Dearxjasmine - Dear Jasmine

Who could ever leave me, darling?

SImon "Ghost" RIley x Johnny "Soap" McTavish x Reader Warnings: guilt, kinda cheating but not really, usual Simon fucked up thoughts, pining, a bit of religious imaginery. Summary: Men only feel good when they're drowning in guilt.

Simon has his alarm set at four hundred sharp; not a minute less, not a minute more. Before the birds and the people, before schools and training camps and the Sun itself. Suspended in time, even if he can hear his watch tick every second.

Activities at base start at five hundred, almost exactly. The big, old speakers blare that horrible music that you can still hear recruits groan at, while the rest just sigh and sit up. Simon hates it, always had. It somehow reminded him of Manchester and dear old daddy, of screams and the door slamming and things breaking again and again. A few weeks into his career, he bit his way through the panic attack he had for breakfast. 

But it isn’t why he gets up before that time. It isn’t because he’s nuts either-although, he won’t deny that one.

The kitchens start at four hundred, just like him. He remembers, back when he still had some baby fat and less baggage to carry, the fights that would break out with the other recruits, just to see who would get the chance to help inside there for the week. 

The kitchen is an absolute nightmare. Everyone is always yelling, fighting, clawing at each other’s throats. He had to dodge quite a few knives when he was the lucky bastard, but he wouldn’t so much as flinch when a glass broke or some plates ended up crashing against a wall. Violence is banned all over base, and especially inside there. But in the unspoken rule book, violence isn’t the same as aggressiveness, Simon-and all armed forces- know that. 

He has never actually asked, but he’s pretty sure some of the staff remember him from when he was younger and wasn’t Ghost yet, just Sgt. Riley, or even before that. Definitely before that. 

They must remember him standing in a corner without getting in anybody's way, washing the dishes peacefully in the middle of a warzone. Get there early, leave late. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he's sure they noticed how skittish he was at first, the sight of a man bordering on two meters acting like a mouse must have stuck. 

Otherwise, he doesn’t understand why they indulge him with the cups of coffee he always asks for, when they’re barely firing up the stoves.

It’s nice, getting the first fresh cups instead of the coffee that tastes like dirt everyone else drinks. Warm, black more often than not. The head chef-if Simon can call him that- always shoves a few of the little packs of sugar inside his pants, not even sparing him a glance before he's already insulting someone's mother for screwing up Jesus knows what. A little piece of Heaven at the price of waking up an hour before.

It’s still not the reason, though. 

“Aye, L.t., that for me? Or for th’gorgeous thing back at barracks?”

The fucker always asks the same shit, with the same smug grin and the sleepiness he hasn’t managed to shake off despite having been awake, too, since four hundred sharp. 

Simon shoves one of the cups at Johnny and rolls his eyes, urging the scalding liquid to subdue the smile he doesn’t want to show. 

He never touches a single pack of sugar. He doubts anyone but you knows it, but he prefers both coffee and tea so sweet it even smells different. He spares himself bitterness when he can. Mornings are not the case. 

“Should just get the one for her, if you’ll be so fuckin’ annoying.”

Johnny tears open three packs and pours them all in one go inside his cup, leaving another three untouched inside his other pocket. You like sweet things too.

Johnny laughs, doesn’t dare say anything else. Both soak in the peace of being awake before anyone else, afraid of tearing apart the little pocket in time that both have made for themselves.  

Simon stands up with your cup and doesn’t look back when he feels a pair of blue eyes following his every step. 

-

Johnny looks at Simon like he saw him make the galaxy itself. Like, with his own eyes, he witnessed satellites and stars and the entire universe come from Simon's hands. It feels overwhelming to look at, somewhat asphyxiating. His eyes shine, deep blue with waves crashing against his pupils. He doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t do it consciously. Otherwise, he’d stop- or try to, at least. 

But Johnny always acts as if he's paying back. 

He gives Simon his brightest smiles, his best jokes, the best version of himself. He follows him around wherever they are, treasures every bit that Simon allows him to have of his person. You don’t think you have ever seen Johnny shine as bright as when he’s next to Simon. Were Johnny a different man and not the wicked fucking genius he is, you'd swear he does it blindly. 

It's not the case though. He genuinely thinks that Simon is one of the best things on Earth despite-or even with-his defects. 

Again, if it were any other person, or even any other context, you’d probably think he’s borderline pathetic. But the truth is, you’re not much better than him, and neither is Simon.

While Johnny looks at him like the galaxy is his own work, Simon looks at Johnny like he made it all for him. Even though most of the time when they’re together you can’t see his full face, his eyes shine so much it blinds you. It’s like he can’t look away, like Johnny is burning right in front of him with the energy of the Sun and Simon is trying to take in as much of it as he can. He’s not as harsh, not as closed off. The little creases by his eyes deepened in a hurry ever since he's had him in his life. If Johnny were the Sun, Simon would be a sunflower.

Neither of them seem to realize it though. Simon doesn’t realize he looks at Johnny like he looks at you, and Johnny looks at him like you do. Neither catch it, or if they do, they seem content to let things be as they are.

It's hard to be mad at something so intense, so… pure and selfless. What you see in their eyes resembles adoration more than anything else, lust rarely turning things red when most of the time it shines gold. When Simon told you for the first time that he’d die for Johnny, after he had a close call right in front of his eyes, you realized that there was just no way those feelings would go away. 

It was easy to make peace with. Easy to look at Simon walk lighter, easy to laugh at Johnny's jokes when he tries to make him laugh, easy to see their bodies gravitate towards each other. It even came easy, when Simon's nightmares startled you awake with Johnny's name slipping from his lips almost as often as yours.

Simon though, he sometimes looks like he’s playing a choosing game that doesn’t need to exist. Loving Johnny certainly isn’t hard, you think.

-

Johnny hates training the new recruits, which surprised Simon at first. 

He’s so bubbly and social that one would think he’s amazing with new people, which he technically is as long as he’s not the one that has to give them orders and tolerate the disrespect that hasn’t been beaten out of them. He doesn’t want to be the person to do it, afraid of seeing himself in one of their eyes. He can barely look at himself in the mirror some days.

Simon is burning with shame when he asks you to help with the new recruits just to spare Johnny. He expects you to glare at him and tell him to go fuck himself, because he thinks he deserves it, but you just smile and nod. He doesn’t tell you that it’s for Johnny’s benefit, wouldn’t ever dare throw something like that in your face, but you still smile at him in a way that twists his guts up and down. He doesn’t think about what else you might know. 

“Are they brand new, or SAS new?”

Simon grins at you without meaning to. He’s always pleased when you ask things out of nowhere that most people wouldn’t bother to think about. “Who Dares Wins, love.”

You roll your eyes at him, but he can see the smile that threatens to split your face. You haven’t helped him with recruits since the marines visited the headquarters a few months ago, and it hadn’t been pretty. Marines always tend to think they’re better than anyone, but Simon doesn’t think he has the right to criticize.

Standing next to you feels like coming home from walking through snow. Simon used to think that there was no coming back from dying along with Roach, and then dying again with his family. He was no better than a corpse, no better than a man buried deep underground. 

You smile at him, and he’d believe you dug him out of his grave with your bare hands.

"You can handle it, love?"

You shrug. "I can handle you just fine."

He laughs as he watches you walk away, smug grin decorating your pretty face.

-

Johnny doesn’t feel guilty, exactly.

Guilt comes when you do something wrong, when your actions equal damage in one way or another. He knows guilt because he's a common visitor at night, when the screams of innocent people keep him awake for hours on end and nothing he does quiets them down. But how could he feel guilty for the way he feels when he looks at Simon, when it so often feels like the only thing keeping him alive?

But he does think that it’s unfair to you. It’s not like he plans acting on it, he never would and he’s made his peace with that. But he sees the way Simon worships the ground you walk on, and chokes up just thinking about taking it away from you. So he won’t, simply because you don’t deserve that kind of thing and he’s not that kind of man. 

(Or maybe, maybe he is. Maybe he lays awake at night thinking about pale skin and blond hair, about scarred hands and a deep voice saying stupid jokes to pass the time. Maybe he is, but he won’t be just this once. Just to spare you the pain.)

“What’s the plan for today, Johnny boy?”

He laughs. Coming from any other person, the nickname would earn at least an insult to them and their mother. Coming from you? It earns you a hug.

“Don’t know yet, bonnie. Weapons, maybe.”

(Do you know?)

“Sounds like fun.”

He’s not sure if you’re being sarcastic or not. You have that kind of bite, not quite like Simon but more like Price. Simon does it to hurt, to keep people away. You though, it’s more a reflex than anything else. He likes it.

“At least it’s not recruits.”

You give him a soft, understanding smile that he doesn’t fully process before you walk away.

-

Simon does feel guilty.

Despite everything, he thinks you’re the best thing that has ever happened to him. He’s not a man of faith, but it's easy to believe when he's looking at your eyes. Whenever you’re near, it’s like he got a pair of lungs brand new, and he’s breathing properly for the first time. You’re not a magic pill that fixes everything, but carrying a cross would be a daily simple task if you were the one giving him sips of water. 

Feeling something so close to love for someone that isn’t you resembles treason too much for him. 

It's wasted on him, he knows. Wasted when you beam at him, when you touch his face and kiss his nose, when you hug him and grin and he feels so full . You're wasted on him, and he's known that from the moment you caught his eye, standing next to the captain. It's just gotten worse since Johnny got in the picture. 

But he’s selfish. He’s never been shy about that, doesn’t deny it or try to get better. He’s selfish, his hands have scars that show just how hard he holds on. 

He can recognize it’s a matter of choosing, though.

He dated a girl, for a short while. He was seventeen, already torn up inside and bruised. She was sweet, kind. She'd giggle at his dark humour and grab a wet cloth to clean up his split lip, the bloody knuckles. Always shrug it off when she asked, always smiling when she kept quiet and accepted it.

‘You're so calm’ , she'd say, pressed against his side. ‘So peaceful .’

She was also naive. 

He was thankful about it, at first. He'd pray she didn’t realize how wrong she was, how he wasn't anything but chaos. 

Being loved gently was nice. He liked her smile and her touch, how soft spoken she got after a certain hour, how her eyes reflected things he wasn’t sure were real. 

They were both confused, he thinks. She believed him peaceful and he lied to himself about it being a good thing.

But he's never been something remotely close to peace, doesn’t know what it is. Born screaming, grown up fighting, earning a living by killing. 

She loved a part of him that didn’t exist, he would accept later. The rage brewing inside of him kept him quiet because otherwise he'd fear spitting venom. She didn’t see him, and he didn’t love her. 

He thinks often about the artificial lungs from before, the metal bins that didn’t let people have an actual life. He thinks about oxygen tanks and insulin and Ozampic and Epi Pens, and realizes that he won’t ever be able to live without you now that he has a diagnosis. He can’t .

But Johnny? Johnny might just be the thing that throws him into anaphylactic shock. 

–

“What’s your favorite color, Johnny boy?”

He hums, thinking about it for a second. It used to be green before the army, turned into purple when his sister dyed her hair that color when Johnny was fifteen and the youngest had five. She chopped it a few months later and Johnny isn’t a fan of it now. 

“Maybe yellow?”

You snort. “Maybe? So you don’t know your favorite color?” You take a deep breath. “Hey, pick up the pace! This isn’t fuckin’ summer camp!”

Johnny can’t really help it: he laughs. He clutches at his belly, squeezes his eyes shut and laughs his ass off at the horrified looks of the recruits before they start running for their lives. You don’t stop frowning until you turn your gaze back to him and his cackles turn into soft giggles.

“I like it in the sky. Fuckin’ hate mustard yellow, though.”

You nod like he’s spitting the truth about the universe. It may as well be, sitting in the middle of the back camp with a cup of coffee between your hands. The sunrise suits you, he notices. It makes him feel warm inside.

“What’s yours, bonnie?”

You tilt your head. “All of them.”

He doesn’t have it in him to make jokes. It chokes him up, the way your eyes look at him full of trust and something softer he doesn’t deserve. 

“Why should I choose, Johnny? What purpose does it serve? I can see them all, have them all.”

He shakes his head, pulling you close until you rest your head against his and the slight shake of your hands dissipates.

“Jus’ admit ya dinnae what t’ say, bonnie.”

He wishes everything was as simple as not choosing.  

-

“Do you know if Johnny has a girl?”

Simon sits straighter without meaning to.

“I-I don’t- I'm not sure, no?” 

He'd like to think he'd know if he did. God, he fucking hopes so, otherwise his brain might end up splattered inside the-

“I figured. Can’t understand why, he's fucking gorgeous.”

Johnny's eyes are his favorite shade of blue. 

“He's fucking annoying, is what he is.”

He doubts his lack of denial flies over your head. Even objectively, no one could deny Johnny's a fucking dream come true. The big blue eyes and the charming smile make a killer blow, but Simon has watched him sleep and nothing else quite compares. 

“It just adds to his charm, Si.”

He doesn’t like the teasing edge to your words. He's not your friend , you're not supposed to be teasing him about someone else. It makes him squirm on his chair, avoiding your eyes from the other side of the table. 

“To each their own, love.”

It startles a laugh out of you, bordering on cynical. Simon doesn’t understand what the fuck is happening. 

-

“I could very well break your damn arm if I wanted to, McTavish.”

Threats stopped working a long, long time ago, just a few seconds after meeting each other. Johnny has been able to see through him from the get go. 

“And I couldn't?” Simon tilts his head, conceding the point. “But ya wouldn't hurt me.”

God, Simon sure fucking hopes so.

“You're a valuable asset to my team, of course I wouldn't.”

(I can’t live without you. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can't .)

Johnny's hand is pressed to his chest, and Simon forgets for a few seconds that there are other men standing inside the same room, thinking he doesn’t notice them staring as soon as he got inside.

“Ya love me, jackass.”

Simon gulps. “I'd love for you to shut up .”

Johnny pushes him up and to the side. Simon will sustain for the rest of his life that he let him, that he put his guard down on purpose. It's easier than admitting he got lost in complicated living, that things got too real there, that a few words threw him off his balance.

He grabs Johnny's forearm and pulls , sending him tumbling towards the mat with a sneer. He doesn’t waste a second, turning back around and kicking at Simon's feet. He barely dodges it when Johnny manages to grab his shirt to pull him down with him again, and he loses against gravity. 

His arms are big and hard, Simon knows. Sometimes he can see the creases of muscle on his back, when laundry has fallen behind and Johnny has to wear clothes from his rookie days. A few pounds lighter, in every way possible. 

“Y'gonna hurt me, L.t.?”

Simon is on top of him, hot and huge and shaking like a fucking leaf. He can feel the dampness seeping from Johnny's clothes to his, memorizing how he feels pressed against him. 

Simon can’t breathe. 

“I can't.”

And Simon sees it reflected in Johnny's eyes. Something shatters, peeling away the film that separated their skin. He feels the sweat and the pounding inside Johnny's chest, can hear his own drown any noise outside, the tension snapping in the middle of a spar, and Simon doesn’t understand where he went wrong. 

You're looking at them from the door. 

Thong (Obey Me!)

━━━━━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━

You decided on a scandalous thong for the day and decided to have some fun by teasing your ♡favorite♡ demon. At RAD. How does he react?

minors/ageless/blank blogs dni or get blocked :c

»Characters: Demon Bros + Dia + Barb

»Tags: ⚠️🔞NSFW , Possessive, Flashing, Some Humor, Smutty-ish, GN Reader/MC

»Notes: Few days late but I hope everyone had a good Valentines day! You are all loved ♡♡♡

Lucifer:

You visited him in his office and "accidentally" knocked a few papers off his desk. You bent down to pick them up.

His eyes widened briefly

Wondered if you did that on purpose

"Luuucifer? Are you okay?" You smiled slyly

So it was. This human is something else.

He leaned in close and whispered in your ear

"Careful now. If I find out anyone other than me saw what I saw, there will be punishment in store for you."

He smirked and rubbed your ass for a brief moment before giving a gentle smack sending you onto your next class

He saw the flustered look on your face and was quite content

Lucifer: 1 You: 0

He invited you into his study later that night though

Mammon:

You met up with Mammon at your locker. You decided to reach down in your locker to get something.

"H-HEY!"

Took off his uniform jacket and tried to cover you up

He was a blushing red mess

"Whaddya think youre doin' wearin' that! Here of all places! Anywhere even! No! I won't allow it!"

Was conflicted [Mammon cannot compute]

He was so turned on but upset thinking about if anyone else saw your thong!

He was so bothered he made you miss class

You two spent it in a secret cozy closet where he kept kissing/biting you all over while whispering "mine!"

Levi:

Oh poor unsuspecting Levi. You decided to tie your shoe in front of him.

Let out a small yelp

Immediate nosebleed

Wasn't sure if he should say something ...or just keep staring intensely

Okay he kept staring

Let out a small groan when you adjusted your thong and winked at him

Seriously!? Teasing him at school!? He should've stuck to online classes!

Skipped your shared class to go jerk off in the restroom

Satan:

You invited him after school to the library to study. While looking for books, you went for all the ones on the bottom shelves.

Could not stop staring while you browsed

Wanted to tell you your thong was showing but decided against it...since no one else was around he was going to enjoy it

He is a demon after all

Studying was hard after that

He found himself daydreaming

Was a little embarrassed he couldn't focus

"Who knew such a small piece of fabric could affect you?" You teased him

Ah so you knew...

Grabbed your hand and led you to an empty classroom for some fun

Asmo:

You sat in the back corner of class with Asmo. You "accidentally" dropped your pencil and bent to get it.

He gasped

Now that is sexy

He was absolutely mesmerized

He passed you a note complimenting your choice of underwear that day

Kept heavily flirting all of class

He might have convinced you to skip the rest of your classes for the day for other activities

Beel:

You invited Beel to the snack machine (RIP your wallet) and bent down to get his snacks.

Really caught off guard by your thong

Thought it was sexy as fuck but shook his head to clear his mind

Quickly told you it was showing

The growl he made wasn't his stomach but his throat when you said "Oh maybe it was meant specifically for you?"

He jerked off later that night to the thought of you doing other things exclusively for him

Belphie:

You were excited to see how this bad boy would react. You walked up to him and smacked his textbook on the ground, then picked it up in a dramatic fashion.

Well that was obviously intentional

But no complaints here...niiice

He snapped one of the strings/waistband

"Okay you got my attention. It looks good on you. It'd look better on the floor though."

Yeah he wasn't going to hold back his thoughts

"How about we visit the attic later? Just me and you?"

Diavolo:

So calm, so collected. But only you knew what a naughty demon he was. You went in straight for the kill and briefly flashed him in his office before running away.

Ohnononono

-Sighs- That human is completely dangerous.

SOS BARBATOS

Shut down the school while he offered a reward to anyone with your whereabouts

It didn't take long

Collected you in his demon form and carried you to his office

"You know what you do to me. Now look what you've done little one."

Barbatos had to cast a silencing spell and canceled the rest of his meetings that day.

I love an impatient feral diavolo,  sigh

Barbatos:

You guys had a little thing going on, but could you actually affect *the* butler? You were curious enough to try. You saw him heading your way and decided to tie your shoe.

Briefly surprised

Well...that's tantalizing

He cleared his throat and politely told you of your fashion faux pas

He took note of your slight disappointment

Oh so it was meant for him...this will be fun

He leaned down and whispered in your ear, tucking something into your hand

"Maybe nothing is better."

You peered in your hand and it was your thong!

He chuckled at your bright red face as you ran towards the restroom

He sent you a text: "I surely hope my visit tonight will be welcomed."

I like to think we won ?? 😩

⬦You might also like: Submissive & Breedable︱Virginity︱Flirting With Others

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟBADBOY!AONE  ･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧ Warnings: nsfw, mentions of violence, degradation, minors dni!

✧ notes: f!reader, v. short writing, no proofreader so sorry for any errors! this is my first writing ( /)w(\✿)

concept: aone is a sweetheart by all accounts but has a rebellious streak once he enters university. you’re his longest friend and crush, luckily you both got into the same school! or is it—

aone felt pent up for years, angry with how the world treated him like a walking danger sign. that acceptance letter to a distant university in tokyo changed everything, “if that’s how they see me, that’s what i’ll be”  gentle!aone we’ll miss you!

✶ badboy!aone transition is subtle at first. black nail polish? painted. hair? slightly longer with an undercut. wardrobe change? all black with chains and obscene graphic tees. finally, came the crop tops, baggy jeans, and fishnets now being his everyday wear. (don’t worry he’ll grow into his leather and biking phase soon)..

✶ badboy!aone starts wearing knuckle rings as an accessory after seeing it in an action movie. harmless enough until he gets in a fist fight with ignorant boys harassing you. now he won’t leave home without em.

✶ badboy!aone pierced as many things as he could in a two-month span. within reason since his siblings were worried. this included a septum, eyebrow, cartilage, and nipples.

✶ badboy!aone tones up even more than before, protein and weights become an everyday routine. he’s rather obsessed with bulking up to defend his crush.

✶ badboy!aone is a short fuse, he won’t tolerate men ogling you or standing too close. will tower over the perpetrators, occasionally jacking them up until you talk him off the ledge. high key scary dog privileges, very intentional.

✶ badboy!aone is more vocal than you’d ever seen in the 20 years you’ve been friends. he’s quick to call out unfairness or dick behavior from his boys. not for heroic reasons, he’s just annoyed at the stupidity it breeds.

.・゜゜・ nsfw ・゜゜・．

speaking of breeds.. ✶ badboy!aone is addicted to breeding. once you give him the go ahead, he will stuff you to the brim with his seed. daring you to spill even a drop, lest he fill you up until it oozes while he’s bottoming out.

✶ badboy!aone loves exhibitionism. the thrill of claiming your insides in the aisles of the not quite empty grocery store and you clenching at the anxiety of getting caught fueling his adrenaline. “s’too tight pretty girl, loosen up will ya..”

did i mention he’s huge

✶ badboy!aone loves to see you completely fucked out. a drooling, babbling, cum filled mess since you’re the prettiest with teary hazy eyes and mouth agape. he will train himself to outlast you, even while pussy drunk and sloppily ramming you to make certain you never forget your place.  

✶ badboy!aone has no respect for your schedule. he’ll pound you 10 minutes before class and cum in your panties. challenging you to sit in class and marinate in his load, promising a reward if you’re a good girl for the next hour long lecture.

✶ badboy!aone is a degradation prince. he will constantly comment on how desperate you are for his cum to seep from that filthy hole.

“tch.. you must enjoy being a fuckin’ cock sleeve.. what else do i expect from a desperate little loser like you..”

should decorate this blog but i don’t know how to glam it up

Ooh, Hayato owns a Switch 😄 never noticed that before haha

Wonder what kind of games he plays (probably baseball games lol)

Stylish Niichan

TALK DIRTY TO ME

how konig, ghost, and price talk dirty in bed.

thirsts : open

—

konig is surprisingly vocal when he’s rutting into you, though it’s probably not in the way you think. most of his words come out in hushed whispers laced with obscenities. he seems to lose any sense of shame he usually has because he’s just too drunk on the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him.

“feels s’fucking good—“ he mindlessly babbles out.

his large palms are stretched out on both sides of you, fingers digging into the mattress, while he keeps you caged underneath him.

“such a greedy pussy,” he groans out with another roll of his hips. “keeps suckin’ me back in…”

you can feel his hot breath fanning your face while his darkened eyes are stuck — transfixed — on the creamy white ring that covers his cock. the sloppy sounds that fill the room seem to only grow louder with each thrust, as your arousal practically drips down his balls.

“just begging for me to fill ya up,” he hissed out, as he presses down on your stomach which makes you whimper in response. the noise somehow flips a switch in him and has könig fucking into you even harder.

“s’that what ya want? need me to fill ya up, fuck a baby into this pretty cunt?”

price just exudes dominance in all aspects even with his dirty talk, his words are more praising than anything else though. he’s always coaching you through things and telling you how good of a job you’re doing, he knows it gets you off and he also just can’t help but spoil you.

“mhmm, just like that, baby.” he mumbles out as he lazily guides your movements, helping you bounce yourself up and down on his cock.

there’s a smirk on his face that he can’t even be bothered to hide when he hears you whining at the praise. he thinks you’re adorable when you’re like this, so desperate for him yet so adamant on not asking for his help. you could be such a brat sometimes, he’d have to deal with that later.

“doing so well,” he says with a groan as he thrusts his hips up in time with your movements. “but you don’t think you’re gonna make me cum just from this, do you?”

it doesn’t take much effort for him to flip you over and have you at his mercy. your legs are now lifted over his shoulders while his dick is fucking you even deeper, the tip prodding against your sweet spot just right it has your toes curling.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” his movements are slow and controlled, he knows you’re close — he can feel it — but he’s not going to reward you unless you use yours words.

“come on, princess. all you have to do is beg and i’ll have you screaming for me…”

everything ghost says is absolutely filthy, he is all about the little details. he doesn’t actually notice what he’s saying in the heat of the moment, all he knows is that his words have your cheeks flushing to a pretty shade of red, and he loves it.

“you’re such a fuckin’ slut for me even your pussy knows it.” he practically growls. “look at this sloppy mess you’re making.”

he ruts the tip of his cock against your slit, coating your folds with his pre-cum. “jus’ gonna slip in with how wet you are..”

your arm is slung over your face as a way for you to hide your embarrassment, you know he’s right, there’s no way you could deny it. something about the way he talks to you when he’s pent up like this has your pussy throbbing.

“fuck, need to be balls deep inside this cunt.” he breathes, as he eases his way into you, the fat head of his cock slowly splitting you open as he makes you take in more and more of him.

the veins on his length rub your slick walls deliciously and it’s not surprising that you’re already twitching and creaming all over him as soon as he bottoms out.

“that’s it, there’s my slutty girl.” his raspy laugh fills the silence. “stop using that pretty head, all you need to do is cum for me.”

VISUAL SIBLINGS 💗

ah hi! I love your writing so much so I’m so excited requests are open. Could I request a short fic (if possible) of fem!reader x alucard of them both pining for each other for a long time & maybe one day they just snap b/c it’s too much & make out? (Or… more than that if u want.)

A classic! This is the first ask since I opened requests and here’s a scenario that fell down the hill. It then snowballed turning into a fic that is excruciatingly in Alternate Universe territory *guilty laughter* hope you like some of this, anon.

To be free

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x fem!reader

Rating: T

Count: 1.6k

Tags & Warnings: Mutual pining, Angst, It just happened, Adrian has 0 idea what to do with this, Here's some unsavory Alucard traits, He means well but ugh, Context of battle, Mention of death, alternate universe, dark fantasy AU, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved emotional tension, Second Person POV, Alucard POV, more tags coming

Summary:

The murder of Lisa never happened. Instead, sometime in the future there is strife in the vampire world with an alliance of rebelling war chiefs over territory and Dracula is forced to respond. Reader character is an apprentice learning the doctor trade under Lisa, and a friend of her son.

Will post part II soon but wanted to share this for now

All characters depicted are 18+

I.

Wallachia, 1485

“Faster!” comes the sudden strike, the wooden staff colliding with your shoulder.

“That hurt!” you hiss, ducking your head as a flash of gold gains on you.

“Well for god’s sake, move your feet!” Adrian snaps, falling upon you with frightful ease.

You retreat, movements slower, your legs fumbling. “You... you’re awful...” you pant, “This is too much, even for an average recruit!” you barely parry before being flung aside by another vicious strike.

You gasp as he’s upon you again, leaving you struggling to regain your balance. “I do not train you to be average,” Adrian throws in the tone he only ever uses with the other soldiers. “I train you to stay alive,” he kicks your legs from under you before you can preempt him.

You swear, cry out and grab at his shoulder; a surprised son of Dracula crumbles together with you in a heap to the ground.

Your faces come to be so close you can see the hint of swirling lights in his eyes. “That was unfair,” you whisper, breathless.

“Who ever said war is fair? Do you think the enemy will care for your codes of honor?” Adrian asks, unaffected by the effort—he’s not even flushed—his forearms propped on either side of your head. “Now pay attention and stop wasting my time, else you find someone else to teach you.”

He’s mainly like this, nowadays. Morose, at times even scowling, having little to no patience. His words scald often, and this change came and stayed with him for a while now. When Adrian tries to rise, however, your thighs turn into a vice around him; a sudden shift of unexpected strength, and then you’re sitting atop him, pressing him into the earth.

You grin, holding him down, finding some familiarity in it. You’d slept beneath cold skies back to back, huddled against each other for warmth before; you knew him in a physical way, one demanded of practicality. When you lean closer to his face, you see ice and even distaste, and stupid words gurgle in your throat. “I do pay attention, more than you think,” you say with a hint of satisfaction, which soon fades at the look he’s giving you.

“Rise to your feet, please.”

“I listen. I hear your words, harsh when once they’d been kind. I feel this wall you’re raising higher and I don’t understand why. I’m not your enemy. I’m...” your voice fails when his eyes narrow. “I’m your friend. Come back.” You watch his face, the shape of the mouth you know, down to every detail.

“I am right here, to my dismay. Now rise, don’t make me ask again.” But he does not do so himself, possibly giving you the choice of dignity.

“Tell me why you do it. Why you’re so dismissive, why you seem to make yourself scarce whenever we’re in the same room for long.” Why he acts like this task is something he loathes, even though he was the one who offered to include you in his daily routine when you’d made your wish to train known. You sound wanton in your demand now, you know, but he near always pushes you to the end of your tether lately. Today had been another rushed, supremely uncomfortable sword fighting lesson besides. Why are you like this? The words bite into your tongue, but you dare not ask them, afraid of what they might bring; you don’t want to fight him, not now.

Before, when Adrian welcomed you to stay for the friendship you had, he was open in manner and kind; but lately there is no reprieve, and you sense the tension in him as though it were a living thing. It turns him into a merciless trainer and hard to please—it also makes him ten times more infuriating to be around.

Adrian gazes up at you, inert, but the tension in you seems to bleed into his own body. “I do it for you,” he answers late, his voice gentler like a bleak reminder of before. “I do all of it for you.”

“I should be grateful, then?” you mutter into his shuttering stare. “For this?”

A softness to his eyes, a clench to his jaw; you feel compelled to do something you have not the courage to.

“Move.”

Defeated, you nod and rise, quietly regaining yourself as Adrian comes to his feet. You retrieve your staff, back turned to him. “I think I’ve had enough for today.”

You start when your weapon is roughly pried from your hand. “As you wish,” Adrian says. The hardness in his voice makes you flinch, like talons leaving raw and festering places in their wake.

As you turn, he’s already leaving the practice yard with rushed steps. You fall limply against a tree trunk, covering your face with your filthy gloved hands, wanting more than anything to be free of this.

Having reached the armory, you wipe your sweaty brow with your hand, then attempt fluid movement. The leather practice armor you’re using until a better suited one is ready hinders your motions. You blow a stray wisp of hair out of your face, yet panting from exertion. It has to be done; it has to be done. 

You attempt to undo the fastenings and utterly fail, resenting having to train in full battle gear, but one tireless tutor insists this is the way. With a huff and a pull, your attempts cease. 

A heavy hand is on your shoulder; heavier than it used to be. It urges you to turn.

“You slouch,” come the soft words. Deft fingers aid you out of the constraint posed by the armor and you go still, throwing the speaker a brief, scathing look he cannot see, focused as he is on his task. 

“I try,” you say.

“I need more focus, mere blinks of moments matter here,” Adrian says without looking at you.

Before you reply, he finishes and turns away, arms raised and hands pulling at the tie in his hair.

His aloofness is even more biting than usual; has something happened? You’ll need to speak to him, because you can't help but feel somehow... you can't define it exactly. A heaviness, a weariness over your heart as it beats. You can't but feel he's being unfair.

This familiarity in your concern, though natural now, has taken long to develop. The two of you crossed paths once, had bled to stay alive and became close along the way through a string of unbelievable though unavoidable events. You still laugh at the absurdity of it sometimes: meeting and befriending the son of Vlad Dracula Tepes, meeting Lisa his mother and becoming her aid after Adrian offered for you to stay until you found your bearings. You, finding Dracula with a family of all things.

Having nowhere else to go, you stayed, of course you stayed. This was a household, the semblance of a strong-knit family, or at least—for you—the proximity to one. And if you were being bluntly honest with yourself, you starved for this: a purpose, a goal. It led you to accept the schooling suggestions from Lisa Tepes. It had you deciding to train in arms so you could defend yourself if need be. And you, well… you were apprentice to his mother now, learning her trade, living here, eating and walking and seeing him—though thankfully (or painfully), less and less lately as the days pass.

You stare out the window, to the shadow lengthening across the trees and the horizon, over a scattered front where white smoke billows eerily into the air against the violently bruised sky of evening. Beneath it, two factions will inevitably clash. You shudder, chewing the inside of your cheek. “How stupid. I should learn to save lives, not take them,” you murmur, placing your gloves on a rack in the training hall. 

“Remember, these are vampires. And you may end this, it was your wish afterall,” Adrian looks over his shoulder at you.

“I know.” You turn from him, rummaging in your own things, hiding the flash of pain on your face. “But I have to learn.”

All is prepared, and you overheard the others speaking of it at the recent council. They would start at the following evefall to be stationed along camp lines across the valley. You turn your head left and right, roll your shoulders, grimacing at the stiffness in your upper body.

“Here,” Adrian says, approaching and presenting you with a vial containing a clear liquid.

“What is it?” you reach and take it from his hand. 

Adrian walks away and takes a seat at one of the long tables laden with pieces of armor and weaponry. He rolls the sleeves of his crinkled shirt up to his elbows and reaches for a whetstone, then his sword. His golden flecked stare turns on you, briefly. Cold light creeps through narrow glass windows, finding him. “A salve, did Mother not get to those yet? Use it on your muscles in the evening.”

You swallow. “No, not yet. When are you leaving?” 

He lowers his eyes as a metallic sound scrapes away the silence, and you watch him whet the sword placed horizontally in his lap. “Tomorrow.” Another wail of the stone, like glassy cries of pain.

Of course, you knew; merely wanted to hear him say it. You near as Adrian works, continuing to sharpen and wipe the blade with a cloth in turns. “Are you afraid? Are you well? I know you were reluctant to join this, I—” But it was he who said that in wisdom, we too know fear. It keeps one alive, it keeps one fighting.

“I'm well,” Adrian cuts in. The answer is impassive, his eyes averted from yours, set on the motion of his hand.

His stilted replies leave no room for doubt—the wall is up and you’re more than eager to get out of here. You sling the bag with belongings over one shoulder. “Good eve, Adrian,” you say. “Actually rest, you’ll need it.” And without lingering, you turn, leaving him behind with as much dignity as you should possess.

Part II

I’m litterally begging can you please write more badboy!some stuff? I don’t care what it is but preferably spicy. Sorry if you don’t take requests but I figured I’d shoot my shot and ask.

of course anon! sorry im still learning this community and how to use blogs, once i organize my page with more tags i’ll be sure to post some of my finished drafts 🌸