one thing vi’s learnt from being in a long-term relationship with you is that you can never stay mad at her for long… especially since she’s oh so good at making you fall apart on her fingers.
“i’m- ah! ‘m still mad at you, y’know!” you manage to squeal out between whines. you’ve been at it for, god you don’t even know how long, and she’s pulled however many orgasms from your limp body.
“i know baby… and i’m apologising profusely,” a whisper, silky and drawled-out falls from her lips as she slides another digit into your glistening cunt.
you two are messy today — tangled limbs atop your shared bed, lights dim and moans echoing off the walls. drops of sweat slide down vi’s face and gather on her cupids bow while a puddle of your juices collect around the area beneath your ass.
“please please vi-“
“please what, pretty girl?” she brings her face close to yours, a quirked brow and subtle head tilt teasing your fucked-out expression.
“can’t! can’t take it ‘nymore!” you start bucking your hips, vi’s other hand no longer being able to restrain your movements. your hips buck wildly, sucking her fingers impossibly deeper into your core. vi coos, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you come undone for her again.
the ringing in your ears rise to a crescendo and your vision goes white.
not proofread just hit post ౨ৎ
edit 2k for a mindless horny drabble is insane. love u guys tho
Published 01/02/2026 | E-rated | CW: Non-Con | 9475 words | Oneshot
Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence; Rape/Non-Con; John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley; John "Soap" MacTavish; Simon "Ghost" Riley; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; Power Imbalance; Extremely Dubious Consent; Consent Was Not Consulted; Gaslighting; Plausible Deniability If You Squint; Compulsory Heterosexual John "Soap" MacTavish; He Is Not Figuring It Out Here; Sexual Coercion; Trauma Bonding; Codependency; Non-Chronological; Author Has Never Played Call Of Duty; Author Has Only Watched Other People Play Call of Duty; Author Has Read A Metric Tonne Of Ghoap Fic Too; Baby's First Ghoap Fic; Exactly Like Riding A Bike; Oneshot; Ambiguous/Open Ending; Not Beta Read; we die like my sleep schedule; Unresolved Emotional Tension; Dark fic
If it means Soap gets Ghost's voice reverberating low and close in his ear, telling him how sweet he sounds, that he's doing a good job, 'good boy, Johnny, so fucking perfect, made for this' – he’d take it. At this point he’d take that over this hot load of... nothing. He’ll suffer the side of his mouth cracking at the stretch of being gagged, and inhaling pre-cum and spit, for the dregs of their former closeness. He'll be dizzy and desperate for Ghost to touch him softly after (he will); for Ghost to hold him close and fix the hurts (he can’t); tell him he did good without turning him into nothing first (...he won't).
Or: Ghost only ever has sweet words or praise for Soap when he’s hurting him.
Instead of writing, I made a writing tracker in my new writing bujo. The tentacles return. I'll give myself a little star for writing, edits and posting because gamifying it helps sometimes ✨️
notes: i accidentally deleted my other naraku fic so have some uhhh questionable romantic liaisons
rating: teen, there’s some making out but nothing heavier
pairing: naraku / reader
word count: 1,796
You pry up the cellar door and flinch at the smell of decay. The castle festers at its core, exacerbated by Naraku’s transformation.
He detests this state, but the struggle of holding his body together is prolonged by denying it. His most precious asset is his ability to reforge flesh, And for this process he prefers to be alone. You know that. Still, you descend.
The smell is worse with your feet in the dirt. You’re careful not to grip the ladder too tightly, should your grip make the brittle wood crumble. You closed the hatch before climbing down, the only light now from the cracks around its edges.
It’s barely enough to make out the mass in the centre of the room, but your eyes adjust. A wriggling, pulsing thing blinks it’s single eye. Then, another tendril uncoils slowly, as if in sleep. Knotted together and writhing as one are a hundred demons.
At their centre is his head, bowed in sleep.
You feel a lurching sensation, a knee jerk reaction to the dirt in the cellar. It feels like old, dried blood beneath your feet. The corruption has seeped into the support beams of the cellar. You doubt the place would stand on its own if not for his magic.
Blinking slowly, you wait for the head to notice you. A demon’s maw lolls open, it’s fleshy tongue poking out at you before it also succumbs to sleep. Naraku’s body twitches unnaturally, and then his true head finally moves.
You see two red eyes beneath his black fringe. His skin is so pale, white in the shadows like a death mask. He sneers in your direction, seeing nothing but darkness and the faint outline of a person.
“Kagura?” he snarls. His eyesight is poor when he’s in pieces. Naraku inhales sharply, recognizing the new blood that woke him is human.
“No,” you reply, “it’s me.”
“Hm,” he grunts. It’s difficult to tell if he’s still angry. “I did not summon you.”
You shift your weight to your hip, hazarding to step closer. No doubt he’s irked at his sleep being interrupted, but you understand that his desires are always a double-edged sword. Regardless of your actions, it’s his natural state to be displeased.
“I missed you,” is the only excuse you can offer.
You half expect him to dismiss it as pathetic, but instead Naraku hides his shock beneath a grimace.
“I didn’t think you were foolish enough to disturb me as I regenerate,” he finally tries, though it lacks the bite you know he can have.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” your chin is still raised to look at him. But Naraku understands that it is at once both practical and an act of defiance. Despite that, he can’t bring himself to lash out.
Instead, he laughs. It’s like dark water, pulling you in a few more steps. You’re lulled into a half-way sense of safety, worried less for your own bodily health. Perhaps it’s too soon, you fear. But Naraku seems unwilling to pin you with cruelty.
“Of course, I suppose I am the one who disturbs,” he says, “at least, for the time being.”
His cheeks are gaunt and heavy bags hang under his eyes. He looks tired, his voice is barely more than a reedy breeze. He creaks more than he speaks. You move even closer, until your toes touch the edge of the mountain of demons.
Naraku’s head is supported by a nexus of thick, gray tubes. His hair is entwined with the cellar rafters. He is hideous, you can admit that, and yet you shake your head.
“Do I not terrify you?” he asks, sounding more amused than shocked or angered by your lack of reaction. He does so love fear. “Most can’t bear to look.”
“Have many people seen you like this?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. You kneel on the body of the demon at your feet, using it as a stepping stone to get to the second.
Naraku makes a dismissive noise, unwilling to grace your question with an answer. He lacks one that will prove his point, and that annoys him.
“I thought as much,” you reply, “Kagura’s opinion hardly counts, in that case.” The demons are foul to the touch, but you manage to climb them one by one. Naraku stays terribly still as you do so, waiting and watching to see what you’ll do.
“And yours does?” he asks. A hint of thank ink-black, cruel humour creeps into his voice again. Still, you don’t flinch. He wonders if you might wish to hear him laugh again.
“Generally yes,” you kneel on the back of a sturdier demon, your eyes at level with his. “As I’m your lover,” you’re close enough for him to smell your blood, and the hummingbird beat of your heart.
You’re fragile, he thinks. But then again, so is he. And you’re looking at him with the worst kind of adoration a creature like him can fathom. Still, in his chest that’s now in pieces on the cellar floor, his heart that was once human lurches in your direction.
“You make a compelling argument,” Naraku decides. There is still a sharpness in his eyes, and it comes from ugly fear. You’re close enough that in a single, violent motion he could be dead. And your knife could be bloody.
But you keep your hands on your knees, looking at him with your head tilted. You move slowly, as if you know exactly what he’s afraid of. Maybe he has a right to be unnerved by this, but that won’t make you stop.
You lift your hands and put them on his cheeks, wiping dirt and grime from his face. His thin lips turn up into a smirk. He is a monster, a hateful, terrifying beast of hell and still you lean in to kiss him.
Your lips are human and soft. You’re warmed through, not disquietingly clammy the way he is. But you seem not to notice. You seem to reach through the haze of evil energy and the smell of decay to find the spark of heat belonging to Onigumo. That bit of life that makes you love him so.
He drags his tongue across your bottom lip, demanding out of habit that he be granted entry. Naraku gets what he wants, he’s used to that. So when you press your mouth closed, making a tight seal that his sharp teeth can’t break-- his eyes open.
“Did you come here only to torment me?” he asks, pulling away enough to be coherent. But he’s still so close.
He’s never felt more like an insect than when chasing your warmth. Naraku has looked on at moths flying headlong to their death, toward fire and now he understands why. It’s addictive, your humanity. It’s like a song that he could fall into.
He wishes he had arms, that’s what the longing in his displaced chest is telling him. He’ll wrap you up and keep you with him for hours when he’s finished remaking his body. And you won’t be able to deny him a thing.
But for now, you look at him with an amused expression he does not appreciate. You have ideas above your station and too little fear for his taste. At least, until you press your lips to his again.
It seems you grant him permission to deepen the kiss now, though he doesn’t know what’s changed. He’s the same as he was a minute ago, just as breathless and horrible to behold. Perhaps you simply wanted to prove you could control him.
That thought is simultaneously gut-wrenching and delicious. Naraku doesn’t know which is worse.
The smell of rot doesn’t register as pervasively, you notice. You put your hands in his long, black hair and drag his severed head against your mouth. Your fingers brush gray-mottled tendons and pale flesh.
He’s making decisions about which parts of him to keep even as he accepts your kiss, but he’s working a lot slower than before you arrived.
You have a nice time ruining his solitary confinement, sneaking kisses over his cold flesh. You try your best to warm him, he realizes, and the sentiment is unhelpfully pleasant. He loses count of how many times he needs to reconsider his decision to discard part of himself, you’re a beautiful distraction.
“I’m inhibiting you,” you say when you finally pause to breathe. He mirrors the action, struck very suddenly by how distant the need to do so was with your mouth to his jaw.
“Deeply,” he replies.
“My apologies,” you say, bowing your head. “I really did miss you.”
“If it would please you,” he begins, making you lift your head, “you may stay a while longer.”
“It would please me,” you reply. You kiss the corner of his mouth, moving too quickly for his poor vision to see. “I’ll be still as a mouse so you can be done sooner.”
Naraku closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before nodding. You can feel a shift in the cellar as he goes back to sleep. So much for parting remarks, you suppose. But he isn’t one for affection, especially not when vulnerable.
You sit back on your knees, watching his severed head hang from the rafters. And the sight, to your intense displeasure, inspires no fear. You know what he is, who he is, and still you make yourself comfortable.
Somewhere in the space between Naraku regrowing his neck and shoulders, you too succumb to sleep. The dark, cool cellar fades away, as does the smell of rot. You lean against the old wooden wall, the demons underfoot don’t bother you.
By nightfall, he’s finished. And you, his lover, lie curled up on the packed earth. His body is as it was, but now it’s much stronger. He feels better, more in control and sturdy. As much as he would like to look down on you with vague disgust brewing in his now rightly-placed heart, he can’t.
You’re roused hours later, somewhere just as dark but less oppressively macabre. You’re not in the cellar any more, you know by the smell. The wet, old air is cleaner in this new place.
Your fingers brush the floor, no longer made of packed earth. It’s tatami, you realize, the same tatami found in Naraku’s private chamber.
Sitting up, you realize how warm you are in this new place. Even in the blue-dark, you can’t feel anyone else’s eyes on you. You’re alone.
You look down next, wondering what’s covering you. You didn’t bring anything when you climbed down the ladder. But thrown over your chest, undisturbed by your heavy sleep is a white cloak of baboon fur.
Last night I had worship for young adult and Highschool students (I was Young Adult) and the whole time the host kept on reminding us to open our hearts, but not only our hearts our minds as well to the Holy Spirit. When I was kneeling there and praying to Jesus to help me receive the Holy Spirit a name came into my head. I won’t share his name, but all I could do is pray for this young boy I knew through a friend. So, as the week is over (and I’ll start fresh this coming Sunday) I want you to dedicate your prayer to someone. Someone who’s new to their faith, struggling with something, or even ask God to guide you and teach you how to help them. If you’d like use this prayer to remind you of what our Father has done for us: — Father in Heaven, please help me to know you and grow to know you as the generous, wonderful, merciful, and loving Creator God that You are. Help me trust You in what You tell me so You can work miracles in my and the lives of my loved ones. In Jesus’ name. Amen. —
when the soccer player reached out to you via social media, you made it very clear that eyeliner tattoos hurt like a bitch, much more so when it’s on the lower lash line. i know, no problem for me, he responded.
let me paint the picture: him lying on the bed in your little studio, dad rock playing faintly over the speakers, a ring light illuminating his skin. you’re hunched over his head, your face so so close to his as you trace your gun along the stencil. his lashes are long, almost tickling your forehead. you can feel his breath against your ear, his skin is warm and silky under the pads of your fingers.
you’ve instructed him to keep his eyes open during the process and stare straight at the ceiling, though he can’t help but take peeks at your concentrated expression — frosty irises scanning your features as you work, a tug at the corner of his lips.
with each wipe of the paper towel, crimson ink drags across his pale skin, staining it pink; his eyes have started to water after a few minutes, and you dab it softly with a tissue. the proximity, gentle touches and stolen glances are all so intimate and tender and almost amorous as you sit in comfortable silence, not daring to risk the daintiness of your art.
he checks himself out in the handheld mirror after you’ve finished, and says not much aside from “looks good, liebling,” when you ask him what he thinks. he asks for a mobile number transfer instead your bank details, and goes on his way.
you whip out google translate once he’s out the door, and had to take a seat when you read the translation lol
taking a break from the pink haired butch and going back to my roots — slutty sports anime men [proud]
Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤
I think perhaps these are the five I loved writing most, for how they came together and how I feel about my writing in them:
1 Crimson Monarch
First person POV Noire with time shenanigans
2 Golden Balance
Dom/sub threesome in ancient Chinese drama setting
3 Your Colour In Me
series: just vampire vibes told in consecutive oneshots
4 The Persimmon Tree
a reunion on an abandoned sand-choked planet
5 Not Quite A Heistmas (A Remix)
Kingsman/Inception crossover AU. I'll never write anything this long again, but I'm so proud of this one
Have you read any of these? Which one did you like best? Do you like another one of my fic more? Let me know.
