlifting—anything that might help the rage simmering in your chest subside.

Because yes—the worst thing festering in your guts, right in the broken sinews and ripped flesh, isn't the mending hole of a .308 round, but a growing anger that's making it hard for your limbs to sit still.

And it's that anger that's slowing down the healing process, it must be.

You're running—not too fast. No headphones on, because you want to hear your breath panting and your feet thudding against the moving treadmill. You want to taste copper down your throat.

Overexertion. Salivating tongue. The wonderful ache of sore muscles.

Alive, strong, fast, reliable.

A friendly reminder that even though there is someone else occupying your spot in the team, you're still as fan-fucking-tastic as ever.

A friendly reminder that their role is only temporary. That when you're back on your feet, you're going to be the fifth member of that task force again.

Breakfasts with Soap, early morning runs with Gaz, cigars in the evening with Price.

Ghost, on the other hand, can go and fuck himself. Hard.

You don't blame him, really. Or, well, maybe a little. A smidge.

Because that's just who he is. You can't blame someone for being who they are—and what he is, is a bastard.

You should've known the moment you met him, the second he introduced himself as Ghost instead of Simon Riley, all those years back.

Instead of giving in, instead of acting kind, caring, and giving him your time—instead, instead, instead—you should've bit the same way he bit you. Ravaged you. Gave you hot and cold, push and pull, sunk his teeth until the bone, until you were nothing more than a rag doll in the maws of a rabid dog.

Surely, you couldn't have expected him to visit.

You couldn't have expected him to knock on your hospital room door, cuppa in hand, and have him give you his precious, precious time.

What you should've done was expect him to treat you in person like he treats you in bed.

A whore: warm enough to fit his cock in, wet enough to stroke his ego. You being out of commission for anything remotely related to sex meant you being out of his life—plain and simple.

A hard pill to swallow, but a true one.

And so, you run.

You run and stare deadly holes into the wall in front of you.

You run and ignore how the forming scar on your side tightens at each movement.

You run and try your damned hardest to focus on yourself: on your body feeling alive even when unhooked from cables and machines, on the fog in your brain finally dissipating, on your chest filling and relaxing even without oxygen pumped in your nose.

Ten minutes turn into twenty, until you can feel your thighs chafe and your calves cramp, but still you push through. Because the alternative, the only other thing that would make your stomach finally loosen, would be to have that bastard within reach. Punch him until he hurts like you did.

Alas, God seems to have heard, for the next thing you know, is that Simon is standing, jaded as always, at the threshold of the gym to your left.

As soon as you spot him in your periphery, you punch the big red button on the treadmill. Your run slows to a walk before you stop completely and get down.

You don't even look at him as you collect your water bottle from the floor, grunting softly when your injury folds and aches.

You don't even lift your head when you reply with a caustic, "Look what the cat dragged in."

He snorts. How dare he.

"See you got your wit back."

It's been two months since you last heard his voice.

When you got shot and blacked out, the last thing you registered was his voice roaring over comms—but judging by the distant behaviour he assumed right afterwards, the complete absence during your hospitalization, you convinced yourself that the anguished cry of your name you've heard was imagined altogether.

One last attempt of your brain to find some comfort in the pain.

However, a treacherous shiver still runs down your spine when he speaks. The thickness of his voice, the rasp that scratches a nice spot in your brain.

You shake your shoulders to get rid of it.

It's only then that you clock his form with your eyes. You tongue your cheek.

"Never left," you say, uncapping your water bottle. "Not that you'd know anyway, mh?"

As you drink, the balaclava shifts at his jaw as if he's running his tongue over his teeth. Thinking which approach to take—tactical and measured or absolutely ballistic and corrosive.

"You shouldn't be 'ere." He drawls with that grating tone that makes you believe he knows something more than you do.

Measured it is.

"Got cleared."

"Doc said otherwise."

"As obsessed as ever, uh?"

How his eyes sharpen tells you you've cut deeper than any razor blade could. A smug smile blooms on your cheeks because small things feel like huge victories when there are too many losses to count.

"You're under my command." He says bluntly, "Had to keep myself updated."

"Normal people would ask."

He tilts his head. "M'sure you gathered I'm anything but."

"Right," you say with a wry grin. "What was the doctor's diagnosis, then?"

"Lucky your liver got out of it intact," he replies, "Exit wound clear, no fragments. Minimal internal dam—"

"Oh no, I know that." You cut in, sickly sweet, like poison more than honey. "I meant yours."

His eyes darken, with a warning glint that should be enough to pierce through your resolve—shame for him that you're bulletproof and sharp like a knife. You don't care if it'll hurt—let it. After all, there is little left to lose, and you're sure that whatever is left will soon be lost.

"Abandonment issues? Does it stem from your childhood? Are you projecting something on me, Simon?"

"Sergeant," he says, lower than a growl.

"What?" You snap, tongue riddled with bitterness. "Isn't that what's happening? Takin' my life apart 'cause you couldn't sort out yours?"

Simon rolls his shoulders and straightens his neck. He often does it when he wants to appear taller, broader, scarier—though you know better.

And right now, he's just as tense as you are.

Both of you are teetering on the edge, walking a fine line that could lead to resolution, but you're afraid it won't. Not this time.

Each step he takes bends the thin rope under his weight. You wobble—precarious, afraid, a gust of wind is all it would take for you to fall and lose it all in one breath: the earned, mutual trust, the fragile love—no matter how disjointed and uncertain at times.

Reluctantly, you know that it has been tender, too.

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you,” he says. A measured threat.

Your eyes are sharp, and you don't dare to breathe. The space between your faces is tense—a ticking time bomb, something preceding destruction.

"And I'd stay the fuck back." You scowl. "If I were you."

There's a sneer painting his face; you're sure of it, even if it's out of sight. Something heavy and dark, hidden under fabric.

"Aye, I have," he says at length. "For two months. But looks like you didn't enjoy that much, did ya now?"

Your brows fly to your forehead. Utter disbelief at the sheer audacity of him. Apparently, today isn't one of those days in which you can take what you dish out.

Fuck it, you'll live.

"You think this is funny?" You scowl, cocking your head.

You watch his jaw shift, perhaps trying to reply, but you don't give him time. He's had plenty of it and wasted it all.

"You think it's alright, what you did?"

Your teeth grit until your head hurts.

"Not even a knock, Simon." Your voice rises in volume and anger alike. "Two months. Not a call, a text, a wordpassed through Johnny."

Your chest grows tight, and those vines climb upward, closing in on your throat and head all the same. The pressure in your skull threatens tears.

You'd rather get shot again than cry now, of all times.

You thought he'd carved a path specifically for you. Instead, he was only covering your eyes in gentle kisses and cottoning your ears with sweet words—perhaps some remorse, if he could feel it at all. Treated you like a hungry dog, throwing a bone so you'd turn into a more docile pup, whimpering and asking for pets.

And still, you kept clinging with your fingernails to the scraps of tenderness he offered, even when unsure of their authenticity.

There is no trace of that naivete now embedded in your eyes. You're as hard as he's portraying himself to be.

Simon now studies the switch. He must see the sadness in there, even if it's buried under a thick layer of anger and spite.

"Figured I'd leave ya to it," he says at last, pressing his thumb between his brows—a subtle gesture betraying his calm facade. "Give ya time to recover."

What a poor fucking excuse.

Oh, you want to make him hurt like he did you.

Make him feel two months' worth of staring at the plain white door of the hospital room, waiting for it to open. Waiting to see him duck under the doorframe, holding a pack of Marlboros in his hand.

Make a joke about smoking in hospital rooms and how irresponsible that would be, how insensitive, only for him to tinker with the smoke alarm and turn the orange butt of a ciggie your way.

Bring you tea. The book you still haven't finished. Tell you about his day.

More than sixty days spent pining, waiting, hoping like a helpless lunatic, with Johnny's pitying blues glued on the lines between your brows.

"Oh, spare me." You scoff. "At least have the decency to do that much."

His eyes narrow. You inhale, challenging him with your glare.

Fuck, he doesn't have to love you—to even like you—if that's the barrier he wants to put up.

But basic human decency doesn't seem much to demand. Especially knowing that you were so much more before this ordeal began. You were a colleague, a friend. A shag here and there doesn't cancel that. How can occasional sex erase years and years of carefully built partnerships, in and out of work?

How can he so easily change his view of you just because you parted your legs for him?

It hurts when you realize it. When it hits you right in the head like that bullet pierced your side. That you're done giving him excuses, that you're done giving him time.

That it's now or never again.

It escapes your mouth like something strangled, fighting its way out with elbows and fists. Thrashing through your throat, guided by better judgment and self-preservation, even as your heart begs for a moment more.

"You know this doesn't work, right?" You gesture in the space between you two. "You and I."

That seems to be what wakes him. His eyes look alarmed, even if only for a moment, and it's a flash so brief you're not even sure it happened at all.

"We talked 'bout—"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." You cut in, exasperation showing in the way your voice rises.

He jolts. Freezes.

You sigh a shaky breath. Your body burns hot, like the feelings brewing at the bottom of a much too-deep pot are finally spilling out. Skin lighting up, all too aware of everything, from the blood rushing to your cheeks to the throbbing ache of your healing wound.

"Yeah, we had that chat—no feelings, no strings attached, or whatever rubbish you tell yourself to sleep at night."

Your heart feels heavier, like someone's poured cement over it, and it's about to be tossed into deep waters.

"Doesn't mean you've got the right to treat me like this." You say in a single breath. "Like I'm not even a person. Like I don't matter unless I'm naked."

Something in him hardens like he's looking at you through his scope: squinting his eyes, steeling his shoulders. You struck a raw nerve, casting him in a light that even he wouldn't dare to face, self-critical as he may be.

Or you're just describing what you see. What he's shown you. Given you. Not who he is.

But how are you supposed to know that? Discern the mask from the man when he guards the latter so viciously.

"I'm not just someone you fuck," you say through gritted teeth. "I'm a person. I'm your sergeant—I'm your friend. I deserve your respect."

You slam a finger to his chest. The impact is not as strong as it is shocking.

Simon stumbles back.

"I had your back long before we started fucking, and when I get shot, you don't even bother knocking?" You exclaim. "You hear how fucked up that is? And you think I'll let it slide without consequences?"

You retreat your hand, trembling like a leaf. It falls at your side limply, surrendered as you are.

"You don't know me if you think that."

You gulp down something heavy stuck in your throat, but your voice remains abrasive and sharp.

"And I don't know why I ever thought otherwise."

You step back, holding his eyes a moment more—daring to bite back at your words. Daring to fabricate an excuse.

But you don't waste energy to gauge his thoughts this time. You have tried—so strenuously— to discover Simon Riley, but there are walls too thick to climb, gates too rusted and too old to be opened.

And, for once, you forgive yourself for having failed.

Simon stands stock still under the yellow lights of the gym, hands curled into fists at his sides, fighting an invisible enemy. A statue of a man, stone cold and so awfully far, far away.

You walk past him, water bottle clutched in your hand so tight you think your knuckles might snap.

The doorway's left behind you. Your steps quicken the farther you get from the gym, watching the light from the door give way to the darkness of a sleeping headquarters.

You don't hear his steps, and you're unsure whether he's following. Hard to tell—the man's a ghost in more ways than just his name. Silent and prudent even when wrapped in tac gear up to his head.

When you reach your room, you think you're safe from further arguments. No more raising your voice, no more putting your heart through the meat grinder. It's gone and done, and you only want to get in your bed and not think about it until you wake up tomorrow.

Still, your hands shake. You test for your keys in the tight pocket of your leggings and curse under your breath when you pluck them out and they fall from between your fingers.

When you're about to bend down, cussing further because your side still aches, a hand steals them from your sight. You follow the tattoos up to the face of the owner, even if you don't have to do so to recognize him.

He's not wearing the mask anymore. He has it tucked in a pocket of his jeans; you see the dark cloth peeking from the light blue. His shoulders are slouched, hair tousled and messy, likely due to his fingers running through it. Pale cheeks and sunken eyes, darker underneath, like he hasn't caught a wink in a while.

A certain sadness in them, too. But that might be what your eyes want you to see—rationally, you would put all that much, much past him.

"Careful," he murmurs, handing the keys back to you.

You snatch them from his hands and practically punch them into the keyhole.

"Sarge—"

"No."

He calls your name.

"No."

You slam the door behind you once you're inside, but you don't hear the closing thud. When you look over your shoulder, you find him holding it open. Without further questions or waiting for you to rebut, he steps inside.

You glower to deter him. It's useless.

Simon closes the door behind him and leans against it. His hand effortlessly finds the switch at the entrance and flicks it on.

As you blink to adjust to the sudden light, your eyes naturally focus on him: a mountain of a man clad in onyx with the pale cream backdrop of your door.

"Out," you bark.

He looks at you with eyes so horribly tired. Exhausted. Upset.

"Fuck's sake, jus' listen."

And his voice is not so different.

Then, there's nothing you can do.

Those boots have been here without your frank permission more times than you can count. You're aware of the impossibility of redirecting them outside.

You scowl, fingers tightening around the water bottle in your hand because his nerve could bloody well be the last straw.

But still—

You nod. Jaw locked tight.

"Make it quick."

He spares not a second more.

"Day o' the surgery, after they cut you open," he says. "I came."

He points at his neck.

"Had a tube shoved down your throat, a thing around your chin to keep ya mouth open."

Then, to his face.

"Beaten black an' blue, you were—swollen an' all. Reckon it was probably the fall after the shot—dunno, couldn't fuckin' think when I saw ya like that."

He licks his lips. Bows his head as if the floor might lend him the strength he needs to pull himself together.

He looks up again. Dark eyes tender unlike anything you've ever seen, and yet one corner of his mouth is downturned, like he's about to say something he's very disappointed with.

Your body is gelatin. Flaccid. Cotton ears, foggy sight, clammy palms.

"You looked dead," he swallows something thick. "And I wished you were."

Your bottle slips from your hands and falls to the floor. A metallic thud. Water sloshes back and forth as it rolls on the linoleum until it stills.

Suddenly, you feel like a kid who's looking for her ma.

There's a sadness so deep and suffocating you can't quite explain it if not by digging up childhood memories—a sense of loss, of being small and helpless and alone.

You fought tears all this time, and now it feels fruitless even to try. It's written all over your face anyway.

You taste their salt before you feel your eyes swell with them.

"Fuck. You." You tell him, voice hoarse but no less spiteful.

"Wished you were dead—"

He walks to you.

"You're disgusting—"

"Because—"

Closer.

"Don't want to see your fucking face again—"

"I didn't know wha' to do."

Until he stands with his boots bumping your trainers. Until the cold wall touches the sweat on your back.

He holds your face in his hands.

You pull back. He doesn't let go.

"'Cause I don't know, love—" He breathes tenderly, like his voice is not his, while your nails claw at his wrist so he lets go.

He doesn't.

"I don't know how to mourn the livin'," he says, "Only the dead."

He gulps. You fall still.

"You said ya wouldn't put me through that again, but you did," he croaks. "Made it worse this time. I couldn't take it."

He thumbs your tears.

"Would've been easier f'me to bury ya with the others an' let the guilt finish me off."

Simon leans in until his lips brush your forehead. When he realizes you won't fight back anymore, his hands slide to your shoulders, then down your arms.

Gingerly, his fingers twine with yours. He doesn't tighten his hold; he merely tests the thin skin of your knuckles.

You pull back a step, burning eyes drifting up at him through the tears clumping your lashes. Truthfully, you weren't expecting him to cry with you. You don't think Simon can—maybe he's already shed one too many tears.

But his cheeks are glowing red. His eyelids are heavy, eyes cast down to you. He's just as affected as you are, but he shows it differently in those subtle ways you've learned to read.

After fighting the tremble of your lips, you steady yourself. Fingers warm within his own; you don't pull them away.

"I don't deserve what you did to me."

Your voice is so tight you hate yourself for it, but if you don't speak your mind now, you're afraid you never will.

He shakes his head slowly, never straying from your eyes.

"You don't."

Leaning down slowly, giving you ample time to move away if you wish, Simon kisses your shoulder.

You sigh.

"Don't deserve a ton o' the shite I put ya through," he whispers.

His ear is right next to your lips. You're sure that no matter how much you try to control yourself, he'll quickly gather your feelings by the way your pulse thunders beneath his kiss.

So why hide it at all?

"And yet you never apologized for a single one of them."

Simon gulps. A subtle sound, as subtle as the man who made it.

He pulls back. Smooths back your hair, sliding a hand from your forehead to your scalp.

You lean into his touch, exhaling a breath that trembles like your hands.

"Never did, did I." He breathes.

He leans in and presses a kiss between your brows, then down the bridge of your nose, to your cheek, the corner of your mouth. You close your eyes so he can navigate this new level of intimacy he's never initiated nor shown at all.

And then he captures your lips.

His shoulders soften.

A long, drawn-out sigh from his nose.

He pushes forward, forcing the back of your head against the wall. His hands travel to your stomach, hesitant and curious. He skims over the thicker patch of fabric, where the surgery scar is mending under soft, fresh bandages.

A slight hiss in your breath because it still feels sore to the touch is what makes Simon pull back. Just enough to have the tips of your noses graze.

Suddenly, he kneels at your feet.

Big hands envelop your waist, touch gentle but still present enough to rip the air out of your lungs. His thumb brushes over the bandage, causing you to shift uncomfortably.

You look down. Your eyes touch.

The silence around you cracks when he speaks, softness in his breath.

"M'sorry."

Chest tight and sore, like he just punched it.

He keeps his eyes on you, not to study your expression but to convey his own. The earnestness you catch in there ripples through you like a shockwave ready to shatter you whole.

He leans in and buries his nose right above your belly button, in the rougher fabric of your shirt.

His thumbs hook at the hem, lifting it up so that his face meets your stomach.

"Tell me to fuck off, an' I will," he whispers to your skin. "Know I deserve it."

He kisses your belly, carefully navigating around your bandaged injury.

"But fuck," he sighs. "I hope you don't."

His lips travel lower, where the waistband of your legging cinches your hips. His kisses turn open but unhurried, like he just wants to savour what he's denied himself for too long.

You roll your lips between your teeth, unsure of how to behave.

"Fuckin' hope you don't," he murmurs.

Your hands land on his head, then, hesitant and trembling, fingers threaded through his hair. Simon sighs like you took the weight off his shoulders and got rid of it entirely.

His fingers curl at the hem of your leggings.

Slowly, he rolls them down, and he follows their trail, drawing his tongue and his lips down your thighs to your knee. His hand slips to your shoe, and he helps you take it off. Then to the other. Your socks, your pants, until your legs are bare, fabric tossed aside in a heap on the floor.

Simon never stands up.

He holds you by your hips with a covetous grip, but still soft enough to not hurt, almost mimicking the way his mouth moves over you: with smothered hunger, with gentle greed, one that feels somehow oppositely selfless.

Like he's doing it because it feels good for you and not because he desires to have it.

Simon's nose dips in the crease of your thighs. A kiss there, one to the seam of your labia, one on your mound.

His eyes flicker to you.

The lights in your room are a soft yellow, casting a gentle glow on his kneeling body that feels somewhat wrong, like there's too much being shown under the sun when only the two of you should witness it.

Gingerly, you slide your hand along the wall until you find the bump of the switch. With a flick of your finger, the lights go off.

The room is pitch dark now. Moonlight laps at the lines of Simon's face like it's trying to make him glow despite how dim everything around him is.

It takes a while to adjust to the darkness, but you finally see him when you do. The downturn of his eyes, the telltale signs of sleepless nights, wrinkles of exhaustion and endless battles fought within himself.

Utter, devastating regret.

You wonder if he can spot the heaviness in your eyes. The uncertainty, the fear of falling right back into the cycle, a trap of yours and his making.

He's going to tell you the nicest things, pull you in until you can only stick to him like glue, and then he's going to vanish from your life. Treat you like you're strangers until you'll somehow find yourself wrapped around his finger again.

And then it'll all start over. Again, and again, and again.

You brush your thumb on his temple.

Simon leans into it like a dog starving for attention.

He hooks his fingers at the thin straps hugging your hipbones. Slowly pulls your knickers down to your ankles as he holds your eyes.

Gently, he coaxes your knee to bend, lifting your leg off the floor. He kisses the side of your foot, your calf and upward, until your knee is draped over his shoulder.

Slowly, his nose nudges your clit. The muscles in your thighs twitch.

You're not wet; you're not aroused. He isn't either, you can tell. Otherwise, you'd have had his face buried between your legs hours ago.

The tip of his tongue draws a stroke there. Like waves, it reaches the base of your skull. Tips you off balance, almost. Makes your head spin.

Another tentative lick. The tender fingers in his hair turn into claws, and you grip it tighter.

Another, another, until you're breathless and inevitably dripping. Simon collects it with his fingers, drawing circles at your entrance.

The flat of his tongue meets your clit in a tortuously slow dance, holding you still with an arm encircling your thigh. And then his finger slides in. You're forced to bite your cheek, muffling a moan that only manages to break free as a sigh.

But when you look down, even in the darkness, you see his eyes, glossy and charged. But still so very tired.

Like yours.

Because maybe he's navigating through this exactly like you, and you hadn't considered it—too absorbed in your own heartache to notice his. And maybe he's even more afraid because when you have nothing to lose, and something's suddenly given to you, you don't know how to behave.

And maybe Simon thinks that doing this is the only way to keep you.

You exchange a look that holds more pain than lust, shaking your head at him so, so softly it’s almost imperceptible. And Simon sighs, surrendered—he takes back his hand, his tongue, and sits back on his heels.

Carefully, you unhook your knee from his shoulder. He doesn't put up a fight, doesn't tighten the hold on your leg. Instead, he drops his arm limp on his thigh.

You slide down the wall behind you until your knees bump against his. Simon's fingers reach out, almost shy, and trace mindless patterns on your skin.

He's hunched over, head bowed in what you venture might be shame, or perhaps that grief he said he doesn't know how to carry.

Your hand touches his cheek. Dark eyes look at you through paler lashes with reluctant understanding.

That it's over, isn't it?

"Doesn't feel right anymore, does it?" You offer gently.

His chest swells. Shoulders taut and suddenly straight, like something's hit his spine and forced it upright.

He tongues his cheek. Looks away.

"Don't think so, no."

Your lips quiver. It's okay, it was bound to happen.

It should've happened so long ago. You should've taken the leap and pulled away from him much, much earlier—when your heart wasn't woven to his yet.

"Maybe one day," you say in the darkness, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "When we're not so…"

With your free hand, you gesture at yourselves.

"…Fucked." You finish with a hint of a breathy laugh in between.

Simon huffs too, and then deflates.

It's long before his hand comes to cup yours on his cheek. He keeps it there momentarily, while finally giving you the privilege of meeting your eyes.

And he looks so tender, even when he gently brings your hand down, away from his face. He holds it as it lands on his knees.

"Eloquent." He remarks.

You scoff. Roll your eyes with a pathetic sniffle. "Obviously."

He shakes his head softly. A big hand reaches up, and he flicks your nose. You scrunch it up, smiling in a way that doesn't feel forced for the first time since you met tonight.

Simon's thumb brushes your knuckles.

"One day," he repeats. "When we're not fucked."

Your smile feels wet and shaky. Tears are staining your cheek, but it's freeing instead of reluctant, this time.

His eyes are gentle, allowing you to peek through the curtain for the first time. Perhaps it's too dark now to see, but you're hopeful one day you will.

"Good luck to us, then." You say softly.

Simon breathes a chuckle. Brings your knuckles to his lips and holds your hand there.

"Good luck, love."

Biggest thanks to @/void-my-warranty for helping me out, you're a gem 🧡

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