#enjoy anyway x

[pullhisteeth]

you get a promotion and Eddie wants to show you how proud he is :-) with his mouth :-)

18+ minors dni! fem!reader, p in v, oral (f receiving), gross amounts of fluff, lots of swearing lol. not proofread in the slightest

3k

-

Is it possible to smile any wider?

Your cheeks ache with wonder, smile lines deep and eyes sore. It’s a feeling like no other, and yet you daren’t think about how it’ll feel when you tell him.

You’re eager and light on your feet, quick steps up the concrete stairs. You climb three flights like it’s nothing and almost slip when you reach the door. It takes you one, two, three goes to get the key in before you’re wrenching it open to find Eddie sitting lazily, reclined and dozing, on the couch.

He perks up when you drop your bag and kick off your shoes, eyes opening slowly as he lifts himself to sit upright. You shuffle, tugging your scarf off and your coat along with it. Where you’d ordinarily hang them carefully by the door, above the rack for your shoes, you drop them, far too elated to think about anything else.

“Hi,” Eddie sings, a dopey smile creeping in. He’s in his sweats, and the smell of pot lingering in the room, despite the open window, is proof enough that he’s enjoyed his day off.

“I got it,” you say, breathless, still grinning like a kid on Christmas. You watch as his eyes widen, smile dropping only for a second before he’s beaming just as much as you are.

“You’re serious?” he asks. His voice is louder now, as though you’d slapped him awake.

“Serious,” you respond, “I got it.”

He’s up quicker than you can think to expect, crossing the room in bounds to wrap his arms around your middle and lift you effortlessly off the ground. He’s squeezing you, spinning you, laughing like a mad man.

“No fucking way!” he’s shouting, and the elation in his voice alone could keep you feeling like this for weeks.

You’re giggling, happy noises squeezed out of you as he rubs his face into the pretty silk of your blouse. He lets you down slowly, softly, your socks hitting the carpet as his hands come up to hold your face. His palms warm your frosty cheeks.

“You,” he says, using his grip to look you square in the eye, “are so amazing.”

He kisses you on the mouth, hot and heavy and possessed by joy, and then begins an assault on the rest of your face. Each kiss is sweet and lovely and makes you giggle, and he dots them between gasping declarations: you are incredible, I love you, I love you so much, I am so proud of you.

That last one is what does it, sends your knees weak as you buckle. His arms are swift and secure, pulling you up and across the room to the couch. He’s still kissing every part of you he can reach: your temple, forehead, the crown of your head, and finally your nose. He lays you on the cushions and his fingers move quicker than his hazy brain, still a little cloudy with the remnants of the afternoon’s joint. He unbuttons your blouse, deciding it looks far too pretty on you to risk popping any buttons. His lips aren’t far behind his hands, dotting kisses over the skin between your collarbones as he tugs the shirt down your arms and pulls it out from underneath your body. He’s warm and lovely and your fingers can’t help but take root in his hair, tugging softly but never too rough.

“You’re amazing,” he repeats, breaths filled with love. “So amazing.”

“Eddie,” you whine, squirming under his hands and mouth, your insides bubbling with pride and love. You’re delirious with it, still giggling and humming contentedly when the pads of his fingers brush over the lace of your bra.

He’s riling you up in every way he can. With your shirt on the floor he can make quick work on your chest, tugging material down so he can dote on the swell of flesh. He leaves reckless marks, blooming purples of pride, and as his warm hands inch around your back to the clasp you arch into him, against his hip and the ghost of the way you’re making him feel.

“I know,” he coos, light and airy as his breath hits your face. “Shit, I know.”

Swiftly, he pulls the bra off and out of his way, but it’s too much - why are you like this while he’s bundled in a sweatshirt? There’s too much between the two of you, too many layers, and your skin is burning and you need to know that his is as well.

Your impatient fingers paw around the bottom of his sweatshirt, where the hem of his t-shirt peaks out. With a kiss clearly aimed at your nose - he misses by an inch and lands an awkward one beneath your eye - he leans back onto his knees, eyes tied to yours, and tugs both tops off in one quick movement.

You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself if you tried. You press tough palms against his stomach, fingers splayed over ink and skin, pawing at flesh like you’re dying. He laughs at you, a smug and breathless noise, as he tosses the material across the room. You hear it land with a thud just as he kisses your jaw, lips leaving a hot trail down your neck.

You wriggle, hands back in his hair, mewling at his kisses and this reaction to your own hard work. Eddie couldn’t be prouder of you, you knew this anyway, but to feel so appreciated, so acknowledged, and for him to feel pride for you, sends you dizzy.

“You’re amazing,” he tells you again, words scattered between more kisses to your sternum, stomach, waist. “Worked so hard, y’deserve all of it.”

You hum as he looks up at you from under his lashes. He kisses a straight line from one hip to the other, over the waistline of your trousers, which he pulls between his teeth. You laugh, reeling from his softness and his silliness, and wriggle your hips impatiently. He scrambles to get the button and the zip undone, and you writhe around as he pulls the fabric over your thighs, knees, calves, finally pulling it off your feet and throwing it to join the mess already scattered across your living room floor. His hands leave goosebumps in their wake and you cave for him, body drawn to his carnally. 

“G’na show you how proud I am,” he tells you gently, his hands framing your hips. He tugs at the faded cotton of your underwear and you nod for him, desperate for whatever he’s about to give you. There’s a chill from the open window and it distracts you from whatever he does with your pants - you squeeze your thighs together to hide from the cold and he tuts, tinged with something condescending but entirely playful. Prising your knees apart, he leaves kisses on his journey, up the warmth of the insides of your legs and past where you want him. He kisses your hip, and then the other, and when he looks up at you, he says, “Good girls get rewards, hm?”

You keen, whining again, eyes squeezing shut because he’s taunting you, teasing, and it’s unfair. But then his fingers find yours and he holds your hand tight, squeezing, as he kisses between your thighs.

The moan that rips from you is ungodly. You feel him echo it and the vibration is just as sweet. His mouth is everywhere at first, uncoordinated and frenzied, until he settles where he always does. His tongue makes tender shapes around your clit, drawing whimpers from you, and then you feel the fingers of his free hand.

It’d been around your thigh, rings twinkling in the light of the lamp on the sideboard. Now, though, it’s slinking underneath and joining his mouth. He prods gently until he finds what he’s looking for, and breaches you with two cautious digits. You’re fussing, a darling mix of giggles and whines, fingers pulling less than kindly at his hair now, moving him as you please. His fingers curl in a come-hither gesture inside your walls, encouraging the precipice; his mouth, his tongue, is kindling flame with obscene noises that you’re quickly going deaf to as the blood pumps quicker, thicker. You can feel him trying to dirty talk against your wet, but it’s no use. You couldn’t hear him even if your eardrums weren’t buried beneath rushing, because he’s too preoccupied to make himself audible. He’s doing his favourite thing, and he’s so nearly got you there.

“Eddie,” you moan, “please.”

He hums in response and adds a third finger, slow and attentive just in case, but you’re loving it. The electric current is sizzling around your centre, your stomach tightening in knots, and god, you’re nearly there.

Eddie lifts himself from you and your displeased whine is interrupted by his thumb replacing his tongue. He pushes deft circles there, in rhythm with his fingers.

“You’re so good,” he tells you, “So smart and strong, you’re such a clever girl.”

He shifts up the couch to your level, his hand still busy.

“‘M so close,” you tell him in a whisper. He kisses your cheek and the corner of your right eye, where a tear has broken loose and is making a run for it down your temple. “So close, Eds.”

“I know, baby. I’ve got you, hm? Gonna come for me?”

You make a gorgeous, strangled noise as you do, riding his hand and chasing his mouth with your own. You taste yourself and lingering peppermint until you can’t kiss him back any more because you’re gasping for air and telling him Eds, enough, please.

He retreats gently and brings his hand up to his mouth. You look at him from under drooping eyelids as he goes all salacious and dramatic, all three fingers in his mouth like it’s nothing. It’s stupid, because he’s winding you up again, but he’s so damn good at it. The sight is downright erotic and you keen, eyes widening in want.

“Hm?” he hums, pulling his hand away. “What d’ya want, pretty girl?”

You say nothing, choosing instead to open your own mouth, tongue sitting happily on your bottom lip. He smiles down at you and relents, laying two fingers on your tongue. You take them between your lips happily and suck, eyes fluttering closed, as you feel him shifting beside you. You take your cue, using your free hands to tug at his sweats. He’s hard as stone, prodding you through the soft jersey, and you’re desperate to feel it for real.

He moves to help you as you pull them down to mid-thigh, low enough that you can get your greedy hands on what you want. You hear him suck in a breath as you wrap around him and slide up and down, up and down, pleasantly humming around his fingers.

“Shit,” he hisses, “gotta- Shit, gotta stop, I gotta get inside you.”

Never one to deny him, you let him have his hand back so he can rest himself over you. He takes your thigh in one, lifting it up to his hip, as you continue to reach down and line him up.

“You ready?” he asks quietly, mouth by your ear.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum.

Eddie decides here, as he pushes into you, that he’s going to treat you like you’ve just had a promotion every single day for the rest of your life. He concludes that this is what you deserve, to be handled tenderly like this, and nothing less.

“Christ,” he pants, “I- fuck, I’m so proud of you, god-”

“Eddie,” you whimper, “please move, fuck, I-”

“You’re so good,” he repeats. It doesn’t stop, the praises - he calls you every word he can think of: amazing, incredible, smart, clever, pretty, tight. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, high on his devotion.

“Good girl,” he says as he pulls back. He thrusts in quicker and rougher, but his words are too kind to think he’s anything but a boy in love. “How’d I land you, huh? Amazing girl, so clever.”

You’re going dumb on him, mouth agape, so he seizes his chance. He taps your cheek lightly, just once.

“Open up.”

You open your mouth wider, knowing what’s coming and greedy for it. You stick your tongue out again and he replaces his two fingers, but you’re too far gone to suck, so he leaves them there, heavy and grounding.

It riles the tightening in your stomach and you arch your back into him as he thrusts in, out, in, out, a steady rhythm that matches the pretty grunts he’s making above you.

“Eddie,” you breathe, “I’m so- I’m close again, fuck-”

“Can feel it,” he says, “so tight, shit, feels so good.”

“You’re so deep,” you whine, “can feel y’in my guts, fuck.”

He groans at this. “Shit, sugar, y’can’t say shit like that, g’na come.”

“Please, wanna feel it, Eds.”

He’s stuttering, hips faltering, the fingers in your mouth unsteady so he removes them and uses the wet from your tongue to ease the friction on your clit. His hand travels down and when he finds purchase there, he moans, feeling you tighten around him at the contact.

“Fucking hell-”

“G’na come, Eds,” you manage.

“Come on,” he encourages, “Come again, fuck, y’can do it. Know you can.”

It’s getting hotter, hotter, hotter, winding and winding and snapping before you can warn him. You come hard and quick, limbs going limp and teeth biting deep into your bottom lip as you moan. He keeps going, eyes opening to check over you for any sign that he should stop but he finds none before he goes, too.

“Shit, Eds-”

“Christ-”

You feel him stiffen and rest on you as he paints your insides. He’s panting just as hard as you are and your skin is slick with sweat and spit.

He pulls out gently, easing you through it when you whimper at the feeling, and settles with his face at your chest. As you heave breaths, you stroke the damp hairs away from his forehead.

“Fucking hell,” he says again. You giggle.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He shifts so his chin rests on your breastbone. “For what?”

“For being so lovely.”

You see his already flushed cheeks brighten with a new redness. “Shut up,” he says, smiling and resting back on his cheek.

“I’m serious.”

“Just proud of you ‘s’all.”

“Thank you,” you repeat.

After a few minutes of quiet, save for your breathing and the hum of the fridge on the other side of the wall, he lifts himself up to rest on his forearms.

“How’s a celebratory takeout sound?”

You open your eyes and look at him. He’s staring down at you, wide, brown eyes like ebony. His cheeks are still flushed pink and his hair’s a state.

“Chinese?”

“Anything you want.”

He leans down and gives you a quick kiss before he lifts himself off the couch. He’s only gone for a flash, and returns wearing new sweats and a t-shirt. He brings you your favourite pyjamas, fresh out of the wash, and a damp cloth. After he’s cleaned you up, you hop to the bathroom to pee.

The clothes are gone from the floor when you return. You pull on thick socks and listen to Eddie on the phone in the kitchen, reciting your order to the kind lady at the local Chinese restaurant. It arrives quickly, with a bottle of wine you didn’t know about, and you eat noodles and drink with him on the couch while you tell him about your meeting.

“Here you go,” he says, handing you a small foil package.

You tear it open and he does the same. You look at him and he nods, so you crack open the cookie to pull out the paper inside.

“The one you love is closer than you think,” you recite. Eddie looks up at you.

“How can I be closer?” he asks, brows furrowing, looking down at where your legs are resting on his lap. “You’re practically sat on top of me.”

“You were just inside me,” you say, smiling at the way Eddie rolls his eyes. “C’mon, what’s yours say?”

He looks down at the paper held between his fingers and grins. “Before you receive, you must give.”

You laugh, loudly, and he looks back at you.

“Well,” he says, leaning over to put his plate on the floor, “I did give, so…”

You gasp and swat at his arm, but you can’t help grinning. Your cheeks are aching again, your chest glowing golden with love. He holds your calf with one hand, squeezing, and reaches the other up to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I really am proud of you, y’know.”

“I know.”

“You deserve it. I’ve never known anyone who works as hard as you do.” He curls a stray piece of hair behind your ear and you give, leaning into his palm and letting your eyes close. “Wanna go to bed?”

“Mm-hmm. Will y’carry me?”

“On one condition,” he says through a sly smile. You open one eye and narrow it, glaring at him.

“What?”

“You make my fortune come true in the morning.”

You bite down a smile and close your eyes again.

“Nice try, hot stuff.”

-

#I have absolutely no idea where this came from #one minute I was cooking the next I'm typing out smut like my life depends on it #enjoy anyway x #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #eddie smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie fanfic #eddie fic

[lifewtr]

Put It Down | Rated E/NC17| 6/7.

Summary: Katara isn’t any usual girl. She’s important. She’s his, and it’s his job to protect her. / (OR: Zuko makes sure that he’s there for Katara. A retelling of Give It Up for Zutara Smut Week Day II: “Do you trust me?”).

He has no doubt that if he caught his own reflection that he would be staring back, firefly yellow and ready to crack open. He can feel the way his canines have sharpened in instinctive anticipation, can feel his blood run thicker and skin hotter, confirming the edge on which he walked.

If he were listening, he’d hear the skip of Katara’s own heart and the subtle hitch of her own lungs. Instead he’s stuck on how badly he wanted to leave a bruise of desire across every inch of her, while also denying himself the instant pleasure. Instead he’s stuck on how he wanted to completely give up his tattered dignity and sink his teeth into that lovely bottom lip before he gave all the way in—

“Kiss me.” Katara demands; demands when she should be asking. Begging. He drags her mouth to his anyway, dives into her tongue first, darts past the seam of her lips when she gasps. She moans into the bruising kiss, the depravity and raw need that underscores the spiced-sugar of her scent echoing in the way that she locks her arms around his neck and then grinds against him.

Fuck. [ x ]

#zutara #zutara fic #atla fanfic #atla #avatar the last airbender #*** #what are tenses #what are even words #idk them #enjoy anyway x

[fanfic-gremlin-ft-trauma]

tfw you’ve been tasked to murder the prince of the northern water tribe but he’s really majestic

(they make a compromise)

#atla #zukka #zuko x sokka #zukka fanart #atla fanart #moon spirit sokka #moon spirit sokka fanart #blue spirit #blue spirit zuko #blue spirit zuko x moon spirit sokka #IM BACK!!! THE BABIES ARE BACK!!! drawing them again felt like coming home #anyway. this au has been swimming in my head for a lil while so. hope y’all enjoy <3333

[theoldkyokodied]

The Allegiance of the Ascended Vampire and the New God of Magic

#bloodweave #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale x astarion #astarion x gale #gale dekarios #astarion ancunin #yes this is about astarion helping gale defeat mystra and take her place with the crown in exchange for gale helping him with the ritual #the ‘they can make each other worse’ part of their relationship turned to the max #I enjoy them being reluctantly soft for each other more but from time to time I just think about how powerful they could get together #toxic evil boyfriends. take love and twist it up until it’s unrecognisable #I like to think that astarion approached gale with that offer after realising no one else in camp is gonna help him #and that he can use gales own hunger for power which backfired when astarion actually became emotionally invested in gale #and after gale kept his word despite everyone’s concerns astarion changed his plan from not fullfilling his end of the bargain to actually #helping gale kill mystra (mostly so that gale could belong to him and him alone. and letting him take the place as a god bc having a god #at you beck and call is definitely appealing. especially one as eager to please as gale) #anyway what I want to say with this is please please please let me kill mystra i don’t even care if the weave gets destroyed again

[hailsatanacab]

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #batpham #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #look. this has been in my mind for so long guys so long - and idk if its canon that the batfam have codes for time travel situations or what #but i feel like ive seen it before and if its not canon it should be #so here - how i think that would be funny to go down #i have so many thoughts about TUE and its place in a dpxdc crossover like holy shit there's so many ways it can go!! #i have another wip in the works thats kinda similar to this but with superman and i cannot wait to work on it again #there are so many ways i wanted this to go but i just couldnt get there - i wanted to keep it on the shorter side but like #perhaps ill have to expand #i just love the idea that like. theres a stranger at your table who knows you and knows you well. who knows the secret that youd die to keep #there's a stranger at your table and he says something and you know he's family. you know you're strangers but now... #now you have to be something more #oh man theres so many juicy ways it can go and I KNOW I DID NONE OF THEM #i want to write this whole plot again and make it angstier #(me with everything) #anyway! sorry love you all hope you enjoy it!!

[ivysangel]

Waking up with Jason's arms wrapped around you, feeling him breathe into your hair, letting out the occasional snore. His hand is under you, pressed into your side, and you feel him squeeze the flesh of your waist to make sure you're still there, a habit he developed when things started getting serious, constantly searching for you, even in his sleep. He squeezes a little tighter, his breath suddenly quickening at an alarming rate. You try to turn to face him, fear settling in your stomach, wondering if something was plaguing him in his dreams again.

When you shift ever so slightly, you feel the other arm lying over you tighten, pulling you flush against his body. A chill runs down your spine as you feel him exhale a particularly strangled breath, and you force yourself out of his grip, sitting up to get a better look at the man next to you. His eyebrows furrowed, hair flat on one side of his head from laying in one position the entire night. One of his hands reaches out to your pillow, searching for you in your sudden absence, and when it's met with nothing, Jason jolts upright. He turns his head frantically, blurred vision searching for something, for someone, for you.

His shoulders drop in relief when he finally stops long enough to notice you barely a foot away from him. You watch his chest rise and fall as he tries to calm his breathing, and you're not sure which thing caused it, the nightmare or the fear that you had left him. "What are you doing up?" he asks, voice laced with sleep. "You were having a nightmare," you say quietly, sliding a little closer to him and settling back into your spot on the bed. "I was just trying to make sure you were okay." confusion is etched across his face like the concept of him having a nightmare was foreign, and you develop an equally confused expression upon seeing his own. His face drops suddenly, and he clears his throat, "Right, a nightmare." he shifts beneath the covers, seemingly uncomfortable. "I'm all good. Just go back to sleep, okay?" he sends a reassuring smile your way, his attempt at trying to make you forget this whole debacle and coax you back to sleep, but it was too late; you were already wide awake.

"Was it him again?" your hand finds the scarred expanse of his back, lightly grazing your fingers against old wounds and trying to ease his angst; his body tenses at your touch, and a groan leaves his lips. "it wasn't-" he pauses, running his hands through his hair and sighing. "it wasn't him again. It wasn't even..." he trails off, turning away from you and sliding off the bed. "wasn't even what?" You ask, more confused than ever, watching as he lifts his arms above his head, back muscles flexing while he stretches before crossing his arms. He just stands there, back towards you, and all you can do is sit in silence while he seemingly contemplates something. "It wasn't what, Jason?" you ask one more time. He turns his head slightly to look at you only for a second and lowers his eyes when he sees you in the same spot you've been this whole time. "It wasn't a nightmare," he says, turning around to face you, this time allowing you to see his whole body.

His face is flushed a bit out of embarrassment, and your confusion starts to reach its peak. That is until you do a once-over of him and notice the patch of dark gray on his otherwise light sweatpants. Your mouth gapes a bit, and all you can manage is a quiet "Oh." his eyes find the same spot on his pants, a tent growing beneath the soft cotton. "Yeah. Oh."

#wet dream jason is finally here #editing this was way harder than it should've been #anyway hope u fiends enjoy this thing #that barely even qualifies as suggestive #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd smut #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood smut #jason todd lover

[snailsnaps]

healthy relationships built on consent, boundaries and trust — my beloved

#don't think ill ever post anything else hazbin related again soo enjoy? 🤨👍 #but anyways - ladies gentlemen and gentletheys - THEM #huskerdust #hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin fanart #tw hazbin hotel #husker hazbin hotel #husker x angel dust #hazbin husker #angelhusk

[ruubesz-draws]

Godzilla x Kong New Empire but it's the Spongebob Movie

I had this idea BEFORE the movie even came out lol

This took longer than I thought! Please appreciate it!

#godzilla #godzilla x kong: the new empire #kong #mothra #scar king #shimo #spongebob squarepants #patrick star #plankton #it's Godzilla x Kong but Spongebob lol #I'M A GOOFY GOOBER #YEAH!!!! #I actually love the song #i watched this movie like godzillion times #im serious #anyway hope yall like it #pls don't hate me #also enjoy goji with heels #lmao #my boi rockin' those heels lmao #do not repost #my art #Youtube

[khytal]

and there was only one bed (oh my god there was only one bed)

extra:

#vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun #khyt.art #I love putting stupid spins on tropes :] #this is specifically 98 because trimax ww would not do this sndhsndhs #and also bc I believe trimax vw are a lot more hesitant with touch. and it takes them a lot longer #but we are not here for pain and longing we are here for *looks under the read more* not that #anyway. enjoy day 5 (only 1 bed) lmao #I think the most impressive thing about this week so far is that I haven’t had to draw vash’s coat once #it would’ve been yesterday but I was busy/needed to let my hand rest x)

[iciclesses]

Dizzy today thinking about Price holding your pussy open with his thumbs while the rest of the team looks over his shoulder. You just spread out and vulnerable, entirely exposed and shaking a little from the anticipation. Gaz and Soap mesmerized at how wet you already were, Price monitoring your expression to make sure you're okay but even he can't help his eyes flicking back down- each time it does he's satisfied to see your clit twitching under his gaze. Ghost’s eyes are the hungriest, roving all over your body. Mask already rolled up to his nose, pink tongue licking his lips. Oh yeah, you're about to get absolutely devoured.

Hands holding your legs open and back, practically kissing your knees. Soft hands caressing your stomach, hips, shoulders, ass. Squeezing your tits and pinching your nipples, another hand reaching up to brush any stray hairs out of your eyes. They want you to watch.

It's like watching a nature documentary, a front row view of an apex predator crouching down to drink from a watering hole. Ghost’s eyes locked on yours as he lowers himself down until you can feel the stubble on his chin softly brush against your lips. You can't help the twitch and the keen, everything oversensitive but understimulated.

When Ghost’s made you cum so many times black dots are swimming in your vision, he pulls back. Soap is quick to pull Ghost to the side, lewd tongue lapping your slick off from his lips and chin. Gaz takes his place instead, taking his time as he settles in and gets comfortable. He first meets your cunt with a sweet kiss on your clit, peppering more slowly down towards your hole. He's got you giggling, straining against the hands on your legs as it tickles just a hairs breath more than it gets you off- but the giggle turns into a guttural moan as Gaz spears his tongue into your hole and licks his way back up to your clit. He's flashing you a smile, impossibly beautiful while sucking you down.

Soap and Ghost eventually relieve Price of his duty holding your legs. Price lovingly threads his fingers into Gaz's curls as Gaz sucks you into another orgasm. Once you've finished, legs shaking under strong hands, Price pulls Gaz back. While licking into Gaz’s mouth, Price’s thumb finds your stinging clit and rubs it in soothing circles.

When he pulls back, panting and half lidded eyes lost in Gaz’s similar expression, he turns to you.

"Been so good for us, love. We're going to make you finish a few more times, yeah?"

You're so beyond words. You're beyond being able to really decipher if you want more or if the thought alone might kill you- but you know you trust your men. You know they'll take care of you, know they know what you need and what you can take. Your only outward response to Price’s statement was a big dopey smile, blinking away the overstimulated tears from your eyes. You can tell it's the right answer, watching Price settle onto his stomach before you with his eyes meeting yours- full of the same trust and adoration coming from yours.

"There's our girl."

#noel.txt #141 x reader #wow a post with no cws how rare #anyways im trying to finish a fluff fic but im not built for it so enjoy the team giving you a billion orgasms with their tongues

[mingwrites]

Can I request how Ateez would sound in bed (i.e. moaner, grunted, whimper, silent, loud).

thanks for requesting nonnie!!! hope u enjoy <3

how ateez sound in bed

seonghwa ~ very vocal in bed. he mostly makes soft, breathless moans, his head thrown back in ecstasy as you ride his dick. his brain becomes too fogged up with the feeling of you to form words, so he relies heavily on those sounds to let you know that you're doing well, that he feels good, and that he loves you. he also tends to bite his lip a lot, producing hums rather than open-mouthed moans. "mmmmh, mmh, you feel so-ahh-so good..."

hongjoong ~ a focused man and attentive lover, hongjoong tends to be a little more quiet during sex as he's so focused on making you feel good. the best way to hear his adorable, hoarse whimpers is when you suck him off or give him a handjob. that's when he's able to lie back, close his eyes, and fill the room with the sounds of his pleasure. "yessss, that's good, baby... mmm...! just like that..."

yunho ~ lots of grunting when he fucks into you. he puts a lot of strength into his thrusts and likes to make that apparent, producing low, almost growl-like sounds every time his hips pound against yours, his dick filling you completely. also has a tendency to laugh during sex, smirking cockily, specifically when you let out one of your own sounds or tell him how good he makes you feel. "mm, mm... my baby feels good? hah... so cute..."

yeosang ~ yeosang is on the quieter side, as he can be a little shy, even with you. during sex, he makes plenty of pretty little whimpers and groans, just at a very soft volume. he grows louder the longer your pussy squeezes his dick, the more he comes undone. he's also way too shy to talk much, so he instead communicates with little, desperate noises and broken sentences. "mm, mm, ah... i love it... mmmh..."

san ~ he tries to stay mostly silent in terms of moaning, instead opting to just tell you directly what he's feeling. in other words, he's big on dirty talk. while you will catch occasional low hums, especially when he's close to orgasm, he mostly prefers to be teasing you for the sounds you make. "you're so tight... mmm... i can feel your pretty little pussy squeezing me. you're close, huh baby?"

mingi ~ mingi is unashamed of the type and amount of sound he makes, often using them as a substitute for words when he gets too worked up. he'll make quick, deep grunts when he fucks you, higher-pitched whimpers when you suck him off, and long, gruff moans when you fuck yourself on his dick. he loves the sound of your voice echoing in harmony with his. "mm, mmm, just like that, doll... ahh, yeah... take me down your throat..."

wooyoung ~ loud, loud, loud. in both the amount of moans and blabbering half-sentences you're able to get out of him, and in the volume of those sounds. wooyoung is shameless and unafraid to cue you (and your neighbors) in on exactly how he's feeling. on any given night, you'll hear him talking dirty, laughing, whimpering, moaning, and sometimes sobbing. "aaahhh, y/n, y/n, it's too much...! ah, ah, ah... mmm, so good..."

jongho ~ tries very hard to make as little noise as possible. he's rather shy and not always comfortable with that level of vulnerability, so he prefers to listen in on your sounds instead. also a master of dirty talk, he uses that skill to get the prettiest sounds out of you. of course, when he cums, he can't always hold back, and will let choked, high-pitched moans slip through. "mm, you feel so good... keep going, love... i'm gonna... ahh, aaahh...

#ahh i didnt proofread this sorry if there are any mistakes im just TIRED #anyways i really hope u enjoyed it nonnie!!!! #ateez #ateez blurbs #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez headcanons #ateez fic #seonghwa #hongjoong #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #choi san #san ateez #kpop #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #mdni #18+ #smut

[ageofstarkey]

soft glow ✰ m. riddle

summary: sleepy mornings with matthéo

pairing: bf!matthéo x reader

warnings: slightly suggestive at the end, but nothing really other than that!! just tooth rotting fluff n théo who’s soft for u and no one else!! :’))

note: hi!! i’m not sure how i feel about this one but i still think it’s a lil tiny bit cute so i’m posting!! feel free to send in requests!!

masterlist

comments & reblogs are so appreciated! <3

✰ ✰ ✰

when you wake up, matthéo’s bedroom is warm with the soft glow of morning. golden rays of sunlight peek stubbornly through his drapes, and soft white noise filters steadily in through the window.

as you slowly come to, you begin to register the familiar sensation of matthéo’s touch. his calloused fingers glide almost curiously across your face; carefully tracing each curve and dip, as if to memorize your every detail.

with a soft hum, you finally blink open your eyes - squinting into the sunlight. you roll towards matthéo with a yawn, offering him a sleepy smile. “hi”

matthéo grins, smoothing a mess of tangled hair away from your face. “hi, darling.” his voice is raspy and painfully fond - and your heart aches pleasantly behind your ribcage. his hand slides casually to the back of your neck, and you quietly hope that your cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “how’d you sleep?”

“me? oh - i slept terribly” you’re aiming for deadpan in a desperate attempt to play it cool, but you wear a giddy little grin that almost certainly gives you away. “worst sleep of my life.”

“oh yeah?”

you nod with all the conviction you can muster - which admittedly isn’t much. “mhmm” with a little stretch, you’re leaning upwards to kiss his cheek. “you snore louder than my granddad.”

matthéo scoffs in mock offence, fingers poking teasingly at your side. “‘s that so?”

you nod once more, trying desperately to stifle a giggle. matthéo’s teasing is relentless, and you squirm clumsily away from his prodding fingers. in the end - it doesn’t take long for you to give in. “okay! okay - fine!” you laugh breathlessly. “you don’t snore and i had the best sleep of my life. is that what you wanted to hear?”

“yes actually. because you on the other hand - you do snore and it’s really quite loud - sort of like-”

“matthéo!” he’s being mean on purpose and you pretend to hate it. “i do not snore!”

“okay but how do you know you don’t snore, hm? i mean - if you’re asleep when it happens…” he tugs you towards his bare chest, one arm wrapped firmly around your back. “you wouldn’t really know, would you?” he punctuates his words with a soft kiss to your forehead, and you all but melt into his gentle embrace.

“i hate you.” with your face smushed against matthéo’s chest, your words come out awkward and muffled. “like - i really, really can’t stand you sometimes.”

he tugs you impossibly closer with a pleased laugh. “don’t lie, sweetheart”

“i’m not lying!”

he tilts your head upwards before slowly kissing your lips. you feel warm all over, and you chase him with a quiet whine when he pulls away. “if you really hate me, why were you screaming m-”

“you’re so awful!”

#it took me SO long to get this right for some reason #and i still don’t think it’s that good but oh well i’m posting anyways #enjoy <3 #ageofstarkey writing <3 #ageofstarkey harry potter <3 #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle blurb #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle fic #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle fluff #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys fanfiction #slytherin boys blurb #slytherin boys imagine #slytherin boys fanfic #harry potter

[cordyce]

ao’nung is frustrated.

at least, that’s what you’ve deduced from watching him sharpen his knife for the past ten minutes straight. if he keeps going, it might get as thin as a wish bone; threatening to snap at the slightest bit of pressure. as much as you’d find amusement in the sight of that, you’d rather not be in the crossfire when it happens.

“what’s got you caught in its net?” you ask, finally, as you drop the gear you’ve been mending while ao’nung simmers.

“funny,” he mutters, but mirth is not something found in his tone. another scrape, another grating. he does not look over at you.

“i know. i’m the funniest person alive. you should be grateful you have the opportunity to bask in my presence.”

it’s a ploy—a tease. like waving fresh bait in front of a young ilu but never tossing it into the water for them to eat. your tactic with ao’nung is always the same. push and pull and prod just enough that he bites back with less venom and more demure. because sarcasm is better than spite, in all regards.

except now, he doesn’t take it. now, he simply keeps his head tucked down, his lips pressed in a hard line. whittling at his knife and spouting invisible steam out of his ears.

you stand up, make your way over to him and bend slightly at the waist to slide your hands along his sloped shoulders. his muscles go taut—just a bit—at the initial contact of your palms, but relax a second later. not to their resting state, no, but leaving the field of caught off guard at the very least. you hum, lean down further as you dip your hands over his clavicles, across the upper half of his sternum.

“what is wrong, ao‘nung?” its sincere, this time. your question. because despite the dynamic between the two of you, you really do care—jokes and jabs aside.

this silence is different. you can tell by the twitch of his ears that he’s thinking; mulling something over on his tongue before he decides whether to spit it out or swallow it down. you can never guess which one it will be, not with him. he acts on whims, never strategy. there is no speculating his next move, so you simply don’t try to.

“there has been talk among the reef.” it’s all he says; all he gives. such a shell of a man, forcing you to pry open his jaws to reach the pearl within.

it is good that you’ve always been so skilled with your hands.

“there is always talk among the reef,” you chuckle, begin to fiddle with the necklace that’s strung around his neck. hooking your chin over the top of his head, you look down to watch as he grinds his knife once again. “you know they like to keep their minds busy with silly things.”

“it isn’t a silly thing.”

“oh? then tell me, what is so dire that it could have the great ao’nung this tense, hm?”

his hands falter for the first time, a pause in his rhythmic grazing. your brows furrow at that, create a hairline crease in the middle that only smooths out as he resumes his motions. scrape, scrape, scrape again. it’s like he’s doing it in sync with his heart. if you shifted your hand over just a tad, you suppose you could test that theory.

“it is talk of you.”

quiet. a mere grumble under his breath. if you were not leaned over him like this you would not have even heard him. such an odd twinge to his tone; laced with something you can’t quite decipher. can’t quite pick up on. it isn’t necessarily anger, but something flirting along the lines of it.

“me? don’t tell me you have went around spreading rumors that i am possessed by eywa’s evil sister again. i thought you stopped that when we were kids.” you laugh through it, because the jagged edges of his timbre are making your fingers itch. “you’re going to ruin my reputation.”

he scoffs. condescending, dismissive. normally you’d take that as a good sign; a call back to his regular grating demeanor. at this specific moment, however, you find annoyance in it.

“your reputation is fine,” he tilts, gives a particularly harsh press of his knife that makes you think this just might be the time where it snaps. miraculously, it doesn’t. “so completely fine.”

“then what could they possibly find reason to speak of me for?” you press, rubbing your thumb over the cord of his necklace, twisting it around your fingers. “i have not caused any trouble lately. haven’t set fire to any maruis. why, there’s nothing that i can think of that could possibly warrant—“

“they speak of your lack of mate.”

his hands are working harder, less refined. jaw clenching, deltoids growing stiff below you. it’s all starting to air itself out, his jaws have cracked open just enough that you can finally see the pretty pink pearl that rests on the bed of his tongue. but it is not enough, not yet.

“then all they speak is the truth,” you shrug over him, keep your gaze locked on his movements. you want to be sure, before you jump to the assumptions that are creating hurdles in your mind. “there is no harm in speaking of public knowledge.”

“they—“ he hitches, twists his face up like his next words are sour on his tastebuds, “they are voicing their thoughts on potentials for you. they think.. rotxo is the best option.”

“oh, yes. rotxo would be a fine potential mate.”

and, ah. there it is. the coup de grace.

ao’nung snaps his head around towards you so fast you hardly have time to lean back to avoid getting smacked in the chin by his skull. there’s a fissure between his brows, his eyes have widened past the aggravated slits they were before. his mouth is cracked open in disbelief, of the fact that you agreed with him or another matter, you aren’t sure. either way, it is clear now what has been getting under the heir’s skin.

he's jealous. and you can't help but find that the slightest bit amusing. it's not often you have ao'nung in the palm of your hand like this; akin to a bug squirming under the pad of your thumb with no clear route of escape. you think you can play this up, just a little.

"you do not think that," he states, like he needs to speak it into existence. like if he says it then it will ring true, change your mind.

(he doesn't need to change your mind, but he doesn't need to know that right now).

"why would i not?" you hum, tip your head like you're truly contemplating it. "he is sweet. has a tender heart. and he is always so quick to help me. he doesn't even complain. i think taking him as a mate would be a good decision."

"the only thing good about rotxo is his hair," ao'nung spouts, rolls his eyes at you as his face fills up with indignation. "stupid, pretty boy goody two shoes."

"oh, you're right! and he's nice to look at," you agree, nod your head right along with it, "how could i forget?"

his cheek dips; he's sucking it in between his teeth. you've really done it, you think. setting him off has never been so easy. sure, it’s never too hard to get him riled up in the middle of a bickering match. but like this? aggravated over, what, exactly? the thought of you with someone else?

maybe you’re enjoying this a bit too much.

“he is not your type.” a bold proclamation, ao’nung spits out. grasping for straws; searching blindly. “you would not go well with him.”

“i think he is my type, actually,” you dispute, and he’s stopped all his movements now. knife long forgotten as he seethes over every word you speak. “kind. loyal. good morals. easy on the eyes. yes, definitely my type. that checks off the list.”

he purses his lips, knots up his brows. “that cannot be the list.”

“no?” you peruse, play into him. he makes this too easy, really. “what do you think is on the list, then? moody? messy? long hair? a tendency to be mouthy? being the chief’s son?”

that earns you a shove off of him; a click for him to realize you’ve been fucking with him this entire time. biting back your shit eating grin would be impossible so you don’t even try to. nor do you stop the laughter that bubbles out of you as he goes back to his knife work and curses you under his breath.

you reach for him again except this time you walk around until you’re in front of him. one hand on his shoulder, you lean down to shove the knife and sharpener out of his hands and plop yourself right into the slot his crossed legs have made. his gaze is narrowed at you, his lips jutted. you simply smile—innocent, sweet—as you slide your hands around to cup the nape of his neck.

“i don’t think rotxo could handle me,” you murmur, sickeningly saccharine in such a direct contrast from seconds before. ao’nung doesn’t budge. “and the good ones are always so boring. if he was my mate, when would i ever get the chance to get up to trouble?”

“you are trouble,” ao’nung scoffs; acting annoyed, fed up. but his hands give him away as they meet the dimples of your lower back, as they slide up your spine to hold you secure so you don’t fall backwards.

his facade of pretending to not care has never been too full proof. there’s been cracks in that glass since day one.

“your trouble,” you grin. your fingers begin to draw circles along the back of his neck, tease at his hairline. “you made me this way, you know.”

“i made you nothing,” he rebuts. “you are the one who always comes up with the pesky ideas that get us scolded.”

“ah, you’re right,” you agree with a faux sigh. “humor and brains. i guess i’m the funniest and smartest person alive. truly, you should be honored.”

ao’nung rolls his eyes, peels his hands off of you. “forget ability, i do not wish to handle you now. rotxo can have you, for all i care.”

“oh?” you quirk, begin to stand up. “should i go see what he is up to—“

“sit,” ao’nung orders before you can rise no more than a few inches off of his lap; hands gripping your waist to tug you back down. the playfulness drains from his eyes, that annoyance—jealousy—flashes across sea foam irises for just a moment. “you are not funny.”

you bite the edge of your lip, making your grin turn slanted. he is so fun to tease, to toss around. his palms are warm on the dip of your waist. sliding your hands further back, you skim your finger along the side of the braid encasing his queue. faint, light. he tries to hide the shiver it causes but you pick up on it regardless. and that only makes you grin wider.

“they will speak of me until i choose a mate,” you hum as you lean closer to him, minimize the distance between your faces. “rotxo is not the only name that will be paired with mine. they all like to place their bets, you know.”

“their bets are stupid,” ao’nung mutters; gruff and rumbling out of his chest as his attention flickers, falters, the closer you get.

being this close is nothing new. being this touchy is nothing new, either. but it’s almost like your skin is buzzing, your energies feeding off one another in the moment that sends you tumbling into a smug streak. or maybe, that’s just the power ao’nung holds over you and you’re scared to admit it.

“you only think they’re stupid because your name is being outnumbered in the betting pool.” maybe that’s a little mean, but it’s fun. your fingertips are heavier now, more directed as you trace the divots of his braid with one hand and gauge the rise and fall of his chest with the other. “if you were winning, would they be stupid then?”

“i am winning,” ao’nung conveys, so sure and lacking any sense of doubt in the slightest; a variance from a few moments before. and that, well, that actually makes you falter—for just a second.

“and how do you figure that?” you mumble out the question into the minute slot between the two of you. bated and breathy.

ao’nung hooks an arm around your waist, his other hand sliding up to grip the hinge of your jaw. not harsh, not rough, but firm. cradling you carefully but securely; solidly. your breath hitches, your fingers pause on their skimming across his queue encasing.

“because i am the only one who gets to do this,” he says. blunt and honest and certain as he closes the gap severing you.

he kisses you full and deep and warm. he kisses you like he has not eaten in days and you are the one thing that can sate his hunger. he kisses you like the ocean kisses the shore; yearning and all consuming, and rushing back once more as soon as their lips must part.

and he does; chase your lips as you pull back to catch your breath. places one, two, three pecks there before he deems it a safe retreat. his eyes are lidded, but no longer from frustration. that signature crooked, haughty smirk of his is curved into his pale lips. and instead of smacking it off, you’re considering how many more kisses it would take to wipe it away.

“oh yeah,” he chuckles, lips brushing over yours as he’s already leaning in again. “so winning.”

and you can’t help but agree.

likes & reblogs appreciated !

#i love him your honor #this is probably like. wildly ooc #LMAO #but pls enjoy it anyways bc he’s sooooooo >.< #ugh he’s babygirl fr !!! #ao’nung x reader #aonung x reader #ao’nung x you #aonung x you #ao’nung drabble #aonung drabble #avatar x reader #atwow x reader #atwow ao'nung

[fanfic-gremlin-ft-trauma]

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@zukki-week day four: blue spirit x Kyoshi warrior(s) shenanigans <333

#zukka #atla #zuko x sokka #zukka fanart #atla fanart #zukki #zukki fanart #sokka x zuko x suki #sukka fanart #sokka x suki #suki x zuko #zukki week 2023 #oooohhhh I was excited abt this one #I love Kyoshi warrior Sokka x blue spirit Zuko but adding suki…. literally dream come true #Ty for the zukki week op for opening my brains to the possibilities of which I was previously blind #anyway enjoy my humble delivery <3

[theoldkyokodied]

good evening bloodweave enjoyers

#bloodweave #gale x astarion #astarion x gale #gale dekarios #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #i drew the first one for my bloodweave playlist but shhhhhh #its a shattered mirror in the background btw. yes its bc they are mirrors of each other #recognition of one's self through others (derogatory) vibes. yknow what i mean? #anyway hii bloodweave fam i prepared food! hope you enjoy

[toshidou]

lighthouse for a lost comrade . . .

Pairing // Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Word count // 4.9k

Tags // 18+ ONLY, AFAB reader, soft simon riley, written from simon's perspective, mild descriptions of injury and blood, hurt and comfort, aka simon finally allows himself to be looked after <3, he is a big boy with a heart that yearns to be loved you cannot convince me otherwise, the softest of smut, praise, you accidentally give ghost a 'sir' kink, reader calls ghost sir a couple of times because they're hot like that, unprotected sex (tut tut), creampie, a whole lot of swearing

AN // i love this man a ridiculous amount, so me writing nearly 5k about how much i love him was inevitable

AO3 link here

Simon Riley is not a man who cares about his own health. In fact, his wellbeing never has, and never will be a priority to him. He has work to do, gruelling, gritty, gruesome work, it is beyond pointless wasting time even thinking about when he last had more than 3 hours sleep, or how long it’s been since he consumed anything other than cold military rations. In his defence, he’s never really had a reason to give a shit, he sees the hourglass whenever he allows himself to close his eyes; watches the sand slip rapidly through the cracks, counting down until his inevitable, most likely painful death. He’s living life on a timer, and he’s never had a reason to change that.

Until he met you.

You were a wide-eyed rookie, Laswell bringing you into the fold as a technician, a skilled hacker and mechanic who despite your innocent doe eyes, held lethal talents. He remembers so vividly, the way your head had cocked to the side as Laswell introduced you to the peculiar members of task force 141, remembers the way your eyes stopped on him. You showed not a single ounce of fear or hesitance, just pure unbridled curiosity. That same curiosity led you to asking him far too many questions, relentlessly prying to see more of the man behind the mask, to see Simon Riley, rather than ‘Ghost’. It should have pissed him off, he should have reprimanded you for your callousness towards your Lieutenant, but somehow you knew exactly which questions to ask, knew exactly when to stop and move on to other subjects.

Contrary to popular belief, Simon doesn’t hide his past, doesn’t try to use it to fuel the mysterious and mythical reputation he’s unwittingly built. It’s just that no one ever asks. Maybe it’s something about the skull mask, or the egregiously high kill count he sits so casually on top of that has people wary of ever approaching him. But you—you had no hesitation. You read him like a goddamn book every single time, and it simultaneously terrified and relieved him.

One glance and every secret he shoved behind his balaclava is left bare before you, leaving him with a vulnerable, gaping wound in the shape of a lifetime of trauma and tales that Simon knows no person should ever have to experience. And yet, your eyes hold not an ounce of pity, no awkward silences attempting to be alleviated with an awkward pat on the back and a “that sounds rough, buddy”. You see his past, his pain, his suffering, his bad habits, without him ever having to explicitly say anything. And in return, you say nothing. You don’t try and mollify him about circumstances he’s moved on from long ago, you make no effort to coddle him, to sit him down and patronisingly ask him if he’s doing well, or when the last time he slept was.

Instead, you leave him cutely packaged leftovers on his doorstep, easy meals he can throw in the microwave when he’s too tired to even comprehend making food. You buy him a multitude of jigsaws and puzzles for when sleep evades him as it so often does. You never once try to change him, never force yourself into his life just so you can claim that you’re some selfless martyr. To Simon Riley, you are nothing short of a blessing, and falling in love with you was quite frankly the easiest thing he’s ever done.

He takes off the mask for the first time when neither of you were prepared, nor expecting it. The mission had been so fucking rough, camped out in the middle of nowhere on the hunt for someone he was sure had long since gone. Weeks spent trudging through thick mud, swimming upriver, tracking footprints that led nowhere, steered them to no one. His bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up with him after being shot in the leg and falling nearly 75 metres off of a cliff, plunging into the water below. Price had insisted he go straight to the medic tent back at basecamp, but then simply sighed and shook his head, resigned, as he watched Simon limp off the chopper, and in the exact opposite direction.

To most, this would be the latest example of Simon Riley once again disregarding his health for the sake of keeping up the stoic, strong mask he never let slip. Yet this time, Simon Riley was not disregarding his health, he was, for maybe the first time, trying to preserve what little of it he had left. His leg was near numb by the time he made it to your tent, his foggy mind quickly soothed by the sound of you humming along to the radio, accompanied by the rapid clicking of keys as you worked on some coding. It takes him hissing in discomfort as he attempts to remove his military boots for you to turn around, eyes going impossibly wide as you watch an alarmingly large pool of red grow at his feet.

“Jesus Christ Ghost, are you trying to redecorate my floor?” He kept his mouth shut, using the last dregs of his energy to keep his gaze pinned on you, dark brown irises following your every move as you usher him into the chair you occupied merely seconds before, gingerly hovering your hands over the drenched material that clings to his thigh, soaked in blood and water.

“I’m going to cut the material above the wound, okay? I need to see what I’m working with here.” Your eyes connect with his unwavering gaze, translating his silence into a language that has taken you an eerily short period of time to become fluent in. He watches you nod to yourself, can pinpoint the cogs turning in your mind, can practically see you write the list of how best to deal with this situation as you unpack your first aid kit. Somehow, despite his leg stinging like a bitch, despite how utterly worn he feels, so raw and rough around the edges, he feels at peace.

Price may think he was a stupid bastard for not seeing one of their trained medics, but Simon knows without a doubt that you will always be the best thing for him, you will always be the first port of call, the lighthouse that guides him oh so safely to shore, to home. Even when your stitches are a little uneven, even when you dab a little too much alcohol disinfectant onto his wound, even when you wince every time the muscle in his leg twitches involuntarily, he watches you pour every ounce of care and tenderness into every touch, watches you take care of him in a way no one else ever could, not that he’d let them.

You’re finishing off wrapping up the wound on his thigh when Simon realises he doesn’t want this moment to be over. He selfishly craves more of your delicate, gentle care, unsure if he could ever have this again after tonight, if he deserved it.

So, he waits. He waits for you to lean back on your haunches, bending back to check your handiwork with a satisfied smile tugging at your pretty lips. He waits for your eyes to drift to his, as they so often do, and then he speaks.

“I uh, I got hurt here too,” The words grate against his throat like sandpaper, rough and unsure as he lifts his hand to prod at his cheek, “think I hit a rock in the water after falling.” You stand immediately, eyebrows furrowed together as your fingers gently brush the small rip in his mask.

“I can’t see much with this in the way, Ghost, though I think you’ll live.”

Simon couldn't pinpoint exactly what had his fingers hooking under his mask, couldn’t single it down to any particular moment or word that had him pulling the black material over his chin, and up past his nose, he just knew it felt right. All he focused on was the way your lips fell agape, how your hands lifted automatically towards his wrists, whether to stop them or encourage them further he didn’t know, but he sure as fuck clocked the slight tilt to your head, taking him immediately back to when you first laid eyes on him.

You were looking at Simon in a way he can’t say he’s ever experienced. Like a complicated mixture of guilt and awe. But he feels no fear, no regret as he throws the skull balaclava unceremoniously onto the floor, and directly into the pool of blood he’d left by the door.

“Should be a little easier to see now, don’t you think?”

All he gets in return is a small huff of a laugh, the ghost of your breath fanning across his exposed face, he swears he’s never felt anything as sweet. That is until your hand comes to cup his face, shudders erupting down his spine when the pads of your impossibly soft fingers brush just under the superficial cut on his cheek.

“I don’t know Si, I think we might have to amputate.” You murmur, an overly dramatic lilt to your voice as you pretend to further examine the ‘wound’. And Jesus fucking Christ, if he isn’t so impossibly, incredibly fond of you.

“That bad, huh doc?” He leans forward, just enough to catch the way your pupils dilate, the slight hitch to your usually even breath, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to save it? I’m particularly fond of that cheek.” He drinks in the soft hum you give in response, watches you with rapt attention as you lean further forward, and nearly passes the fuck out when you press your lips to his upper cheekbone, because what the fuck.

Before this, Simon Riley could say with absolute certainty that he’d never once blushed in his life, but now? He could feel the blood rushing to his face, knowing without a doubt that you could feel the heat radiating from where your fingers and lips remain connected to his skin. His wide eyes, blackened around the sockets from a mixture of paint and week-long exhaustion, remain firmly fixed on you, hardly hesitating before he secures your hand against his face the second he feels you pulling away.

There are no words exchanged, nothing but shallow breaths and searching eyes before Simon allows himself to be selfish just this once and pulls you onto his uninjured thigh, guiding you to sit with his other hand, fingers digging ever so slightly into the meat of your hip. And now he has you here, right where he’s always wanted you, there’s not a chance in hell he’s ever letting you go.

“Please kiss me, Simon.”

As if he could ever say no to you.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He removes his hand from your wrist, dragging his scarred knuckles as delicately as he possibly can across your cheek, fanning out his fingers around the side of your face, using the leverage to guide you impossibly closer. He allows himself one last look, tracing his gaze from your lidded eyes to your lips before he lets his eyelids fall shut, and loses himself in you. Loses every ounce of tension and exhaustion under the ministrations of your fingers as they tangle into his hair, and finally, fucking finally, he feels his once cold, dead heart thrum to life as you sigh contentedly against his lips. Kiss of life in-fucking-deed.

He's lost in every inch of you, can’t get over how soft and warm the plush of your waist is under his fingers, how responsive you are when he slides his hand ever so slightly under your oversized t-shirt. He wants more, he needs more, can’t help himself as he moves his kisses from your lips, down your jaw, until he reaches the base of your throat, sucking deep purple bruises into your supple skin.

“You taste like heaven,” He’s all too aware of how raspy his voice has become, desire only deepening his tone further as he drags his lips back up the expanse of your throat, a deep groan pulled from his throat when he feels you shift on his lap, highlighting the growing pressure of his cock straining against his pants. “Driving me fuckin’ wild already. Look what you’ve done to me, gorgeous.” His fingers come to curl under your jaw, directing your gaze down to the prominent tenting of his trousers, ensuring his eyes don’t dare drift away from your face as he watches you take in the view before you.

“Mine.”

The noise Simon makes in response is nothing short of primal, it wasn’t a sound he was even aware he could make, near guttural, but of course you would be the one to pull it out of him.

“That’s right baby, all yours, fucking hell,” he’s powerless to stop his eyes squeezing shut when he feels your fingers curl around his clothed cock, mustering every ounce of strength he has left not to cum in his pants there and then, because he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anything get in the way of giving you the pleasure you deserve.

“Come on Si, look at me.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he finally opens his eyes again, instantly zeroing in on your fingers as they begin to unfasten his pants, before flicking back up to meet your gaze, “Is this okay?”, your voice tentative.

“More than okay, Jesus,” Simon wastes little time after that, hands sliding under your shirt and shifting further up your torso, muscles freezing when his hand contacts nothing but bare skin, grazing the flesh of your breasts.

“No bra? Lucky me.” You laugh, arching your back further into his touch.

“More like lucky me, those things are basically torture devices, Simon, I’d like to see you try and work with metal wire and straps digging into your boobs and back,” He grins, pinching one of your nipples between two of his calloused fingers and revelling in the way your smirk twists into a moan, hips twitching against the rough material of his cargo pants.

“I think it’s about time you took these off,” He mutters, one hand dropping to thumb under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about how pretty you’d look getting yourself off on my lap.” Apparently, Simon doesn’t need to say anymore, watching with intense eyes as you pull away from his grip, and begin undressing. Your top joins his mask on the floor, soon followed by your pants and underwear until you’re stood in all your naked glory, mere inches away from him. Simon must be the luckiest son of a bitch on this entire fucking planet.

He takes advantage of your absence by lifting his hips, cocking an eyebrow at you as he gestures towards his trousers, “Give an injured soldier a hand, would you doll?” Truthfully, Simon knows he would have no issues removing them himself, but why would he do that when he can have this instead? When he can have your body pressed in between his thighs, your deft hands undoing his buttons and sliding the material of his military pants slowly over his wrapped-up leg, when he can watch your eyes drink in every inch of new skin revealed with barely contained desire. No, he would much rather have this, especially when your dainty hands peel away his boxers, leaving him only in his top and vest plate.

“Simon…” You whine, your lips so perfectly pouted, a cute little furrow between your brows as you pull and tug at various parts of his vest, “help me take this shit off. It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” He hums, schools his face to show careful contemplation, reaching up a hand to rest on your bare upper thigh.

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?”

“Please, sir.”

Well fuck. That awakened something within him.

With military precision, he unsecured the armoured vest from his body, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head, joining the now large pile of clothes left scattered across the floor of your tent. For a brief second, Simon feels so incredibly vulnerable under your intense gaze, wondering if maybe this is how people feel when he fixes his stare upon them, bare and defenceless. But then you lower yourself back into his lap, settling across both his legs with such gentle care, wrapping both your arms around the back of his head and pinning him with a look he thinks most likely reflects his own.

“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” It’s almost too much, the sincerity in your voice mixed with the way the words were uttered so softly into the air, as though they were a secret only to be shared between the two of you.

“I’m nothing compared to you.” You shake your head, smiling, leaning forward until your nose brushes his.

“Just take the compliment, Lieutenant.” He tries his best not to shiver as he feels your hand trace down his spine, instead shifts his focus onto how close your lips are to his, or the quiet noise you make in the back of your throat as his hands come to grip the meat of your thighs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Something in the air changes, as though the collective patience between the two of you could stretch no further, so taut it had no choice but to snap. His lips crash into yours, desperation surging through Simon’s veins like wildfire. Fuck, what are you doing to him?

“Can I touch you?” he mumbles against your lips, large hands aching from where they rest, yearning the feeling of your wet heat against his fingertips.

“God, yes, please.”

With newfound strength, he lifts you from his lap and twists you until your back is flush to his chest, uncaring of the twinge of pain he feels from his leg as he settles you fully on his lap. Now, Simon has full access to every inch of your perfect body, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as he litters the skin with open mouthed kisses, humming contentedly at the way you arch into his hands as he cups your breasts with both hands, fingers toying with your nipples until they’re perked and firm under his touch.

“No teasing, please,” Your pleading breaks him from a momentary stupor, bringing his head up to watch as you place one of your hands over his, guiding it further down, sweeping over your sternum, past your belly button, until his palm rests over your cunt, “I need you here, Simon.”

Fucking hell.

He couldn't find the words, couldn’t articulate them even if he had any. So, instead of speaking, he presses his hand over the curve of your cunt, groans when he feels just how hot and wet you are, all for him.

“Mine.” He repeats your words from earlier into the shell of your ear, a smirk stretching onto his lips at the full body shiver you give in response, growing near predatory when he feels your pussy twitch under his hand. God, how the fuck are you so wet? His fingers glide over your folds with ease, teasing your clit on every upwards swipe of his fingers, and when he finally dips his index finger into your cunt, he’s rewarded with the sweetest symphony. Breathy whines and whispered pleas of “more”, “deeper, Simon, please”, every request he happily indulges, now curling two fingers against your velvet walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you keening against his body. It takes a shift of his palm, the angle changing just enough to have you choking on a gasp, his other hand remains fixed to your breasts, pushing your chest down until you’re pinned against his body.

“Atta girl, feels good huh?” He slips a third digit in, cursing under his breath as he feels your pussy clamp down, twitching helplessly around his fingers as they continue to stroke relentlessly at your g-spot, “Gonna need you to cum at least once on my fingers before I give you anything else, baby.” He dares to steal a glance at your face, and is met with closed eyes, your mouth agape, and head thrown back onto his shoulder, you’re nothing short of a masterpiece. Your hands desperately grip onto his arms, nails digging sweet red crescents into Simon’s inked skin, as though the hold you have on him is the only thing keeping you grounded, and he feels positively fucking drunk on it.

You’re close, that much he can tell, and as much as he could absolutely keep you like this on his lap for another good few hours, he takes pity on your furrowed eyebrows and soft whimpers, removing his hand from your chest and placing his thumb into your open mouth. He doesn’t even need to instruct you as you close your lips around his digit and suck, your tongue eagerly lapping at the rough pad of his finger. He doesn’t have the strength to leave it there for much longer, overly aware of the way his cock desperately twitches from where it’s trapped between your bodies, instead focusing on the way you react the second his spit slicked thumb begins to rub tight circles around your clit.

“Si-, fuck, Simon ‘m close, so close, wanna cum,” There was never any other option for him than to watch you fall apart on his lap, but if he somehow needed further encouragement, “Please Sir, please make me cum.” It would be entirely impossible for him to stop the moan your words drag from his throat, to think of anything other than giving you your release. It’s obvious when your orgasm hits, having to stop toying with your now engorged clit to instead pin your hips down, worried there was a chance you might fall to the side if he didn’t keep you grounded.

“Good girl, such a good fucking girl, made such a mess of my fingers baby,” Simon hums against the side of your head, slowing his ministrations until he’s lazily fingering your still spasming pussy, drawing out the sweet sounds of post-orgasm sensitivity from your spit-shining lips. He waits until you finally regain some form of lucidity, waits until your neck straightens, no longer lolled against his collarbone to finally withdraw his fingers, soothing your whines at his absence with kisses to your jaw. But he makes sure your eyes are locked with his when he brings his fingers to his own lips, ensures you’re watching with nothing less than rapt attention as he cleans every drop of your arousal from his skin.

“Taste fuckin’ divine, princess.” Your head tips forward into your hands with a groan, and Simon couldn’t hide his pleased grin even if he tried.

“You’re not allowed to be this hot,” Your words muffled into your palm, the Ghost’s heart rate spiking when you looked at him shyly through your fingers, affection surging through his bloodstream like a shot of pure adrenaline. “Especially when I can feel your cock pressed against my ass.” As if he needed the reminder, as if that singular thought hasn’t been plaguing him for the past 10 minutes.

“And what exactly are you going to do about that, darling?”

His words were meant to make you shy, were said to watch those sweet eyes of yours widen. Except, Simon realises, he must have awoken something within you, something bold, something utterly fucking debauched, because instead of shying away, you lock your eyes with his, rising to the challenge he set. You stand up, turn yourself around, climb back onto his lap and sink down onto his cock in one fluid motion.

“Fucking-, shit, what the fuck,”

“I think that works for both of us, right, Simon?” You need to stop, or you at least need to give him some time to adjust to whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now. He can tell you’re far from unaffected, however. The slight quiver to your voice, and the way the slick walls of your pussy clench greedily around him show at least that much. And yet, you’re pinning him with a fierce gaze, your fingers forming an iron grip on loose brown hair at the base of his skull, using him as leverage to grind your hips in circular motions. “Let me take care of you, handsome.” His response cut off by a groan as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock, his eyes frantically flicking from where your cunt swallows every inch of his shaft, back up to your heavy-lidded gaze, locked onto his as you effortlessly ride his cock.

So instead of trying to take the lead, to lift his hips to meet yours, for the first time ever, Simon Riley does as he’s told. He allows you to control the pace, lets you direct his hands to your waist, but doesn’t use it as a point of control. Instead he caresses your skin with rough fingers. He lets you take care of him. And God, does it feel good.

He lets his head fall back, lets his eyes slip closed, and allows himself to just exist in this moment with you. A luxury he hasn’t been able to afford for far too long. Instead, he focuses on the sounds dissipating into the air around your joined bodies, the soft pants and moans that spill from both his mouth and yours, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin combined with the slick noise of his cock fucking into your heat, and if he focuses hard enough, he swears he can hear the rapid beating of your heart where your chest is pressed flush to his.

“C’mon Simon, baby, look at me.” It takes an embarrassing amount of energy for Simon to lift his neck up, refocusing his gaze onto you, “You’re doing so well, letting me look after you like this.” And fuck, he doesn’t want to cry, can’t remember the last time he allowed himself the comfort of crying, but he feels so unequivocally safe around you. Still, the time for tears will come later, right now, Simon wants nothing more than to feel you lose yourself on his cock. He secures his hands on your ass, and stands, ignoring your surprised cries and worried scolding, and walks as best he can towards the mattress near your desk. He doesn’t want to admit that lowering you both down onto the cheap material nearly left him breathless, and he definitely won’t admit that you were right, he didn’t have the strength to do that. But now that he has you lying on top of him, cock still buried deep inside of you, he knows the pain was more than worth it. Because in this position, he can ground his feet into the mattress and focus on fucking you like you deserve.

He ignores the sting of pain in his thigh, no doubt ruining some of the stitching you had done earlier, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. Not when you’re mewling into his chest, nails scratching long, thin pink lines down the expanse of his chest as he fucks his hips ruthlessly up to meet yours. He knows he won’t last much longer, you feel too fucking good, and he has no strength to hold back, praying that you’re as close as he is as he snakes one hand down to toy with your clit once again. Relief washing over him when he feels your cunt clench like a vice around his length, allows himself one, two more thrusts of his hips before he finally reaches his peak, cock twitching like a heartbeat from where it’s buried within you, not moving until the last weak spurts of cum finish painting your cervix white.

“Fucking hell,” with his energy long since depleted, his body slumps into the mattress below, dragging you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around your form.

“That good, huh?” You grin up at him, eyes glinting in the low light. You look positively stunning.

“You know it, sweetheart,” Simon pauses, looks down at where you’re still sprawled against his chest, and silently thanks the motherfucker who decided to shoot him in the first place, he’s not sure if he would have ever gathered the strength to have you like this, in the way he always craved. “C’mere, I want cuddles.” He grunts, choosing to ignore the surprised laugh you give in response, says nothing at your incessant teasing and light threats to tell Soap that “oh my god, Ghost likes cuddles”.

He does none of that, instead, he holds you close, stares up at the ceiling as you bury your face into his neck, whispering sweet confessions into his skin, words he soaks up and saves for a rainy day. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has never been a man to care about his own health, even now he still sees that damn hourglass, unsure of how much sand remains. But now he has a reason to change that.

Now, he has you.

#☁︎⋅writing #simon riley #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw22 #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #ghost x reader #ghost x you #dear lord #this derailed so quick #i wanted soft ghost #i got soft ghost plus nearly 2k of soft ghost smut #i ruined myself #anyway enjoy SLDFS