#the path through the irises

[evalcea]

The Path through the Irises

Claude Monet

oil on canvas, 1914-1917

Metropolitan Museum of Art

[lemuseum]

[aelondrias]

𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖲𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖽𝗌 𝖺 𝗀𝗎𝗇, 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍? 𝗌𝗈𝗈.. >///.\\\< ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

⋆.˚ ⋆ 𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩 an almost kiss with him where..

He slowly leans in and you close your eyes in anticipation, waiting for his lips to meet yours, heart beating wildly inside your ribcage. Only to haul out his pistol and shoot an enemy from the distance, creating a loud bang to the field.

Your eyes were still shut and you were still waiting a pair of lips yet to grace onto yours but to no avail so you fluttered them open.

“Shadow?”

His eyes flickered back to yours and traces of grim gaze lingered but vanished as soon as he met yours like a flame being snuffed out in a brief touch. His hand skewered over to your face and tenderly grazed it across your cheek as if he was touching the delicate wings of the butterfly. His thumb swept over under your lid, and you felt as if you could melt at his soft gestures. One that is accustomed to ruthlessly take his enemies down, capable of setting the world into chaos if he wanted to.

But he didn��t and chose not to be.

“It seems that our awaited pining for each other will have to wait,” you could tell the mild frustration in his voice, an implication that an intimate moment between you having been interrupted stirred a storm in him, yearning to take out onslaught forth to the intruders that dared to get in his way. Especially when he’s come this far to finally have you all to himself, a moment alone with you.

How truly infuriating.

You have known him for quite a long time, and that earned you on how to read Shadow like an open book, and that is when you sense a fire scorching in him, your hands instantly went to his hand that was still cupping your cheeks and gave him a soft, imploring smile.

“It’s alright. I can wait.”

His sharp eyes widened for a short moment, caught off guard. It’s everything had to with your gestures. The way you can stir a somersault of emotions inside him so easily. Each and every movement, touch, words, even a single damn brush of your fingers threatens to crumble the ice wall he sculpted around for himself.

Yet, he quite liked the feeling.

What was he going to do with you?

“I’ll make this quick,” One of his index fingers flicked—the one that was holding his pistol, and another sound of a loud bang thundered in the field as you nearly flinched at the noise, but you were easily destructed by the red eyes looking at you so deeply, as if he’s wandering through the paths he harbored himself into your soul. Breath lodges between your throat as his gaze deepened and intensified, but warmth still dwell through those beautifully red shade irises that you deeply adored.

Another fire sounded in the air followed by a pained noise by an unknown creature in the distance.

“—and after that,” two more deafening loud gunshots pierced through the air but your ears could hardly listen to it, too tangled in the strings of Shadow’s eyes that seemingly had tied around you, drawing you deeper into him.

“..we will continue where we left off.” he finishes coupled with a final shot of his gun breaking free in the area, reverberating in far miles away. From the sound of it, you were certain he probably taken many foes down at his disposal, and he wasn’t even much paying any focus to the intruders while doing so.

Well, because he got his mind occupied by something else.

“Wait for me.” He murmurs then pulls away in reluctance, and so as you, his hand slipping away like silk as his warmth left you. Shadow reloaded his gun and arched his neck to the side, cracking the bones within it. You didn’t want him to pull away, but the increasing numbers of the intruders was an obstacle of that wishful thought. Then your eyes skewered around you, taking the sight as Shadow had indeed taken many of the creatures down to here and there, corner and front and open.

All intricately and accurately targeted to their heads unmissed.

⋆.˚ ⋆ 𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི notes: aight have this short fluff of Shadow while I work on my wip draft!

[dmitriene]

simon's balaclava concealing his face while he's on top of you, skull print gazing down at you with steadily blinking eyes, brown of his irises swallowed by the sprawling darkness, the molten gold ingested almost fully, framed only by flutter of pale eyelashes, the single indication of where his gaze hide, glimpses of pale skin beneath flushed deep rosy.

you can feel the sultry path he burns on your skin as he glances over you, staring at the thin, shiny layer of sweat that covers your body, at how your supple breasts bounce in time with every thrust of his hips, and how wet you are between your spread legs, doughy thighs glistening with tacky slick that seeps out from where you stretched around his cock, his shaft coated in creamy sheen.

pussy dripping, tightening with shallow spasms everytime the velvety ridge of his cock pummels in your gummy walls, latched around every vein of his fat girth, making you arch through sparks of heat in your spine as simon's thick tip jammed against your cervix, pussy squelching from the amount of his precum and your slick that blends and coats your spread, glossy folds in gauzy strings.

it's intimate, to see nothing from simon except the emotionality of his eyes, hidden behind the image of the ghost, listen to his hoarse moans and choked, whining growls, see the flutter of his eyes as the muscles of his stomach twist with spiking heat, so close to cumming his movements turn sloppy with need, hips jerking forward on their own.

simon fighting the urge to roll his eyes back to his skull when your gummy walls ripple around his cock, clamping around the meaty, fat girth of his shaft as the thick ropes of his cum coat your gooey insides, flooding you full of milky seed as you tremble beneath him, drowning in the crumpled sheets when simon presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing through the layer of cloth.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[cumironi]

SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS: GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic. gojo satoru is a pathetic man when it comes to you. “ . . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay.

warning : age-up! satosugu, depressed! fem x reader, drug mention, trauma mention, suicide, self-harm, death mention, drowning, blood, heavy angst.

w/c : 6,2k | [☆] MASTERLIST

𝜗𝜚 . . . . i had to stop so often writing this because i can't stop crying and think that i shouldn't continue because it hurts me so bad that i have to take a cold shower and think about my life. and honestly, i wasn't supposed to write the last part but yeah..

A MINUTES AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

it was too quiet. . .

gojo satoru never screams so loud in his entire life, so loud. . . the world shaking beneath his feet, ready to swallow him whole and rotten. so loud . . . he sure he can no longer hear. he ran, slipping on his way until he broke his knee on the puddle of the red, transparent liquid that spill from the bath-up.

the starling sigh, you were there. . .

“no, no, no, baby— no.”

the water, tinged with a haunting crimson, surged and overflowed, cascading into the bathroom with relentless force. it climbed steadily up gojo's legs, as if the liquid itself sought to ensnare him, to drag him down into its suffocating embrace, or just. . . mock him.

a dark mockery that seemed to whisper that it alone held the power to drown him, to swallow your trembling breaths and the last echoes of your voice. it wasn’t him, or geto suguru who was to be your executioner, but the merciless water, eager to claim your final, stutter breath.

“i-i —sorry, i’m sorry..” you stammered.

your voice stammered between choke, barely a murmur beneath the frothy waves, struggled to be heard amidst the tumult. your eyes, devoid of warmth, reflected a chilling detachment. the coldness in your gaze was almost tangible, a stark contrast to the chaotic, drowning world around you.

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic.

gojo, even on the verge of your death is still so gentle, as if he's afraid you are going to die than you already are. dropping on his knees as he tries to pull your warm bodies out of the bath-up.

gojo shook his head, a soft whisper escaping from his trembling lips, “shhh, it's alright baby, it's alright, you're alright,” his mumble, each word a fragile promise against the storm of his own emotions— words and voice shaking, his bones and soul shivering. his strong arm wraps around your body, pulling you closer to his chest, feeling everything, even as his flesh trembling.

tears cascaded from the corner of your eyes, tracing silken paths down your skin, while his embrace, though trembling, sought to cradle and calm you, a sanctuary against the turbulence of your anguish.

“suguru, please help!” again, this time he shouted.

geto runs upon hearing the horror howling, and his purple irises about to peel from his face and his lungs lose air— ragged gasps, as if each inhale were stolen from him. the scene before him struck with a painful clarity: you nestled within gojo’s embrace, your body wracked with distress.

foaming at the mouth, you appeared trapped in a tormenting grip of anguish, while the open scars on your wrist bled stories of suffering and desperation. in that moment, the sight was both heart-wrenching and surreal, a vivid tableau of fear and pain, painted across the canvas of his deepest fears.

“i'm sorry— i-i'm so sorry,” you whisper between choking gasps as geto kneels beside you and your body shaking. tears cascade uncontrollably, each dropping a shimmering testament to a sudden, overwhelming regret. it is as though a profound realization has swept over you, too late to mend the wounds that have been inflicted.

the regret feels like a bitter aftertaste of the sorrow you can no longer escape. the eyes of those around you, trembling with the weight of their own anguish, are bloodshot and haunting, mirroring the crimson that flows from your wrist. in that agonizing moment, the world feels irrevocably broken, and the fleeting desire to be alive seems like a distant, unreachable dream.

they burst from the bathroom, gojo's arms wrapped tightly around you as he dashes through the chaos. your lifeless feet and hands dangle, a heavy, haunting reminder of the blood seeping steadily onto the floor. each drop forms a macabre trail, like the relentless shadow of death that clings to you, a grim companion refusing to let go.

the crimson stains splatter and pool in your wake, an anguished testament to the finality that now seems inevitable— each red stain on the ground is a haunting reminder, a stark declaration. as they run, the blood's mournful descent weaves a sorrowful narrative of moments slipping away, each drop a poignant echo of what might have been, a stark and unyielding declaration that time has run out, that it is too late.

and suddenly, everything feels like a slow motion.

6 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

the doctor spoke with a grave tone, his words laced with concern. “it appears,” he began, looking at gojo who's just sitting there with his eyes focusing on the floor, meanwhile geto standing beside him. “that she intentionally tried to overdose. we've had to act swiftly to pump the substances from her body, working to counteract the severe effects of her actions.”

geto's hand gently gripping on gojo's shoulder as they listen. his expression was one of solemn seriousness, reflecting the urgency and gravity of the situation. “we've done everything we can to stabilize her, but it's crucial that you two understand the seriousness of what she has done. this was a life-threatening situation, and we're only beginning to address the underlying issues that led to this crisis.”

the doctor continued, his voice carrying a mix of relief and concern. “fortunately, the cut on her wrist wasn't too deep,” he said, his eyes scanning the notes before them. “it seems that the severity of the injury was somewhat mitigated by her weakened state from the drugs. if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different.”

his tone softened, acknowledging the fragile balance between the danger of the overdose and the mitigating effects of your physical condition. “we've managed to address the immediate threats, but it's crucial to understand that this is a serious wake-up call. we need to work on her recovery and the emotional struggles that led to this moment.”

if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different,’ the words echoed repeatedly, hauntingly through the air, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. once, twice, three times, they reverberated through their minds, each repetition a stark reminder of how close they came to losing you, how dangerously close the edge of despair was.

even the notion of ‘almost’ carried a weight too immense to bear, a heavy presence that pressed down on their hearts. the silence that followed was thick with unspoken guilt and anguish; none of them could find the words to bridge the chasm of their shared grief. they avoided each other's gaze, unable to escape the silent blame that hung heavy between them, a suffocating testament to their collective sense of failure.

gojo stared at his hands through the thin veil of his blindfold, his fingers trembling as they traced the dried blood staining his pale skin. the sight of it was a brutal reminder of you. with a strained effort, he clenched his hands tightly, hoping to meld the dried blood with his own, as if to erase the haunting evidence of what had transpired— his last hope trying to be with you.

each breath felt like a desperate gasp, a small gap forming between his lips as he struggled to draw in air. the sensation of suffocation gripped him, a relentless pressure squeezing his chest, making each inhale a battle. despite his efforts, the air seemed insufficient, leaving him feeling as though he were on the precipice of life, teetering on the brink of an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

geto felt an overwhelming tide of guilt and anguish, a heavy weight pressing down on his heart. the scene that unfolded before him replayed in his mind like a relentless, agonizing loop, hunting him down like he is some kind of a fucking prey. he was haunted by the sight of your suffering, the image of your blood-streaked hands and the anguished cries that pierced the air. each moment of his own reflection, seeing the remnants of your blood on his skin and his white shirt, deepened his torment.

the sense of responsibility gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how close he came to losing you. he felt suffocated by a profound sorrow and helplessness, as if the very air around him was too thick, leaving him gasping for breath— like the death itself pointing its ugly fucking finger to his face and laugh at him, at them.

what a fucking pathetic man’ the death must be said.

the weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, and the silence between him and his companions only amplified his inner turmoil. the unspoken blame and the aching realization that he couldn't undo what had happened created a chasm of despair within him, making each moment feel like an eternity of unbearable remorse.

both of them are buried in profound sea of grief, guilt, shame because a thousand moments with you that they take for granted— shame, for thinking, assume that there would be a thousand more. is it too selfish to be here?’ they thought.

that curse must be laughing at them, the higher-ups, everyone— pointing their finger from all directions. look at them, ’ they thought, those two who called themselves the strongest can even save a single soul,’ again they must be laughing, let alone a soul who is to be called the love of their life.

but nobody knows, none, not even a single soul that, oh, how your presence evokes such selflessness in them— even amid their silent, tormented reflections. they are consumed by an incessant questioning of the selfishness of their own sorrow, wondering if it is wrong to cling to their grief while you teeter on the precipice of loss.

the haunting thought persists, a cruel reminder of time's fragile nature and the profound depth of their remorse. in their heartache, they are acutely aware of the contrast between their own suffering and the delicate balance of your existence, each moment of their anguish a poignant testament to the sorrow they feel for having taken so much for granted.

is it okay to feel sad? ’ they thought.

even the very sensation of sadness and grief feels like an indulgence they do not deserve. i can't even protect her, what rights do i fucking deserve to be sad?’ they thought. to them, these emotions seem an opulent luxury, an extravagant gift they are not entitled to. in their hearts, the depth of their sorrow feels almost excessive, a poignant reminder of how their suffering pales in comparison to the magnitude of the almost loss they face.

each wave of grief feels like a grand, unwelcome opulence, an unjust reward for the pain they have caused and the moments they have squandered. the luxury of their sadness seems a cruel irony, a stark contrast to the profound emptiness of the reality they must now confront.

people passing by in front of them, throwing them a glance or two. seeing their red eyes and tears-stain cheeks, blood in their hands, in shirts, in pants, in their soul, laid bare. everyone wants to give them both a pat on the back, telling them that they are good at handling grief; howling, crying, and blaming each other. that's the proper way to handle grief.

18 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

your hands are warm, a stark contrast to the pallor of your pink lips, which have lost their vibrant hue, your eyes open still so retain their gentle softness, a quiet testament to the grace you still hold.

as you lie upon the hospital bed, draped in the drab, floral-patterned gown that clings to you, it feels woefully inadequate. the gown, mundane and worn, seems too insipid and shabby to encompass your beauty, too faded and forlorn.

“i'm sorry. . .” you mumble.

you can’t bring yourself to look at them as they sit beside your bed, their eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights, their uniforms crumpled and disheveled, their hair falling in untamed disarray. their faces have lost their vibrant hue, a stark contrast to their usual vitality.

gojo satoru’s once-brilliant blue eyes, which used to shimmer with an unyielding light, now seem dull and lifeless, even when the golden sunlight spills over them. the sunlight, which once might have enhanced the beauty of his gaze with its warm orange tones, now only serves to highlight the emptiness that has replaced his once-sparkling eyes— it's dull, it's dull, it is fucking dull.

geto suguru's strikingly handsome face is graced with a smile, tender and achingly gentle, as though he is pouring all his effort into offering you a sliver of solace. his lips tremble with a subtle quiver, betraying the deep sadness that lingers beneath his calm exterior. his once-vibrant purple irises have dimmed, their former brilliance faded to a shadow of their former selves.

you fear that they might darken further, losing their hue altogether, slipping into a void of despair where even color seems to vanish. the sight of his sorrowful eyes, so devoid of their usual spark, reflects a profound sadness that pierces the heart, a silent testament to the emotional toll of the moment.

oh, what i have done. . .’ you thought.

“don't, please don't,” gojo pleads, his voice trembling as he clasps your unharmed hand with a desperate grip. his blindfold has been removed, revealing eyes that are filled with raw, unfiltered emotion as he gazes at you. beside him, geto's hand rests gently at the back of your head, his touch tender and soothing. he caresses your hair with a featherlight motion, his thumb brushing softly over your scalp.

“we are so sorry for taking you for granted,” he murmurs, the words heavy with regret and sorrow. “we are sorry for offering you only a lukewarm love, when you deserved a love that was fierce and all-consuming, a love that burned brightly and fiercely. i'm sorry,” his voice wavers, each word an echo of their deep remorse, as they both grapple with the weight of their unspoken apologies and the profound realization of what they failed to give you.

they do not seek to question why your soul bleeds, nor do they dare to unravel the dark tapestry of your pain. the blood, flowing with a steady, silent, and disturbingly deliberate pace, engulfs you in its relentless embrace. it seeps into every corner of your being, a somber tide that threatens to consume you entirely.

they find themselves unable to confront this harrowing reality, their hearts too burdened to bear the weight of such a painful inquiry. the sight of your suffering leaves them paralyzed, unable to utter the questions that linger in their minds, as they grapple with the profound helplessness of watching you slowly succumb to the encroaching shadows.

“i love you, baby,” gojo whispers, “i'm sorry that you're in so much pain so to think death is the only salvation,” he stopped for a second, cocooning your hand with his large one before resting his cheek against. “i'm sorry i didn't notice your rage for the world and too busy loving you. does my love scare you, love? that's why you decided to leave, hm?” his voice shaking, lips quivering.

“if you are angry, stab me a little so you can feel better, make it hurt, i don't care. a little suffering would be worth it if it's by your hands, by your pretty little hands,” he murmured against your skin, his breath a warm whisper that sent shivers across your body. each word was a soft plea, wrapped in a tone that trembled with both desperation and tenderness.

his trembling lips pressed gently against your hand, each kissing a fleeting starburst of warmth against your cool skin. him— no they, stood ready to endure your pain, inviting you to inflict upon them the hurt you felt.

they stand poised to let you sink your teeth into them, to delve into their very flesh. to let you open them up, laid bare and vulnerable, just to offer you a chance to heal. just so they can love you a little too much, starving even— like a flesh begging to be knitting together over a wound. ruin me, ruin us, and we will let you.

“i love you, i love you, i love you,” he gave you stars in each between. they fucking love you like a rotten dog. “believe me when i said this. . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay, “we love you.”

he finally said we’ geto thought.

at first glance, people might assume that geto suguru’s love for you surpasses that of gojo satoru, that his love is somehow greater. yet, the truth remains that it has always been gojo satoru who harbors the most profound and boundless love for you from the very beginning. his love is vast, immense, and utterly astonishing, stretching beyond the horizons of understanding.

gojo’s devotion is a vast expanse, a love so deep and wide that it seems to defy the very limits of emotion. even geto suguru, who himself is capable of immense love, finds himself awestruck and somewhat intimidated by the sheer magnitude of gojo’s feelings. no one can truly grasp the depth of gojo’s love—not even gojo himself—such is the overwhelming, almost incomprehensible nature of his heart’s boundless devotion to you.

and sometimes it scares the shit out of geto.

but maybe, just maybe, they have a little too much love for you more than for each other, even more than for themselves— as if you make a space in their ribs, and call it home country.

30 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

geto stirred from a restless sleep, his head resting gently against your hospital bed, nestled close to your side. as he slowly opened his eyes, he was met with the soft, gentle sight of you gazing at him, a faint, tender smile gracing your lips. the serene moment, bathed in the quiet of the hospital room, brought a flicker of warmth to his weary heart, a small but profound comfort amid the lingering shadows of their shared sorrow.

“hey sunshine,” geto whispered in a hoarse croak, reaching a hand to brush your hair away from your face, “how long have you been awake?”

“long enough to notice the dark circles under your eyes and the tear stains on your cheeks,” you replied softly, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, your thumb tenderly caressing the worn skin. geto hummed, his hand capturing yours and guiding your palm to his lips, where he planted a gentle kiss.

the touch of your skin was like a salve, soothing the ache in his weary soul. he chuckled weakly. his eyes were tired and his skin pale, but your touch made him feel alive. “you’re too observant for your own good,” he teased, his lips curving into a weary smile.

geto shifted in his chair, wincing slightly as his body protested the movement. he settled into a more comfortable position, still holding your hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your knuckles.

he studied your face, taking in every detail, from the delicate flutter of your eyelashes to the subtle flush in your cheeks. the sight of you, even in this vulnerable state, filled his heart with a mixture of tenderness and protectiveness.

“how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, his gaze fixed on your face. he knew it was a question he had asked before, but he couldn’t help himself. he needed to hear you speak, hear your voice, just to reassure himself that you were still with him.

“like shit,” you answer.

your hand is still gently cupping his cheek, thumb running low across his skin in a loving manner. at your blunt response, geto's lip curled into a soft smile. even in your weakened state, you still had a defiant spark.

he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the sensation. “i thought we agreed no profanity,” he teased, his voice laced with affectionate humor, opening his eyes to meet your gaze. he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against the palm of your hand in a tender kiss.

“you’ve always been a bad influence on me,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and ticklish. he chuckled softly, his eyes softening as he studied your face.

he took a moment to compose his words, his expression growing serious. “there was a moment,” he began, his voice a hoarse whisper, “a moment when i thought i lost you.”

your smile faltered, and your eyes softened with concern as you listened to the gravity in his voice. you reached up to gently touch his cheek again, your thumb brushing away the remnants of his sadness.

“i’m here now,” you whispered, your voice steady but filled with warmth. “you haven’t lost me.” you looked deeply into his eyes, trying to convey with your gaze the depth of your presence and the promise of your unwavering support. “and i’m not going anywhere,” you added softly, hoping to soothe the lingering fear in his heart.

his hand covers yours, holding it against his cheek as he closes his eyes, relishing in your soothing touch. for a moment, he just allows himself to bask in your presence, letting the warmth and comfort wash over him.

“i was afraid i wouldn’t get to hear you say that,” he murmured, his voice growing thicker with emotion. he opened his eyes, the raw vulnerability in his gaze bared to you, his heart laid bare.

your heart ached at the sight of his vulnerability. you gently squeezed his hand, your voice trembling with sincerity as you spoke. “i’m so sorry,” you said softly, your eyes filled with compassion.

geto’s thumb traced gentle, small circles on the back of your hand. “you have nothing to apologize for,” he assured you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “it was my responsibility to keep you safe, and i failed.”

the guilt and regret in his voice were palpable, the weight of his self-imposed responsibility clear. he lowered his gaze, wrestling with emotions that were etched deeply into every line of his weary face.

he lifted your hand from his cheek, bringing it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. “i just need you to know how much you mean to me,” he added, his voice cracking slightly. his grip on your hand tightened, as if he was holding onto you for dear life.

geto’s lips continued to brush against your knuckles as he spoke, soft and gentle. his eyes held yours captive, the depth of his affection bared for you to see.

“you are my everything,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with the weight of his honesty. “the thought of losing you, of living in a world where you don’t exist…” he trailed off, a pained expression crossing his features. he was torn between the love that engulfed his heart and the fear that threatened to consume him.

geto drew in a shaky breath, composing himself as best he could. he lifted his gaze from your hand, meeting your eyes once again. his expression held a mixture of love and devotion, but also a hint of desperation.

“i need you to know that no matter what, i will do everything in my power to protect you,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the turbulent emotions raging within him. “not just because it’s my duty, but because i love you more than i thought it was possible to love someone.”

you met his gaze with a warm, reassuring smile, the depth of your gratitude shining through. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice imbued with genuine appreciation. your smile was a reflection of the profound comfort and reassurance you felt, a silent promise to stand together through whatever lay ahead.

geto’s eyes softened at your smile, a flicker of relief passing over his weary face. he squeezed your hand gently, his touch both appreciative and protective.

he studied your face for a moment, his gaze lingering on each contour, each freckle and line, as if to further commit them to memory. “don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured, mostly in jest, but with an underlying current of seriousness.

gojo entered the room, his expression a mix of relief and lingering concern as he carried a bag of your belongings. upon seeing the tender moment between you and geto, his eyes softened, though they carried a hint of the exhaustion and worry that had shadowed him. he set the bag down and approached, took a sit at the edge on the other side of your bed, his voice catching slightly as he spoke.

“don’t scare me like that again too,” he said, his tone gentle but tinged with the weight of his emotions. his gaze met yours with a blend of earnestness and relief. “i know suguru’s been holding on tight, but i’ve been right here, too. seeing you like this... it’s been hard on all of us. please, don't leave us.” his words were a heartfelt plea, an echo of the concern and love he carried for you, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the strength of his devotion.

geto’s grip on your hand tightened momentarily at the sound of gojo’s voice, his eyes darting towards his best friend. he could hear the exhaustion and worry that laced gojo’s words and knew all-too-well the weight of the responsibility they shared.

he turned his gaze back to you, his expression a mix of worry and relief. his thumb resumed its gentle, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “yeah,” he said in agreement, his voice gruff with emotion. “please, don’t scare us like that again.”

gojo’s presence brought with it a sense of familiarity, a comfort that was both grounding and reassuring. he reached out and placed a gentle hand on your arm, his touch a silent expression of his affection and concern.

he studied your face, his eyes tracing every contour, every line, as if to commit the sight to memory. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice softer now, though still tinged with worry. “i wanna say like shit but suguru said no profanity,” you puff a little chuckle.

geto gives a little scoff at your comment, his expression laced with a mixture of annoyance and affection. he rolls his eyes playfully and mutters, “you’re such a bad influence.”

gojo’s lips curled into a small smirk before he turned his gaze back to you, the lines around his eyes creasing with a mix of amusement and relief. “can’t have you talking like that,” he teased, his words light but carrying a hint of genuine concern.

gojo studying your face carefully before speaking ever so softly, “well, apart from the obviously crappy mood geto’s been in, you look good. your color is better.” he noticed a faint crimson crushed on your cheeks, a little pink on your lips.

he reached his hand out to smooth a strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch light and tender. his gaze wandered from your face to where geto still held your hand, his eyes reflecting a subtle hint of appreciation.

geto watched gojo's gentle touch, his grip on your hand unconsciously tightening a little bit in response. his expression was a mixture of protectiveness and vulnerability, his eyes betraying the fear and worry that still tugged at his heart.

he took the moment to observe the soft interplay of emotions between you and gojo, the easy familiarity and the deep bond that existed between you all. he could sense the weight of gojo's concern as he studied your face, the care and attention in his touch.

gojo's voice was soft as he continued, his gaze still fixed on your face. “so, how are you feeling, for real?” he asked, his tone a gentle echo of geto's earlier question. “any pain? any discomfort?”

geto looked at you, his eyes silently pleading for you to be honest. he was hanging off your every word, each response a small insight into your well-being.

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their concern pressing down on you. meeting gojo’s gentle gaze and then turning to geto’s silent plea, you spoke with a mixture of remorse and honesty. “i’m sorry,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “i’m sorry for how i handled things. i know i should have talked to you both, but i didn’t—i tried to take matters into my own hands without thinking it through first.”

your eyes reflected a deep sense of shame and regret as you continued. “i actually feel like absolute shit right now, and i’m ashamed of myself for thinking i could find a quick solution without considering the impact it would have on you both.” you looked at them, hoping your words conveyed the depth of your remorse and the sincerity of your apology, wanting them to understand that your actions were not a reflection of your feelings for them, but rather a moment of misguided desperation.

gojo's expression softened with understanding, his eyes filled with compassion. he knew the weight of your words, the regret and shame that clung to them. he reached his hand back to your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring.

geto's gaze was a mix of surprise and relief as he processed your apology. his hand around yours tightened slightly, his thumb tracing reassuring circles on your skin. “it's okay,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “we all have moments of weakness. what matters is that you're here, safe and alive.”

you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you at their responses, their understanding and compassion a balm to your wounded spirit. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “thank you for not being angry with me and for not questioning me right away. i know i made a terrible mistake, and i’m grateful you’re here, supporting me instead of condemning me.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes filled with a complex mixture of emotions— relief, love, and a hint of lingering fear. he shook his head gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.

gojo chuckled softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of compassion and playfulness. “we can save the anger and lecturing for when you’re not looking so terrible,” he joked, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “and trust me, baby, i had a lot of choice colorful words for you when the right time comes,” he lean in to kiss your forehead, “but right now, we just trying to be here for you.”

geto nodded in agreement, his grip on your hand still tight. he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit at gojo's playfulness, but there was a hint of fondness beneath the feigned annoyance.

he leaned in, reaching out with his other hand to gently brush a strand of hair off your forehead. “you are a stubborn, reckless, and stubborn pain in the ass,” he scolded lightly, his tone a soft but affectionate mix.

gojo chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with humor. he settled himself closer, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “he's right, you know,” he chimed in, his smile wide. “you're very good at pushing our buttons and getting under our skin.”

geto's lips curled into a small smile, his expression a mixture of feigned anger and affection. “and you're even better at making us worry,” he added, his tone light but underlined with the gravity of their concern. “but we care about you more than anything,” he added, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “so you better not do something like that again, you hear me?” his voice held a hint of authority, but mostly it was filled with love and concern.

geto's smile grew a bit wider, his eyes crinkling endearingly at the corners. “yeah,” he said, his voice firm. “you better listen. we don’t need anymore of these near-death experiences from you.”

gojo chimed in enthusiastically, leaning in a bit closer. “yeah, cause let me tell you, i can’t handle any more gray hairs than i already have.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened again, his expression a mix of sternness and vulnerability. he looked at you intently, his gaze locking with yours. “he's right,” he echoed, his voice firm but filled with warmth and care. “no more reckless decisions. no more putting yourself in danger. you hear us, my love?”

gojo nodded in agreement, his expression serious but eyes softened with concern. he added, “yeah, we can't keep having our hearts in our throats like this. it's not good for our health, you know.” geto's hand caressed your arm gently, a silent plea for your understanding. “we just want you safe and sound. that’s all we ask.”

a hint of vulnerability flashed across geto's face, his expression betraying the weight of his words. he locked eyes with you, his gaze filled with a mixture of pleading and sincerity.

“we just want to know that you're safe,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “that you're not recklessly endangering yourself anymore.”

gojo leaned in closer, his hand resting on your arm lightly. “we can't bear the thought of something happening to you again,” he chimed in, his tone carrying an undercurrent of worry.

they continued to exchange tender words and earnest pleas, their voices overlapping in a chorus of concern and affection. each spoke fervently about their love and the lengths they would go to ensure your safety and happiness. their words, though filled with their own fears and frustrations, were underscored by a deep, unwavering care for you.

as you watched them, a soft smile touched your lips. their earnest devotion, their refusal to let you face this alone, filled you with a profound sense of comfort and gratitude. you could see their love in every gesture and hear it in every word, and it warmed your heart. despite the gravity of the situation, their caring presence made you feel cherished and supported, giving you strength even in the midst of your own turmoil.

after a few moments of their heartfelt declarations, the room fell into a short silence, the weight of their words lingering in the air.

gojo ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of nervous energy. “and just so you know, suguru here basically took a week off work to sit by your bedside like a damn watchdog, he even almost made the rainbow dragon eat gakuganji because that fucker won't let him leave.” geto, caught off guard by the sudden revelation, flushed faintly and shot a glare at gojo.

geto, taken aback, shot a sharp look at gojo before retort, “you clearly about to hollow purple the higher-ups and the entire school because they won't let you stay here with her.” gojo's expression darkened for a moment, “you know i would do it in a heartbeat, if i could.” geto's grip on your hand tightened, his gaze still fixed on gojo. “i know you would. and i'd be right there with you.”

gojo and geto turned their attention back to you when they heard your soft chuckling, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement at hearing you laugh.

gojo chuckled as well, “you find that funny, huh?” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. geto rolled his eyes a bit, but his own smile betrayed his true feelings. he couldn't stay serious when you laughed. “just the thought of us going rogue and taking down the entire school system for you is amusing, i guess,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

you hummed in satisfaction, “they are shit anyway.” a gentle smile lingering on your pale lips.

gojo chuckled warmly, his eyes sparkling at your comment. “ah, and there’s that signature wit of yours coming back.”

geto, still feigning annoyance but struggling to hide a grin, shook his head slightly. “still as blunt and unfiltered as ever,” he said, his eyes soft.

you glances at both of them, the comforting silence lingering between you, and with a tender smile, you mouthed softly, “i love you.” your cheeks flushed a delicate crimson beneath your pale complexion as you kissed their cheek.

gojo and geto exchanged a brief glance at your sweet words and soft kisses, their hearts swelling with warmth and love. gojo's hand reached out to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and loving. “we love you too,” he said softly.

geto's smile widened as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “always,” he breathed, his voice filled with tenderness.

the thought of you coming back to them is warm.

TAGLIST :

@junni-berry @fortunatelyfurrygiver @soraya-daydreams @diorzs @dancing--devils @iloveboysinred @bounie1 @nina3871 @ohnotheusernameisbroken

[heavngumi]

✧ things are getting heated this valentine’s !

— ft. fem reader x ayato, thoma, diluc, wriothesley, kazuha, albedo, alhaitham ꒰ separate ꒱ ⋆ minors do not interact! pnv ꒰ unprotected except in alhaitham’s ꒱. lots n lots of oral ꒰ reader giving n receiving ꒱. praise n degradation. fingering. marking. breeding in diluc’s. public sex in kazuha’s … 11k words ₊ 𓂃 

♡ AYATO

there’s a sharp inhale once his eyes fall on you, quiet but telling. the kind that makes anticipation coil thick in your lower abdomen.

kamisato ayato is not a man easily shaken. he is composed, deliberate in his movements, every touch intentional. and yet, when you step into the candlelit bedroom wearing the delicate, white lacy thing you bought for this occasion, something flickers in his eyes—something dangerous.

his lips part slightly. then, he exhales a quiet chuckle, tilting his head as if you’ve presented him with a puzzle he’s eager to solve.

“my, my,” he muses, voice velvet-smooth. “you went through all this effort just for me?”

you don’t get the chance to answer before he crosses the distance between you. his fingertips brush your bare shoulder, featherlight, trailing down the curve of your arm. the heat of his palm settles at your waist, pulling you in, close enough that you can feel the steady rise and fall of his breath.

his gaze traces over you, reverent yet teasing. “it suits you,” he murmurs, dipping his head so his lips hover just above your ear. “but you must have known that already. you wouldn’t have chosen it otherwise.”

a shiver runs through you at the low timbre of his voice. “i hoped you’d like it,” you admit softly, hands resting against the front of his dress shirt, feeling the warmth of him through the thin fabric.

“oh, i do,” ayato hums, amusement laced with something deeper, something heady. “but now i have a problem, you see.”

you blink up at him, questioning.

he tugs you flush against him, the firm line of his body pressing into yours. his fingers find your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to hold his gaze. the pale lavender tint of his irises darkens as he regards you.

“i don’t know whether to admire you a little longer... or to ruin you completely.”

heat pools low in your stomach at the weight of his words, the promise in them. he’s toying with you, savoring your reaction, and you fall into it so easily.

“ayato...” his name leaves your lips in a breathy whisper.

he groans softly, as if your voice alone undoes him, and then he’s kissing you—slow at first, making sure to savor every press of your lips. but it doesn’t stay that way. his hand slides up your back, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. he tastes of tea and something undeniably him, something you could drown in.

you barely notice the way he guides you toward the bed until the backs of your knees hit the edge. a gasp escapes you as he lowers you onto the sheets, his body covering yours, his lips never leaving your skin. he kisses a slow, burning path down your throat, the heat of his breath making you tremble beneath him.

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your collarbone. “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

you can only whimper in response, fingers tangling in his silken hair as he continues his way down. every touch, every kiss, is slow, unhurried, worshipful. he’s savoring you, unraveling you piece by piece, until all you can do is sigh his name into the night.

“ayato...” you breathe, wetness pooling low in your new lacy underwear, desperate and needy.

he lifts his head from your skin, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “what is it, love? tell me what you want.”

you swallow hard, every nerve ending alive with desire. “i want you... so badly.”

the grin that erupts on his face is devilish, and it sends another wave of heat coursing through you. “then let me give you what you need,” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting.

his hands begin to steadily explore your body, one moving down to cup your breast while the other trails down your abdomen, teasingly grazing over the lace of your lingerie and dipping beneath to explore just above your core. you arch into him, silently begging for more, your body reacting instinctively to his touch.

“archons, you’re perfect,” he whispers, lifting your legs up, revealing more of you to his hungry gaze. he continues to kiss a path down your body, his mouth burning a trail of fire from your tummy to the hem of your lace panties. when he finally reaches your inner thigh, he places kisses there, making your breath hitch in your throat. “mmm, so soft,” he murmurs, his lips almost worshipping the sensitive skin.

“ayato... p-please,” you beg, tone laced with urgency.

he chuckles, enjoying the neediness in your voice. “as you wish, darling.”

his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your panties, and with one swift motion, they’re discarded, leaving you completely bare before him. you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the raw desire palpable.

“ayato...” you breathe again, but he silences you with a deep kiss, sliding his tongue against yours.

and that's when his fingers find your core, teasing at your wetness, circling agonizingly slow. you gasp into his mouth, your body arching instinctively towards him, desperate for more.

his fingers push deeper, finding that sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars. “archons, you’re so wet for me,” he growls, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race.

“only for you,” you manage to whimper out, your breath quickening as he continues to work you, curling his fingers just right.

“that’s it, let me hear you, love,” he urges, his thumb rubbing circles over your sensitive nub while his fingers pump in and out of your cunt.

your moans fill the air, mixing with the sound of the waves crashing outside. “a-ayato! yes, just like that. please don’t stop!”

he leans down, kissing along your neck, his breath hot against your ear. “you’re so perfect, so responsive. i want to feel you coming for me.”

his words send you spiraling, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity, making you grasp at the satin sheets below you. “i’m so close... please!”

with a final thrust of his fingers, he expertly flicks your clit, and waves of bliss crash over you, sending you trembling into ecstasy. “ayato!” you cry out, your body shaking beneath him as he guides you through your high, unyielding in his touch.

as you come back to reality, you find him looking down at you with a gaze full of adoration, pride, and desire. “you’re stunning,” he breathes, wiping a stray tear from the corner of your eye.

“now, my turn to feel you,” you manage to say, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

he chuckles softly, his hands sliding over your body as he lets you work to undress him, revealing the strong form beneath. you pull the shirt off, feeling your cheeks burn as you take in the sight of him—just for you.

“do you like what you see?” he asks, voice teasing.

“a-absolutely,” you reply, flustered as you you take him in. you lean close enough to tease your warm breath against him, your hands exploring the shape of his muscles, the defined planes of his torso. ayato’s breath hitches in his throat, and you can’t help but smile at the effect you have on him.

you kiss your way down his chest, taking your time tasting him. as you kneel before him, you feel the heat radiating off his thick length, already freed from the confines of his underwear, and your mouth waters at the sight. you wrap your hand around him, giving a gentle squeeze, and he groans softly above you, his head tilted back, eyes closing.

“just like that, love,” he encourages. “you have no idea how much i want this.”

with one smooth movement, you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his tip, feeling him pulse against your tongue. the taste of him is intoxicating, and you revel in the way he responds to your every caress, his hands finding their way into your hair, guiding you deeper.

“archons, yes,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. “you’re perfect.”

you take him deeper, feeling him fill you, each thrust of your head drawing out more of his heated groans. you press your tongue against his shaft, sucking harder, and he thrusts into your mouth, losing himself in the pleasure.

“f-fuck, that feels amazing,” he gasps, his fingers tightening in your hair as he moves with you, rocking his hips gently.

you moan around him, the vibrations sending him spiraling higher. “just like that, yes,” he murmurs under his breath, losing himself in the moment.

you can feel him nearing the edge, and so you pull away just enough to catch your breath. “i want you to come in my mouth, ayato. please.”

his eyes darken again, desire clear deep within them. “are you sure?”

you nod eagerly, ready to take him fully.

with that, he lets go, thrusting deep into your mouth, filling you completely as his cock hits that sweet spot at the back of your throat. he’s close, so close, and you can feel the tension building within him. “i-i’m going to come—” he warns, his voice strained.

you moan around his lenght to encourage eagerly, ready to taste him.

with a final thrust, he releases himself into your mouth with a low, heated groan, warmth filling you entirely. you swallow him down, savoring every sweet drop, your tongue working, coaxing him through the waves of pleasure, suckling at his tip.

as he pulls back, you lean up to kiss him, sharing the taste of himself, and he moans into your mouth, the intimacy of the moment electric.

“you’re incredible,” he breathes, pulling you into his arms. “now, let me take care of you properly.”

as he lays you back down, you’re consumed with anticipation. you know that the evening is still young, with him promising more pleasure, more intimacy, and a night you’ll both never forget.

“ayato,” you whisper, the candlelight flickering around you, as he positions himself above you.

“happy valentine’s day, my love,” he murmurs, and with that, he takes you whole.

♡ THOMA

the scent of something rich and savory fills the air, a simmering warmth curling through the kitchen. you can hear the quiet sizzle of oil in the pan, the rhythmic sound of a knife against the cutting board, the occasional soft hum of the man standing at the stove.

and archons, what a sight he is.

thoma stands with his back to you, golden skin kissed by freckles and the soft glow of candlelight, his broad shoulders shifting as he works. but it’s not just that. it’s the fact that he’s wearing nothing but an apron, the fabric tied loosely at his back, leaving absolutely everything else bare for your wandering gaze.

you swallow, hard.

“you’re staring.” his voice is all soft as usual, but there’s an unmistakable smirk in it.

“you’re making it impossible not to,” you admit, crossing the space between you.

thoma chuckles, setting down his utensils before turning to face you fully. and archons, it’s worse—better—when you’re standing this close. his skin is flushed from the heat of the stove, golden strands of hair slightly tousled, a bead of sweat trailing down his collarbone. but it’s the way he looks at you, playful yet darkened with something else entirely, that has your breath hitching.

“you know,” he muses, reaching for you, fingers brushing along your wrist before trailing higher, teasing over the bare skin of your arm. “i worked really hard on this dinner for you.”

“i can see that.” you barely hear your own voice over the way your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

thoma hums, tilting his head, eyes flicking down for the briefest moment. then, slowly, deliberately, he takes your hand and places it against his chest. the heat of his skin is searing under your touch, his heart beating steadily beneath your palm.

“but now i’m wondering...” his voice is lower now, rougher. his fingers curl under your chin, guiding your gaze back up to his. “are you even interested in the meal? or something else entirely?”

you barely get the chance to answer before he’s closing the space between you, capturing your lips in a slow, devastating kiss. it’s teasing at first, the press of his mouth soft but lingering, like he wants to take his time with you. but when you sigh against him, fingers curling against his chest, he groans—deep, wanting—and the kiss turns hungry.

his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, and oh. the apron is the only thing separating you from feeling every inch of him, and it does little to hide the heat radiating off him, the way his body presses against yours with nothing but the flimsiest barrier between you.

“i should finish cooking,” he murmurs against your lips, though he makes no move to pull away.

“should you?” you run your fingers up his back, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

thoma chuckles, pressing a line of kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. he lingers there, lips barely brushing against your skin as he whispers, “i’m starting to think you have a different meal in mind.”

your breath catches. "you’re not wrong," you admit, squirming against him, the need coiling low in your stomach.

his laughter is low and utterly sinful, the vibration of it sending shivers through you. he presses one last kiss to your throat before pulling back, eyes dark with heat. “dinner first,” he says, voice full of teasing promise. “then i’ll take my time savoring you.”

and archons, the way he says it—like you’re the dessert, something sweet he can’t wait to devour—makes your legs feel weak. you know he means every word despite the teasing.

“are you really going to make me wait?” you challenge, a playful, but needy smile gracing your lips.

thoma raises an eyebrow, stepping back just slightly to let you take in the sight of him. “if you keep looking at me like that, i might just abandon dinner altogether.”

“consider it a compliment,” you say, voice unsteady. then you boldly pull the apron aside, feeling emboldened by the fiery glint in his eyes. the sight of him, fully exposed and radiating raw desire, makes your breath hitch all over again.

he steps closer, surprised but definitely not displeased by your boldness, and tugs the apron from your hands, tossing it aside. “then let me return the favor.”

before you can react, he’s lowering himself, mouth trailing kisses from your collarbone down to your chest, each touch igniting sparks along your skin. you gasp, arching into him as he moves further down, savoring your curves and sinking into the moment.

“thoma, please...” the words spill forth, a helpless plea as your fingers tangle in his hair.

“patience, love,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “i want to take my time.”

his hands skim down your sides, gently pushing you back against the countertop. the cool wood against your skin contrasts with the heat building within you, and you watch as he kneels before you, his eyes locking onto yours.

“let me show you how much you mean to me,” he promises, his breath warm against your skin as he shuffles closer, his hungry gaze focused on your core.

“oh,” you breathe, anticipation building within you.

he leans in, his tongue flicking out as he makes contact with the apex of your thighs, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he starts teasing you. his tongue dances along your folds, taking his time, every kitten flick deliberate.

“t-thoma!” you moan, squirming closer to him, desperate for more.

“you taste divine,” he murmurs against you, returning to his exploration, fingers digging deeper into your thighs as he pushes you closer to the edge. the sensations are overpowering, waves of pleasure lapping at your senses.

“please, don’t stop,” you implore, hands gripping the edge of the counter, your body responding instinctively to each delightful stroke of his tongue.

he hums in response, sending vibrations rippling through you, further heightening the delicious tension pooling in your belly. keep going, you urge silently, but the way he takes his time, savoring every moment, makes you realize he wants to draw it out.

“thoma, i’m c-close!” you cry out, bucking against his face as he focuses his efforts on that sweet spot driving you wild.

“let go for me, love,” he breathes against your cunt, fingers digging into your flesh as his movements become more insistent. “i want to feel you come.”

with one final swirl of his tongue, pleasure explodes through you in waves of bliss. your body quakes from the intensity, a delicious shudder that runs from your core to your fingertips. “archons, thoma!” you cry, your voice echoing through the kitchen.

he drinks it all in, licking you clean, a proud smile on his lips as he rises back up to meet you. the glow of the candlelight dances in his eyes, and you can see that he’s satisfied—but he’s not done yet.

“m-my turn,” you say breathlessly, feeling a surge of confidence return. you pull him closer, hands roaming over his body, tracing the defined muscles of his back and shoulders.

with a smirk, he lets you push him back until his back meets the wall. you kneel before him, and the way his breath catches is all the encouragement you need.

you grip him firmly, the heat of his length filling your palm, and you lean in, teasing your tongue against the tip. “i want to taste you,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes.

thoma’s breath hitches, and his hands grip the edge of the countertop. “you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” you insist, then take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him.

“fuck!” he groans, his knees nearly buckling at the sensation. you look up at him, watching the way his expression shifts from playful to something almost sinful.

you take him deeper, letting him slide along your tongue as you pull back slightly, creating a delicious tension. time feels like it slows as you lose yourself in the act, breathing him in, hearing the way he breathes your name like a prayer.

“just like that... archons, you’re perfect,” he gasps, pushing further into you, a hand tangling in your hair as you bounce up and down, taking him deeper and deeper.

“thoma, i want you to come in my mouth,” you say, the words muffled but clear enough as you press kisses along his thick lenght. you also want to feel him inside you, stretching you, filling you completely. but for now, you want to savor this moment.

the pleasure on his face, the way he gasps your name, only pushes you faster, more insistent. “yes,” he hissed, his voice thick with lust. “just like that.”

with every thrust, you suck and lick around him, coaxing him closer to the precipice. “i-i’m going to—” he warns, and that only spurs you on more.

“come for me,” you purr against his cock, “i wanna taste you.” and that does it for him as he lets out a cry and spills into your mouth, warm, thick liquid flooding your mouth. you swallow every drop, savoring him, and watching as his face flushes and his breath falters.

when he finally pulls out, you wipe your mouth, grinning at him, mildly proud of the way his legs seem to tremble.

“you’re insatiable,” he says, panting softly, admiration and desire evident in his gaze.

“i think you love it,” you tease, kissing your way back up his body, reclaiming his lips with passion.

“i do,” he replies, kissing you back, cradling your face in his hands.

“now, it’s definitely time to finish dinner,” he says, pulling away with a satisfied grin. the mischievous glint in his eyes makes your heart race. “after all that, i don’t want it to go cold.”

♡ DILUC

the warmth of the sun barely filters through the curtains, casting soft golden hues over the room. the world outside is just beginning to stir, but here, wrapped in the cocoon of diluc’s arms, time stretches slow and unhurried. it’s been too long since you’ve had a morning like this—just the two of you, tangled in the sheets, no duties to pull him away before dawn. and now, with the rare luxury of uninterrupted time, you have no intention of wasting a second of it.

a deep hum rumbles against your skin as diluc shifts beside you, his grip tightening around you, pulling you impossibly closer. his chest is bare, warm and solid against you, his body heat seeping into your own. one of his hands now rests low on your back, fingers tracing absent patterns over the curve of your waist, while the other goes to cup your cheek, tilting your face up so he can see you properly.

“good morning,” he murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep, rich and slow like honey.

you smile, brushing a stray strand of crimson hair from his face. “it really is.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, his lips ghosting over your forehead before trailing down, pressing slow, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “it’s been too long since i’ve woken up like this.” his voice is lower now, a confession wrapped in longing.

your fingers graze over his shoulder, feeling the tension still lingering beneath his skin. even now, on his day off, duty lingers like a shadow at the edge of his thoughts. but not today.

you press your lips to his jaw, soft but insistent. “stop thinking, luc” you whisper, letting your mouth wander lower, along the column of his throat. “just feel.”

a sharp inhale. his fingers dig into your waist as if steadying himself, a quiet shudder running through him as your lips graze the sensitive spot just beneath his ear.

“you always say things like that,” he murmurs, and there’s a rare, breathless chuckle in his voice. “and then you expect me to have self-control.”

you grin against his skin. “i never said anything about self-control.”

that does it.

before you can react, diluc flips you onto your back, his weight pressing deliciously over you. the look in his eyes—burning, intent, utterly unguarded—makes heat bloom deep in your stomach.

“you’re trouble,” he says, though the way he leans down, brushing his lips over yours, betrays just how little he minds.

“and you love it.”

his quiet groan is swallowed by the kiss that follows, slow and deep, his lips moving against yours with an almost desperate kind of devotion. his hand slides under the sheets, fingers exploring down a familiar path, as if trying to make up for all the recent nights he’s spent away. and when he whispers your name against your lips, worshipful, you know he means it. he’s making up for lost time. and neither of you will be leaving this bed anytime soon.

diluc’s hands roam over your body, the tips of his fingers tracing the curve of your breast, circling your nipple until it hardens under his touch. you arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

“diluc...” you whisper, your voice already breathless.

he smiles against your skin, his lips trailing down to capture your nipple, sucking gently before moving to the other. each flick of his tongue sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, making you squirm beneath him.

“mmh, you taste so good,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin. “i could spend all day just like this.”

you thread your fingers through his hair, holding him close. “i wouldn’t mind that at all.”

his hand slides lower, over your stomach, and down to the apex of your thighs. he cups you gently, his fingers pressing against your most sensitive spot through the thin fabric of your underwear. you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand.

“so eager,” he teases, his breath hot against your ear. “i love how responsive you are.”

you can only nod, your breath coming in short pants as he continues to tease you. he slips his fingers beneath the fabric, finding your slick folds. a low groan escapes him as he feels how wet you are.

“always so ready for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

he slides a finger inside you, and you moan, your body clenching around him. soon enough, he adds another one, stretching you, preparing you for what’s to come. his thumb circles your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you see stars.

“diluc, please...” you beg, your voice barely a whisper.

he looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust. “please what?” he asks, his voice a low growl.

“i need you i-inside me,” you manage to say, your body aching with need.

he smiles, a slow, wicked smile that promises so much more. “your wish is my command.”

he pats your cunt before he shifts, positioning himself between your legs. you can feel the hard length of him pressing against your entrance, and you spread your legs wider, inviting him in. he enters you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to his size. you moan, your body stretching to accommodate him.

“you feel so good,” he groans, his voice strained with effort. “so tight.”

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “m-more,” you beg. “i need more.”

he begins to move, his hips thrusting against yours in a steady rhythm. each stroke hits that perfect spot inside you, making you gasp and moan. you cling to him, your nails digging into his back as he picks up the pace.

“yes, just like that,” you cry out, your body meeting his thrust for thrust.

he leans down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. his tongue mimics the movements of his hips, driving you wild with desire. you can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust.

“l-luc, i’m close,” you pant, your body trembling with the effort of holding back.

he looks down at you, his eyes filled with love and desire. “let go,” he whispers. “i want to feel you come around me.”

his words are your undoing. you cry out, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you. he continues to thrust, drawing out your orgasm until you’re a trembling mess beneath him.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “you’re so beautiful when you come.”

he slows his pace, giving you a moment to catch your breath. but he’s not done with you yet. he flips you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so you’re on your knees. you look back at him over your shoulder, a wicked smile on your lips.

“again?” you ask, your voice teasing, but nervous.

he grins, his hands gripping your hips. “again,” he confirms, his voice a low growl.

he enters you from behind, his hips slapping against yours with each thrust. the angle is different, his cock hitting new spots inside you that make you gasp and moan. you brace yourself against the headboard, pushing back against him to meet his thrusts.

“yes, yes, yes,” you chant, your body already building towards another orgasm.

he leans over you, his chest pressing against your back. his hand snakes around to cup your breast, his fingers pinching your nipple. you cry out, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

“you like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

“yes,” you gasp. “d-don’t stop.”

he doesn’t. he continues to thrust, his hand moving from your breast to your clit, circling the sensitive bud in time with his movements. you can feel yourself getting closer, your body tensing with each stroke.

“come for me,” he growls, his voice commanding. “squeeze my cock, just like that.”

you do, your body convulsing as another orgasm rips through you. he continues to thrust, drawing out your pleasure until you’re a trembling, sweaty mess beneath him.

“diluc,” you pant, your voice barely a whisper. “i can’t... i can’t take anymore.”

he slows his pace, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. “just one more,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need, almost begging. “i want to come inside you.”

and who are you to deny that? you nod, your body already responding to his words. he flips you onto your back again, his eyes locked on yours as he enters you one last time. his movements are slow and deliberate, each thrust filled with love and desire.

“you’re mine,” he whispers, his voice a low growl. “only mine.”

“yes,” you agree, your voice breathless. “only yours.”

he leans down, capturing your lips. his body tenses, and you can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you with his warm seed. you wrap your legs around him, holding him close as he rides out his orgasm.

“i love you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “so much.”

“i love you too,” you whisper, your heart swelling with love.

he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. you snuggle against him, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasms. he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you.

“thank you,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “for giving me this. for giving me you.”

you smile, your heart filled with love and contentment. “always,” you whisper. “always for you.”

♡ WRIOTHESLEY

wriothesley looks up from his desk when the scent of fresh roses overtakes the usual cold steel and parchment of his office. he blinks, surprised, as you step inside, holding a bouquet wrapped in soft ribbon, the red petals vivid against the stark walls of the fortress.

“what’s this?” his voice is low, gruff from hours of work, but there’s something else there—something softer beneath the rough edges.

you smile, placing the flowers down beside the scattered paperwork. “a valentine’s gift.”

for a moment, he just stares. like the idea of someone bringing *him* flowers is foreign, something distant and unattainable.

then, slowly, he exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair. “you know, most people wouldn’t bring flowers to a prison.”

“clearly i’m not most people,” you tease, stepping closer.

“no,” he murmurs, watching you with that piercing gaze of his. “you’re not.”

you reach for him, fingers tracing the scar along his knuckles, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. even on today of all days, he won’t rest, won’t let himself have something as simple as an afternoon away.

but if he won’t leave work, then you’ll bring something sweeter to his prison of duty.

“you don’t know how to be taken care of, do you?” you whisper, tilting his chin up with your fingers.

his breath hitches, just barely, but you catch it. a flicker of something vulnerable, something unguarded, before he lets out a low, amused hum.

“you’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice dark with something heavier than amusement.

“am i?” your hands slide over his shoulders, pressing against the firm muscle beneath his coat. “you work too much. someone has to remind you that there are better ways to spend today.”

wriothesley exhales sharply, his hands finding your waist, grip firm and needy as he pulls you down onto his lap. the shift in position presses you close, his warmth seeping into you through the layers of your clothing.

“better ways, huh?” he smirks, though there’s heat simmering behind his eyes. he tilts his head, lips brushing just below your ear as he murmurs, “then why don’t you show me?”

the words send a shiver down your spine. “i plan to.”

his hands tighten around you as he captures your lips in a slow, consuming kiss, one that leaves no room for hesitation. it’s deep and unhurried, as if he’s finally allowing himself to indulge, to take instead of always giving.

the bouquet lies forgotten on the desk, petals trembling with each movement, the scent of roses mingling with the taste of him, heady and intoxicating.

and as his hands slide lower, gripping your hips with a quiet groan, you pull back slightly. your breath mingling with his, you whisper, “let me take care of you.”

his eyes darken, and he nods, a silent agreement that sends a thrill through you. you stand up, your hands never leaving his body, and begin to unbutton his shirt. each button reveals more of his taut, scarred skin, and you can’t help but trace the lines with your fingertips, feeling the history etched into his flesh.

wriothesley watches you, his breath growing heavier with each touch. when his shirt is fully open, you lean down and press a soft kiss to his chest, right above his heart. he shudders, his hands coming up to tangle in your hair.

“you’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

you smile against his skin, your hands moving to his belt. “that’s the point,” you tease, unbuckling it slowly. you can feel his heartbeat quicken under your lips, and it sends a rush through you, heat polling in your underwear.

as you unzip his pants, he lifts his hips to help you slide them down, along with his boxers. his erection springs free, hitting his stomach hard and ready, and you take a moment to admire him, your breath hitching at the sight.

“like what you see?” he asks, a hint of playfulness in his voice despite the tension in his body.

“very much,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. you wrap both your hand around him, feeling his heat and hardness, and he lets out a low groan, his head falling back against the chair.

you stroke him slowly, your thumb circling the sensitive tip, spreading the bead of precum that’s gathered there. wriothesley’s hips buck slightly, his breath coming in short gasps.

“feels so good,” he murmurs, his eyes closed, lost in the sensation.

you lean down, your breath hot against his ear. “just wait,” you whisper, before sinking to your knees in front of him.

his eyes fly open, and he looks down at you, his gaze intense and hungry. you hold his stare as you lean forward, your tongue darting out to lick the tip of his cock. he groans, his hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly.

finally, you take his cock into your mouth, inch by inch, your tongue swirling around him. he tastes salty and masculine, and you can’t get enough. you moan softly, the vibration making him jerk in your mouth.

“f-fuck,” he breathes out, his hips lifting slightly, seeking more.

you oblige, of course, taking him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs for support. you can feel the muscles trembling under your touch, and it spurs you on. you bob your head, your mouth and tongue working in tandem to drive him wild.

wriothesley’s hands find their way into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands, guiding you but not forcing. his grunts fill the room, sounds of pleasure that have you aching with need.

you pull back slightly to catch your breath, your hand wrapping around the base of his cock. you look up at him, your eyes watering slightly from the effort, but the sight of him—head thrown back, mouth open in ecstasy—makes it all worth it.

“don’t stop,” he pleads, his voice hoarse with desire. “p-please, don’t stop.”

you have no intention of stopping. you redouble your efforts, your head bobbing faster, your hand stroking harder. you can feel his cock swelling in your mouth, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“i’m close,” he warns, his voice strained. “so close.”

you moan in encouragement, your free hand cupping his balls, massaging them gently. it’s enough to send him over the edge. with a deep groan, he comes, his body shaking with the force of his release. you swallow every drop, your mouth and tongue gentle now, coaxing him down from his high.

when he finally stills, you pull back, your lips swollen. you look up at him, a soft smile on your face, and he looks back at you, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and wonder.

“come here,” he murmurs, pulling you up onto his lap. you go willingly, straddling him, your arms wrapping around his neck. he kisses you deeply, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting himself on you.

“that was...” he trails off, shaking his head slightly. “incredible.”

you smile, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “i’m glad you think so.”

he chuckles, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. “i more than think so, sweetheart. i know so.”

you lean your forehead against his, your eyes closed, just enjoying the moment. the scent of roses still lingers in the air, mixing with the musk of sex and the warmth of his body. it’s a heady combination, one that makes you feel both relaxed and exhilarated.

“you know,” you say softly, “this is the first time i’ve seen you truly relax.”

he opens his eyes, looking into yours. “that’s because you make me feel safe,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “safe enough to let go.”

your heart swells at his words, and you kiss him softly, pouring all your feelings into it. he responds in kind, his arms tightening around you, holding you close.

when you pull back, you can see the desire sparking in his eyes again, and you grin, feeling a rush of anticipation.

“ready for round two?” you ask, your voice teasing.

he smirks, his hands sliding down to cup your ass. “with you? always.”

and with that, he stands up, lifting you with him, and sitting you down on his desk, sweeping the papers and the bouquet aside with one arm. he sets you down on the edge, his body pressing against yours, and you can feel his hardness growing again, pressing against your core.

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he captures your mouth in another searing kiss. his hands roam over your body, touching, teasing, driving you wild with need.

you break away from his kiss, your breath coming in short gasps. “archons, wrio, i need you,” you plead, your voice desperate. “now.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice. he unbuttons your pants, sliding them down your legs along with your underwear. you kick them off, your heart pounding with anticipation. he steps back slightly, his eyes raking over your body, and you can see the hunger in his gaze.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

you smile, your cheeks flushing slightly at his words. “and you’re still wearing too many clothes,” you tease, reaching for his open shirt.

he chuckles, shrugging it off quickly, followed by fully stripping himself of his boxers. then he’s standing before you, gloriously naked, his body a map of scars and muscles that tell a story of their own.

you reach for him, your hands tracing the lines of his body, feeling the heat of his skin under your fingertips. he shudders at your touch, his eyes closing briefly, before opening again, filled with a fierce intensity.

he steps closer, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider. you can feel his cock pressing against your entrance, hot and hard, and you let out a soft moan, your body aching with need.

“please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

he leans down, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes locked on yours. “please what?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.

you swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “please fuck me,” you beg, your voice desperate.

a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face, and he captures your mouth in another deep kiss. at the same time, he thrusts into you, filling you completely. you gasp into his mouth, your body arching against his, your nails digging into his shoulders.

he starts to move, his hips thrusting in a slow, steady rhythm. each stroke hits deep, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. you moan, your head falling back, your eyes closed, lost in the sensation.

“look at me,” he commands, his voice rough with desire.

you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. the intensity in his eyes takes your breath away, and you can’t look away, even as his thrusts grow harder, faster, driving you higher and higher.

“you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “so tight, so wet.”

you can only moan in response, your body trembling with each thrust. you can feel your orgasm building, a coil of pleasure tightening in your core.

“come for me,” he urges, his voice a low growl. “let me feel you come around my cock.”

his words send you over the edge. with a cry, you come, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his skin. he groans, his hips jerking as he finds his own release, his cock pulsing inside you.

you collapse against each other, your breaths coming in short gasps, your bodies slick with sweat. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his face buried in your neck.

“that was...” you trail off, shaking your head slightly. “incredible.”

he chuckles, his breath hot against your skin. “i could say the same thing,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

you smile, your eyes closed, just enjoying the moment. the scent of roses still lingers in the air, mixing with the musk of sex and the warmth of his body. the conbination makes your head feel dizzy.

after a few moments, he pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “thank you,” he says softly. “for reminding me that there’s more to life than just work.”

you cup his cheek, your thumb brushing gently against his skin. “anytime,” you reply, your voice just as soft. “that’s what i’m here for.”

he smiles, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. “i’m glad you are,” he says, before capturing your mouth in another soft, lingering kiss.

as you pull away, you can’t help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. this is what you wanted—to remind him that he deserves to be taken care of, to show him that there’s more to life than just duty and responsibility. and as you look into his eyes, you know that you’ve succeeded.

♡ KAZUHA

the evening air is cool, tinged with the scent of cherry blossoms and the distant salt of the sea. lanterns glow softly along the park’s winding path, casting pools of golden light where couples linger—whispers of laughter, the quiet rustle of silk sleeves brushing together.

but kazuha’s attention is solely on you.

he leans in, voice no louder than a breath, “you’re trembling.”

you swallow, heat pooling in your stomach at the realization—it’s not from the cold.

kazuha sits behind you on the secluded bench, his arms loose but firm around your waist, fingers tracing the edge of your sleeve with a slowness that makes your breath hitch. his lips hover near your ear, warm and teasing, sending shivers down your spine with each whispered word.

“you’re always so bold,” he muses, fingers slipping just beneath the hem of your coat, just enough for his knuckles to graze the bare skin of your thigh. “and yet now, you’re shaking.”

you shift in his lap, an attempt at feigning control, but it only makes things worse—the solid press of his body against yours, the way his grip tightens, the quiet sigh he exhales, hot against your neck.

“people could see,” you whisper, barely audible.

kazuha chuckles, low and utterly sinful. “then you’ll just have to be quiet, won’t you?”

a gasp catches in your throat as his lips brush the shell of your ear, soft and fleeting, before trailing lower, ghosting along the curve of your neck. his hands trace along your hips, fingers pressing, teasing, before pulling you just a little closer, just enough to make your pulse stutter.

your fingers dig into his thighs, a silent plea, a warning—one he pointedly ignores.

“kazuha—”

“shh,” he soothes, lips barely touching your skin as he whispers, “wouldn’t want to alert the others now, would we?”

the distant murmur of another couple drifts through the night, oblivious, and the thought sends a thrill through you—this dangerous, delicate game of restraint, the need threatening to spill over.

kazuha hums, pleased by the way your breath hitches, by the way your body responds to his touch even as you try to stay composed. his voice is soft and teasing as he nips lightly at your pulse.

“such a shame,” he muses, fingers curling just beneath your chin, tilting your face towards him. “if only we were somewhere more private… i wouldn’t have to hold back.”

his lips press against yours, slow and deep, stealing the breath right from your lungs. and as his hands tighten, as heat coils and tension hums between you, you realize one thing:

you’re losing this game.

and you don’t mind one bit.

kazuha’s fingers trace a path up your thigh, his touch light but deliberate, sending waves of anticipation through you. you can feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath against your neck, and you squeeze your eyes tightly as you try and keep yourself from moaning out loud.

“k-kazu,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, “we shouldn’t—”

“shouldn’t what?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “shouldn’t enjoy this moment? shouldn’t let ourselves get carried away?”

his hand moves higher, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. you bite your lip, trying to suppress a gasp, but it escapes anyway, a soft, desperate sound that makes kazuha smile against your skin.

“you’re so responsive,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “it’s intoxicating.”

you shift in his lap, trying to ease the ache building between your legs, but the movement only presses you closer to him, making the situation worse. kazuha’s grip on your waist tightens, holding you still as his other hand continues its torturous exploration.

“p-please,” you beg, not even sure what you’re asking for. more? less? something to ease the tension coiling inside you?

kazuha’s fingers finally reach their destination, brushing lightly over the fabric of your lacy underwear. you let out a shaky breath, your body tensing in anticipation. he teases you, his touch feather-light, barely there, before finally pressing more firmly, eliciting a moan from you.

“shh,” he reminds you, his voice a soft whisper. “remember, we have to be quiet.”

you nod, biting your lip to keep from making any more noise. kazuha’s fingers move in slow, deliberate circles over your clit, the pressure building with each touch. you can feel the heat pooling in your lower abdomen, squeezing your thighs aroud his hand.

“you’re so wet,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. “so ready for me.”

you whimper, unable to form words, as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, finally touching you skin to skin. the sensation is electric, sending jolts of pleasure through you. you grip his legs tightly, your nails digging into the fabric of his pants.

kazuha’s fingers move expertly, knowing exactly how to touch you, how to build the pleasure in your cunt higher and higher. you can feel your body tensing, the pressure building to an almost unbearable level.

“ahh, kazu,” you gasp, his name a plea on your lips. “i’m close—”

“i know,” he says, his voice a soft rumble. “i know, just let go. i’ve got you.”

and with those words, you do. the tension snaps, pleasure washing over you in waves. you bite down on your lip, trying to keep the sounds of your release quiet, but a soft moan escapes nonetheless. kazuha’s grip on you tightens, holding you close as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

as you come down from the high, kazuha’s touch softens, his fingers gently stroking you, bringing you back to earth. you lean back against him, your body limp and sated. he presses a soft kiss to your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

“you’re so beautiful when you let go,” he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper.

you turn your head, capturing his lips in a slow, languid kiss. you can taste the cherry blossoms on his lips, the sweetness of the night air. as you pull away, you smile, a soft, contented smile.

“your turn,” you say, your voice a soft purr.

kazuha raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “oh, really?”

you nod, a glint in your eyes. “really.”

you shift in his lap, turning to face him. your hands slide up his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. kazuha watches you, his eyes dark with desire, as you begin to unbutton his shirt, revealing more of his smooth, tanned skin.

“you’re playing with fire,” he warns, his voice a low growl.

you smile, your fingers tracing the lines of his abs. “i think i like the heat.”

kazuha’s breath hitches as your fingers dip lower, tracing the waistband of his pants. you can feel the hard length of him pressing against the fabric, and you smile, knowing you’re affecting him just as much as he affected you.

you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as your hand slips beneath the waistband, finally wrapping around him. kazuha groans, the sound low and deep, sending a thrill through you. you stroke him slowly, your grip firm but gentle, drawing out another groan from him.

“you’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble.

you smile against his lips, your hand moving faster, your grip tightening. kazuha’s breath comes in short, sharp gasps, his body tensing beneath your touch. you can feel the pleasure building in him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

“let go,” you whisper, your voice a soft command. “let go for me, kazu.”

and with those words, he does. his body tenses, a low moan escaping his lips as he finds his release. you stroke him through it, your touch gentle but firm, drawing out every last wave of pleasure.

as he comes down from the high, you slow your movements, your touch softening. kazuha leans his forehead against yours, his breath coming in slow, steady gasps. you smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“you’re incredible,” he murmurs in a soft whisper.

you smile, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. “so are you.”

and as you sit there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that this night is far from over.

♡ ALBEDO

the candlelight flickers, casting golden hues across the atelier. the scent of oil paints lingers in the air, mingling with something sweeter—the quiet intimacy of being seen.

albedo’s brush glides over the canvas, deliberate, precise, but his gaze… his gaze lingers elsewhere. on you.

you shift beneath his stare, warmth blooming under your skin despite the cool air brushing over your bare body. the silk draped beneath you does little to preserve modesty, pooling around your waist in a way that only enhances the vulnerability of the moment.

his voice is soft, thoughtful. “you’re tense.”

your fingers clutch the fabric at your side. “maybe because you’re staring.”

he chuckles, quiet but indulgent, setting the brush aside. “you wanted me to paint you, love,” he murmurs, standing. the soft creak of the stool, the quiet shuffle of movement and it all feels too slow, too deliberate. “should i not admire my muse?”

you exhale, intending to form some retort, but the words never come—not when he moves closer, not when his gloved fingers trace the edge of your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his eyes.

not when his other hand ghosts over your collarbone, barely there, yet setting every nerve on fire.

the touch is light at first, a study in patience, in restraint. his fingers trail lower, over your arm, down your ribs, mapping the curves he had so carefully sketched onto the canvas.

then lower.

your breath stutters. “albedo-”

he hums in acknowledgment, but his hand doesn’t stop. it glides, slow and knowing, pressing into the softness of your thigh. “fascinating,” he muses, thumb sweeping along your skin in a way that makes your pulse quicken. “i wonder… how much of this warmth is due to embarrassment, and how much is something else?”

you shiver, heat pooling low in your stomach. “you’re awfully talkative.”

his smirk is barely there, but the shift in his demeanor is undeniable—this is no longer about art.

“am i?” he leans in, lips brushing over your shoulder in the lightest of touches before trailing up, up, until his breath fans against the shell of your ear. “then perhaps i should put my mouth to better use.”

a challenge. a promise.

his lips capture yours before you can answer, the warmth of him a stark contrast to the cool air of the room. his hands find your waist, pulling you close, letting you feel the way tension coils beneath his calm exterior, the way his self-control wavers when it comes to his lover.

the painting lies forgotten on the easel, the brushes untouched.

because tonight, he’ll be studying you.

his kiss deepens, tongue sweeping against yours in a dance that leaves you breathless. you can feel the heat of his body, the way his muscles tense under your touch as you reach up, fingers tangling in his hair. he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your lips, and you can't help but smile, knowing the effect you have on him.

"you're enjoying this," he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. his are dark with desire, pupils blown wide.

"maybe," you mumrur, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips. "or maybe i just like seeing you lose control."

he raises an eyebrow, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "is that so?" his hands slide down to your hips, gripping tightly before lifting you effortlessly onto the chaise lounge tucked in the corner of the studio. you let out a surprised gasp, but he just smiles, kneeling before you.

"then let's see how much control i can make you lose," he says, voice low and husky. his hands push your thighs apart, exposing you to the cool air and his heated gaze. you shiver, but not from the cold.

he leans in, breath hot against your most intimate place. you squirm, anticipation building, but he takes his time, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, making you wait. making you want.

"a-albedo," you moan in a plea. he looks up at you, eyes locked onto yours as he finally, finally, puts his mouth to better use.

the first touch of his tongue is electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. he starts slow, exploring and tasting your cunt, each flick and swirl sending waves of sensation crashing over you. your hands find his hair again, gripping tightly as you try to steady yourself.

he hums against your hole, the vibration adding to the sensations overwhelming you. your breath comes in short gasps, punctuated by moans that fill the quiet of the studio. there's nothing but this—his mouth on you, your body responding to his every touch.

"you taste incredible," he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak before diving back in like a starving man. his hands grip your thighs tighter, holding you open for him as he devours you. it's too much, not enough, all at once.

"b-bedo," you gasp, tension coiling tight in your belly. "i'm close."

he growls, the sound vibrating against you, pushing you even closer to the edge. his tongue flicks faster, zeroing in on the spot that makes your body sing. one hand leaves your thigh, two fingers sliding into you easily, filling you, stretching you.

it's too much. it's perfect. it's everything.

you come undone with a cry, body arching off the chaise as pleasure crashes over you. he stays with you, tongue gentling but not stopping, drawing out every last wave of your orgasm until you collapse back onto the chaise, boneless and sated.

he presses one last soft kiss to your thigh before standing, looming over you with a satisfied smirk. "well," he says, voice gentle, "that was quite the study in desire."

you laugh, breathless and content. "come here," you say, reaching for him. he comes willingly, stretching out beside you on the chaise, pulling you into his arms. you can feel the hard length of him pressed against your hip, but he makes no move to rush, content to hold you, to kiss you softly, to let you set the pace.

"thank you," you murmur, tracing patterns on his chest with your fingertips. "for the painting. for... this."

♡ ALHAITHAM

“you’re aware this holiday is nothing more than a commercial ploy, aren’t you?”

alhaitham barely glances up from his book, his voice calm and utterly uninterested. you’re curled up beside him on the couch, yet there’s a noticeable distance—one you fully intend to close.

you sigh dramatically, stretching just enough to press against his side. “so cynical,” you murmur, dragging a slow finger down his arm, tracing the muscle beneath his loose sleeve. “you say that, but you still agreed to spend the evening with me.”

“i spend most of my evenings with you.” he doesn’t react, but you catch the way his fingers twitch slightly against the page. “i fail to see how today is any different.”

you hum, shifting to straddle his lap, effectively cutting off any further argument. his breath hitches. not enough for most to notice, but you do.

“let me show you, then.”

his book is forgotten the moment your lips brush against his neck.

there’s the briefest pause, a moment where you think he might scoff, might dismiss you entirely. but then his hands find your waist, his grip firm and grounding.

“is this your attempt at persuasion?” his voice is quieter now, edged with something deeper, something intrigued.

you press a kiss just beneath his jaw, savoring the way his pulse jumps. “is it working?”

a sharp exhale. his grip tightens.

“you’re insufferable,” he mutters, though there’s no real bite to it. if anything, the way his fingers slide down your spine tells you he’s enjoying this.

good.

you smile, tilting his chin up until he’s looking at you, emerald eyes dark with something unreadable. “then stop thinking so much and enjoy the moment.”

there’s a beat of silence. then he pulls you down into a kiss, slow and consuming, one that makes heat pool low in your abdomen.

it’s rare for him to be this receptive, to let go of logic and indulge in something as fleeting as romance. but tonight, his lips are insistent, his hands impatient as they slide beneath the fabric of your shirt, fingers pressing and grasping.

he breaks the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips, “you’re ridiculous.”

you grin. “and yet, you’re still holding me like you don’t want me to leave.”

a quiet chuckle, a rare thing, before he flips you beneath him, caging you between warmth and muscle, the weight of his body pressing you into the couch.

“fine,” he concedes, voice lower now, rougher. “convince me.”

and judging by the way he kisses you again—hungry, unrestrained—you think you already have.

his hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and line as if he’s memorizing you. you arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. he swallows the sound with another deep kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you.

“haitham,” you whisper, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. his name on your lips seems to ignite something within him, and he trails kisses down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“you taste so good,” he murmurs, his lips moving lower, tracing the collarbone. his hands slip under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. you shiver as the cool air hits your skin, but his warmth quickly envelops you again.

he takes a moment to admire you, his eyes dark with desire. “beautiful,” he says softly, before dipping his head to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. you gasp, your back arching off the couch as he sucks and nips, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

your hands find his shoulders, gripping tightly as he lavishes attention on your breasts, alternating between gentle kisses and sharp bites. you can feel his hardness pressing against you, and you moan softly, your hips grinding against him. he breaks the kiss, his breath coming in short gasps.

“you’re insatiable,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. you tilt your head back, giving him better access.

“only for you,” you reply, your voice breathy and desperate. he chuckles, his hands sliding down your body, exploring every curve and line.

you push him back against the couch, straddling his lap. he looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. you lean down to nip at his neck.

“i want to taste you,” you murmur against the shell of his ear. he groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

“you don’t have to,” he says, his voice strained. you smile, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“i want to,” you insist, your voice soft but firm. he nods, his breath hitching as you begin to trail kisses down his chest.

you take your time, exploring every inch of him with your lips and tongue. he moans softly, his hands tangling in your hair, guiding you lower.

you reach the waistband of his boxers, and you look up at him, a wicked smile on your lips. he watches you, his eyes dark with anticipation. you hook your fingers in the waistband, pulling them down slowly, revealing his hard length.

you wrap your hand around him, and he hisses in pleasure. you stroke him slowly, your eyes locked on his, watching every reaction, every twitch of his muscles.

“you’re teasing me,” he accuses, his voice rough with desire. you smile, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock.

“maybe a little,” you admit, your tongue flicking out to taste him. he groans, his hips bucking slightly.

you take him into your mouth, inch by inch, your tongue swirling around him. he moans loudly, his hands gripping your hair tightly. you begin to move, your head bobbing up and down, taking him deeper with each pass.

“archons, you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice strained. you hum in agreement, the vibration sending a shiver through him.

you pick up the pace, your hand working in time with your mouth. he’s moaning loudly now, his hips moving in time with you, his breath coming in short gasps.

“i’m close,” he warns, his voice strained. you don’t stop, your movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.

he comes with a loud groan, his body tensing as he finds his release. you swallow every drop, your mouth continuing to move on him until he’s spent.

you pull away slowly, a satisfied smile on your lips. he looks down at you, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

“come here,” he murmurs and reaches for you, pulling you up to kiss you sloppily again, tasting himself on your lips.

“i want you inside me,” you whisper against his mouth. he groans, his body pressing against yours, his hardness evident through his pants.

“are you sure?” he asks, his voice strained. you nod, your hands moving to his pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them down. he kicks them off, his boxers following quickly.

you take a moment to admire him, his body lean and muscular, his cock hard and ready. you reach out, wrapping your hand around him once more, and he hisses in pleasure.

“condom,” he manages to say, reaching for his pants and pulling one out of his wallet. you take it from him, tearing it open and rolling it onto him, your hands lingering on his length.

he settles between your legs, his cock poised at your entrance. he looks into your eyes, a silent question. you nod, your hands gripping his hips, pulling him closer.

he slides into you slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. you both moan, the sensation overwhelming. he stays still for a moment, allowing you to adjust to him, before beginning to move.

his thrusts are slow and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure through you. you wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper, urging him faster. he complies, his hips moving quicker, his breath coming in short gasps.

“you feel so good,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. you moan into his mouth, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure builds again.

he breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he continues to thrust into you. “i want you to come with me,” he says, his voice strained. you nod, your body already on the edge.

he reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. the dual sensation is too much, and you cry out, your body convulsing around him as you come.

he follows quickly, his body tensing as he finds his own release. he collapses on top of you, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat.

you wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both come down from the high. he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

“you’re right,” he murmurs, his voice soft and sleepy. “this is different.”

you smile, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. “told you so.”

as you both lie there, wrapped in each other’s arms, alhaitham can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, there’s something to this romance thing after all. and maybe, just maybe, valentine’s day isn’t so bad.

© heavngumi 2025⋆ ꒰ all rights reserved! ꒱ do not copy, modify or translate any of my work.

[raekensluver]

ᴅᴀʏ 𝟷𝟺 — ᴅᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

october 27th | fred weasley x fem!reader

contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, fingering, begging, multiple orgasms, fred's a little out of character, porn without plot.

word count: 1.1k

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

"fred, please," you gasped, your voice breathless and whiny. "i need you."

fred's eyes darkened with desire as he looked down at you, your body trembling beneath his touch. his hand trailed down your side, leaving a fiery path in its wake. "what do you need, love?" he murmured, his voice low and gruff.

you couldn't form coherent words, only whimpers and pleas. i need you to… make me cum," you finally managed, your cheeks flushing red with embarrassment and want.

fred's grin grew wolfish as he took in the sight of you. "you're so eager," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. he leaned down to kiss your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just hard enough to make you gasp. "what's got you so worked up?"

you arched into his touch, your nails digging into his back. "you," you moaned, your voice thick with need. "always you."

fred chuckled against your skin, his breath warm and tickling. he traced his lips along your collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses that made your heart race even faster. "you know i'll give you what you want," he whispered, his hand sliding up to cup your breast. his thumb flicked over your nipple, making you moan and squirm.

his other hand traveled down between your thighs, his fingers finding their way to your soaking wet entrance. he teased the sensitive skin around it, watching the way your eyes rolled back with every touch. "so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. "you really do want it, don't you?"

you nodded frantically, your hips bucking up to meet his hand. "yes," you whined, your voice barely above a whisper. "please, fred."

his fingers slid inside of you with ease, and you felt your muscles clench around them as if trying to hold on. your nails scraped down his back, leaving red marks as you bit your bottom lip to keep from screaming. "that's it," he encouraged, his own breathing growing heavier. "let me hear how much you want me."

you couldn't help the whines that escaped your throat, each one sounding more pitchy than the last. your hips rolled in time with his strokes, and you could feel your climax building, like a storm waiting to break. your eyes remained locked on his, the brown of his irises seemingly burning into yours as he watched your reactions with hungry intensity.

"more," you begged, your voice hoarse and needy. fred's grin grew wider as he added another finger, curling them inside you in a way that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. you felt yourself tighten around him, and he responded by pumping them in and out in a steady rhythm that had you on the edge.

his thumb found your clit and began to rub slow circles, his touch feather-light yet so intense it was almost painful. your hips bucked upwards, trying to get more friction, more everything. "right there," you whispered, your eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. fred's chuckle was the only response, his movements never faltering, his fingers never leaving your most sensitive spots.

suddenly, you felt the pressure building, your orgasm rising like a tidal wave. "i'm gonna…" you moaned, your voice trailing off as you tried to hold onto the sensation. fred's grip on your hip tightened, his other hand squeezing your breast as he whispered, "let go, love. i've got you."

with a keening cry, you did. your body shuddered and arched off the bed, your muscles spasming around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. fred didn't stop, his movements relentless, pushing you further into the abyss of pleasure until you were a trembling, boneless mess beneath him.

"please," you gasped, your voice a needy whine. "please, fred, i can't…" but you could, and you did. again and again, your orgasms rolling into one endless crescendo of ecstasy. his name was a chant on your lips, a prayer to the gods of desire that he never stop.

his fingers were relentless, driving into you, curling and stroking until you thought you would lose your mind. your nails dug into his shoulders, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, trying to hold on to him as if he were a lifeline in a storm. your eyes squeezed shut, you felt the room spin, and all that existed was the heat of his body, the pressure of his touch.

"more," you begged, your voice barely audible, your throat raw from the constant stream of pleas. "please, fred, more." your desperation was palpable, a living entity in the room that seemed to feed off the tension coiled within you.

without a word, fred's fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. his thumb pressed harder on your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that had your entire body tightening like a coil ready to spring. "yes," you hissed, your eyes flying open to meet his, the pupils blown wide with pleasure. "right there," you whispered, your voice a pleading mantra.

his free hand slid up your body to cradle your face, his thumb brushing the wetness from your cheek. "you're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "so fucking beautiful." his words were a gentle caress against the chaos of sensations overwhelming you.

you couldn't help but whimper at the praise, your chest heaving with the effort of breathing. your eyes searched his, looking for a sign that he was as lost in this as you were. his gaze was dark and intense, his pupils blown wide with need. "please," you begged, your voice hoarse from the screams you hadn't realized you'd been letting out.

fred leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep, mimicking the rhythm of his fingers inside you. you moaned into his mouth, your tongue dancing with his as you felt yourself building towards another peak. your hips rocked up to meet his hand, desperation fueling your movements.

his thumb moved faster on your clit, the pressure increasing until you felt yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion once more. you clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "i'm close," you murmured against his lips, your voice barely recognizable.

his response was to plunge his fingers deeper, his thumb never ceasing its merciless onslaught. your muscles tightened around him, your body coiling tighter and tighter until suddenly, you shattered. your back bowed off the bed and your legs spasmed as you broke apart from him. the orgasm was a white-hot burst of pleasure that seemed to go on forever, consuming every inch of you, leaving you boneless and trembling.

when the waves of pleasure finally subsided, you lay there, panting and weak, your eyes half-closed and your body slack. fred's hand was still between your legs, his fingers gently stroking your sensitive flesh, his thumb resting lightly on your clit, sending little aftershocks of pleasure through you. he kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours, his breath mingling with your own.

kintober taglist: @multi-fandom-imagine, @imamexican, @majaduzejaja, @moony-artemis, @emma-e-a, @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @indigoangel77, @froyofreya, @weirdothatwritess @dale-kobbles-wife @mattheoriddles-slutt @aduh0308

[merelylillies]

⋆ ﾟ.☁︎｡⋅ ───────────────｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

Note: ‘‘Starting to get the hang of it...might still be bad. Brace yourself I guess? Also not proofread so fingers crossed.,,

・・・・・​​⟢

Fandom: Hoyoverse's Genshin Impact

Pairing: (Fem.)Reader x Xiao || Alatus >>Mentioned: Malipo Kinich

Content Warnings: (NSFW) Kissing, Needy/Desperate vibes, Jealousy, Praise, Handjob (giving).

✦・・・・・​​・・・・・​​・・・・・​​・・・・・​​✦

The one time you left Paimon behind you felt surprisingly deprived of her usual chatter as you made your way up onto the cobblestone path. Though you supposed it was all well and good, she was with Xiangling, not only safe but with the company of endless food. Surely she won't complain by the time you pick her up tomorrow. Although as of right now, the atmosphere felt empty, the only noise being your heeled boots clacking onto the wooden platform of the open-air elevator. It had been a while since you last visited Wangshu Inn.

With everything that had happened between Fontaine and Natlan, it's fair to say a moment's rest has been few and far between. With the latter, upon meeting some of the tribes' people had you then suddenly grown homesick. The Malipo name bearer having played tricks on your eyes one too many times from behind. His tousled, dark blue strands with sharp cuts flooded nostalgia through your blood countless times, before you were inevitably met with green irises instead of the gold you so cherished. Lost in thought you'd barely registered the platform had reached the terrace with a clunk. Looking around, most of the guests had early turned in for the night, the moon hanging high in the sky and the air perfectly still if not for a small breeze. Walking off the elevator and rounding the entrance to the front desk, Verr Goldet was busying herself petting the inn's cat perched on the counter. She turned at the sound of footsteps with a clear look of surprise that melted into a welcoming smile.

"Welcome back Traveler," she spoke softly. Nodding in greeting you glanced around, eyes landing on the staircase leading to the upper terrace. Upon catching this Verr smiled almost knowingly.

“He's been waiting a long time you know?" she said cryptically.

“Oh." was all you managed to get out.

"Take this on my behalf will you?" she asks with an amused look before handing you a delicate plate with a decorated portion of Almond Tofu.

“Xiangling sent in a letter earlier when you departed from the harbor. I had Yanxiao make it before clocking out.".

“Thank you." you responded almost dumbfounded before taking the plate from her hands.

She nodded before turning back around to scribble away in her log book, leaving you to stare down at the dish before ultimately turning to make your way up the final flight of stairs. As you made it to the top of the stairs, building up your courage to call his name you stopped just short of the archway. To your surprise, the man was already there. Sitting balanced on the railing of the terrace, with one leg bent into his chest, the other dangling down towards the void. The Adeptus' back was to you, allowing you to gaze over the back of his hair, your brain almost warning you it's just another hopeful illusion. As your silence goes on, he turns his head in your direction, glowing yellow peering into you like daggers. Everything stilled for a little while, the two of you just staring at one another without making a move. Gods you had missed him.

“Hi Xiao." you offered, breaking the silence. He continues to look at you, then suddenly shifts, disappearing into thin air before reappearing a couple of steps away from you, standing stiffly. Swallowing your doubt, you walk closer holding the Tofu out to him.

“Yanxiao made this for you-" you suddenly stop at his expression, as he stares at you with a perplexed look, confusion mixed with upset and then switching to weariness.

“Xiao, what's wrong?" you ask concerned, eyes checking over his figure before feeling gloved fingers slide on top of yours holding up the plate.

Looking up at him, his eyes seemed to roam across your face frantically, and then finally settle on your eyes, gazing into them intensely. His other hand comes to your shoulder, gently holding you, before tightening his grip firmly once he knew for a fact you were actually standing before him. He seemed to be physically relieved at your presence. You were actually here. In front of him. Without another second wasted he pulled you into him, plate long forgotten on the floor. The embrace was rigid, but he pulled you in so tightly as if he were scared to even consider letting go.

A few beats pass by before he shifts his arms, his hands that were clutching at your back now trailing down near your waist. He continues to hold you there, pressed up against him, his head hovering above your shoulder, dark strands tickling your ear.

“Where have you been.” It sounded more like a statement than a question, an accusation almost.

Hesitating with your response you swallowed a bit nervous. “I was traveling to the other nations- I’ve been to Fontaine and Nat-”.

“You took so long.” He breathed out, almost a whisper.

“You worried me.” He started. “I started thinking you might’ve been stubborn again and refused to call upon me.” His voice turned stern again, despite the softness of his low volume.

“Xiao..”.

“Traveler..May I be selfish?”, He pulls back enough to look at you, his forehead grazing your own.

Nodding slowly at him, your eyes lock onto his, seeing the underlying passion and yearning and admiration that he hid deep within himself.

Before you could say anything else he closed the distance between you.

The kiss was soft at first but as you kissed him back, reciprocating his movements with practiced ease, he started leaning back, shrinking into himself more. This was experience he continued to lack even with the many times you’d shared kisses. Kissing and any physical intimacy was a foreign concept to him, so he couldn’t help the small noises that escape him as you didn’t let up on his lips.

It was almost embarrassing how worked up he started getting, the harsh persona faltering the more you pressed forward and the longer the kiss continued. He felt breathless. For all his training he suddenly couldn’t calm his racing heart and his shortness of air.

You let up for a few seconds, letting him fill his lungs before diving back in immediately after his first gasp.

“Aah-mm” The hum leaves him involuntarily. Xiao had never wanted to be the vocal type, but novelty to these sensations made it hard for him to surprise himself.

Could you just- Archons above. Give him a second- Suddenly, despite his rare initiation, he feels out of his depth.

Adepti are trained to have endless patience and composure. So dear Seven, what the FUCK. He was feeling things he shouldn’t, thoughts crossing his mind he would berate himself later for. But as you kept moving forward, hands mimicking his own, wrapping onto his own waist, all trace of thought was gone from his mind.

You felt yourself turn light as a feather for a moment before realizing you had changed settings. He had teleported you inside. Now in a beautifully decorated chamber, the furniture adorned with untouched, long-settled dust. This must be the room Verr keeps for him.

As your turned your focus back to Xiao the boy looked beyond unrecognizable. The usual scowl on his face replaced with an unreadable expression. His pale skin blushed over with red. The tips of his hair standing up a little wilder than normal. But most of all, his eyes. Oh his eyes.. They held you with their stare, glossed by the warm, dim light of a bedside lantern.

Xiao’s brain seemed to spontaneously re-wire itself as he shifted his footing. Walking over to him, you started kissing him again, firmly and with so much emotion from you missing him, leaving behind the slow gentle pecks from earlier.

He fell into your rhythm, not once fighting to control the kiss. Walking him backwards until the back of his knees hit the mattress, making him fall down with you straddling him. Almost grinning against his lips you opened your eyes to look at him. His unfocused, widened gaze and his half open mouth, lips turned more vibrant with friction.

As you settled above him your hand moving up to his waist before your hand grazes over the front of his pants, a hitch of his breath escaping in response. Surprised at the sound, your eyes trail down to his trousers only to be met with a more prominent bulge.

Oh. Oh.. oh.

He couldn’t meet your gaze, his forearm moving atop his face shielding his eyes.

“You missed me that much?”

“It’s an uncontrollable aspect of the male human body. Something you should well be aware of. Your own kind’s shortcomings.” He replies with a hoarse voice, trying to keep his tone steady and even.

“Oh I wouldn’t say shortcomings..” You reply smugly before shifting your palm down onto him.

“A-ah-” He cuts himself off with a hiss of a breath.

As your hand continues grinding onto him his breaths pick up again, chest stuttering with his small gasps. Brows visibly furrowing, as the arm shielding his face twitches in place with small trembles.

“You- m-mm-” He attempts.

“I what?” You tease back.

And he’s really trying. Rex Lapis knows he’s trying to hold it in. Not seem so..so.. needy. And he doesn’t want to beg. That’s pathetic and unbecoming of an illuminated beast, an immortal, weapon of war..

“You look so pretty Xiao”, You whisper, caressing his soft hair, fingers trailing down his jawline, “I missed you so.”

Curse Celestial-

“Please.”

You don’t even get to respond to his sudden plea before others pour in.

“Please. I-I desire your- hahatouch. Ah. You. Please.” His arm strongly planted over his eyes.

Smiling down at his shaky form, you dip your hands past his waistband and loosen the sash holding his pants. The fabric dips down his slim hips, his usually cold skin, burning to the touch.

Finally wrapping a hand around him he gasps louder, this time a high pitched moan fully tumbling out of his lips.

“Ha- Aa-ah fuck -mmmmh”

You give him a tentative slow stroke up before reaching the tip, thumbing at it while watching his reaction. His first bawling against his own palm, the less human features of his hands peaking out from their usual concealment. Nails sharpening and veins becoming more visible, running down his arm.

“Yes-ah just like that— AAah-” His fingers twitch as you repeat the motion, dragging your thumb slowly against the slit.

As you speed up your motions his back begins arching slightly, lifting off the mattress as his pitch heightens with breathlessness and an almost whiny undertone. Your hand tightening around him and squeezing him just how he needed and god it feels good.

And he’s basically never done this before, and so he’s already getting embarrassingly close. His heart feels like it’s in his throat with the way he feels unable to utter out anything more than pleasurable moans. Your hand picks up the pace, and he bites his lip, sharp canines almost piercing his already kissed raw, red lips. His arm barely staying still from the stimulation, shudders running their course throughout his body. Finally falling to the side, his arm yanks at the bedding, his eyes scrunched up in pleasure as his eyebrows knit together. His entire face is blushed heavily, not to mention the almost visible pants of hot air escaping his mouth with little to no restraint from him.

“I’m- I..”

“Hm? Does it feel nice Xiao?” You boldly inquired boldly.

“Is this what you desired? What you fantasized while waiting for me? Imagining me so desperately?”

He was so sensitive and he has been wanting you all this time- having to wait so long and he was pent up and you knew that- and-

“Fuck- ah-Aa-hah..Please I’m almost.. Ah-” His voice breaks on his last plea, feeling too out of it to care.

Without much else he comes undone into your hand, letting out a small mewl that resembles a whimper.

You move to hover over him closer to his face and he opens his eyes to look up at you dazed but with determination in his eyes.

“Ah-a-Again….” He huffs.

“Hah-h please.”

[g0dlyunsub]

on your own. | part one

part one | part two

a stalker forces you to abandon the bau and leaves you in the streets strapped to an explosive. when spencer finds you, you’re left with a bitter decision to try and save him.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: general cm themes, mentions/depictions of stalking, kidnapping, needles, blood, explosives, and death, lots of angst

word count :: 3k

author’s note :: this is literally the prelude to pure angst. poor reader has been through too much :(

accompanying song :: exit music (for a film) by radiohead

one year ago

you never said goodbye to spencer reid. 

the first set of warnings came in the form of a letter enveloped in frail parchment paper. you found it on your desk after you returned with the rest of the team from a case. the tiredness washed over you as you slumped in your chair, and you lazily reached for the envelope to detach the sealed flap from the wax.

it’s at that moment, when you read the first sentence, that you wished you never unfolded the letter. 

but your eyes betrayed you, and they shifted left and right as you proceeded to read through the spouts of hatred and animosity. 

you already know the story. you will die. everyone you love will also die. you will lose them forever. you will be sad and angry. you will weep. you will bargain. you will make demands. you will beg. you will pray. it will make no difference. nothing you can do will bring them back. you know this. your knowing changes nothing. 

i will make you understand this unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.

you missed the person you were five minutes ago. 

after re-reading the letter four times, you realized the uncanny similarity of the message to the iliad, maybe book 21. it was most likely someone trying to spew out a hollow threat against you and the team, using a contemporary translation to sound modish and intimidating. you made a mental note to ask spencer who the translator was once he returned with his coffee.

it wasn’t entirely uncommon for you to receive death threats, especially after working at the bau for five years. while you’ve managed to lock up some of those who had enacted the worst possible actions against humanity, you also became part of the receiving end – a channel for all of the violence to funnel through. 

before you placed the letter back into its envelope, you noticed a small card tucked in the corner of the sleeve. you cautiously took it out, a glossy sticker of a red eye on the face of the card glaring into your own irises.

you turned it over.

this one instantly drowned the color from your face. it knocked out all of your emotion, sealed it in a box, and shipped it away on a freighter that was already set out on a doomed path. 

tell him about me, go on. tell doctor spencer reid about me. i bet he would enjoy choosing who to save: aaron hotchner or david rossi.  

you heard someone clear their throat from behind you, and you swore you heard your own heart beat against the walls of your own skin, thudding like a drum with its sunken chambers. you straightened your posture and shoved the letter to the side. you prayed it wasn’t spencer standing behind you.

you sighed in relief when you turned to face anderson.

“ma’am, a letter for you.” he handed you another letter, this time a charcoal-gray envelope with no mailing address inscribed on it. just your name. after he was a considerable distance away from your desk, you teared the flap with shaky fingers and peered inside.

it was a set of photographs, the film papers bundled together with a single rubber band. you lifted the envelope, letting gravity do the work as the stash of photos fell to your lap. 

your throat ran dry. your worst fear was sitting on your lap, and you could do nothing but stare back at it with panic-stricken eyes.

your cheeks suffused with a color of pale blue and a trigger blew off in your head. 

each photo depicted you with a bau member. and you recognized every moment.

you were grabbing prentiss’ arm as you laughed at the nonsensical joke one of her date partners had tried on her.

you were hugging rossi at his doorstep after being invited to vent personal troubles over some scotch and wine.

you were giving jack a high-five after babysitting him as hotch thanked you for covering him when he went to new york to visit beth.

you were sitting at the dinner table with jj and will, happily eating from a plate of steak and fries as you discussed your future plans to go travel abroad.

you were with garcia, carrying multiple shopping bags as you stopped to point at the beautiful dress showcased in the vintage store across the street.

you were deeply engaged in conversation with morgan, sitting on a park bench and watching the children run around as though not a single worry clouded over their heads.

and you were with spencer, legs crossed as you took a sip out of your hot coffee and exchanged novels to read. a red ‘x’ marked over both of your faces. 

tell doctor spencer reid about me.

the tears fell one by one, staining the tanned paper and leaving the inked words to bleed across the wet spots.

you will die.

if ending credits ever existed in a movie as tragic as yours, they would roll right now – and you would be as good as a deceased character, your name marked in white against a black screen.

i will make you understand this unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.

you drew in a shaky breath and folded the letter with trembling fingers. the creases retracted the notebook-sized sheet into a flattened square. each turn of the paper felt like you were shattering your own bones, irreversibly folding them into an inhuman form.

two weeks. that was how much time you gave yourself to leave the bau. and to fray the twine between you and your beloved doctor.

you received the second warning a week before your departure. 

this one was a direct threat, a ruthless sign that he wasn’t giving you extra time to think about your options. in fact, he made it clear that you didn’t have an option.

your stalker had taken jack for twelve hours, during which your team – hotch especially – searched relentlessly. no one paused for a coffee break, and every single one of you was going to devote every waking hour to bring jack home safe. the last thing your team needed was a foyet wannabe, and everyone was on edge for reports, sightings, anything.

but the clues trickled to you. he dropped hints for you directly, even one at your cell number. while you relayed everything to your team, no one asked the questions until later. why did he leave you with the hints, trying to lead you to jack’s trail when it should’ve been hotch?

the inquiries dropped like flies when jack was brought to the steps of the fbi office by a “mysterious presence”, according to a messenger who passed hotch a card.

when the card was shown to you, a bone-chilling shiver propagated down your spine and your pupils dilated.

you already know the story, it read.

no one else knew what it meant except for you. typed in courier and printed on the all-too-familiar brown letter paper, the words bore into your soul and etched onto your heart with a searing pain.

you were angry. so, so angry. not at the fact that you couldn’t even get three hours of sleep ever since the week before, not at the fact that you had a stalker vexing you with taunts, but at the fact that he was targeting everyone but you.

to you, he was a coward. if it was rancor he harbored against you, he should’ve confronted you directly. tear a ligament, make you swim in your own blood, leave you for roadkill, you didn’t care. if he was so inclined to get at you, then you’d let him. but never – never – could you forgive anyone who let others in your own mess.

you reached out to hotch first. you told him you had found a new job in upstate new york, where you were going to work as a lecturer at a local university. to make it sound convincing, you told him that a family member of yours had fallen sick and was currently residing there, and you needed to seek solace in their presence.

he understood, just as you expected. he always did, without question. he’d pay visits at your new place and at the university, and catch up with you once in a while. jack would love to see you there, he said.

rossi, too, accepted it without much hesitation. he gave you one of his heartwarming smiles, wrinkled eyes reassuring you for any hesitation you had trying to tell him before. come by any time, we’ll always welcome you with open arms, he spoke with genuine kindness.

prentiss and jj, more reluctantly so. they gave you a tougher time, practically interrogating you – asking you where the address of your new place was, since when you had planned on leaving the bau, and if you needed help clearing out your current place.

you’ve – i mean we all have, a little, but you seem to be… disturbed lately. especially after… jack was abducted, prentiss told you. prentiss and her watchful eye. it’s why you specifically planned to tell her with jj in the room, so she’d reserve the harsher questions for another time when it’d be just the two of you, but by then you’d find a way to avoid the conversation altogether.

morgan didn’t say much. you had expected that though, considering the fact that you would often go to him to consult worries, plans, and theorize about each other’s future. he was silent when you delivered the news, but then he pulled you in as if to shield you from all of your lingering worries.

promise me, l/n. promise me you’ll come visit.

you broke like a brittle twig in his grasp. you wanted to give up so badly.

i promise, you whispered back. the masterful lie rolled off of your tongue before you could withhold yourself, and it lay suspended in the air with heavy guilt and ill-fated dishonesty.

garcia never accepted departure well. you could only watch in pity and remorse as the mascara stained her cheeks and the tears landed at her keyboard. her arms shook as she tried to embrace you, and you didn’t even have it in you to return the hug.

you wanted garcia to be the last to see you. you wanted to save your goodbye with her for the very last, a fluorescent presence in your otherwise gloomy life. her bubbly spirit met your silence with indescribable serenity, and you monumentalized your last moment in the bau with her. she made your life worth living.

you were trying. you were trying to spare the safety of your dearest friends at the expense of your own. you were trying to reclaim the blood that rushed to your face. you were begging for one chance. who could blame you?

spencer did.

you didn’t leave a single note for spencer. you never even told him a thing. to him, your departure was indigestible torment. he usually doesn’t wish the worst upon anyone, but with you, he wondered if he had to make an exception.

you ended up leaving the office a day before your said departure date, because you didn’t want to risk spencer finding out any earlier. you had meticulously planned everything out, asking every team member not to tell another. to your knowledge, no one knew that anyone else knew, save for prentiss and jj.

the day after you left, you received a text from spencer.

can we please talk? 

his message lit up your screen, a lone star in the night sky that was drowned of its usual vibrancy. 

you were too far into this to take a step back. 

after looking up to the sky one last time, taking in the sight of the polluted air clouding the atmosphere with your bloodshot eyes, you dropped your cell into a garbage bin.

you knew he’d be mad. 

you wanted him to stay mad. it would make all of this — the pain of moving on — easier.

some day, he’d understand. you hoped. you hoped and you hoped.

your bitter end was inevitable.

for three weeks, spencer was all alone.

he drew no effort to talk to anyone about it, because you robbed him of his mental clarity.

since the first day you joined the bau, you held him spellbound. you listened to his ramblings, exchanged book recommendations with him, and sat next to him in the darkness as he lay gasping for air after another one of his horrendous nightmares.

you were there for him, until you weren’t.

your absence was his worst torment, a form of loneliness he couldn’t sleep away.

there were times when he’d pour twice the water needed in his kettle, only to realize after that he set down a single coffee cup.

there were times when he’d intentionally wear his tie crooked, only to realize you were never going to be in the office to point it out for him.

there were times when you’d appear in his dreams, when he’d awake and see nothing but a pile of books before him.

you turned into a dull ache in his chest.

you became the sadness so deep in his chest that he couldn’t even cry about it. 

he wondered how it felt now that you left him behind. he put all of his cards on the table, exposing to you his most vulnerable moments and emotions. if only you showed your hand.

he wanted it to haunt you.

he wanted to hate you.

you were impossible longing, impossible infatuation. he thought you were unloveable.

who could blame him?

present day

you never left virginia. 

in fact, you were stuck making ends meet as a writer for a local news journal under the pseudonym lynne davis.

the truth is, it was impractical for you to find a new job and relocate within the mere span of two weeks. quitting your job at the bau was a given, but that also meant that your compensation would drop significantly. considering that you couldn’t work in law enforcement anymore, you had to start over from scratch.

so you tirelessly worked to scour earnings by typing away, writing editorial pieces on sports and personal health.

your night job, you worked as a cashier at a seven-eleven. because you couldn’t work remotely for your shifts, you took up a disguise. you dyed and cut your hair, exclusively wore long-sleeved articles of clothing, and kept a baseball cap on, making sure it snugged tightly against your forehead and hid your eyes.

yet in hindsight, nothing could have prepared you for the worst. the issue with all of this was that you were too consistent. had you changed up your routine from time to time, perhaps you wouldn’t have been caught while commuting to your night shift. but you were too predictable for him.

it happens when you get off of the bus.

when the man bumps into you, he murmurs apologies that you can’t ignore.

“sorry- are you okay?” he asks.

you look up briefly to meet his eye before forcing a small smile with upturned lips.

“yeah, um, don’t worry about it. i’m all good.” you tell him rushingly with the wave of your hand, before turning to walk to the store.

but he doesn’t leave you. his heavy steps mimic yours, treading quickly along the asphalt. after taking a few staggering steps, you stop. you annoyedly turn around, deciding to tell him off. 

“hey, i don’t know what you’re doing-”

you never get to finish your sentence. when you look at him, he’s already face to face with you, one hand grasping the side of your shoulders while the other presses a needle against your arm.

your entire time at the bau, you took pride in your acute awareness of your surroundings, never letting your guard down even around those you trusted. so this was the price you had to pay for your lack of practice – everything folded into a blurry stream as you looked down to see your legs dissipate in the ground, almost like you were falling in quicksand.

when you wake up, you’re on the ground in a narrow alleyway. you don’t know how much time has passed, but it’s hot and the air’s fetid and there’s an itch spreading throughout your entire body-

you look down. your hands are stained with a horrific shade of red, and there’s a crumpled note in your palm. you unfold it.

it will make no difference.

he had you. you scowl at the thought of him subduing you, strangling you with ropes and leashing you to a chair.

you freeze. he’s also made you wear a black leather jacket, bundling you up in the thick layer of suffocating heat. 

you unzip the jacket, and the walls in your head cave in instantly. to your dismay, you’re wearing an explosive vest, armed with a detonator and all. a timer lies near your ribcage, and your heart sinks. it hasn’t started yet.

a shaky exhale leaves your lips as you try to assess your situation.

you wish death would’ve consumed you already, but you have to stand up on your feet and run, away from the buildings and the people, as fast as your weary legs can carry you.

you stand and start to run in the opposite direction from the main road, the sounds of traffic bleeding into your ears as your feet slam against the ridged ground.

parched with unquenched thirst and begrimed with dust from the asphalt, you come to a stop when you reach a fork in the road. 

as you frantically try to think of which route to take, you hear it.

“y/n?”

it’s too familiar. the voice ridden with a slight rasp, carrying an air of inquisitiveness and soothing tenderness.

it sounds like clarity amidst all of the chaos.

you pray it’s not him.

you turn to meet the sight of the wrinkled shirt, waistcoat, and converses smudged with dirt. the brown disheveled hair, doe eyes, and moistened lips pursing with concern.

spencer fucking reid.

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Tease

Steve Harrington x Reader

18+ Only! Minors DNI!

CW: SMUT AHEAD! No use of Y/N. Pet names used. Reader has a vagina. Teasing. Oral (male receiving). Unprotected P in V. Creampie.

WC: 1.6K

His body is flushed and sweaty, chest heaving with every breath, sprawled out across the bed, boxers still on, hands cuffed above his head and securely attached to the headboard.

You chance a glance up to see his eyes screwed shut, face twisted in pleasure, pressed into his arm, teeth grazing his bicep to keep another whimper at bay while you're practically torturing him. You pause your current ministrations to truly look at him, cheeks and ears tinged pink along with his soft pouty lips, tousled brown locks sticking to his forehead.

You smirk at the mess you’ve made of him, blooms of maroon and dark purples along his neck and collar bones. There are faint teeth marks at the juncture of his throat where it meets his shoulder. A thin sheen of sweat mats down the hair across his chest, while his skin is glistening in the low light.

Beautiful. Your sweet, angelic boyfriend that lets you corrupt him like this.

He takes a shuddering breath, picking his head up, letting his gaze fall down to you when he realizes you’ve stopped. His honey hued irises a mere ring surrounding the inky black pupils blown wide with lust but the look on his face is soft, filled with a pure adoration.

His brow furrows slightly, lips parting, about to say something but you speak up.

“So pretty, Stevie.” You smile, lazy and saccharine. “Such a good boy for me.”

You watch the heat go to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, turning the pink to a slight shade of red at the praise as he lets out a small moan, closing his eyes as his head falls back against the pillow. For someone like Steve, who never seemed to get embarrassed you could easily fluster him with just a few simple words. Only you got to see him like this, the vulnerable side that let you take the lead and let him forget about the rest of the world.

You lean back down and mouth hot against cock, only the thin fabric separating you, already soaked through with your saliva and his precum as he almost growls, a deep rumble emanating from the back of his throat as his hips thrust up, searching for more. He's already so hard it’s starting to ache. You’ve been going at it for the last half hour and know he’s close to begging for relief at this point.

“Goddamnit baby.” He hisses through gritted teeth, bucking up again when your teeth lightly nip at him.

You hum, lips working over him still, before pulling back once more. “Do you think you've been good enough to cum for me Stevie?”

“God yes, please. Yes.” He whimpers out as your fingertips hook into his waistband, eyes meeting yours with a frenzied plea.

“Please… what baby?” You ask, voice dripping with sugar, taking the opportunity to tease him a little further.

“Please… let me cum…” He breathes out ragged and on edge, futilely pulling at the cuffs while you slowly pull his underwear down his legs as his cock is finally set free of its confinement. You hear the faintest moan as he melts back into the mattress.

The boxers are thrown somewhere across the room to join the rest of his clothing, but your eyes never leave him. His thick cock is resting toward his stomach, the tip an angry shade of red and leaking, making a mess of his happy trail. Leaning over, you plant a kiss to his hip as it kicks up, a thin thread of sticky spend right below his navel connecting back to his head.

“Honey… I… I can’t take all the teasing tonight. Please!” He begs and something in his voice lets you know he was telling the truth. He was too wound up.

“Shhh baby.” You coo. “Just relax. I've got you.”

Flattening your tongue, you carve a path up his hip bone, then across his stomach. His muscles tighten beneath you as he groans and writhes, still not reaching its intended target just yet, drawing it out a little more just to hear his breathy pleading.

“F—fuuuuuck honey…” He moans, as you grin, tongue flicking across his slippery tip.

“Mmmm… taste so good, Stevie.”

“Goddamn… yes.” He hisses, voice strained, as you wrap your hand around him, thumb swirling at his sensitive head catching and smearing his spend, spitting on his length to give you more to work with.

Schlick sounds fill the room along with his moans as your hand continues to work him up and down, up and down at a mere leisurely pace, giving him just enough to keep him satisfied but not enough to give him the relief he so desperately craves.

He whines as you pull your hand away and just for a moment, he thinks you're going to prolong his torture.

“Mouth or pussy?” You ask, another moan falling from his lips before he answers, voice hoarse and ragged, filled with need.

“P—pussy. Pussy! God, I need t’feel you.”

It was a silly question, really. You knew the answer before uttering it. He would rather cum in you, than waste it on a blowjob.

You start to clamber back up his body and situate yourself on his lap, trapping his cock between his stomach and your soaked folds.

It takes all of his will power not to drive his hips up into yours, letting you have control, as you line him up to your entrance. He watches you slowly sink down onto his throbbing cock. It was always a stretch, but you took him so well.

His eyes dart between your face and where the two of you were connected, as your own head falls back, hands splayed across his chest as you continued the slow, torturous task of taking him in, inch by inch, feeling every vein and ridge on the descent.

His face holds a mixture of both pain and pleasure, parted lips releasing a chorus of moans and whines as you spear yourself on his length.

“Mmmm… so big!” You cry out, eyes rolling back as his tip nudges your cervix letting you know you couldn't possibly take anymore, pausing briefly to catch your breath and ready yourself.

“That's it baby, takin’ me so fuckin' good.” He praises with a lopsided grin, making your pussy flutter around him with need, eliciting a hiss from him. “Fuck, m’not gonna last if you keep doing that.”

“S'okay baby.” You breathe out as your hips start to move. “All about you tonight.”

He starts to protest, but he can already feel himself on the edge of a losing battle, nodding and closing his eyes.

You lean back, placing your hands behind you gripping his knees for leverage as you start to bounce. He can't help himself from thrusting in time to meet you, as you both set a steady rhythm.

He's hanging on by a thread, each time he disappears inside you, his lower stomach clenches a little more, his balls tightening up with his impending release.

“F—fuck honey, jus— just like that.” He rushes out, eyes fixed on your naked form, as his cock slides in and out of your tight cunt.

“Cum for me baby!” You cry out, and that's all it takes to push him over.

He thrusts once, twice, three times before he's spilling hot and heavy inside you, giving you every last drop that he has with a deep grunt. He stills his hips to let you ride him through it, his chest heaving from the exertion.

“Baby… baby…” He whimpers, still twitching inside you, your greedy pussy wanting more, slowing your hips to a lazy roll as you drape yourself back over him.

“Mmmm. Bet that felt so good.” Your lips find his neck, trailing up his jaw. He's practically boneless beneath you, still trying to catch his breath as your hips grind to a halt.

He hums in response, thoroughly spent, a shiver running through him. His eyes flutter open to see you staring back at him with hearts in your eyes before leaning over him to retrieve the key from the nightstand to unlock him.

The cuffs slip away with a small audible click, his arms falling to either side of his head as you begin to ease up from his lap, tossing the cuffs back into the drawer but he stops you by throwing his arms around your waist holding you firmly to him.

“Mmph, no. No.” He murmurs, pulling you chest to chest, feeling his cock stir once more. “Don't go.”

In one fluid motion, he grips your hip and maneuvers you onto your back, head hitting the pillow before you had time to process what was happening.

“Oh.” You giggle. “Not done yet?”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in, hips pushing lazily back into yours when he becomes rigid once again, his cum leaking out from around his thick cock.

Whatever words you had die on your tongue, as all thoughts are pushed from your mind with each slow and steady roll of his hips.

He kisses up your neck, just under your jaw before whispering in your ear.

“It’s your turn, pretty girl. Gonna fill this pussy over and over again.” He kisses your cheek sweetly as if he didn't just let those filthy words escape, before his next thrust takes your breath away. “Hang on angel, we’ve got all night.”

[annievrse]

that's not my name!

college!eren jaeger x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 blurb c/w: eren refers to reader as 'my girl', she/her pronouns, established relationship, reader is shorter than eren.

"call me that one more time and see what happens."

you roll your lips between your teeth, a smile threatening to break across your face. "eren, eren, eren."

"baby!" he pouts. "you always call me baby. stop that."

you giggle into your hand, eren’s fallen expression causing you to burst. his eyes shift under his dark eyebrows, mischief swimming in his green irises.

then, eren abandons his protein drink and reaches over the table, placing his hands on your shoulders. "don't make me shake you."

"baby," you whisper, peering up at him. at the sound of his name, he visibly melts. his shoulders relax, and his expression morphs into relief.

"thank you," eren nods, rubbing your skin. "now, was that so hard?"

"i dont know, eren, you tell me."

"ugh," he rolls his eyes, sitting back down and taking a swig of his drink.

"can i try some?"

"no, because i know you're not gonna like it," eren deadpans. "then you're going to ask me how the hell i like it, and i don't want to listen to that right now."

"you're so mean."

"says the one purposefully messing up my name before."

"are we gonna stop them soon?" armin whispers to mikasa, the pair governing the other half of the picnic bench—you next to mikasa & armin beside eren.

the girl rolls her eyes and sighs. “we have to meet up with the others soon. are you done?"

you face her with a wince and give your best friend a sheepish smile. "sorry."

"she's lying," eren quips, winking at you across the table. he finishes his drink and shoves the cup into the side of his backpack.

"am not!" you say, throwing him a glare. you don't miss the anxious expression on armin's face. "and look! you're even stressing armin out."

armin's cheeks glow red at your comment. "i just don't want to be late."

eren grins and raises an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest. a few loose strands from his bun fall in his eyes as he tilts his head. "you two can go on. we'll catch up with you later."

mikasa rolls her eyes and stands, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. she yanks armin up by his shirt collar. "don't be too late."

"when are we ever?" eren smirks, eyes never straying from yours.

armin scoffs, pushing his glasses up his noise. "do you really want us to answer that?"

"damn," eren pouts. "fine, we'll come with you right now then." he stands from his spot and rounds the table before you can do the same. eren plucks your bag from your side and heaves it onto his shoulder, slipping his arm through his own backpack seconds later.

you giggle as he urges you to hurry up, running ahead of mikasa and armin. "we're never late!"

mikasa nudges your shoulder when you fall into step beside her. "better get going. you don't want to be late."

you roll your eyes and quicken your steps to catch up to your boyfriend, who almost tackles you when he notices you approaching. "my girl."

"my baby," you laugh and shove your face into his shoulder. his strides are much longer than yours, so you half jog to keep up with him. giggles fall from eren's lips as he kisses your head.

"you're going the wrong way!"

"shit," eren mumbles, steering you across the grass to the path where your best friends walk.

with your hand in the crook of his elbow, you walk behind them, whispering about nothing and everything and sharing kisses between laughs.

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Summary: You and Arthur sneak away from camp to the nearest hotel in the city for both of your needs.

warnings: PORN NO PLOT. WC 2k, Face sitting / riding, sub!Arthur at some points, Arthur jerks off while you sit on his face. Chapter 4!Arthur Morgan, hotel room fuckin’, ( Anyway, love a man who yearns for real )

Author’s note: very very short fic while I work on something that isn’t Arthur!! oml I’m sorry but I’ll forever be obsessed with this man. Also why is there no sub!Arthur fics on here y’all please work on that.

Getting away from camp seemed to be a challenge for you and Arthur.

Both of you being Dutch’s own personal prized ponies. A bounty hunt was a good excuse for you and Morgan to go off alone though the two of you have already used the excuse a couple times before. There was no errands need to be ran, Dutch was still conjuring up his next job for you two, and unfortunately you couldn’t so simply say that you and Arthur were going to fuck. It was tasteless not only, but it was also smart for the two of you to keep your relations a secret.

Waiting for the hand of Arthur’s pocket watch was hell as you sat in his bedroom in the old plantation home, waiting with your nerves high for a good time to leave camp. One in the morning seemed far too early, by two everyone would be drunk…er than they already were, by three everyone would be uncaring to any noise surrounding them. The sound of you and Arthur’s heavy steps against the muddy ground or the sounds of your horses trotting away from the camp.

Once the right time came you and Arthur snuck out. Riding hard to the city, streetlights making the wet roads shine to lead a path to the hotel.

His warm hand held yours as you two checked in, his voice so confident now every time he’d tell the clerk a simple “Mr. and Mrs. Callahan.” That fake last name he had been using for months now. The clerk knew who you two were, frequent visitors of the hotel of course.

This was turning into a common occurrence.

His hand moved to your lower back to guide you up the stairs of the hotel, his spurs jingling with every step he took. Now to the hallway, to unlocking your door with the keys.

Arthur was a man who’d strain himself every day to be the man in charge, using his hands to choke and beat, to steal and rob. Even now his knuckles were bruised with evidence of that fact. It’d make sense for a man like him to want– to crave to not be the boss some of the time, this seeped into his sex life with you.

Falling to his knees in front of you, his forehead pressed against your knee before he craned his head back at the feeling of your fingers running through his sandy waves. The man was mush for you, his legs buckled as he kneeled against the hardwood floor. His lips trailed to press firm kisses up your thigh, spreading your legs apart. His Adam’s apple bobbing with each hard, dry swallow of all the salvia building in his throat.

His body was burning up. Somehow eating you out always brought him more pleasure than you using your mouth on him. Though, you were real fuckin’ good at that. It was better to give than to receive.

“Princess.”

His voice sounded like a strangled whine as his palms soothed up your thighs. Those pretty eyes of his would stare up at you– his pupils so blown the blue of his irises could barely be seen especially in the low light of the oil lamp casted upon the room.

“Don’t go beggin’ now.”

You’d look down at him, your fingers raking along his scalp. The feeling of his almost impossibly soft lips trailing up and up underneath your skirt as he slowly pushed it up to your hips tightened the knot in your belly even more so than it already was. Needing the relief and release you’d only find through him.

His wicked tongue.

His touch was heavy handed down your legs, grabbing onto your ankles to gently guide your legs onto his shoulders, the mass and muscle providing your own personal rests.

He dipped one of his fingers underneath the white lace of your panties, running it down your slick slit, the act not only claiming a gasp from your lips but one from his own, his head dropping to the side of your thigh as he began rubbing your clit with the pad of his index.

“S’fuckin’– Soaked. M’don’t deserve this.”

The man was desperate, he couldn’t help the need in his voice.

It was slow, so achingly slow. You needed him on that bed with you. His poor knees didn’t need to be suffering against the uncomfortable hard floor for much longer anyway. You and Arthur had gotten to the point of being able to go unspoken, yet you had grown so fond of the speaking.

“Arthur,” You’d begin, your fingers curling in his locks tight as you pulled his head up and back, his eyes glossed over– he was practically salivating. “Get up here.”

You’d say you were just as needy as him but the way he looked at you told a different story, the man was desperate for it, so quick to act on your command he’d toss your legs off his shoulders, his hands grasping at your hips to lay you on the bed just for a moment, dragging your milk white stockings down your legs and off alongside your boots. A shallow breath left the back of his throat while he slid off your panties. Soaked. Now discarded to the floor.

He was entirely weak for you. He quickly got onto the bed, not bothering taking his clothes off– no need for that, he was here to please you. His spurs dug into the mattress as he laid on his back, his mind flooded with the thoughts of what he wanted, what he could do to please you.

He wanted to be at your mercy.

You would try to get the buckle of your belt unclasped, desperately trying to get your skirt off before you felt the touch of Arthur’s hand on your arm.

“No– no need.” He’d grit. “Come up ‘ere.”

Assuming that he meant his lap you’d crawl your way onto him, your skirt flowing over his thighs as you avoided sitting right on his gun belt he had kept on. His cock would twitch against your thigh, his head leaking an embarrassing amount of pre-cum into his pants, a wet spot so-barely noticeable against the front of his pants.

You felt his hands move up your thighs, his fingers massaging into the flesh. It wasn’t long before he tugged you up, your knees bent on either side of his head as you were above him.

“Oh fuck.” The words came out as a groan, so infatuated by the sight, the smell. It was clear what he wanted when his hands would try to get your hips down, the man was silently begging you to sit.

“Arthur, I don’t know if I–”

“No– no, please. Please.”

His begs took you aback a step, his words were so fucking breathless, his head dropping back against the pillow. “Please” Another plead from the back of his throat. It was quite impossible to resist. You allowed him to tug your hips down, his nose pressed against your clit.

With the first lick from his tongue your hands instinctively went to his hair. Tugging tightly before letting him seep fully under your skirt. Worshipping your cunt with every long lick from his tongue, his lips kissing your pussy over and over again. He’d be praising you, thanking you for giving him privilege to please you, every moan that came from him muffled into your flower. His tongue delving into your hole.

“Fuck!” You’d cry, fingers pulling so tightly on his waves as your cunt contracts around his tongue. You weren’t the only one in need of touch, so desperate your whole body was in tremors: So was Arthur.

His massive hand held tight on your waist, squeezing and groping your skin. Now his freehand was moving slowly down his own body, his chest rapidly rising then falling again, his middle inflating before going back to normal once again with every deep breath. Your eyes were shut tight, the moans falling from your slacked mouth were irreligious. Once his hand moved to his jeans he blindly unclasped his belt, tugging it off as his hips bucked up. Frantically, so fucking frantically he unbuttoned his pants, the material rubbing against his swollen dick was torturess in the sense, his toes curled in his leather boots once his cock sprung free, slapping up against his stomach.

He was helpless.

He wrapped his massive hand around the girth of his cock, his face stuffed between your thighs. Burying his face into your swollen folds to muffle his own needy whines, absolutely ungodly groans coming out of his employed mouth.

His hand slid up and down the length, squeezing the thickness of it, pre-cum dribbling into his fist. Your hand braced behind your back on his chest as the other remained tangled in his brunette hair. The feeling of his frantic breaths, his heart hammering against his ribs, you’d lift your hips a bit trying to provide some air for the man beneath you– his hand immediately forcing you back down.

“Arthur! M’so fucking close–”

“Mhm.”

His hum vibrated against your pussy as you rode his mouth, he was desperate, praying to taste your sweet release. His hips violently bucking into his own fist as your sopping hole clamped around his tongue. The twisting in your tummy told you that your orgasm was around the corner, your body aching for the climax

Arthur’s as well.

The man had a gift of eating pussy, he could be suffocating in the wetness, your slick pink folds pressed against his face, he’d pass out before he tapped out. He was only a man.

The sloppy sounds of Morgan’s mouth lapping at your slickness was the last thing you heard before your own loud noise– your jaw slacking as you let out a ripping moan as the knot in your pelvis untied. Riding out your orgasm on his face.

His balls tightened up as his own orgasm hit him, his load spurting over his fist as his legs kicked out against the bed. You hadn’t even notice your poor man had been jerking his own cock til’ the moment in play, your legs shook as you got off his face, dropping down on the bed next to him, his face colored a hot red, your juices dripping down his stubble and mustache.

Once the breath stolen from him was back in his lungs he was quick to act, wrapping his arms around you to pull you onto him again, your body laying on his, you felt fucking tiny against his muscles, the mass of his body, how he could be so insanely muscular –though his body was so comfortable.

“Oh, sweet girl.”

His head craned back against his pillow, the sound of your pants harmonizing together before placing a kiss against your collar, both of you uncomfortably clothed. He was promised to serve you.

“May I?” His fingers were fiddling with the buttons of your blouse.

“No need to ask.”

He slowly pulled apart your shirt, dipping his face down to bury into the valley between your tits, the man was in constant need of your touch. His hips rocking against the bed, his body throbbing.

“More?” You’d look down at him, your fingers massaging against his scalp gaining a quiet whimper from his plump, wet lips.

“M’Just tell me I can have you… I need you– So Bad…”

His words had a habit of slurring together, laying boneless against your own body. His hand running up to squeeze your breast in a firm grip. His fingertips kneading into the tender mound.

“As long as I’m the one on top.”

You’d mutter, though that went without saying. His cheeks burned hot as his eyes peered to look into your own, his dilated pupils told you enough.

“C’mon then, sunshine.”

He placed a firm kiss against the top of your breast. Allowing you to straighten your back with his hand on your lower.

For the rest of the night he’d be worshipping you like a goddess. You were his religion.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Only His

Feyd-Rautha x Concubine!reader

Summary: A diplomat from Caladan wants to borrow you for the night. Feyd doesn't take that very well. Requested by @midnight-serendipity

Words: 2700

Notes: cursing, mentions of smut (a little), gore, blood, death, typos.

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Feyd breathed Hatred. 

He bled Hatred. 

When he killed, Hatred controlled his movements. Like a parasite in the brain, Hatred determined the thrust of his blade, how deep it sunk into an enemy’s gut, and the degree to which he twisted the weapon before pulling it from a soon-to-be lifeless body. 

He’d cultivated a bond with Hatred. There was a mutual understanding of one another, he thought. But as Feyd listens to the proposition from the man sitting his opposite, Hatred slowly becomes a stranger.

Turns out Hatred has a claiming side, a how-dare-you-look-at-what’s-mine side, and from that, Feyd realizes he never knew Hatred, not truly. Because this feeling—whatever it is—has revealed that Hatred is more potent than he initially believed.

“You want to what?” Feyd grits out through clenched teeth. 

“There’s no need to get upset,” the man chuckles; a diplomat from Caladan sent on behalf of Duke Atreides who came to Giedi Prime to reinforce treaties and trade agreements with the Baron. Others were sent from their respective planets, but he is by far much bolder than the rest when it comes to stepping out of bounds.

“I'd give you something in return,” Nolas—that’s his name. Feyd could barely care to remember—continues. “Whatever you like. I just want her for the night. Something to make the long trip here worthwhile and the trip back more bearable.”

“You think my concubine can be bought?”

“All concubines can be bought,” he says. “At the very least, borrowed.”

If so, then you are a concubine of untraditional nature. You are not shareable. You cannot be divvied up amongst the group so each may enjoy their slice; not as long as Feyd lives. And should he not live, for reasons foreseen or not, he long ago requested that your life be ended as well. That way you could be together. That way no man could ever have you. 

The thought of another’s hands on you sets fire to Feyd’s veins, threatening to burn his pale skin from the inside out. His heavy brow dips forward to darken the light hue of his irises. He stands and crosses the bridge between his seat and the one occupied by the older, pudgy man, looming over him to the point that Nolas must tilt his head back so their eyes can meet. 

“I will not be giving you mine,” Feyd growls. “Not for anything you could offer.”

Nolas huffs. “Now be reasonab–” 

Feyd fists his fingers into the collar of Nolas’s jacket, twisting tightly and yanking upward until Nolas chokes from the constricting fabric pressing into his windpipe. 

“Let me be perfectly clear,” Feyd spits, leaning forward. He opens his mouth to continue, but just as his next words are ready to leap from his tongue, something odd takes root in Nolas’s vile eyes. Odd, because it is not fear.

The bulk of Feyd’s skills lies in his ability to incite fear, whether through words, or battle, or presence, and with the exception of his uncle, fear has successfully struck the core of any soul who has crossed his path. Civilians, servants, his brother, his mother, even you have not been spared, but the man in his grasp is not cowering. He is not trembling. He is not soaking in the vulnerability of the position he is in where Feyd could snap his neck in a half-second. Instead, he holds the spearing gaze of the youngest Harkonnen. Matches it, even.

Feyd sinks his teeth into his boiling rage and forces it to overpower the shock that has slipped in. “You will not get within fifty feet of her. You talk to her, you surrender your tongue. You touch her, you lose a finger. You look at her, I’ll take an eye and it can sit alongside the rest of my trophies.”

A smirk touches Nolas’s face, practically undetectable before it is gone, and suddenly Feyd feels it. That loss of control. He feels Nolas penetrate his skull and weave spindly tendrils through his brain, poking and prodding for Feyd’s secrets. And then there’s a moment; a moment when Feyd nearly stumbles—the moment Nolas latches on to the one thing Feyd can not afford to have known by anyone other than himself. 

The smirk returns. “Of course, na-Baron,” oozes off of Nolas’s slimy tongue. “I wouldn’t dare lay a hand on the woman you love.”

With another half-twist, the collar tightens, blocking the blood from leaving Nolas’s face. He’s cherry red—or at least what Feyd imagines is cherry red based on your description—and he thinks with a few more turns of his fist, he could get Nolas’s head to pop right off his shoulders and tumble onto the floor. 

“What are you doing!” Rabban snaps, stomping toward the duo. He rams his hand against Feyd’s chest, but despite being forced back a step, he does not release the diplomat. He does not blink, fingers transmuting to steel as Rabban works to pry them open. “Uncle wants him alive for tonight!”

Feyd doesn’t care about tonight. He doesn’t care for some party announcing his uncle’s plans for the future. He does not care that this man, this worm, is considered a vital messenger. Send a fucking letter. 

Rabban whips out a small blade and slashes downward, nicking Feyd’s knuckles. It stings but livens the rush of his blood. His heart pounds harder, teeth gritting and cracking. 

“Feyd!”

Nolas’s eyes begin to redden, threadlike veins almost glowing. No air exits his nostrils and just as he finally wraps his hands around Feyd’s wrist, yanking and jerking to free himself, the tension in the fabric snaps. 

Nolas gasps for air, falling forward and revealing the clean slice down the back of his jacket collar. Feyd’s head turns to Rabban’s disgusted glare. 

His brother sheathes his knife. “You’d defy our uncle’s orders?”

Feyd glances back at Nolas, who has yet to recover, before spinning on his heel and leaving.

—

“Are you embarrassed of me?” you ask, your attention focused on the precise wrapping of bandage tape around Feyd’s knuckles as you sit beside him on the bed. “Is that why you don’t want me to go tonight?”

“Yes,” Feyd grumbles. No, his mind snaps back at him, and he huffs. 

Your arrival on Giedi Prime birthed a conscience within him—a conscience that exists solely for your sake—and because he often fucks up when it comes to you and your feelings, it never shuts up. You’re hurting her. Look at her. Do you not see that devastation? He does, and little pinpricks nip at the organ in his chest. 

You lightly nod as you mutter a pathetic, “Oh.”

With a hefty sigh, Feyd says, “It’s for your protection.” There! Better!

Fingers pause their work and your head shoots up to meet his eyes, a small smile curving your lips. 

“Oh,” you repeat. There’s a hint of excitement in your tone, a glint in your bright irises that causes Feyd’s cheeks to warm. 

You rip the used tape from the rest of the roll and set it aside, and then that smile disappears. “Wait, protection from what?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re safe if you’re not there tonight.”

You hum, and from that hum alone, Feyd knows exactly what’s running through your mind. 

“And my safety is very important to you, is it?” you ask, lifting the skirts of your dress so it doesn’t catch under your knees as you move to straddle his hips. 

Feyd rolls his eyes. His hands settle on your waist. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he mildly scolds. 

You lean into his body until he falls back onto the mattress, your chest pressed to his chest, your face hovering above his. 

“I don’t know,” you tease as your fingertip skims over his bottom lip. “I’m starting to think you might like me more than you let on.”

“Think what you want,” he says, turning his head to the side and severing the taut band connecting your gazes. 

You chuckle and grip his chin, demanding he look at you again. “Fine, I will,” you whisper before inching your lips closer until they ghost over his. “I think you like me.”

You give him another feather-dusting of a kiss but it’s not enough. Never enough. Feyd growls, burying his hand into the strands of your hair to hold your head still so he can claim your lips in the devouring manner he desires. 

When you moan, he wraps his arm snuggly around your waist. When you suck on his tongue, his cock flinches in his pants and he involuntarily thrusts upward between your spread legs. 

Your responsive yelp is a drug. Addicting. So different from the yelps he expected to receive from you after he’d chosen you as his concubine. He’d gone into the situation wanting any noise your delicate throat could make to be a product of the pain he intended to inflict upon you, but when he’d taken you that first night, that yelp was of pleasure. He’d hit a particularly sweet spot inside of you and was instantly overcome with a desperate need to hear it again and again and again. 

You pull your lips apart from his. Your gentle pants fan his face. He brushes your loose locks behind your ear. 

“Promise me you’ll stay in the room,” he says. 

“I promise.”

—

He’s gone. Feyd took his eyes off the bastard for one second, and now he’s gone. It’s not as if Nolas will be capable of finding you—he’s not familiar with the fortress’s layout enough to know which room you’re in and you swore you wouldn’t so much as peek through a crack in the door—but still, a sense of dread stiffens Feyd’s limbs. Nolas has no reason to be outside of this room. He has no reason to be doing anything but drinking his fill and mingling with the others of his station. And yet…

“Did you hear me, brother?” Rabban’s voice intrudes upon Feyd’s third scan of the room. He’s not here. He’s not fucking here. 

“Brother–”

“No,” Feyd snaps before descending the short staircase. 

He snakes through the crowd toward the main doors of the vast room. They’re wide, tall, loud when opened and closed, and it’s impossible Nolas could’ve snuck out without Feyd’s notice. 

“Where’s the Caladanian?” Feyd demands of the guards posted on either side of the door. 

“No one has attempted to leave, my Lord,” one says. 

Feyd’s brow pinches. The only remaining exit is a side door specifically designed to blend with the wall. The fortress is speckled with similar doors, all of which connect to an inner walkway that servants and guards use to get around the massive structure quickly when needed. 

“Come with me,” Feyd instructs, receiving a curt nod in return. 

Feyd’s body traces the wall until he reaches the door. He pushes it open and slips inside, the guard on his heels. The noise of the room fades with every step down the corridor and at each new unexpected sound, his head cocks, his ear reaching for the source. 

Then he hears it. 

“Your na-Baron offered you to me,” travels through the wall separating him from the paralleling hallway.

And then your sweet voice. “Offered? N-No, Feyd wouldn’t.”

You’re right there, right on the other side of the thin barrier, but he can’t reach you. You’re trying to remain calm but you’re scared, Feyd knows it, and as he starts to rush to the next closest door, he begs that you keep the bastard at bay just a little longer. 

Once he shoves through the door into the hall, your voice comes in much clearer, but all sight of you is blocked by Nolas’s breadth and height. 

“He wouldn’t give me away,” you say. 

Nolas chuckles. “He hasn’t, sweetheart. I’m simply borrowing you for a little.”

“That’s not—hey, don’t touch me!”

Feyd bursts into the embodiment of fury. Everything goes red. He feels red; he sees red; he tastes and smells and hears red. His vision pulses to his heartbeat’s rhythm. He craves the death of his enemy. To have blood coat his tastebuds. To absorb the scent of freshly drawn iron. 

Feyd’s ears pound with pressure and he worries it will muffle the beautiful screams of his victim, but to his great pleasure, as his blade is stuffed into a meaty back, the screams come in loud and clear in perfectly pitched notes that echo down the hall.

The body collapses, knees slamming into stone flooring.

“Feyd,” you whimper. 

“I told you to stay in our room,” he says lowly, not sparing you a glance as his knife momentarily leaves the body to reenter at the spot where neck meets shoulder. Blood sputters from lips, adorning your dress with a sprinkling of rubies.

“One of the servants said you needed me and I–”

“Take her back,” Feyd orders his guard. “Now.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Feyd!” you cry, tripping over your skirt as you struggle to keep pace with the guard dragging you around the corner. 

It’s better this way. If you’re gone, he can give his undivided attention to the paling body and the scarlet puddle spreading beneath it. 

“You don’t listen,” Feyd says, coming to the front of his victim who is impressively still sitting upright. 

There’s a whimper, another lovely song before Feyd pries open the mouth, digs between a row of teeth, and pinches the tongue with two fingers. He pulls it as far as it can be pulled and then lops it clean off with his knife. It lands on the floor with a wet slap. The fingers follow—all ten—amputated from now lifeless hands. And then the eyes, plucked free from the skull with ease. One of them rolls a fair distance after being tossed aside. The other he keeps.

Feyd steps back to stare upon death at its purest; a flawless display of cause and effect, of crime and punishment. 

“I told you what would happen,” he says. 

He doesn’t get a response. 

—

It’s late when Feyd returns to you. He spent the last few hours explaining his role in the ending of a diplomat’s life. He was careful with his words. He had to be. If his uncle knew he killed in defense of his concubine, it would introduce a plethora of complications. No one can know just how far he would go for his woman lest he put you further at risk and open himself up to manipulation. And he can’t have that. 

Feyd expels a relieved sigh at finding you tucked under the sheets. You’re on your side, a palm between your cheek and the pillow. 

He moves to take a seat on the edge of the mattress. As he runs his hand over your hair, your eyes open. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, and you nod. 

“A servant came to the room, said you needed me,” you tell him. “I was led to that man instead of you. I wasn’t trying to go against what you asked of me.”

“I know,” Feyd says. “The servant was paid. Someone witnessed the exchange.” He watches a flash of shock and pain travel across your irises. “He’s dead now. They both are.”

You swallow, biting into your lip as your eyes and mind briefly drift elsewhere. Feyd waits for you to come back, and once you do, you look up at him and nod in acceptance. 

“Will you come to bed now?” you ask. “Please? I can't sleep without you.”

“You were asleep when I came in.” Your head shakes. 

In all fairness, you haven't spent a single night apart since he got you, and he doesn’t view it as clinginess—it’s more his decision than yours—but rather an expression of how much you want him near. And he likes being wanted. It’s different. Foreign. Nice. The both of you need it. Tonight, perhaps, more than ever.

Feyd stands and peels off his layers of clothes, then goes to the other side of the bed to slide under the covers. You flip over, nestling yourself against him and resting your head on his bicep.

“I thought you didn't want me anymore,” you whisper. “I thought–”

---

“Don't think,” he says. “You're mine; you know that.” He presses a kiss to your hairline. “I don't share you.”

And may fate have mercy on anyone who suggests otherwise.

Tag List (if you wanna join)

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ BETWEEN YOUR THIGHS ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: there's some tension on your picnic date with ellie.

warning(s): sexual tension, making out (?), fluff, ellie being ellie, thigh touching, illusions to smut, not proof-read.

note: i'm basically edging y'all....

Light-clouded skies turn to nightshade. A canvas devoid of any signs of activity except minuscule speckles of stars; something that’s only noticeable if you squint your eyes hard enough that you’d feel some sort of aching pressure behind your sockets.

The discomfort of the action hits you when your hands lift to rub at the tight skin around your irises, lifting each leg slightly to direct yourself onward into the abyss. Shuffling through high, unkempt grass, the smile that graces your lips is subtle as it tickles the flesh of your shins in a flurry. It’s a prickly sensation; one that signals gooseflesh to appear, the hairs on your arms to rise, and the fabric of your dress to shift against the upper half of your thighs.

A gentle breeze sends the thin blanket wrapped around your shoulders to fly backward slightly, waving as you flex your warm fingers; aiming to clutch it tightly across yourself as you shiver.. You had underestimated how cold it’d be, and so it had caused you to under-dress for the occasion of a nightly stroll beyond the fortified walls you’d surely get in trouble for crossing past patrol hours. 

 There’s a small pinch that appears on the right side of your jaw from its tautness, an overwhelming sense of insecurity threatening to creep up on you in the form of warm cheeks and a slight frown as you rub the material of the blanket between your thumb and pointer, relishing in the roughness of the texture to distract yourself from another shiver wracking your body. This time was a little more violent than the last.

“It’s a little darker than I thought it’d be.” Ellie’s nervous laughter reaches your ears beyond the aggressive push of the wind and the constant hoots of owls hidden deep within the thick brush of tree branches; small thumps made by the creatures of the night on pillowed greenery littered with small twigs.

Glancing down at the laces of her tearing sneakers, she narrows her eyes, suddenly aware of just how rock-ridden this particular path is. Almost immediately she’s cursing herself for how inconsiderate it might seem that she’s making you trudge through the wilderness – as if this isn’t a daily occurrence to you both. 

“Watch your step.” It’s a mumble that makes its way past her lips before she can help it.

Nodding, you survey the surrounding area, taking notice of an extensive log just a couple of feet ahead, not too far away from dim lights decorating the roof trimmings of withering houses littering the streets of Jackson. Raising your arm, you point to said log, the material of your dress lifting a couple of inches. “What about over there?”

Ellie couldn’t help but take notice of it, unashamedly scanning her forest-green irises across your bare legs in the sliver of the moon, stopping right at the inner corner of your thigh.  “Okay, yeah, that’s a good spot.” 

Turning to face her, you eye the beat-up picnic basket in her left hand; her knuckles white as she adjusts her grip. Raising your eyebrows, a twinge of curiosity suddenly piques within you.

“What’d you bring in that basket?”

Her newfound expression contorts every muscle resting underneath the surface of her freckled skin as she shrugs her shoulders. The corners of her warm, plump lips twinge, failing to hide the smile that appears a second later. 

You had no idea why she was grinning ear to ear; although it wasn’t something foreign to you - just an action that had become rare as of late considering the circumstances she’d been struggling to deal with.

“I made us a couple of sandwiches. Thought we could sit here and watch the stars.” Ellie’s words falter as she lifts her unoccupied hand to tug at the already loose tie on her neck, suddenly aware of how tight it was. Tilting her head back, she sighs through her teeth, internally cursing at the clear sky’s lack of sight-seeing features.

All her efforts had gone to complete waste, well, at least in the crevices of her mind. “This isn’t going well so far.”

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you shiver, removing the blanket around your bare shoulders. Swallowing the saliva in your mouth, you set it on the ground, lowering yourself to crawl across the pattered fabric with purpose – smoothing it out as best you could.

“You’re already giving up on our little date? Didn’t peg you for a quitter.” 

You were pushing her buttons; playfully, she had come to realize when you purse your lips together, attempting to suppress your laughter at her offended expression. 

“Am not.” She scoffs, averting her gaze from your hunched figure.

 “Y’know what?” Ellie scratches the back of her ear before joining, left knee knocking against yours, leaving little to no space between. “We’re gonna eat these sandwiches and we’re gonna find…something to look at while we do.” 

Humming in amusement, you nod your head, as she fishes through the basket; pulling out two square-shaped tin-foil-covered sandwiches. 

Ellie can’t help the sudden blush that coats her cheeks when your fingers brush against the lapped skin of her knuckles. She wills herself to listen to the chirps of crickets and the rustle of grass when the wind sweeps through once more.

This time, it’s a little bone-chilling, and she tries not to let her teeth clack together as a shiver makes its way up her spine through the thinness of her shirt. 

“I appreciate you taking the time to do all of this, y’know.” 

“Do what?” Taking a small nibble of her sandwich, Ellie avoids looking in your direction, though she can see the skin on your face contort into an expression of playful annoyance. You poke her left shoulder with your finger, watching as she sways the opposite way.

A small smile graces your lips. “I’m serious. Thank you. I’ve never had someone go out of their way to take me on a picnic date.”

She raises a brow, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The small glimmer of moonlight peaking through trees casts a halo around her face, making her tresses look dark, angelic features rivaling those you’d see in dusted books when on patrols. 

The sight makes you bite down on the soft, pillowed flesh of your bottom lip, a lustful glint in your eyes as you drink her in like the wine you’d have on get-together nights back in town. Your eyes cautiously wander to her lips, imagining them in between your thighs, on your neck, the valley of your breasts. 

Anywhere. 

Anywhere but on that damn bread, she seems so interested in. 

“You okay?”

“Huh?”

Ellie’s hearty laugh is enough to pull you out of the pool of arousal you’d almost drowned yourself in. 

“I asked you if you wanted anything to drink.” 

As she turns her head away from you, the skin near her mouth wrinkles, a grin decorating her face once again as she pulls out a small flask and hands it to you without twisting to face you, ‘Yeah, sorry, I was just spaced out.” You take the flask from her graciously, making sure that yet again your fingers are lingering atop hers just a bit longer than necessary. You can feel cubes of ice sloshing within the liquid as you uncap it at the neck, lifting it to your lips and guzzling down a couple of sips. 

Water. It was supposed to be cooling, but it somehow could not quell the burning desire that vibrated your bones as you breathed in deeply, tearing your gaze away from her to stare at the nothingness surrounding you.

You can feel her irises on your face now, analyzing the same way you did her, not a minute before. The crunch of foil reaches your ears, signifying she’s done with her meal, meanwhile, yours is still sitting beside you. 

She does not ask why you haven’t touched it. She knows why. 

She makes you just as nervous as you make her, even if your lips are nowhere near her skin like she so desperately wants them to be. You’ve kissed her before.

 Numerous times. But somehow this seemed different, and Ellie wasn’t sure if that was a realization that should strike her with fear, or numb her fingers with desire. It was true that you both decided not to label whatever you both had going on, everyone knew that it was her bed that you’d seek at the end of the night, and it brought her a swell of pride.

No one else but her smelled the scent of woodsmoke and citrus when the sun shone through her window. It was too strong, lingering like the sensation of the scarred bumps poking from beneath the ink of her tattoo. It was pleasant; a gaping wound that she’d rub salt into just to feel a delicious ache.

You were so close in distance but yet, so far from reach that it frustrated her to no end. Ellie wholeheartedly wants you in the same way you want her. So much so, that her heart thrums erratically against her chest, lips parted to intake the air you breathe.

Fuck. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” It comes out in a breathless whisper. 

You swallow the bile rising in your throat, trying to keep the knot of anxiety coiling within your stomach at bay. “Is there someone else?”

An idiot. You were an idiot. The wide-eyed, frowning, and almost… disappointed look you give her solidifies that.

You lift a hand as if waving off your words. “Forget I even said anything.”

She grabs said hand, palms as warm as a lit fire, holding it to her chest, just an inch away from her heart. You can tell that you’ve left her speechless, and not for the reason that’s stitching itself in your brain. A reason she is quick to deny. 

“What?” A chuckle tunnels from her throat. One full of pain and complete disbelief that you’d automatically assume the worst of her. “No, I care about you more than I do myself.”

Her admission sends a jolt of guilt coursing through you, the left leg crossing over the right as you stare at her hand clutched in yours, “It’s just…” 

You trail off as she brings your hand up to her lips, warm breath fanning your skin before she presses a chaste kiss to the back of it. 

She doesn’t stop there, plump flesh peppering small pecks up your arm. She hums against your shoulder blade, urging you to go on. The hairs on your arms raise.

“We never really talk about — oh…”

Warmth makes its way up your neck, her lips not relenting in their assault on your skin as she sucks and licks below your pulse point. It’s hot and wet, and — oh god, you cannot think of anything else.

“It’s kinda funny.” She says between kisses, her now free hand rubbing circles on the bone of your ankle before agonizingly finding its way up.

“Mhm. What is?” Your eyes are screwed shut, your very being growing giddy at the feel of her nails digging into the flesh of your inner thigh. 

Ellie feels the heat pooling between your legs on her wandering fingers, as she grips the fat of your leg in the palm of her hand. This elicits a hiss of pleasure from you, so deep, so delectable, that she’d swallow it hole if her mouth was not already occupied.

“How you think I can feel anything for anyone else.” The ridges of her teeth skim across your jaw, and before you know it, she’s devouring you. 

The force of her kiss knocks you off balance, sending you sprawled on your back, legs parting as she makes her way in between them, never once disconnecting your lips from a kiss so passionate and raw, that it makes your insides quiver with anticipation. 

“I told you to forget about it.” It’s a quick response you manage to get out the second her lips detach from yours, a hand finding its way into her scalp, pulling her hair at the roots.

She stares down at you, eyes swimming with a certain need to see you — hear you writhing beneath her in pleasure.

 “I intend to make sure we both do.”

[kaznejis]

We're hanging on by a heartbeat- Erik Lehnsherr x Reader

“You’re bringing Hank, right?”  She gritted her teeth, a blush tinging her cheeks as she avoided eye contact, “Yes… not in that way though.”  “I need to borrow him.” “What-” She looked confused at first, but then something clicked; mirth creasing at her eyes and twisting her lips as she cocked her head at you, “Y/N! You want to make Erik jealous.” 

A/N: Thanks for all of the support on my fics!!! every comment, like, reblog and read is GREATLY appreciated. So, enjoy this fun little oneshot I found in my drafts. :)

Word Count: 5,250 / Read it on AO3!

“He’s gonna be there, Y/N,” Raven sighed, swirling her champagne glass as she pursed her lips at you, “Charles practically demanded that he be there despite his refusals, I think he promised him that he’d get you to speak to him.” She accompanied the last words with exaggerated air quotes. 

“Mhm,” You grumbled, fiddling with your outfit in the mirror, “And that means, you are not allowed to leave me unattended. At any point.” 

“Y/N..” 

“Nope,” Turning towards her, splayed out on a chaise in her human form; a gorgeous dress accentuating her figure and her blonde hair flowing down her back in waves; you simply shook your head, face stern as you spoke. “I’m not going down that path again, I’m done with his idiocy.” 

“But… what does that have to do with being left unattended?” A smirk curled at the corners of her lipstick stained lips. You glared right back at her. 

“Because, I can’t-” You exhaled heavily through your nose, clearing the nerves from your chest at the mere thought of speaking to him, “If I speak to him, I will just embarrass myself- he, obviously, does not feel the same way as I feel for him.” 

Raven just sighed, visibly sick of you and Erik’s antics. Behind the guise of being best friends; you and Erik had been playing an erratic, immoral game of cat and mouse, each interaction felt like a step closer to admitting your feelings for him, but then, a subsequent step back at the very same time. He was complicated, to say the least, plagued by the traumas of his past and present. Plagued by the responsibility that he wielded upon his shoulders as a powerful mutant, the expectation of moral compassion; and, the sordid reality of his beliefs. 

You supported him, wholeheartedly, every step of the way. Your own chaotic mutant gene infecting your ability to appear as a normal human being; the green at your irises and the vines that intertwine upon your fingertips only causing fear, despite your god-given purpose being to allow growth. Maybe that’s why the two of you had gotten along so well; both of your powers allow you each to manipulate the foundations of the Earth itself- the ability to shift infrastructure and take lives at the merest of thoughts, at the slightest of movements. the hypothetical extent of what you could do rendered you outcasts, even if you had no desire to inflict pain upon others, they awaited with bated breaths until you would do so. 

Whilst Erik had initially viewed his residence within the school as a prison, you had seen it as a safe haven. The lush meadows and ancient trees that adorned the acres of land called to you, allowing for days spent barefoot amongst the reeds, with only birdsong to accompany you. Erik had paid you little mind at first- having only allowed you fleeting glances at dinner, a nod of the head if he agreed with a point, a slither of a smirk when you amused him. But, soon, he let you in; allowed you into the fortress of his conscience, allowed you to peel back the layers of his anger, and understood his desires for vengeance. You had balanced him out, balanced out the choke of his dark turtlenecks with the flow of your hair; balanced out the harshness of his metal with the brush of petal stems upon your fingertips. 

As your friendship had developed naturally, your feelings had followed. Abrasive, corrosive feelings. Soon enough, Erik plagued your every waking thought; his essence identifiable within the flow of the river, within the dust upon the floorboards, within the quiet of your room upon nightfall. 

He was everywhere, and you couldn’t escape. 

You would find him at breakfast in the morning, laughing obnoxiously at Charles; his teeth glinting in the morning light. You would find him in the classrooms, teaching the children their mandatory mutant history lessons; a transfixing performance of great intelligence, his hands enunciating each and every point. You loved watching him teach, perching upon a desk at the back of his room as he interacted with the children, engaging with their conversations whilst simultaneously wielding the ability to hold the students captivated when delivering a lecture. 

But, most importantly, your favourite place to find him was beside you. He would join you at the lakeside most nights, smiling to himself as you conjured flower after flower, allowing them to flow in the wind, the two of you watching as they found a home upon the tranquil waters. It was there, in the dark and the quiet of nightfall, that you had allowed your feelings to bubble at the surface, allowed your inhibitions to loosen as you had turned to him, studied the sharp features of his side profile; he had turned to you too, an eyebrow raised as he blinked, confused. 

“I was wondering..” You began, fiddling with the petals of a flower within your hands, watching as his loose, plaid shirt fluttered in the wind beside you; a change in his wardrobe that you had inflicted, “Charles is hosting a formal dinner next weekend.” 

Erik huffed, smiling at you; though his lip curled confusedly, “I know, I am the co-head of the school; I signed off on the plan.” 

Idiot, you chastised yourself, of course he knew that. Erik had turned towards you entirely now, his head tilted in intrigue as he stared at you, “Oh- yeah, well I was wondering, if you wanted to-”

“I’m not even sure why Charles would want to host such a thing, I mean, just an opportunity for the kids to drink too much and make a mess of the house.” 

“Yeah, well-” 

“And then one of Charles’ assistants asked me to be her date for it and I-” 

You felt it, in that moment, as your heart splintered within your chest; its foundations shattering and leaving you only able to gape in its wake. Coldness entrapped your body as the remaining petals of the flower within your hand shrivelled and wilted; the once luminescent petals forming a pathetic grey upon your palm. You simply nodded, zoning out and pulling yourself away from Erik’s words as he spoke, unable to hear him any further. You needed to distance yourself, distance yourself from him, from your feelings for him. It would be for the better; allow him to pursue whats-her-face without your claws of envy sinking into his shoulder blades, dragging him away from the semblance of happiness that he deserved. 

“I-I’m sorry Erik,” You stuttered, cutting him off suddenly as his speech screeched to a halt, his eyes widening and form freezing as you halted his words, “I need to go.” You wasted no time in bolting upwards, marching towards the distant lights of the house, not sparing him a single glance backwards. 

“Wait, Y/N-” He called, his voice catching in the breeze as he stumbled into pace behind you, “I’m sorry, did I upset you or-” 

“No, Erik, it’s fine.” You turned them, your hair fluttering before your eyes in the breeze as you watched him as he came to a halt, his face stricken, mouth agape as he stared at you, “You should go with Charles assistant, I bet she’s lovely..” You turned again immediately, sighing in relief as the house grew closer.

“No Y/N, I was actually going to ask if-” 

“Erik.” You snapped, turning once again, for the final time. The levity of your voice brought him to an instant pause, shock prevalent upon his features. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, you can go with whoever you want to. You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Oh.” Erik was still, his voice low as he watched you, his brows low and his mouth downturned; he seemed, almost, disappointed. Though, his emotional disparity was not your responsibility anymore, “Well, okay, I will then.”

You nodded, a finality; a shallow smile painted itself upon your features, “Good. I look forward to meeting her.” You didn’t wait to see his reaction, making the final journey to the house before swinging open the door and rushing to your room- where you could comfortably wallow in the drawls of your own heartbreak. 

That had been over a week ago; your initial excitement for the formal had dwindled entirely leaving you staring at yourself bleakly as you fiddled with an earring, Raven had continued to watch you; eyebrows raised and mouth curling with mirth. 

“This is ridiculous, Y/N.”

“Raven! He said himself-”

“No, but,” She paused, collecting herself for a moment before leaning towards you, hands clasped upon her lap, “You haven’t seen him.” 

“Of course, I have-” 

“Okay, When was the last time you saw him?” 

You laughed, eyes tight as you refused to make eye contact with her, “I saw him at breakfast this morning.”

“Sure, when was the last time you spoke to him?” 

Pausing, you cleared your throat, she had caught you there. Your own immaturity dawned upon you as you spoke your confession, embarrassment creating a heave in your chest.  “At the lake, last week.” 

“That’s what I thought- I mean, that man is a brooding asshole on the usual day, but since he supposedly professed his feelings for someone else to you? He’s been miserable, wandering the halls like a kicked puppy; if he’s even capable of resembling that.” 

Shaking your head, you huffed, turning to take a hasty swig from your own glass of preparatory champagne, “Maybe she rejected him after all.” 

“Sure, Y/N-” 

Suddenly, as the brevity of the reality which was Erik bringing another woman to the formal, a wicked realisation dawned upon you. “I need a favour.” You blurted, turning to her abruptly. 

“Okay..’

“You’re bringing Hank, right?” 

She gritted her teeth, a blush tinging her cheeks as she avoided eye contact, “Yes… not in that way though.” 

“I need to borrow him.”

“What-” She looked confused at first, but then something clicked; mirth creasing at her eyes and twisting her lips as she cocked her head at you, “Y/N! You want to make Erik jealous.” 

You shrugged, smirking at her; though the sweat at the back of your neck and legs couldn’t be denied, “I just- want to cover my own back, he can’t think that I’m moping and sad over him and another woman-” 

“But, you are.” 

Only sparing Raven a glare as she chortled, you continued, “I just want to let him see that I have my own date, and that… it could’ve been him. To everyone else, we’ll just be going as friends, but- Erik doesn’t need to know that.” 

Before the danger of your plan could pull your mind to a halt, before it could allow your conscience to screech at its own breaks- Raven was up, crossing the span of the dressing room and pulling the door open; telling a nearby student to find and fetch Hank. The young boy nodded obediently, breaking into a sprint down the hallway. Within minutes, Hank appeared in tow; flushed and breathing heavily as he burst into the corridor, half-dressed in his suit as his tie hung loose around his neck. 

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Hank panted, a hand planted upon the door frame as he surveyed the room; confusion followed within his features as he surveyed the two of you safe and seated comfortably. Only then, did fear truly grace his features; the dread evident within the tightening of his fingers and grit of his teeth, “What’s…going on?” 

“Sorry, Hank, but you will now be attending the dinner with Y/N.” 

“What?” He spat, his tall frame stalking into the room as he ensured the door was securely closed before truly entering the room, “No offence, Y/N, but I don’t understand- do you want me dead?” 

“What?” You gasped in turn, rubbing a hand against your forehead as you shook your head; Raven had nodded, laughing at his fear as she silently agreed, “Why would you die?” 

The ability to do so being somehow possible, Hank’s voice sunk to a hiss, bowing towards the two of you as sweat formed visibly upon his brow, “Have you seen Erik recently? He would kill me.” 

“Exactly,” Jeering, Raven opened the decanter upon the small table between you, pouring Hank a brimming glass of champagne before refilling her own, he took the drink readily once she offered it to him, taking a gusty swallow as his skin steadily grew paler, or even, bluer. “We need to show him what he’s missing out on-” 

“No, no.” Shaking his head hastily, Hank held his hands up before him, slowly backing towards the closed-door; a supposed attempt to make a fast escape, “I am not being a pawn in your fucked up-” 

“Hank.” Raven whined, cocking her head to the side and moving to expose the skin of her leg; pouting at him endearingly- you could only fake heave at her antics. “Please, for me? Once they’ve sorted their mess out-” 

“Hey-!” 

“We can have a dance together.”

Hank froze, the frost that had covered his cheeks instantly warming with the rush of blood as he blushed, his face taking the features of a dazed fawn as he practically melted beneath Raven’s gaze. He soon recovered though, turning towards you and sighing, scratching at the base of his head, “Fine, I will enter with you and we can have a dance, that is it-” 

“Thank you, thank you.” You interrupted him with a rush of skirts and arms flinging around his neck, peppering kisses to his cheek as you squeezed him, “You are my saviour” 

“Okay, okay-” He laughed, holding you at arms length as to protect the ironed linens of his shirt, a genuine smile lining his cheeks, “I need to finish getting ready, but I’ll meet you outside the entrance at quarter past seven.” 

“Quarter past? Hank it starts at seven.” You pursed your lips in confusion as he only grinned at you, a twinkle shining in his eye. 

“Exactly.” He grinned as Raven gasped, breaking into applause beside you, bravoing Hank humorously as you pulled away from him, to which Hank bowed sarcastically, hand before his stomach like a true guardsman. “We need to ensure that he sees Y/N- so, we enter late; put on a little show.” He wiggled his hips as he spoke, grinning at you fake-enticingly; to which you could only fake-vomit, sticking a finger in your mouth and gagging exaggeratedly as Raven laughed beside you. 

Hank departed then, a wave of a hand to you and a cheesy smile at Raven; that is when the plan jumped into action. Raven surged from her lounged position instantly, moving to check you over; your outfit, your hair, the words you would procure upon entering the formal. With a kiss on the cheek and a wink, she left at exactly 6:55; the door slamming behind the trails of her gorgeous dress. 

Thus, leaving you with a harrowing twenty minutes to stew on your decisions. 

Would Erik even care? Or, would he be too occupied with his supposed date? Gazing at the beauty of her dress and the delicacy of her skin instead of your own, honoured that he could serve as her date instead of wishing he could be yours. You forced yourself to break eye contact with your own reflection; disgusted at the pathetic twist of your features as nerves flooded your guts. Taking a deep breath, you shook your head; if anything, Erik would come to the realisation that you didn’t have feelings for him anymore and this sordid affair would end- you would go back to being best friends, you would swallow the bitter taste of rejection and smile through the burning fires of jealousy as he inevitably grew closer with his date for the night. Maybe the two of you would replace each other entirely, after all. 

At exactly 7:10, you left the room; bridled with nerves as you could do nothing but stare at the same features of the room you had been preparing yourself in for hours. Breath in, breath out- the sound of your heels clicking against the empty hallway resounded upon the halls as the inhabitants of the house were located within the main hall- the sound of conversation and light acoustical music a distant mirage. 

As you walked, you surveyed the walls of the buildings you called home- the murals upon the walls and the gorgeous art-pieces that the residents had collected throughout the years lining the walls. In the rotten depths of your mind, you wondered if this would be it- if you would have to leave, unable to sleep only doors down from Erik and the woman he would soon call his lover. The thought of it made you nauseous, made your knees beg to buckle from the strain of exasperated grief. Grief of what could have been if you had just stayed quiet, content; if you could have just been comfortable within the throes of friendship. 

At the end of it all, you missed him. You missed everything about him- his inherent goods and bads. His anger and his joy; his technicolour darks and lights. You missed the sharp lines of his face, the way his hair curled without the harnessing of a pomade, the prickles of the hairs upon his forearms and the curve of amusement within his lips. 

It took everything within you to not detour to the comforts of your bed, to crawl under the covers and hide for the foreseeable- wait for the inevitable to blow over, for Erik to enter your room and laugh at your sad state, just as a friend would; with no romantic-baggage whatsoever. 

However, before your jailbreak attempt could successfully be enacted; Hank emerged from the adjoining hallway, hands in his pocket and a meagre smile upon his face, “Thought I’d meet you here before you decided to run away.” 

Nodding, you sighed; managing a grateful smile his way as he removed his hands from his pockets and offered his arm to you, to which you took it and began to walk towards the hall’s entrance, “I was just working up the courage to do that.” 

Hank laughed, the motion jostling you slightly as you stopped in front of the entrance, the door was closed; the event readily in motion behind it, “We can back out if you want, you can go in now alone and I’ll come down in a few minutes?”

Shaking your head, you tightened your grip upon his elbow; smiling tightly, your voice cracked slightly as you began to speak, the thought of facing Erik and his date alone the most terrifying imagery in that moment, “I can’t go in there alone.” 

Hank turned to you then, concerned evident within the downturn of his mouth, his hands moved to your shoulders; the weight of them comforting as he sighed, “If anything happens I- we will be there, okay?” 

Nodding, you smiled almost-tearfully up at your friend, your lips curling with emotion as he jostled you; attempting to squeeze some semblance of humour from your state. He beckoned you forward then, one hand upon the door handle and the other curling to rest upon the curve of your waste; that is how you greeted the entire room.  

Due to the old-age of the building, the door creaked almost obnoxiously, the sound ostentatious despite the constant hum of the room. Immediately, you made eye contact with Raven; snorting into her glass as she failed to hide her amusement. Then Charles, his hands hanging in mid-air as if he was performing a speech to the group before him; though his face changed during the moment of eye contact, his eyebrows instantly raising and his lips curling into a smile as he looked into your mind, then to the hand upon your waist and finally to a point across the room. 

You followed his gaze, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat as it landed. 

There, stood Erik; the object of all of your desires, and your afflictions. His demeanour differed greatly from the others in the room, his face was blank; impassive as he met your eye; his hair was neatly slicked back and he adorned a clean, striking black suit. Charming. However, his body language told a different story- the grip at which he held his glass was ironclad, his lips were tight and cheeks haggard; an exact juxtaposition to the sharp cut lines of his suit. 

But, as you searched the space beside, behind and above him; the only thing that you could notice was that he was completely alone. 

Stood at the corner of the room, in his gorgeous suit with his exhaust-tinged eyes; he was alone. Not a date, of any shape or size or form, in sight. 

Your mind only allowed a halting, record-scratch oh fuck before you were herded towards the dancefloor- Charles welcoming the ‘happy couple’ to the crowd, sheer amusement threatening to crumple his confident form as he practically tittered. Hank only rolled his eyes, grinning at you amusedly as he tugged you into the entourage that was beginning to form. You couldn’t bring yourself to smile back. Your breath was quickening, panic flooding your chest as you realised that maybe, possibly you had read this whole situation entirely wrong. As you were whisked upon the dancefloor, a drink shoved into your palm and the waltz of fast-paced conversation already hastily beginning- you used every last essence of your will to build a somewhat passable facade, to not crumple in front of the crowd, to not run towards Erik and beg for his forgiveness, for his attention. 

But, oh, you had thought far too soon. Because, after all, you had garnered his attention the moment your heels resounded throughout the shocked quiet of the room. 

As you surveyed the crowd, Hank’s arm an all-encompassing weight upon your waist- you failed to stop your eyes from passing Erik’s form. He remained in that very same spot, as if he belonged nowhere else, as if he was sculpted upon the very walls of the building. His eyes were fixed upon your form; no matter the step, position or pose you took- his eyes never faltered from you, never wandered; even when Charles came to stand beside him, amusement towards his best friend tinted the rise in his cheeks. The two of them began to converse, the topic being of considerable tension; seeing as though Charles continued to look ever-amused, whilst Erik’s eyes finally dropped from yours- his face visibly swelling in anger as he glared at his shoes. 

“-Y/N? Sorry, Y/N?” 

Shocked, you blinked, turning back towards the conversation before you; two older women stared expectantly at you, you dug your mind for any recollection as to who exactly they were- maybe some form of charitable donors? After a series of agonising seconds, to which it felt like the entire room had gone silent; each participant waiting to see what was plaguing your mind, you spoke- smile cringing as you tilted your gaze towards the air just beside the woman, “Sorry, what was-?” 

“We were asking how long you and Professor. McCoy have been together?” Obnoxiously red-lipped woman-potential-rich-donor spoke, her lips stretching grotesquely as she smiled. 

“Oh, well-” 

“We’ve been dating casually for a few months.” 

“What-” 

“Oh, that is wonderful!” The woman spoke, clapping her satin-gloved hands together and bouncing on her heels. 

“Yeah..” Smiling airily, you ensured that oxygen was correctly being executed from your lungs; that you were definitely awake, alive and breathing. 

“It’s been a whirlwind,” Hank smiled, jostling you with the hand gripping your hip, “Between me and you, things are really starting to heat up-” 

Through the excited gasps of the women you realised with abject horror that Charles and Erik were edging towards your circle; Charles leading Erik with a clutch upon his elbow, to which Erik seemed to be fighting unapologetically. 

As if firing the perfect shot, at the perfect time and place, the red-lipped woman squealed at an obscene volume just as Erik entered perfect earshot, “Oh, just imagine, Y/N McCoy. It’s perfect-”

The sound of a glass shattering splintered throughout the room, halting the conversation and what felt like the very air you were breathing. Blood instantly began pouring from Erik’s hand as the surrounding partygoers jumped back in fear, the entire room watching with wide, halted eyes as he shuck the glass from his grip.

“Erik-” Trembling, you swallowed; feeling your heart hammer within your chest as you watched him, the loosening of Hank’s hand pulling and wrenching at the pit within your stomach. You had well and truly done it this time. 

Erik seemed to ignore you, shrugging off the onlookers that attempted to come to his aid; allowing the air beside your head one last scathing glance before he departed from the crowd, from the room entirely. Wasting no time in following him, you dumped your purse and drink into Hank’s arms before breaking into a full sprint; throwing any sense of formality to the wind as you shoved through the crowd whilst simultaneously calling to his retreating back. 

“Erik, please-” You called as you finally emerged from the crowd, the main doors slamming behind you as you stopped before him. His back was turned, feet poised as if ready to retreat, though he had stopped. Droplets of blood resounded against the linoleum, a steady flow of red dribbling from the cuts upon his hands, “Erik, you need to-” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Erik’s tone was demanding, his back clenching as he resolutely refused to turn, to face you. 

“What-”

Finally, he turned; spinning on his polished heel and stalking towards you- face practically carved from stone, his gaze bleeding into yours, “Why didn’t you tell me about you and McCoy?” He practically spat Hank’s name, the name convulsing from his lips. 

Scowling, you straightened your back; standing strong as you grit your teeth at him, “Why would that have been any of your business, Erik?” 

Scoffing, he backed away; scrubbing his non-injured hand upon the stubble upon his jaw, almost in disbelief, “Of course- why would it be?” He laughed sardonically, throwing his hands in the air and shrugging his shoulders. 

“What is your problem?” 

He seemed to still, to quiet; his throat bobbling heavily as his eyes bore into you- eventually, he looked away, lip clutched beneath his teeth, “You know what, nothing-” 

“Okay,” You nodded, feigning deep thought, “Let me rephrase then, why do you care?” 

Erik blinked, almost in disbelief, “Come on Y/N- you know exactly-” 

“-Because last I heard, you had a date for this-” 

“-Who told you that?!” 

“You!” You were shouting now, chest heaving at the patchworked conversation presented before you, “You did, Erik!” 

He was truly in disbelief now, shaking his head and struggling to find the words; eventually he settled for one, insignificant word. He practically drawled it, set up a board and sketched out the word at agonising speed, “What?”

Laughing, mostly to yourself, you gestured towards him, “You told me.” At his silence, you opted to continue speaking, “At the lake, you told me you were going on a date with Charles’ assistant.”

“I never-” Erik groaned, hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose as he sighed; visibly exhausted, “I know for a fact that I did not say that because-,” He was the one to laugh then, hacking at his chest as he forged his words, “-Because, you interrupted me, left and then haven’t looked at me since!” He seemed to check off the series of events on the fingers of his uninjured hand before waving his clenched fist in your direction, “So, I am assured in the knowledge that I did not say that, because I haven’t spoken to you in two weeks!” 

“Okay, well, I have looked at you-” 

“-No, you haven’t.” 

Slamming your mouth shut, you scowled, crossing your arms petulantly; he simply watched you, the turn of his mouth pulling in its usual smug fashion. “Y/N-” 

“Your hand is covered in blood.”

Smiling, he looked down at it, flexing his fingers before turning his gaze back towards you, “I know.” 

“So who did you come with then?” You shrugged, completely disregarding your worries regarding his hand, “Shouldn’t you be with her instead of-” 

“Y/N, you are completely missing the point… I didn’t come with anyone.” 

“Oh,” You breathed, desperately attempting to hide the relief evident within your exhale, “Why?”

“Because that night at the lake,” He exhaled through his nose; his eyes flitting in between your face and the wall as he breathed, he seemed to be trembling slightly as he conjured the words adjacent to his evidently racing thoughts, “I was going to ask if you wanted to accompany me.”

“Oh.” You repeated dumbly, utterly gobsmacked at his words. 

“But, it’s now evident that McCoy beat me to it, so-” 

“Me and Hank aren’t together.” The words left you in a rush, you knew that your wide eyes mirrored Erik’s own perfectly; shock evident within both of your features. 

“Okay-” 

“I completely jumped to conclusions and I thought you were bringing a date, so I- I didn’t want to show up alone so I borrowed Hank…for the night.” 

“You borrowed Hank.”

“...Yes.” 

Erik suddenly burst into laughter; his face morphing to accustom the sudden change in emotion as he outrightly laughed at you. You could only stand there; slightly offended, slightly relieved at the upbringing of events. 

Erik had wanted to ask you to be his date. 

Did Erik have feelings for you?

“Okay, just to be clear, you weren’t asking me to the dinner as f-” Your words were abruptly cut off as Erik suddenly broke into a stride, marching up to you before placing his hands upon your cheeks and pressing his lips to yours completely, inhaling heavily as if he wanted to ingest you, taste you. You immediately kissed back with the same fervour, intertwining your fingers with the short hair upon his head and accustoming your senses to the scent of blood that was now smeared upon your cheeks. 

Eventually, unfortunately, he pulled away; gazing down at you with hooded eyes. You watched as he bit his tongue, the motion tightening his jaw as he stared down at you, vision unguarded; almost unsure. You knew you looked like something straight out of a horror story, blood smeared upon your cheek and the bridge of your nose- you could only sigh blissfully as he ran his fingers through the mess he had created, spreading it until his finger reached your lips. 

You both stilled; breaths catching in your chests. 

After a long moment, you nodded, your eyes soon fluttering closed as he began to spread the liquid upon your lips- the copper tang of his blood immediately permeating your senses. His eyes were practically drooping now; his irises blown out in pleasure. Keeping your eyes upon his; you gauged his every movement as you sucked his finger into your mouth, effectively cleaning it and your lips of his blood.  You knew in that moment that this was forever; this connection that had been forged between your souls, intertwined at each end and tightened right in the middle. Forged entirely from his very own metal.

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 ✦

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (delta) | smut, 18+ | 4.1k

summary: you, soap and gaz make a silly bet at ghost's expense for an invaluable prize.

cw: mw3 spoiler free. 141 ridiculousness, humour, attempts to remove the mask resulting in life threatening (not really) injury, mild exhibitionism if you squint, very talkative ghost, 'interrogation' wink wink, unprotected p in v sex, reference to f receiving oral.

ghost mlist | main mlist | taglist

"Y'know, I'm sure as shit that L.t's got brown hair," Soap pipes up in the middle of the silence that had settled inside the safe house. 

The members of Task Force 141 glance up one by one, querying eyes cast Soap's way as the guesstimated observation hangs in the air. It's louder than chopper blades, thudding against your skull and roaring in your ears as you attempt to recall the information you have on Ghost, what little physical attributes you can attribute to him. Each time, you hit a brick wall. The only image conjured in your minds-eye is the black voids of the mask's eyes and the piercing amber of his irises. 

The wind howls outside, battering the windows with Wyoming snow and creeping in through the cracks in the panes. It makes a yowling sound as it slips through the crevices, carrying your memories of Ghost's appearance with it. He truly was like an apparition, there one moment, then gone altogether. 

Gaz's brows crease in the middle, little crevices in the skin showing his mind working over the sentence. 

"He doesn't," he eventually retorts, eyebrow cocked while shaking his head, "He's blonde." 

"What makes you say that?" Price scoffs at his colleague's certainty, "You ever seen his face?"

The silence that follows makes the Captain chuckle. A wordless 'that's what I thought'. 

"You willin' to bet on that?" Soap pushes Gaz with a lopsided smirk. There it is, that ridiculous playfulness that the Scotsman continuously let slip over coms. Simon had once reprimanded him for how it would get him killed– you were almost certain if he continued down this path in particular, he'd be in a box by daylight.

"I am," Gaz counters thoughtlessly, a smug lilt to his tone as he leans the crown of his head back against the rotting wooden wall, "He's got blonde eyelashes. He's gonna have blonde hair."

"What're ya gettin' so close tae him for?" Soap grins wide, loading the new ammunition and hitting a bullseye on the first shot, "You been snoggin' him or somethin'?"

"Lads," Price warns. It's only one word, but it says a lot; 'he'll have your head.' All of you know Simon 'Ghost' Riley well enough to know it's not a joke. Seen enough of the mangled bodies he left behind to know it wouldn't be clean, either. More like he'd hack your skull from your neck, picking out the dullest blade that'd struggle to slot between vertebrae.  

"Bets on, then," Soap continues, white teeth gleaming in the low light, "First to confirm gets the honour of shootin' Hassan between the eyes." 

It's like throwing a match at a body doused in diesel. 

                           ✰

The parameters of this wager are as follows... First: the competition is between you, Soap and Gaz. Price was ruled automatically exempt the moment he admitted he had, indeed, seen Ghost's face. It was a revelation that caused quite a storm- and a promise from Gaz of £100 if he'd tell.

The Captain, quite frankly, told him where to stick it. 

Second: None of you could just ask Ghost himself. That was boring; no fun in that. 

Thirdly, there are no other rules. Acquire the information by any means necessary to claim victory. Perhaps this rule should have been revised- because to say that 141's tactics for getting Ghost to reveal his face were a little unorthodox is an understatement of the highest order. 

Despite his hulking frame, Ghost is like a cunning fox, cognizant of even the slightest changes in energy and hypervigilant of those approaching. The midnight void of his grease paint that frames his eyesockets contrasts the whites of his eyes as they dart back and forth between you all. He appears to have noted the devious scheming, practically hearing the cogs turning in your heads the moment he returned from his watch. Something is amiss, and you know Ghost knows it. 

He says nothing. 

Day One; the grumpy, black-clad special ops soldier sits back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his vast chest, cautiously observing the minute movements the three of you made. He'd bristled when Gaz stood from the sofa simply to enter another room, poised and ready to pounce at whatever fuckery the younger soldier would attempt. 

"Hey, L.t.," Soap's drawl cuts through the humorously tense atmosphere in the room, and you brace yourself for his master plan. "When was the last time ye got a haircut?"

Ghost hesitates. Waits a beat. The silence stretches almost uncomfortably until he answers, thick, bassy voice almost booming in the box room. "What're you playin' at, Johnny?"

Soap shrugs his shoulders, exuding complete nonchalance as he settles into the seat across the table from the hulking mass of man. "Just wondered if the mask ever came off. How do you cut your hair?"

Amusement ripples through you in the sound of a chuckle, both men glancing your way. Ghost peers at you, suspicion pooling thick in his pupils. 

"Shave it," Ghost rumbles bluntly, with an air of finality that leaves no room for argument or for Soap to encourage him to try something stupid like curtain bangs or, God forbid, a mohawk. 

You can't help but grin from ear to ear as you watch the Scotsman's shoulders slump in defeat, already waving a white flag upon seeing how unwilling Ghost is to play whatever stupid game you're all partaking in. Even you can't deny the anxiety that prickles across your nerve endings when you see the way Ghost's biceps flex beneath the camo fabric of his uniform, primed for action. 

When Ghost's aqua irises slide to you, your shoulders shrug comically, putting on the performance of your life to appear as though you had no idea what Johnny was up to. You see the way Ghost's blacked-out eyelids squint in suspicion. He doesn't believe you, but doesn't say as much. 

Day Three and the polite, roundabout tactics had been discarded in favour of the nuclear option. Gaz had tried ambushing Ghost in the shower, opening the door without knocking as if pretending he didn't know the Lieutenant was in there. The door slammed so quickly into his head that an egg had been steadily growing on his forehead for the past hour and a half, blood seeping from his almost certainly broken nose. 

"You'll stay out next time, Bravo 2-6, if you know what's good for you," Ghost had growled through the crack in the door before shutting it with a click of the lock. 

Holding his face and slinking away, mortally wounded, Gaz uttered a humiliated 'Yes, lieutenant'. 

Soap, clearly not having learnt from poor Gaz, decided that the next best option was a trip, so to speak. Executing a ludicrously overexaggerated stumble, Johnny reached out to grab Ghost's mask to 'steady himself' and ultimately drag it from his superior's head. 

Ghost had leapt from his seat with a roar, threatening to send Sergeant MacTavish back to Scotland in a box with the Saltire draped across the lid. The standoff only settled upon Captain Price's barked orders to stand down or hang up the uniform. 

By Day Six, Ghost had bruised your opponent's egos enough that neither Soap nor Gaz dared attempt to peek beneath the mask again. They look at you like you're absolutely bonkers when you finally announce it's your turn to try and tame the beast. 

"Yer fuckin' mad, hen," Johnny grumbled, watching you observe Ghost from across the room. He'd settled on a chair in the corner of the room, ensuring no one could sneak up on him. "You can't seriously be plannin' on-"

"I want Hassan," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Though, at this rate, you couldn't care less about the terrorist and the honour of dispatching him. No, Ghost had made this ridiculous game far more competitive than needed, and you planned to win.

"Have fun," Gaz scoffed bitterly, still icing the blotchy green and purple bruise that had welted on his forehead as a medal of dis-honour. You hadn't exactly helped the healing process, poking it harshly with the pad of your thumb as you laughed at his mortifying misfortune. 

You wait patiently for Ghost to move, like a stake out on a mission. Lying in plain sight in a ghillie suit, a sniper rifle pointed right between his eyes and your finger on a hairpin trigger. You wait for him to break, for exhaustion to creep in. Thankfully, you don't have to wait long. The Lieutenant rises from his chair, announcing to 141 that he's headed to bed. 

A quiet mumble of 'goodnight' from each member grants him leave, and Ghost walks out of the room without further word. You waste no time in hurrying to your feet. 

"Are you gonna...-" Soap winces when you stand, trailing off when you start after Ghost, not allowing either of your colleagues to talk you out of this suicide mission. 

Though, the moment you turn the corner, you wish you had. Ghost's broad frame practically fills the narrow hallway like someone had plucked Everest from Nepal and shoved its hulking mass into a matchbox. He's ginormous, his usually silent footsteps causing the aged, rotting wood beneath the soles of his boots to creak with the weight he applies when he turns to face you. 

The dark hallway obscures Ghost's skull-face mask, but a glittering reflection of the golden light bleeding from the bulb in the living room area flickers across the wet surface of his eyes as he observes you. You can't allow the weighty pressure of his stare to phase you if you're to push ahead with your plan- so you step forward, swallowing down the nerves that Ghost's attention inevitably dredges up. 

"Lieutenant, sir," you address him smoothly, voice low as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Ghost's eyebrow arches in response, noting your somewhat suggestive behaviour. "Permission to spea-"

"I'm hopin' you'll tell me what you're all up to," his eyes spear your nerve as he interrupts you, "They're not lettin' up, but I'll get it outta you one way or another." 

"What... Did you have in mind?" You chance, heart slamming up against your chest when you realise just how obvious you're being. It's dangerous- you hadn't planned to be so forward. The idea that he'd be able to read your flirting so soon set off mortars in your veins. 

There's a pause. It dizzies you, throwing your previously sturdy confidence off kilter when Ghost tilts his masked head slightly. He's turning it over in his mind, considering the past few days' events. Then, he turns everything on its side. 

"I know what you're doing," he speaks suddenly, the rich baritone of his voice ricocheting off the walls and ringing in your ears like he's just discharged a round of ammo with each syllable. You jerk upright, standing to attention. 

"I don't know what you m-"

"You want the mask off," he interrupts you again, cutting your pathetic excuse short as he steps forward. It's ridiculous, the sheer size of him as he looms over you. "You lot made a bet."

Another beat. Ghost waits for a response, an admission of guilt. It feels like he's cornered you; every answer that springs to mind is incriminating. You know he can see your rueful expression, wide-eyed and panicked by the ease with which he puts you on the ropes. 

"Was this your plan?" He murmurs, reaching to grasp your chin. His palm settles on the hollow of your jaw, fingers fanning out across the bone. "Get me into bed and see if I'll take it off?"

Trembling in his hold, you whimper as Ghost's thumb stretches across to trace the curve of your lip. It follows the delicate arc, lining the shape of your mouth and trailing the dip of your cupid's bow. 

"'M sorry," you mumble weakly, cheeks hot beneath his touch. Again, you fold beneath the intensity of those honeyed irises. It's a miracle your knees don't buckle when he pushes the pad of his thumb just past your lips, so that it brushes the edges of your teeth. 

"That was your plan. Y'can still give it a try, love. But..." he hums, his voice throaty and quiet and settling in the pit of your stomach. It's embarrassing, the ease with which he figures you out, but his words drip over you, easy and warm, and all you can focus on is the slip of his thumb as he presses the pad against the flat of your tongue. 

"The mask stays on." 

Ghost’s insistence makes you giggle sheepishly and your stomach flip in dread, like a child caught with its hand down a bear trap. Despite the lewdness of him pushing his thumb past your lips, you know that he’s being serious, deathly so. You nod clumsily in recognition of his executive order, and Ghost gently taps the skin of your cheek with his free hand, the soft slap of his palm against your flesh standing your hair on end.

“Go.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighing heavily in the claustrophobic space of the small hallway. It takes a moment for your mind, rendered utterly useless by Ghost’s imposing presence, to understand exactly what he’s implying. Only when he removes his thumb from your mouth to shove you forward towards a bedroom door does his intention become clear.

Oh. Oh!

Scrambling to force your feet forward, they practically float across the threshold of the bedroom door. You can feel Ghost looming just behind you, can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest warming the expanse of your back. Fingers clasp over your shoulder, practically swallow the curved flesh, and shove you back against the bedroom wall.

The force of impact winds you, the air expelled from your lungs swallowed down by Ghost’s lips bearing heavily down upon your own. He’d ripped the mask upwards, the hem of the ski-mask balanced across the bridge of his nose. Simon’s tongue licks into your mouth– intrudes upon the space like he’s kicking down a door, like he’s swallowing the breath he’d expelled from you with his heavy hand. 

Once the dazed dizziness dissipates, you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted. Ghost’s gigantic paw takes hold of your jaw in a firm grip to fit his mouth perfectly against your own, his swirling fingerprints indenting in the soft flesh there in a mottled bruise. The soft pine he coaxes from you bleeds past your open mouth despite your attempt to suppress the frankly pathetic noise. 

Fuck it, this was worth it– all of it was worth it. The fear of getting it wrong, the anxiety of being caught, the panic that Simon could turn you away… All of it seeps into the darkness in the corners of the room when your superior drags his tongue across your lower lip. It’s though he’s relishing in the taste of the aftershocks of the arousal he sparks between your legs, the dopamine that rushes through you.

“Was this your plan?” Ghost grunts, grasping ahold of the scruff of your neck. Gasping weakly, you’re almost certain your eyes roll back in your head when he uses his harsh grip to steer you towards the bed. “Get me out of my fuckin’ mind so I don’t notice you takin’ off the mask?”

“That’s–” you huff, rendered breathless by Ghost’s intruding tongue, “That’s not it–”

Your pitiful attempt to excuse yourself is made useless when Ghost practically launches you onto the mattress of his bed, the rusted metal frame screaming under the sudden weight of your body. 

“No?” he queries, the usual boom of authority in his voice replaced by something that sounds far more like goading amusement as he places the hefty weight of his palm against your sternum, holding you down and thwarting any attempt to escape. 

He needn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was to leave. 

“Tell you what,” he muses in that smug tone you always hear over the comms, his free hand quick to grasp at the leather of his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet as he works his fingers over it, “We’ll run through this mission, yeh? See if you can complete your objective, Delta?”

Your retort, or lack thereof, dies in your throat when Ghost pushes his crotch into your own. If it weren’t for the yelp of bliss that the Lieutenant had to smother with his palm, you’d hear the way he’d practically purred when he dragged his cock against you. 

“C’mon then. Try it,” he urged. 

It’s pointless, his mock-support. You just desperately reach for the waistband of his khaki uniform trousers, cockdrunk from the tease of its shape against you. Even in the low light, you can see Ghost’s scarred lips, the way they stretch into a smirk at your desperation. 

“Abandoning mission, Sergeant?” He asks you, unzipping his trousers. “Price’ll be disappointed to know this is all it takes for Delta to go AWOL.”

“Shut up,” you moan into the cold air of the cabin. You can see your breath. “Shut up and fuck me.”

When Simon removed himself from his trousers, making some glib comment about you being demanding, you marvel at the size of him. Girthy, swollen, the ruddy tip leaks precum down the arch of his cock and traces the pulsing veins. He’s rock hard and throbbing, framed by a thatch of pubic hair. 

Fumbling with your own trousers, you awkwardly try to remove them given Simon’s weighty palm still pins you down by your sternum. He watches, a glint in his eye in the low light that would almost embarrass you if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand. 

“What was the prize?” 

“H-Huh?” you stall, mind fried by Ghost’s unexpected line of enquiry. He picks up where you left off, violently yanking your trousers down your thighs and pushing your panties aside to expose your glistening cunt to his prying eyes. 

“What. Was. The. Prize?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling Ghost’s fingers press against the inside of your thighs as he probes this unexplored territory of you. His touch skirts the areas you want him most, teasing and goading you for more information. “H-Hassa-ahh!”

You barely manage the first syllable of your answer before Simon rests the arch of his cock against your slick pussy lips. His body jerks slightly at the heat of your swollen cunt, the ease with which he can slide himself through your drenched sex. 

“You got to kill Hassan?” he asked for confirmation, his voice unwavering. You wonder how he manages to stay so steady– you’re coming apart at the seams, trembling as the head of his cock bumps your clit clumsily. 

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he continues his laboured, steady torture. His free hand settles on your hip, arching your pelvis up slightly to meet his own. You grind your hips upward against his cock, and Simon expels a soft scoff from lungs, those piercing eyes settled on your contorting expression. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, rolling his hips again. This time it’s even slower, teasing. “A temptin’ reward–” 

Simon is interrupted by the moan that splits your lips when he drags the length of his cock heavily against your clit. It sparks arousal deep in your abdomen, clings to the inside of your thighs wetly. 

Perhaps the disturbance is one transgression too many tonight, because Simon grasps your hips so hard that you are forced to stop gliding over the length of his cock. You pine in protest, but you choke on the pitiful sound when Ghost suddenly plunges his cock inside of you. It spears you open, breaks you apart, and you find your back arching desperately against the mattress. 

The palm that had rooted itself to your sternum flies up to clasp against your mouth, smothering the shriek of bliss that threatened to expose your extracurricular activities to the rest of your squad. You sob through your teeth beneath his life line, tears welling in your eyes as you feel him stretch your walls open to make room for his intrusion. 

You can’t help yourself. You need something to grasp onto, and opt for his wrist above your face. Digging your nails into the inked flesh there, you watch as the pain sparks something dark and twisted in Simon’s pupils, his azure irises swallowed by the expanding blackness.

He likes it. You can tell. His cock arches up inside of you, pushing deep and rocking against something earth shattering inside of you. Damp with sweat already, the skin of his wrist ripples as he tightens his grip on your face, refusing to withdraw from your pussy walls and instead opting for sharp, shallow thrusts that push you up the mattress with each connection of your hips. 

“Fuck,” he spits, using his tight grasp to pull you back towards him. It’s obliterating you, ripping you apart and pushing all your pieces back together in a mangled, jumbled mess. You whimper as you suffer through his brutal pace, marvelling at how good it feels when he consistently spears your g-spot. 

“When would you have done it?” Simon asks you, a little breathless now as he chases the high that begins to build at the edges of your body, tingling and pulsing. 

“Shut up–” you beg him, the low rasp of his voice launching you towards that pleasure that threatens to consume you. Jerking your hips up to meet his, your body mindlessly reacts to the sound of his timbre. 

“Oh, no,” he chuckles, shaking his half masked face. There’s a silver laden scar that stretches across the base of his chin. It matches the one that splits his upper lip to the base of his nose, the ski mask hovering tantalisingly over the bridge. “When?” 

The seriousness of his tone makes your thighs quiver when paired with the sharp thrust he punctuates his question with. Years of training in maintaining a cover-story while a hostage are blown to bits as though Ghost has launched a mortar at your resolve, because suddenly all your state secrets are spilling out of you quicker than you can shove the incriminating words back into your traitor mouth. 

“I’d– Hagh… I’d do it j-just as you’re cummin–hhah!”

“And spoil my fun?” Ghost hums, that heavy timbre licking up your spine and sparking viscous embers at the base of your spine, “Anyone ever told you that you’re very fuckin’ selfish, Delta?” 

You’d offer a witty comment, but Ghost’s angled his hips just right, and your jaw is falling loose to let out a panicked whimper. 

“There it is, shit. Look at you, Sargeant. Fuckin’, you’re so tight–” 

You’re like a slip knot, tightening around him further with each knock of your g-spot with Simon’s ridiculously large cock-head. Prickling tears of bliss threaten to spill over the edge of your waterline, continuing to sting even when you shut your eyes. You’re shaking, trembling beneath his rocking hips as you mewl his name. 

“S-Simon! Fuck–”

Wild, wet squelches of Simon sinking into your soaked cunt echo in your skull as he ramps up his violent thrusts, the springs of his mattress screaming an unmistakable rhythm to anyone walking by. He doesn’t seem to care now though, his eyes zeroed in on your expression like he’s stalking a victim with his sniper scope. Aiming for complete obliteration. 

“C’mon Can feel you squeezin’ round me,” he murmurs, the steady tone he’d offered earlier shuddering slightly as you squeeze impossibly tight around him, coil threatening to snap, “You’re so close, Delta. C’mon, paint my cock an’ I’ll eat you out with my cum in you–” 

                           ✰

“He’s blonde.” 

Gawping jaws drop to the floor at your very simple observation, Soap’s eyes nearly rolling across the uneven, rotten floorboards after falling out of his skull. You can’t help the smug smile that threatens to tug at the edge of your lips, especially given the sensation of Ghost’s eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. 

The awe only worsens when Price gives a subtle nod of confirmation from the corner of the darkened room, crowning you the winner of this utterly ridiculous joust. 

“How do you know?” Gary is as shaken as Soap by the confidence with which you’d offered your final answer, in disbelief as to how you could have possibly obtained it without being maimed, given the egg on his forehead was still throbbing despite days of icing it with the snow from outside the safehouse.

“His pubes are. I assume the curtains match the drapes,” you shrug dismissively. 

The sheer incredulity that flashes across Johnny’s face is utterly hilarious. The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory. Ghost’s eyes appear to have lazered through your skull, singing brain matter with the ferocity of his scowl. Frankly, you couldn’t care less– you can see it in your mind's eye; the gorgeous contrast of a blood-red crosshair settling across Hassan’s forehead, the weight of the trigger beneath your finger as you pull it back.

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