If I had a nickel for every time I got queerbaited by a red coded animated character voiced by Steven Yeun I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice
Ghost was trembling heavily, chest heaving. You held him against your chest, his head resting in the crook of your neck. He let out a soft whine.
You had rubber gloves on your hands. They were soaked with lube. You gently rubbed the tip of the sound over Ghost's slit. Poor thing, Ghost already looked all out of it.
Soap sat in a chair a few feet away, watching the show you were putting on for him.
You carefully pressed the tip of the sound into his slit, listening to his high-pitched squeal. Your free hand swept over Ghost's hair to soothe him. Ghost slumped against you, whimpering softly.
"He already looks so fucked out and ye've barely got any of the sound in 'im yet." Soap comments, watching Ghost twitch and whine.
You smirk at Soap, "He always gets like this when I sound him."
You press the sound deeper. Ghost whines, his hips twitching upward. You press a soft kiss to his forehead. You press the sound down to the hilt.
Ghost lets out a pathetic noise. His cock is twitching repeatedly, his tip nearly purple.
"Christ, look at his cock..." Soap groans, jerking his cock to Ghost's whines.
You slowly thrust the sound in and out of Ghost's cock. Ghost repeatedly whines and shivers, trembling in your hold.
"You want to cum, baby?" You ask Ghost, moving the sound at a steady pace. Ghost nods desperately, whining your name softly.
You kept the sound in as you jerked Ghost off. He whined desperately, begging you to take the sound out. "Please, please, please, I wanna cum, please..."
You just sighed, kissing Ghost's temple. You carefully removed the sound. Ghost whines in relief, panting heavily. His cock dribbles precum heavily.
You jerk Ghost off quickly and roughly. Ghost bucks up desperately into your hand, begging to be allowed to cum. You decide to let him cum. You rub his tip with one hand and work his shaft with the other.
Soap laughs at the fucked out expression on Ghost's face. Soap jerks himself off calmly, like he was just watching some porn video he found online.
Ghost bucks up into your hand, spilling his cum all over you. Fucking pathetic how quick he cums.
weights hitting racks. boots on concrete. someone’s arguing about form across the room. the space is loud but simon doesn’t take notice. he sits on the bench between sets, elbows on his knees, phone in his hand. he chews his lip and he reads his last message again. still on delivered. he locks it and places it face down. it’s only a moment before he checks it again.
across from him, kyle slows mid-rep. he watches as he finishes his set. “…alright,” kyle says, setting the weight down. “what’s goin’ on with you?”
simon doesn’t look up. “nothin’.”
kyle leans forward. “you’ve checked your phone about ten times in the last minute.”
“it buzzed.”
“it did not buzz ten times.”
simon glances up half annoyed. “mind your business.”
kyle grins. “oh, it is my business now.” he stands, stepping closer.
simon immediately angles the phone away.
kyle narrows his eyes. “what was that?”
“what was what?”
“you angled you phone away from me.”
“i did not.”
“you did!”
“did not.”
“i’ve got a witness.” gaz says pointing at johnny.
“ye did.”
“your acting like a jealous girlfriend.” simon locks his phone.
kyle reaches for the phone then.
simon catches his wrist mid-air. “don’t.”
kyle raises a brow. “you’re hidin’ something.”
before simon can respond, a hand snatches the phone clean out of his grip.
“oi-!”
johnny’s already halfway across the room, holding it up like a prize. “let’s see what we’ve got here then-”
simon’s on his feet instantly “mactavish-”
johnny dodges, grinning. “relax, mate, just a quick look-”
kyle’s laughing now. “hurry up soap”
johnny squints at the screen “password?”
“try six zeros.”
“give it back.”
“or what?”
simon steps forward.
johnny raises a brow. “bit defensive, aren’t we?”
simon lunges forward and before he can help himself soap lets out a squeal as he throws the phone at kyle.
⊹ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬—A normal day at the hospital with routine disasters gets interrupted when Robin makes her usual surprise visit, cancels your date, and then makes it up to you in the best way imaginable.
⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭— 2,5k
⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬— robin buckley x fem!nurse!reader, oral sex and fingering (r!receiving), robin cumming untouched, semi-public sex, dom-ish service top robin, hair pulling, uniform kink, possible malpractice but who cares, strong language, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated <3
The day at the hospital is going normally.
Well, “normally” for you. For anyone else, it would qualify as a year worth of trauma.
A dead body here, a guy rolling in with his intestines practically trying to escape his abdomen, an elderly woman who peed all over herself and required full clean-up, another patient who absolutely refused to take his meds until he had to be restrained and you got the honor of tying him down and explaining why he couldn’t throw a bedpan at the doctor’s head.
It’s exhausting.
But you’re used to it after years of working here.
You’re changing the sheets in a newly vacated room, humming quietly to yourself as you smooth down the corners, when — click.
The door opens. You turn, expecting maybe a janitor, or a visitor who got lost.
Instead, there she is.
Robin.
Like she always appears, when you least expect her, but exactly when you need her. Her hair is a little messy, cheeks pink from the winter air. She slips inside and locks the door fast, smoothing her shirt as if attempting to look professional, then immediately failing at it.
“Okay,” she declares dramatically, hands gesturing. “So I have good news, and I have bad news.”
You laugh. “What are you doing here?”
You pick up a vase of dead flowers from the nightstand and dump the shriveled remains into the trash.
Robin strolls closer, hips swinging, eyes bright. “I have to cancel our date tonight.”
You give her the flattest look known to humankind.
Because of course.
Of course she is.
Robin Buckley is the single worst person in the known universe at committing to plans. She always cancels for the most absurd reasons, “Steve really needs to talk about his emotional development”, or “my mom wants to analyze a weird dream she had”, or “I think I might be allergic to the moon tonight.”
You’re starting to suspect what is the actual reason behind her cancellations...
“Of course.”
Robin clutches her chest dramatically as if you’ve wounded her. “But! BUT the good news is I made us a reservation. Eight p.m. tomorrow at Enzo’s.”
You blink. “Enzo’s? Okay, how exactly are we gonna be able to afford that?”
“You mean how am I going to afford it? Because you, my dear, are paying for nothing.” She raises one finger.
You toss a sheet into the hamper and arch an eyebrow. “Double how, then?”
“I stole money off the dead guy they just wheeled out.” She wiggles her brows, proud and mischievous.
You gasp, swat her shoulder, “That’s not funny. His name was Mr. Pentergast, and he was very nice!”
“And very rich.”
“Robin…” You poke her in the chest, firm, accusing but she only smiles wider.
“Look… dinner’s on me, okay? But, uh… maybe for dessert, I could… see you in this hat… and, like… only this hat.”
You snort, loud. “I hate you. I—”
Robin giggles, bright and unstoppable, and she kisses you, quick at first, then deeper. She shoves you playfully into the door, accidentally slamming it hard enough to echo.
You both freeze, then burst into laughter.
“Was that on purpose?” you whisper.
“Totally.”
“That’s so sexy.”
She grins against your mouth, hands slipping around your waist.
You pause for a moment, soaking her in, the way she smells like winter air and coffee; the way her fingers fidget absentmindedly on your hip; the ramble that’s always on the edge of escaping her mouth.
Because Robin doesn’t think linearly. She thinks in sparks — fast, affectionate, distracting, like a radio switching stations — and you’ve learned to understand her frequency.
You hold her face gently, thumb stroking her cheek. “You’re crazy.”
She beams at you, eyes softer suddenly, voice quieter: “Yeah. And you love me anyway.”
You sigh, defeated. “I do. God help me, I do.”
She kisses you again, forehead pressing to yours, breath warming your lips. And for a moment, the chaos of the hospital fades away.
There’s just her. Her laughter. Her touch. Her absurdity. Her warmth.
You open your eyes again and she’s looking at you, not joking, not frazzled, not narrating a side-tangent about Steve’s latest meltdown, just... looking.
She brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, and her voice dips, a little hesitant but hopeful, “But… is there any way I can make it up to you for canceling tonight’s date?”
You let the silence stretch a moment, watching the way she fidgets, tapping her fingers together, rocking on her heels slightly, the picture of anxious sweetness wrapped in bad decision-making and too many freckles.
Your lips curve.
“Well… maybe there is a way.”
Her brows lift, then her mouth opens just a little and she actually blushes. Robin is not subtle; she’s a walking exclamation mark, but she’s also not immune to suggestion. Especially this kind.
“God,” she sighs, half-exasperated, half-delighted, “you’re dirty.”
“And you love it.”
She dramatically checks the door one more time as if the ghost of Mr. Pentergast might suddenly float in and tattle then turns back to you, eyes bright with mischief and hunger.
And then, she sinks to her knees.
It’s not smooth or practiced; it’s Robin, so it’s slightly awkward and incredibly endearing. Her knee almost hits the rolling IV pole. She mutters something like “ohshit–sorry,” then gets herself settled.
Your back presses to the closed door, breath catching as she lifts your leg gently, placing it over her shoulder. Then the other. Her hands slide up the back of your thighs, slow, but still filled with excitement.
Robin looks up at you from between your legs — eyes wide, cheeks flushed — and it’s the filthiest, most unexpectedly confident expression you’ve ever seen on her.
Her voice is low now… teasing. “So… just for clarification… when you said maybe there’s a way… you meant this way?”
You grin down at her, your hand sliding into her hair automatically, feeling the soft blonde locks wrap around your fingers. “Yeah. I think you’re catching on.”
She laughs, breathy, a little undone, then presses a warm, slow kiss to the inside of your thigh. “You’re terrible.”
You let your head hit the door behind you, eyes fluttering. “And you’re still on your knees.”
The sound she makes is half-groan, half-laughter, “No bedside manner at all,” she whispers against your skin.
“Funny,” you murmur, voice roughening, “I’m pretty sure this counts as excellent bedside manner.”
She kisses higher, intentional. Each press of her mouth feels like a countdown.
You bite your lip — hard.
“Robin…”
Her reply is wordless, just a satisfied hum against your skin as she shifts closer, her arms tightening around your thighs. She noses just beneath the edge of your scrub shorts and inhales, lingering there, taking in your scent. Her breath warms the crease of your hip.
Those piercing blue eyes — curious, unguarded, shining with mischief and hunger — lock onto yours. You feel pinned by them, more exposed under her gaze than under her hands.
Her fingers hook into the waistband of your scrubs, teasing at first… then pulling them down. She never looks away. Inch by inch, she slides them past your hips, down your thighs, letting them fall around your ankles.
And Robin — sweet, rambling, anxious Robin — looks up with eyes that are suddenly sharp and focused that make your pulse trip over itself.
She breathes out the softest sound. Not quite a gasp, more like awe.
“Oh,” she murmurs, “that’s perfect.”
Then she settles between your legs again, her hands warm on your thighs, her mouth open, her breath hot, and she begins.
Her tongue parts you slowly, tracing a wet line through your folds, tasting you, savoring you. You gasp too loud and immediately slap a hand over your mouth.
Robin pauses only to smile against your pussy, then flattens her tongue and drags it up again, deeper this time. Your knees tremble against her shoulders.
Her movements grow more confident, more sure with every reaction you try to suppress. Broad, steady strokes that coat her mouth, followed by smaller teasing circles that make your stomach jolt. One hand slides up, curling around your hip, holding you in place.
You force out a whisper, barely audible. “Jesus… Robin…”
She gives a pleased little hum, her tongue flicking your clit with sudden precision, and the sound that rips from you is desperate, strangled. You clamp your palm harder over your lips.
“Oh, that’s adorable,” she murmurs, voice muffled by your flesh. “Trying to be so quiet…”
You glare down, breath shaking, “People are right outside—”
“Mhm,” she answers vaguely, clearly uninterested in restraint. She parts you with both thumbs now, opening you to her mouth completely. Her lips close around your clit —slow suction, steady pressure — and your back hits the door with a muffled thud.
Your throat works with the effort of silence. She can feel your body attempting to betray you.
Her tongue moves faster. Quick, insistent pulses that make your hips twitch involuntarily against her face. She follows you, matching your movements, keeping you pinned exactly where she wants you.
“Robin—” A whisper, broken.
She glances up, her eyes glassy with arousal. “Oh, I’m nowhere near done.”
She slides one hand lower, fingers brushing your entrance while gathering the slick dripping eagerly from you, and then she presses two fingers inside with a slow, greedy thrust.
You grab her hair, you knuckles turning white.
Her fingers curl forward, searching, then hooking into that spot that makes your vision blur. At the same time, her tongue returns to your clit — frantic now, determined. She’s attacking you with mouth and hand together, working you open, pushing you toward the edge whether you’re ready or not.
Your breath breaks into ragged fragments.
“Stop— I’m gonna — people will hear—”
She doesn't stop. She only sucks your clit harder with determined hunger, her fingers working harder, faster, pushing deeper, and the obscene wet sound of it fills the room. Your pussy pulses around her fingers, eager and unrestrained.
You feel the orgasm build too fast, rising hot and unstoppable. Your thighs clamp around her head, squeezing her in. Robin just groans into you, the sound low and wholly unfiltered, and pushes deeper.
You come with a muffled cry crushed into your palm, body bowing, chest heaving, pulse hammering. And if anything, she gets greedier. Her tongue is relentless, fingers curling just right, milking every last trembling wave out of you until your legs give out.
It’s in the haze of that release that you notice something else.
She’s whimpering.
Not speaking, just small, sharp sounds that break out of her throat without control. Her cheeks are flushed, her breath quick and uneven against your inner thigh. And then through your watery eyes, you see it:
Her thighs are pressed tight together.
She’s grinding them, slow at first, then with more rhythm. Desperate rhythm. Her hips move gently against nothing, chasing friction. Chasing pressure.
You whisper, voice barely there: “Robin…?”
Her eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows pinched; she’s lost in it. Her mouth glistens with your release, her lips parted around a trembling breath. She buries her face back into your pussy again, licking you messily, but now she’s moving against herself too.
Your hand slips into her hair, holding her there, and your focus sharpens enough to fully see it, her thighs gliding against each other, tense and slick with her own arousal. Every time she sucks at your clit, her own hips jerk quietly, uncontrollably.
Her breath hitches sharply.
“Ah—”
And her body folds in on itself. A shudder runs through her and she presses her thighs together hard, trembling.
She cums just like that, untouched by any hand but her own desperate movement, her orgasm clenching through her as your scent fills her lungs and your taste coats her tongue.
You feel her gasp into your skin then collapse slightly forward, forehead resting against your thigh, breath fluttering over you.
For a few seconds, neither of you speak.
Just pant. Just exist.
Then, still on her knees, she lets out a soft, dazed laugh, shaky and ruined:
“Well… that was… wildly unprofessional of me.”
You stroke her hair gently, breath finally steadying. “I’d say so.”
She looks up at you — cheeks flushed, lashes damp, eyes shining with post-orgasmic delirium, and grins crookedly.
“So… still mad about the canceled date?”
Your voice is gone but you manage to let out a chuckle. You shake your head helplessly.
She stands, kissing your thigh, then your hip, then up your ribs until her face is level with yours again.
“Well,” she teases, “good thing tomorrow’s dinner is at Enzo’s. Because tonight, clearly, you already got… eaten.”
You shove her playfully, still half-dazed, “Stop.”
She only laughs and leans in as if she can’t keep away from you for even a full second. She kisses you again, not hungry this time but tender. Like this tiny stolen moment in a hospital room is all that she ever needed.
Her hand rests against your jaw and she hums into your mouth, basking in the closeness, the kind of quiet that only exists between two people who know each other intimately. You almost sink back into her, ready to melt into that warmth, but then—
“Nurse?”
The call echoes faintly down the hallway. More distant than urgent, but close enough to jolt your heart into your throat.
You both freeze.
Robin’s eyes widen comically, and she pulls back just enough to whisper, “Shit.”
You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh, trying not to picture exactly how obvious your state must be.
She adjusts your scrubs for you, smoothing the fabric over your hips, straightening the hem, her touch lingering a little longer than necessary. You swat her hand away gently, cheeks hot.
“Nurse, are you in here?”
Closer this time.
Robin gives you a hurried, breathless kiss — one last press of her lips to yours — then spins toward the door.
But before she slips out, she peeks back in, eyes sparkling with mischief and absolute desire.
“Oh, and one more thing,” she murmurs, “You look too fucking sexy in the nurse fit. Don’t forget to wear it again tomorrow.”
Then she’s gone, slipping into the hallway like she was never there.
You straighten your posture, clear your throat, and call back, “Yes! I’m here, one moment!”
Your voice sounds steady and professional.
And no one would ever guess that just two minutes ago your legs were shaking.
You take a deep breath, fix your hair, smooth the front of your scrubs, heat still coiled low in your belly, and step back into the fluorescent world of the hospital.
But all throughout the rest of your shift, you’ll be thinking about tomorrow's dessert.
I’m insane about this clone Keith fic btw. Have some doodles of random moments from it
And go enjoy some fucked up klance and Keith whump if that’s your kinda thing
and loyalty is a nuisance child by laferte
Summary:
Keith returns early from a Blade of Marmora mission after sustaining an injury. He arrives back at the Castle of Lions to find that he's already there.
Two Keiths, no answers, and a team of paladins not sure who to believe.
simon had got… not into gaming since being with you. but he'd still curl up on the sofa with you and try.
so when johnny suggested playing battlefield online together? he'd rolled his eyes and deadpanned “fuckin’ hell, don't we shoot enough shit together in our work lives mate?”
but he did still end up on one end of the battered leather couch, controller in hand - johnny's voice filtering through the headset he's borrowed from you.
they'd given up on chatting in the lobby about fifteen minutes in, after simon had growled, “useless fuckin' cunt, my granny's got better aim than you an’ she's fuckin’ dead” and proceeded to get a barrage of abuse back in German.
you're on the other end of the sofa, feet tucked up under yourself as you try and concentrate on the book in front of you.
however it's becoming increasingly... challenging to absorb any words on the page when he's barking instructions into his mic to johnny like this is an op and not an online video game of what is effectively capture the flag.
it's… distracting.
and annoyingly attractive.
the way his voice drops, words slipping into each other as his accent gets stronger - simon colliding with ghost without being sharpened by imminent danger. all lethal competence without any of the bloodshed.
it definitely doesn't help that he's just wearing his grey sweatpants.
tattoos on display.
arms tensing slightly as he presses buttons on the controller with more force than necessary. shifting from side to side like he's actually navigating Cairo.
distracting.
he catches you staring from the corner of his eye and flicks his gaze to you for a microsecond before returning it to the screen, “somethin’ on my fuckin’ face love?”
you roll your eyes, “fuck off.”
but then you bite your lip. he just raises his eyebrows, because he knows that there's something you're not saying.
“spit it out love. you're distractin’ me from me very important work here. got useless arseholes to shoot.” he deadpans at you.
he shoots johnny's character. just once. just for fun.
he gets a warning banner about friendly fire.
johnny’s voice crackles through the headset, loud enough for you to hear, “Lt! ye cannae do that. what if i died? how would you feel then ye bastard?”
“but you didn't die.” is all simon growls in response, before his gaze lands back on you - eyes narrowed, assessing.
you meet his eyes this time.
“just… you're yelling at johnny. you're… authoritative. it's hot. don't ever get to see you like this.”
simon just smirks, “want me to boss you around love?”
you stretch out your leg and poke him in the ribs with your toes, “no. piss off. just… admiring.”
johnny's voice crackles over the headset again, “what was that? is your lass getting off on you bossing me about Lt?” then louder, directed at you, “he's a right cunt in the field. i’ll take a video for you next time lass. give ye something to think about whilst he's gone.”
“fuck off, johnny.” you and simon grumble at the same time, and there's a snicker of laughter through the headset.
you're not quite sure when it happened; at what point between pretending to read your book and now that simon pulled his cock free of his sweatpants; motioning for you to come closer before hooking your panties to the side and playing with your clit.
your definitely not sure at what point you ended up with your cunt stretched around him, chest to chest with your forehead resting on his shoulder as he watches the screen over yours.
you stifle your moans by sinking your teeth into his neck every time he shifts beneath you; every time his cock twitches and presses against the spot inside your cunt that makes everything feel a little fuzzy round the edges.
his arms bracket either side of your waist to keep you still; held down so your clit brushes against the blonde hair at the base of his shaft. the absolute picture of control. chatting away to johnny over the headset like he's not currently buried so deep inside you that you can't think straight. like he's not currently splitting you in two.
you're even less sure how that first moan slipped out of your lips and into simon's ears.
and johnny's.
a twitch of simon's hips that felt just right? your clit catching in just the right way?
whatever it was it didn't actually matter.
everyone heard it. everyone takes in a collective sharp inhale of breath.
and then johnny cackles over the headset.
“oi, Lt. didn't think you had it in ye mate. always walking around with a stick up your arse an’ all.” there's another almost manic laugh, “go on then. don't disappoint your lass on my account.”
simon jaw tenses. you hear his teeth grind so hard you're not sure how they don't crack under the pressure.
but then he just looks at you. brown eyes framed with blonde lashes and a heat in his eyes you can't ignore.
“you ‘eard johnny. fuckin’ move love.”
your jaw drops. actually drops. but then you tilt your hips; tentatively at first. just enough to draw a hiss from simon.
and then you're gone.
there's nothing but the sound of slick skin on skin; your whimpers, simon's low moans.
and johhny over the headset. his hitched breaths and grunts. and then the wet sound of him spitting in his hand to fist his cock to the sound of you and simon.
the game is forgotten behind you.
by the time you're collapsed forward onto simon's chest with trembling thighs; his cum leaking out around where he's still buried inside you, you've almost forgotten johnny.
that is until he pipes up again, “aye. afternoon well spent, that. same time next week ye filthy fucking perverts?”
“fuck off, johnny.” you and Simon both grumble (again) in unison. he laughs over the line. simon grabs the headset off his head and launches it across the room.
he presses a kiss to your temple, “if anyone's the filthy fuckin' pervert it's you love. you started all this. eye fuckin’ me whilst I was just tryin’ to play the game.”
simon had got… not into gaming since being with you. but he'd still curl up on the sofa with you and try.
so when johnny suggested playing battlefield online together? he'd rolled his eyes and deadpanned “fuckin’ hell, don't we shoot enough shit together in our work lives mate?”
but he did still end up on one end of the battered leather couch, controller in hand - johnny's voice filtering through the headset he's borrowed from you.
they'd given up on chatting in the lobby about fifteen minutes in, after simon had growled, “useless fuckin' cunt, my granny's got better aim than you an’ she's fuckin’ dead” and proceeded to get a barrage of abuse back in German.
you're on the other end of the sofa, feet tucked up under yourself as you try and concentrate on the book in front of you.
however it's becoming increasingly... challenging to absorb any words on the page when he's barking instructions into his mic to johnny like this is an op and not an online video game of what is effectively capture the flag.
it's… distracting.
and annoyingly attractive.
the way his voice drops, words slipping into each other as his accent gets stronger - simon colliding with ghost without being sharpened by imminent danger. all lethal competence without any of the bloodshed.
it definitely doesn't help that he's just wearing his grey sweatpants.
tattoos on display.
arms tensing slightly as he presses buttons on the controller with more force than necessary. shifting from side to side like he's actually navigating Cairo.
distracting.
he catches you staring from the corner of his eye and flicks his gaze to you for a microsecond before returning it to the screen, “somethin’ on my fuckin’ face love?”
you roll your eyes, “fuck off.”
but then you bite your lip. he just raises his eyebrows, because he knows that there's something you're not saying.
“spit it out love. you're distractin’ me from me very important work here. got useless arseholes to shoot.” he deadpans at you.
he shoots johnny's character. just once. just for fun.
he gets a warning banner about friendly fire.
johnny’s voice crackles through the headset, loud enough for you to hear, “Lt! ye cannae do that. what if i died? how would you feel then ye bastard?”
“but you didn't die.” is all simon growls in response, before his gaze lands back on you - eyes narrowed, assessing.
you meet his eyes this time.
“just… you're yelling at johnny. you're… authoritative. it's hot. don't ever get to see you like this.”
simon just smirks, “want me to boss you around love?”
you stretch out your leg and poke him in the ribs with your toes, “no. piss off. just… admiring.”
johnny's voice crackles over the headset again, “what was that? is your lass getting off on you bossing me about Lt?” then louder, directed at you, “he's a right cunt in the field. i’ll take a video for you next time lass. give ye something to think about whilst he's gone.”
“fuck off, johnny.” you and simon grumble at the same time, and there's a snicker of laughter through the headset.
you're not quite sure when it happened; at what point between pretending to read your book and now that simon pulled his cock free of his sweatpants; motioning for you to come closer before hooking your panties to the side and playing with your clit.
your definitely not sure at what point you ended up with your cunt stretched around him, chest to chest with your forehead resting on his shoulder as he watches the screen over yours.
you stifle your moans by sinking your teeth into his neck every time he shifts beneath you; every time his cock twitches and presses against the spot inside your cunt that makes everything feel a little fuzzy round the edges.
his arms bracket either side of your waist to keep you still; held down so your clit brushes against the blonde hair at the base of his shaft. the absolute picture of control. chatting away to johnny over the headset like he's not currently buried so deep inside you that you can't think straight. like he's not currently splitting you in two.
you're even less sure how that first moan slipped out of your lips and into simon's ears.
and johnny's.
a twitch of simon's hips that felt just right? your clit catching in just the right way?
whatever it was it didn't actually matter.
everyone heard it. everyone takes in a collective sharp inhale of breath.
and then johnny cackles over the headset.
“oi, Lt. didn't think you had it in ye mate. always walking around with a stick up your arse an’ all.” there's another almost manic laugh, “go on then. don't disappoint your lass on my account.”
simon jaw tenses. you hear his teeth grind so hard you're not sure how they don't crack under the pressure.
but then he just looks at you. brown eyes framed with blonde lashes and a heat in his eyes you can't ignore.
“you ‘eard johnny. fuckin’ move love.”
your jaw drops. actually drops. but then you tilt your hips; tentatively at first. just enough to draw a hiss from simon.
and then you're gone.
there's nothing but the sound of slick skin on skin; your whimpers, simon's low moans.
and johhny over the headset. his hitched breaths and grunts. and then the wet sound of him spitting in his hand to fist his cock to the sound of you and simon.
the game is forgotten behind you.
by the time you're collapsed forward onto simon's chest with trembling thighs; his cum leaking out around where he's still buried inside you, you've almost forgotten johnny.
that is until he pipes up again, “aye. afternoon well spent, that. same time next week ye filthy fucking perverts?”
“fuck off, johnny.” you and Simon both grumble (again) in unison. he laughs over the line. simon grabs the headset off his head and launches it across the room.
he presses a kiss to your temple, “if anyone's the filthy fuckin' pervert it's you love. you started all this. eye fuckin’ me whilst I was just tryin’ to play the game.”
Can you do Keith and Reader almost getting caught by one of the other Paladinsss I would actually burst
thank you anon bub <3 i'll always write for keith just for heartys like you (pls don't explode??)
but let's get into this ask real quick! you all already know that in my mind, Keith is a quickie feen. An impatient one, if we're being exact.
it wasn't rare to be bent over or folded up in the most open of places.
Which is why you don't really think twice about being bent over right on the kitchen counter, plates and cups scattered around after what was supposed to be a 'quick midnight snack'.
You're gripping onto the counter for dear life, biting your lip raw as Keith slides in and out of you. Your bodies are loud, the wet sound of dewy, sweat-slicked skin slapping together as his hips drive into you over and over and over again, stuffing you full until your legs wobbled from the strain of trying to hold yourself in place.
Keith's trying to keep quiet, holding his shirt between his teeth and swallowing his own moans. He knew this was risky, he knew the both of you would never live it down if you got caught--but when your plush walls squeeze around his aching dick tighter, sucking him into your warmth with little to no resistence, he finds that he almost doesn't give a fuck who sees you.
almost
Footsteps and low murmur's way down the hall drag you out of your pleasure induced haze, your eyes widening in alarm as you turn back to look at Keith, panicked when he didn't relent, instead gripping your hips tighter and pulling you down to grind into you, his tip pressing into your nerves so deliciously you almost swallow your own tongue to conceal your sounds.
"Keith" you panted placing your hand on his abdomin, as far as you could reach to still his movements. "Someone's coming. stop."
a fun fact about the castle is that everything echoes. You can never really gauge how far someone is from you until they're right around the corner becaue the footsteps echo so loudly. A plus on those rare occasions where someone sneaks into the castle, but a negative when you're in a predicament such as this.
Keith leaned over you, so close his chest pressed up against your back. He nipped at your ear, his warm breath fanning over the side of your face in low pants. "do you really want me to?" he didn't move, but you could feel him inside. He was filling you so well, his body hot and pressed against yours..
you knew you should've said no. especially when the footsteps sounded a whole lot closer than they were a minute ago. But the less rational part of your brain (the horny part) was louder than your better judgement. You rolled your hips back into him, feeling like he's been standing still for too long. way too long.
"No" you whined, bouncing and gridning against his lap the best you could manage with his weight still on you. "Fuck it, just be quick."
famous last words.
Keith nipped the side of your neck in appreciation. his hips started up again, this time quicker in tempo almost as if he was making up for the precious seconds you both wasted trying to make up your minds. He reaches between your legs, stimulating you until you saw white, your legs shaking from the exlilerating shocks of pleasure shooting through your body, your stomach clenching with the effort of swallowing the wanton moans you so desperately want to release. You dont even get to bask in the afterglow before you see Hunk's silhouette just a step away from entering the kitchen.
Before the light flickered on, Keith quickly pulled your sleep shorts up, tucking himself hastily away in his pants. When the lights turned on, you looked a mess, Your hair dishevled and Keith's clothes crumpled and hanging off his body. Hunk regarded you with a brief look of confusion.
"why were you guys just sitting in the dark?" he mumbled, eyes barley open in a sleepy daze. "oh! we um..forgot to turn the lights back on?" "yeah..we just came in here just to get some water. " a lame excuse, but how else could you explain yourselves? "oh. okay.." Hunk didn't question you further, simply grabbing a glass from the counter and turning the lights off on his way out, quietly commenting about the mess and bidding you both goodnight. You let out a sigh of relief, turning towards Keith who wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. "let's go back to my room" he muttered against the crown of your head. "i'm not done yet."
It was an impulse, really. You were on laundry duty, and amongst all the gross scents of everyone else's clothes, you smelled the heaven that was ghosts sweat-soaked balaclava.
Not his iconic skull mask, but the plain black one he wears during training and work-outs. The one you know for a fact he doesn't wash regularly, because you've seen him wear the same one with a little hole by the hem for days and it's only now in the wash.
And...surely he wouldn't notice, right? Things go missing in the wash all the time! You still haven't recovered your sleep shirt from last month! It'll be fine...
Which is how you end up in your room, mind floating on pure bliss as every inhale fills your lungs with ghosts scent. Petrichor, wood, metal. His balaclava pulled over your face, surrounding you with it.
The neck portion that usually covers his scent glands rubs against your own, and you're sure you don't even need the dildo currently stuffed into you to get off at this point. You spread your legs wider, imagining it's ghosts thick torso between them, pumping his knot against your hole—
The door clicks open, "hey, runt this was in my clothes—" your eyes snap open to see ghost standing in your doorway, your sleep shirt clutched in his hands. You don't pull the balaclava off fast enough.
"I– I can explain–!" You rush to say, pulling a blanket over your legs despite the fact you're sure he got an eye full of the dildo you're currently speared on.
"Can you, runt?" His voice is painfully neutral, and you brace to get yelled at then and there. But...but ghost closes the door, clicking the lock pointedly before crawling onto your bed. "Because to me, it looked like that was my mask."
Ghosts voice is a low rumble, scent spiking up in amusement. You don't risk moving a muscle as he climbs over you, arms bracing on either side against the matress so he can lean down and sniff your neck "fuckin' hell, runt. You reek of me."
That notion pulls a mortifying, delighted whimper out of you before you can suppress it.
"Oh? You like that?" Ghost chuckles, he shifts, and you gasp as his knee nudges the base of your dildo intentionally. A large palm cradles the base of your skull and guides you to bury your face against his scent glands. "Go on, finish what you started."
If you thought it was bad before, the strength of his scent directly from the source completely knocks your brain offline. You only realize you've started grinding into the dildo still inside you when ghost changes his position to better brace it against his knee.
God, this is the most embarrassing thing you've done in...well. but you can't stop, not with your orgasm so close. You whine high and thready, tiny claws digging into ghosts biceps.
"C'mon, runt. I wanna see you cum to my scent." Ghost purrs. He changes position, one arm pinning your hip in place, and with a brutal shove, pops the fake knot of the dildo in.
With a moan, muscles tensing, body shuddering, your orgasm crashes over you. You're not sure how long it lasts, riding the silicone knot of the dildo through your high, huffing ghosts scent.
You lie there on the bed, bask in the quick lick ghost offers over your own scent gland.
He's back at the door, balaclava in hand. "Next time you feel like stealin' my stuff, just ask."
For anonymous that wanted reader stealing ghosts mask for sexual purposes :]
accidentally searched “is parmesan fond of me” because I was thinking about my friends at the same time as grocery shopping. now I need to know. is parmesan fond of me. how would parmesan rate my grating technique
dailybridgerton
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