A Kiss Left Of You Simon "Ghost" Riley

A Kiss Left of You ♡ Simon "Ghost" Riley

summary: simon and you, introduced by mutual friends in the military, enjoy a heartfelt moment outside a bar. you engage in playful banter, and despite knowing you will soon part ways, you express genuine affection for each other. tags/trigger warnings: f!reader, sfw, reader is not from the uk, author attempts at accents, jealous!simon, doomed romance (maybe), drugs and alcohol consumption, soap makes an appearance, simon is bad at feelings, fluff, angst, bittersweet ending, ambiguous ending, self-indulgent, hints at reader being autistic wc: 3.7k

a/n: this is a very old wip. i may or may not make this into a series. anyway, this is just a short collection of drabbles between simon and you. any constructive criticism is highly encouraged. enjoy!

pt. 1 ･ pt. 2 ･ pt.3

Breathing deeply, Simon admires the evening scenery as the last rays of the Sun disappear beyond the horizon. Hues of orange once highlighted it, but now it has turned into a deep shade of blue. Exhaling, a puff of smoke escapes his lips as he taps the lingering ashes along the railing. He stands just outside a dingy bar, its label, "Velvet Verve," gleaming brightly, casting Simon underneath its neon purple glow.

The cool night air chills Simon's lungs as he pulls deeply on his cigarette. His dark brown eyes follow the specks of snowfall as they dance through the air. As the soft flakes of snow drift by, Simon remains still and unbothered; he can appreciate a good view, and the evening air offers him that chance. Taking deep breaths, he savors the wind's chill against his skin and the scent of the air, which has started to take on a crisp note.

It's fucking freezing. You think to yourself as you step outside, feeling tipsy as you shiver against the wind's icy gust. There are specks of snow twirling downwards just in front of you, teasing you and your distaste for the weather.

Looking to your left, you spot Simon leaning against the railing as he blows out puffs of gray smoke. His signature skull balaclava is pushed past his lips, resting on his crooked nose. He seems lost in thought, yet he somehow always remains alert.

The man was large, much larger than you by far. He was slightly shy from 6'3 with an even more impressive frame. His right forearm consisted of a sleeve of tattoos in swirling black ink. His voice was deep and smoky, yet he rarely raised his voice (or let alone speak). He didn't come off as shy; he just seemed to prefer his company to others—which you could relate to. He was very aloof and a bit socially unskilled in his blunt and impolite nature, but underneath it all, you could tell he was a good man. He has this element to him that no one seemed to be able to cross, like how he was now: secluded and lost in his mind. You wondered what he could be thinking of.

A familiar scent of perfume catches his attention, and upon realizing it's you, Simon flicks his cigarette over the railing and turns his attention to you. The slight smile on his features turns into a more visible grin when he notices your intoxicated state. Simon watches you shiver as chills make their way through your body, your breath forming in front of you as you glance up at him. With a slight smirk playing on his lips, he watches you momentarily before finally speaking up. "Aren't ya’ supposed t'be drinkin' inside, or did they cut ya’ off?"

Giggling, you made your way over to where he was standing, the heels of your boots clicking against the hard wooden tile. You could feel the effects of the alcohol warm your belly, leaving your brain fuzzy. Keeping a respectful distance, you stand before him, assessing him thoughtfully.

Simon was very different from many of the men you'd met, yet so stereotypical at the same time. He was mysterious, an intangible force of nature that had always piqued your curiosity. However, you never let yourself wander too close. Unlike many others, you weren't scared of the man. He was intimidating, sure, but never had you felt genuine fear in his presence. Maybe if you were one of his soldiers, or god forbid one of his enemies, you'd think differently. And yet, Simon never gave you any reason to fear him; if anything, it was safe to say you felt very protected under his watch.

You’d met under curious circumstances. Kyle Garrick, a buddy of yours, was stationed in northeast Britain while you were vacationing. After you had met at a bar to reminisce about your past, he introduced you to many of his army buddies. One of them was his Lieutenant, Simon Riley, who most of them referred to as "Ghost." He's always been some enigma, ever since the start. He always sported his typical skull balaclava, which you had yet to see him without, and only pulled up past his nose to take a swig of bourbon or smoke a cigarette.

"Just needed some air." You smiled, watching as your breath formed into wisps of condensation in the crisp, navy-blue sky.

Simon's lips curl into a smirk at the sound of your voice. "Careful there." He gently warns as you stumble, his voice still deep but with a hint of amusement. He reaches forward to steady you, only to stop just before he touches you. His eyes meet yours, and Simon feels the intensity of the moment.

"Thank you." You mumble, gazing up into his brown eyes, the top of his face hidden behind his mask.

"Aren't you cold?" You asks curiously, dipping your head to the side with a grin. Your voice had a hint of teasing mixed in with genuine concern.

Simon remains quiet for a moment before finally responding. "M’ fine." He answers coolly, turning his gaze back out into the evening sky. He leans over, the cool winter breeze brushing past his skin. His expression is genuine as he offers a gentle smile. "But you," he glances back over your shoulder at the bar, "maybe we ‘oughta get ya’ back inside."

"But it's so loud in there," you whine, leaning against the wood. "Need a minute."

The corner of Simon's lips curls up in a half-grin as he watches you. "I di'n't know ya’ can't handle yer alcohol." He murmurs, teasing once again.

"I can!" You protest with a giggle. "I'm just a bit tipsy."

"Jus’ a bit?" Simon echoes, chuckling softly to himself.

"Mmm…” you hum, half-acknowledging him. You close your eyes, embracing the moment as the cold nips at your nose. Out in the distance, a lamp post flickers off and on again, its warm yellow light blinking in contrast to the melancholic blue-and-white atmosphere.

Simon shakes his head internally, wondering when he allowed himself to babysit whining drunk girls stumbling out of bars.

He watches you for a long moment as your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward further. His face takes on a slight hint of concern for a second before he returns to his usual expressionless state. His eyes follow the lamp pole, his thoughts drifting off somewhere far from here. The world seemed to come to a standstill as he watched a million different scenarios in his head. His mind wandered between thoughts of the both of you perched like two birds in the frigid air and going your separate ways like strangers passing each other in the night.

A sudden gust of wind sends the snow swirling around the two of you again, and Simon turns towards you. His eyes take in your appearance, noticing how the cold seems to dig its icy, unforgiving claws into you. He takes in every detail, from the slope of your nose to the slight quiver in your bottom lip. He takes note of the way you huddle yourself inside your coat.

"S'bit nippy, innit’?” He asks, his voice low and warm, a welcomed ironicity. He keeps his eyes on the drifting snowfall, allowing you to meet his gaze at your own pace.

"Haven't gotten used to it yet." You admit sheepishly, grinning up at him as you burrow yourself further into the warmth of your furry coat.

Simon can't help but raise an eyebrow at this. "I take it, it's warm where yer from?" He asks in a puzzled tone, and though he's trying to keep his voice neutral, his curiosity gets the better of him.

You nod animatedly, a small smile hidden underneath the jacket.

A small laugh escapes Simon as his mouth curves into a small smile. His tongue traces along the top row of his front teeth as he watches the small grin form beneath the fur of your coat. A silent moment passes between you before he finally speaks.

“Mus’ be nice.” He murmurs, his voice still maintaining an even tone despite his body language giving way to a more keen and interested one.

You shrug your shoulders with a heave, followed by a long sigh. "Until it was summer," you mumble dramatically. "unbearable."

"So, it's either too 'ot or too cold wit’ ya’.” He observes softly, and something about the fact that he's paying so much attention to this seemingly dull conversation baffles him.

You grin, opening your eyes to gaze up at him, eyes wide and glowing. "Pretty much," you murmur, your smile toothy.

The corners of his lips curl up into a smirk as his eyes follow your mouth for a moment before shifting back to your eyes again. The grin spreads across his face, almost like a blush, as he stares back at you. His expression lightens further as your eyes meet, and it is as if he feels something stir deep inside him when he looks at you.

You breathe a short laugh through your nose, taking in his expression. "I should probably get going soon.", you acknowledge, closing your heavy eyes for a moment longer than necessary.

"Aye, prob'ly." He murmurs, still grinning. Simon's thoughts return to a thousand scenarios as his eyes travel around you momentarily. There's no doubt that he feels something soft make its way inside him, something he hasn't felt in a while. He shifts his weight, his body leaning against the wooden railing as he turns his head toward the bar again, letting out a slow breath.

"Think you could give me a ride?" you ask, leaning into his personal space.

His expression shifts quickly, his heart racing at your playful suggestion. He clears his throat before glancing back at you, his face momentarily caught off guard by your closeness. His eyes meet yours, and he can't help but feel a tingling sensation throughout his body. It's almost as if his body is slowly reacting to yours, the chemistry of a connection.

"Aye, dun't see why not,” he murmurs, his tone shifting slightly more severe with his agreement.

"Thanks! You're the best." You shoot him a playful wink before turning back to look out towards the flickering lamppost, yet refuse to put the space back between you.

"Hmph..." Simon's voice comes out with a tinge of a teasing hilt, and he feels just the right amount of comfort with this closeness between you. Another gust of wind rushes by, sending snowflakes into the air again; he watches as they make a home on your head and shoulders.

"Come on, yer gonna freeze out here." He murmurs, not wanting to let you linger in the frigid cold much longer. He finally shifts his weight off the rail and paces towards the parking lot.

Reluctantly, you push yourself away from the rail to follow closely behind him. "I think I'm starting to get used to it now." You chirp from behind him, not even attempting to keep up.

“Us'd to what?” He forgets about your pointless conversation as he turns back, watching you and laughing softly at the image of your shorter legs struggling to keep up with his long strides.

“The cold,” you answer, humming to yourself. Your eyes stay closed as you stuff your hands into your coat pockets.

The parking lot is a short distance away, and Simon's steps slow as you approach his truck. He opens up the passenger side door for you, waving you over.

You giggle, strolling towards him with an attempt at grace. "Thank you, Lieutenant." you grin, saluting him with the wrong hand before clambering inside.

He shuts the door with an unimpressed shake of his head.

“You smoke?” Ghost asks, offering you the cigarette between his fingers.

“Not those cancer sticks.” You turn your nose up in disgust, not caring if you offended him. To your surprise, he shrugs before placing it between his lips.

He smirked as the cigarette hung from his mouth, not seeming to mind your aversion towards them. You’ve always been straightforward, preferring to precisely say what you’re feeling or thinking rather than hiding it behind politeness or social conventions. He knows that your tendency to be so direct can sometimes rub people the wrong way. But this is just one of the many things he finds refreshing about you. He leans back against the wall with a sigh and slightly glances at you before saying, “Does it botha’ y’ then?” He mumbles in between a drag.

You take a moment to consider his words before shaking your head. "No, not really. You're a grown man; you can do whatever you want." You shrug, appreciating how he turns his head away from you to blow the smoke from his nose.

"Mmhm..." he mutters, nodding in understanding but looking you over when you aren’t paying attention to him. Your relaxed attitude appeals to him, and he grows more comfortable around you.

He watches, his eyes drifting up and down your body as he takes in your appearance, his gaze landing on your exposed neck. It's a rather tempting sight, as the smooth skin of your throat is only made more attractive by how you lean forward while talking. He watches you intently as you form words with your mouth; your accent, which he used to find unusual, now strikes a chord within him—a voice he can only describe as heavenly.

"Ghost?" You ask, turning to look up at him. Confusion is written on your face when he stays silent after you ask him a question.

He snaps out of his reverie, his body twitching as he realizes you’re now looking at him. A slight smirk flashes across his face as he sees the perplexed expression on your face, as he had been so caught up in his admiration of you that Simon hadn't even realized he was supposed to be paying attention. "Sorry, luv," he says softly, his voice slightly teasing as he maintains his gaze on you. "Wot were ya’ sayin’?"

“Here, try some o' this.” Commands John, otherwise known as “Soap,” as he slides you a glass of tequila. For the past fifteen minutes, it seemed to consist of Kyle’s task force forcing you to try their taste in alcoholic beverages. A vodka-lime wasn’t impressive according to their standards.

“Why do I have to try out every single one of your stupid ‘manly’ drinks?” You grumbled, already feeling the effects of the alcohol as you took a quick sip of his drink.

“Is tha' tequila?” Ghost scoffs as he appears in your peripheral vision, causing you to cough and sputter in surprise.

“Why do you always do that?” You complain, wiping away the stray droplets from your lips as John laughs at your misfortune.

Ghost’s eyes widen in what either looks to be humor or surprise—probably both.

“Gettin’ the lass tae expand her horizons,” John explains after collecting himself.

“You sound like an alcoholic,” you mumble, your face warm in embarrassment.

“Why tequila?” Ghost interrupts, still seemingly confused by John’s choice of beverage.

“Whae naht?” The scot shrugs, taking a sip of his drink with raised eyebrows. You glance back and forth between the two men, trying to decipher their unspoken conversation.

“Ya,’ tryna kill her, mate?” Ghost snorts in sarcasm, sitting beside you, his knee brushing against yours as he makes himself comfortable. He doesn’t even glance in your direction, but John’s eyes flicker back and forth between you two knowingly. You hide your shame behind another long sip.

“Are you?” You mutter, staring out the window as silence fills the air.

“Wot?”

John’s laugh rings loud as your face sets up in a blaze.

“Do you like it?” You inquire with anticipation, watching him take a bite of the cultural dish you had made for him to try. You asked him to stop by your temporary place so you could cook him something other than British cuisine. He seemed a bit irked but agreed nonetheless.

“S’ alright.” He mumbles after swallowing, refusing to meet your eyes as he takes another bite.

“You like it, c’mon.” You giggle, poking his bicep, which he swats away, simultaneously shooting you an annoyed glare.

“I said it’s alright.” He reaffirms, chewing slowly. “S’ a bit spicy.” He comments in a neutral tone, but you assume it was supposed to be his form of constructional criticism.

“Yeah, well, everything is spicy to you people.”

He rolls his eyes with an irritated sigh.

“You could’ve just said ‘thank you.’” You sass, hands on your hips.

“I’d 'ave t'be thankful for it first.”

You swat him in the arm this time. He chuckles in response.

Simon grunts as he slams his fist into the black fabric of the boxing bag. The thick material of his gloves protects his fists, but he can almost picture the bruises and cuts decorating his knuckles as he bashes the face in of that smug-looking private.

Simon had nothing against the man—personally speaking anyway—yet he still couldn’t get over how he looked at you. How he danced with you, twirling you around like some bloke, tripping over his feet and his words to impress you.

And you just smiled and laughed, batting your pretty eyes up at him with a sweet smile—the same way you do with Simon.

Simon furrows his eyebrows, pulling his face into a deep frown. He clenches his fists a little tighter as the images of the man dancing with you and making a fool of himself flash through his mind. Simon can also clearly see how you responded to his advances in those images: your saccharine smiles and bashful glances, your symphony of laughs that could bring a choir of angels to shame. He grits his teeth and raises his fist to strike the bag again; his jealousy is getting the better of him.

The more he seethes, the more those memories twist into something else entirely. He can't help but imagine the way the man must have touched you, maybe even kissing you or pulling you into his arms—holding you close. The thought of that makes him even more furious, as he's now thinking about him putting his hands on you in a way that only he is supposed to—or would if only he just asked.

“What’s gotten into you lately?” You inquire, tilting your head to the side as you sit across from Simon in a booth, enjoying the meal he had gotten for you both.

He stops eating for a moment, his busy thoughts halting a little as he hears your voice hit his ears, concerned with a hint of indignation. He hesitates for a second before answering you, not wanting to admit that he's felt a little insecure about his relationship with you. "Nothin’," he gruffs softly, forcing disinterest as he looks at you. "Why?”

You run your tongue over your front teeth as you assess him before looking past his shoulder in thought.

"Is it because I have to leave soon?" You ask softly, deciding to poke at your food with your fork to remain casual.

The mention of your departure only makes his frustration grow even worse, as the thought of you not being here with him brings forth an uncomfortable hollow feeling deep in his chest. "No," he mutters softly, but his response carries a hint of irritation because he believes you have seen through him too quickly. "I jus’...'ave some things on my mind."

He stares at you silently for a moment before looking away and grunting. He can't help but feel slightly guilty for not wanting to be honest with you. Especially when he knows you’ve always been upfront with him, and now he's keeping secrets from you even though there's no real reason for him to. The guilt compels him to consider admitting a little more, but he realizes that doing so would mean ripping back the layers he’s built up around himself for so long. So instead, he says, "It's nowt important."

"Then stop acting so weird."

You sigh, swallowing your frustration. "If you ever need someone to talk to, you can always talk to me." You promise with an empathetic smile.

He sighs and looks away again, feeling even more shameful now that he has to look into your pitful expression after lying straight to it. Simon has been so busy hiding his insecurities that he's lost track of how he’s been treating you, and now Simon realizes that he needs to open up, or else you’ll probably start feeling as if he's abandoning you. "Yeah..." he mutters, shaking his head slightly in disappointment with himself. "I know, m'sorry...I'll be fine."

You soak in the awkward, silent tension for a few more moments, trying to make peace with it.

"Y'know..." you begin tapping his leg under the table with your foot to get his attention. "I'm gonna miss you too." You confess with a bittersweet smile.

His expression softens just a bit, his gaze shifts to make eye contact with you for the first time in a while, and upon seeing your sweet and somewhat sad smile, his discomfort shifts towards a bittersweet tenderness rather than the frustration and resentment he felt before.

"Y'will?" he asks softly, a small smile forming on his lips as he looks away almost immediately, his heart now fluttering at the thought of someone as kind and gentle as you, missing someone as cruel and fucked up as him.

“Of course,” you all but whisper, your eyelids lowering as you admire him with a strange fondness. “But I’m glad—I’m happy I got to meet you, to miss you.” You smile, abandoning your attention on everything else and redirecting it towards him.

“I’d rather miss you every day than not have gotten to meet you at all.”

NEXT → main masterlist, rules

© all work and content posted are the property of narciticv3nus 2024. It is strictly prohibited to alter or repost them under any circumstances. do not replicate or assert them as your own. refrain from endorsing my work on tiktok, wattpad, ao3, or any other social media platform. additionally, do not utilize my work for asmr purposes.

⋅ ˚₊‧˖࣪ ⊹ 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 ⊹ ࣪ ˖‧₊˚ ⋅

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 Higuruma Hiromi ᡣ𐭩 ˖ ࣪ ⊹

ᰔ if i wasn't so fucked up (i'd fuck you all the time)

higuruma hiromi x reader * warnings: 18+, f!reader, anxious!reader, crybaby!reader, mention of cigarettes, heavy smut, slight angst, hurt to comfort, crying, talk of issues in relationships, p in v * wc: 5.8k

⋅ ˚₊‧˖࣪ ⊹ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ⊹ ࣪ ˖‧₊˚ ⋅

nothing to see here! :)

Heaven Is a Place on Earth ❤︎ Arthur Morgan

summary: reader gives arthur some well deserved lovin'. tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, oral sex (m!receiving), rough manhandling, smoking, praise, dom!arthur, sub!reader, cursing, crying, use of pet names ("sweetheart", "good girl", "woman"), author attempts at accents wc: 984

You peer up at him from below, observing how his sharp features become bathed in a warm, golden glow following the rhythmic flickering of his worn metal lighter. With each deliberate flick, the flame ignites, casting an ethereal radiance across his face. As he tilts his chin upward, the flickering flame illuminates the tip of his cigarette, casting a soft glow on his chiseled features. The reflection of the dancing flame dances in his mesmerizing blue-green eyes.

Your eyelashes flutter, and a long sigh escapes your lungs and through your parted lips—wet, red, and kissed raw. Your fingers curl along Arthur’s thighs, anchoring yourself to the rough texture of his jeans. Your knees start to ache against the hardwood floor, grounding you as your eyes get lost in him. He breathes in an inhale, his eyes falling shut, his brows ever so gently drawing closer as his pink lips morph into the shape of his cigarette.

As he exhales, smoke dances from his parted lips in tendrils as his form slumps back into the cushions. His hand reaches up to pet your hair, smoothing the rebellious flyaways the same hand had caused.

“Y’okay down there, missy?” he asks cautiously, yet the side of his mouth quirks into a smug grin. His fingers delicately touch the side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear before he traces the outline of your jaw to your chin, tilting it further upwards.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat.

“Y’sure?” his southern drawl dropping in an octave as his eyes drink in the sight of you down on your knees before him, worshiping him.

You nod languidly, hands creeping towards his thick leather belt. He lifts his hips in response as he flicks away the falling ashes.

“Good girl…”

You let out a choked-back moan; his voice envelops you like the comforting warmth of the sun on a chilly day, leaving fresh goosebumps across your skin.

Your breath becomes shaky as you unbuckle his belt and pull down his fly. You reach your hand into his pants, cupping his forming erection in your hand and squeezing gently for good measure. Arthur sighs, his large hand continuing to stroke your body, making you feel small.

“Go’head,” he encourages, albeit a tad impatient. You pull him out, his cock thick in width with veins running up and down his length. The tip is red and already oozing with pre. You whine at the sight, your thighs rubbing together as your mouth begins to water.

You gaze back up at him as his hand eases behind your neck, coaxing you forward as you part your lips, eager to take him.

He's salty and bitter to the taste. Your tongue shyly laps at his tip, gathering his leaky essence to your taste buds before you wrap your mouth around him. You close your eyes and furrow your brows in concentration.

His hips shift, his thighs spreading wider as delicious groans spill from his sinful mouth, fingers clutching your hair as you take him deeper, trying desperately to reach the base. As soon as his tip grazes the back of your throat, you gag, hands pressing against his abdomen.

“Shhh, easy there,” he consoles, watching as you pull off of him; the strings of spit lewdly break away from his cock as it jumps from your expression, your face flushed and eyes watery, and your lips dark and puffy.

“Look’atchu…” His tender voice softly cooed, and the deep, husky timbre added warmth and depth to his praise.

“Y’alright?” he grins, turning his head to puff another cloud of smoke, the tangy scent of tobacco filling your nostrils.

“Mhm,” you answer, leaning your head forward as you take him in your hands, wrapping them around his cock, suckling on the head.

“Fuck,” he grunts deeply, leaning his head back, closing his eyes as he sets the cigarette aside before curling both hands into your hair.

“Jesus, woman,” he growls, urging your face closer and closer as he lifts his hips involuntarily.

You slide your tongue up and down his sensitive skin, twisting and curling, tracing over prominent veins as you slowly make your way down. You take in a stabilizing deep breath before pushing forward, holding back a gag as he slides into your throat.

You peek your eyes open as his mouth forms into an O-like shape, his eyes screwed shut, and his thick brows pull all the way forward. His tongue spews curses and praises, causing your skin to flush deeply.

He holds you in place as he thrusts into your mouth without grace or rhythm. “Fuck, I ain't gonna last, sweetheart,” he warns, his voice tapering off into a whine.

You close your eyes, moaning around him as he uses you for his pleasure; this seems to spur him on as his cock twitches inside your throat as it contracts around him. “M’close,” he grunts, almost sounding in pain.

You brace your hands against his thighs, fighting to keep your eyes open, watching as his bliss-struck face contorts in pleasure. His grip on your hair grows painful as he holds you in place as thick ropes shoot down your esophagus, causing you to sputter, drool dripping down your lips, to your chin, and onto his lap, causing dark, wet spots to form into the seams.

Tears spill down your cheeks as you sniffle before he's easing his softening erection from your warm mouth. He can't help but grin at the sight of you: flushed, messy, and dipping.

“Aww, ain't that a pretty sight.” his eyes twinkle with mischief, dragging his knuckles across your wet cheeks.

Even after his rough manhandling, you lean into his soft touch, your chest still heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. He pulls you into his lap, his hands under your armpits as he drags you upwards. His thigh slips between yours, feeling your arousal dampen his jeans. He chuckles, dragging a heavy hand over his bearded jaw while his other paws at your hip.

“I reckon I should return the favor.”

main masterlist, rules

© all work and content posted are the property of narciticv3nus 2024. It is strictly prohibited to alter or repost them under any circumstances. do not replicate or assert them as your own. refrain from endorsing my work on tiktok, wattpad, ao3, or any other social media platform. additionally, do not utilize my work for asmr purposes.

⋅ ˚₊‧˖࣪ ⊹ 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 ⊹ ࣪ ˖‧₊˚ ⋅

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ❤︎ Arthur Morgan ❤︎ ˖ ࣪ ⊹

ᰔ heaven is a place on earth

arthur morgan x reader * warnings: 18+, f!reader, author attempts at accents, dom!arthur, sub!reader, oral sex (m!recieving), rough manhandling, crying, cursing, praise, smoking * wc: 984

⋅ ˚₊‧˖࣪ ⊹ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ⊹ ࣪ ˖‧₊˚ ⋅

nothing to see here! :)

this blog explores mature themes, and while i strive to avoid extreme graphic content, please be mindful of any potentially triggering material that may be flagged in the warnings and tags of my writing. if you notice a lack of a potentially triggering tag in any post, i would greatly appreciate it if you could bring it to my attention.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 open!

⊹ ࣪ ˖୨ৎ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 & 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

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ᰔ please be aware that this blog may contain spoilers. while my content often focuses on side stories, i still want to provide this warning as a precaution.

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ᰔ © all work and content posted are the property of narciticv3nus 2024. It is strictly prohibited to alter or repost them under any circumstances. do not replicate or assert them as your own. refrain from endorsing my work on tiktok, wattpad, ao3, or any other social media platform. additionally, do not utilize my work for asmr purposes.

⊹ ࣪ ˖୨ৎ 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫:

fluff, smut, angst, rivals to lovers, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, established relationship, hurt/comfort, different aus, dom! & sub! characters, soft & rough smut, usage of drugs and alcohol, degradation & praise, legal and morally correct age difference, loss of virginity, dumbification, condescension, hybrids, a/b/o, threesomes, poly relationships, dacryphilia, edging, and more

ᰔ your online experience is crucial to your safety and happiness. please remember to care for yourself and block any content or users (including myself) that may harm you. your well-being is essential, and it is okay to prioritize it.

𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫:

mommy/daddy kink, ddlg relationship dynamics, age play, nonconsensual somnophilia, toxic relationships, hard drugs or addiction, full blood incest nor pseudo-incest (step-cest), yandere behavior, noncon/dubcon, orgies, watersports, vomit, scat, pegging, ass eating, anal, pedophilia, underage, parents/parenthood, pet play, lactation, eating disorders, character x character ships, vore, bestiality, necrophilia, feet fetishes, etc

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫:

ᰔ the characters highlighted in bold are the ones i will write for the most because they are my favorites!

⊹ ࣪ ˖୨ৎ 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐲

simon "ghost" riley, john "bravo six" price, kyle "gaz" garrick, john "soap" mactavish, könig, keegan p russ, kim "horangi" hong-jin, sebastian kruegar, logan walker, hesh walker

⊹ ࣪ ˖୨ৎ 𝐣𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧

higuruma hiromi, choso, nanami kento

⊹ ࣪ ˖୨ৎ 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈

arthur morgan

Blue Velvet 𝜗𝜚 John Price

minors do not interact! | mdni!

summary: you wake up hungover, naked, and not alone. you don’t remember what had happened, but he’s willing to show you. tags/trigger warnings: f!reader, reference to drunken sex, reference to alcohol and smoking, hinting to future sex, flirting, fluff, suggestive content, no explicit smut, maybe ooc john? wc: 900

a/n: this is my first official post on this account. Let me know if you’d like to see more!

You first notice the intoxicating scent of a lit cigarette, the smell gray and addictive. As you opened your eyes, you became more aware of the body you lay across. It was hard and yet somehow soft at the same time.

The room was bathed in a reddish-orange glow due to the light hitting your curtains, casting an almost erotic impression. It didn’t take you long to realize you were bare beneath your sheets, a slight sheen of sweat beaded onto your skin.

Suddenly, a firm yet gentle hand planted on your head, petting through your hair. A finger curled around a strand falling over your cheek, twisting itself repeatedly.

“Awake now, princess?” A sudden voice rumbled from above you. His voice was husky and gravelly like he hadn’t been awake too long before you. Refusing to answer, you continued to lay there estranged, trying to piece the memories together on how you may have ended up here—with a man.

The throbbing ache in your temple indicated how you may have gotten into this situation.

Sitting yourself upwards, you gasped at the feeling of something hard against you. Hearing the stranger chuckle to himself caused heat to rise to your cheeks as you cursed yourself and whoever this was.

Swallowing your fear, you looked down into the face of your new lover. You bit your lip to suppress another gasp; he was handsome. Ruggedly so. And you watched him in awe as he turned his head to the side to blow out another puff of smoke. And yet, his eyes remained transfixed on you. They were so—blue, you noticed.

You almost frowned at the knowing grin spreading across his cheeks. He knew you liked what you saw. Smug bastard. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel all the more drawn to him.

“Ya' alroight?” He asked, bringing his hand down to stroke absentmindedly at your waist, rubbing sweet circles into your skin. He was so comforting that you almost told yourself he wasn’t real.

“Fine…” You cringed at the scratchy-softness of your voice. You darted your eyes downwards, only to be met with his broad chest, hairy and heaving with every breath.

You trembled as you listened to him hum thoughtfully; the smokiness of his tone had you nearly melting.

“Yer sure?” He asked again, stretching his arm to your nightstand, patting away his ash into a residing cup. He looked back at you sheepishly as if to apologize for his rudeness. You were too lost to mind, though.

“I don’t remember what happened.” You blurted out a bit uncharacteristically. Sighing at the feeling of his large hand traveling down the scope of your back, you subconsciously arched into it. He hummed again, seemingly digesting your words but making no move to explain.

“Carn’t say I rememba' much either, sweet'art.” And oh, the dripping honeyed words had you utterly swooning. You almost let out another moan when he put away his cigarette to touch you more. You noticed how big his hands were, rubbing across your body as if he owned it—like it was his.

“Oh.” You breathed out rather dumbly, watching as he rested his head back further into the pillows, closing his eyes with a blissful smile. And you stayed perched on top of him, gazing down at him in wonder.

“Carn't complain much, I'spose.” You rolled your eyes, unimpressed with his lazy attempt to flirt. If you could even call it that. But you weren’t perturbed for long, resuming your somewhat creepy staring.

He blinked his eyes open again, matching your concentrated stare with his own. The silence seemed to tick by rather slowly as tension threaded between you.

“Are ya' waitin' fer me ta' leave?” He grinned, but his eyes flashed with concern. His hand drifted towards your face, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. You shook your head in response before descending back down to rest your head on his chest, nuzzling your nose into his neck.

His chest vibrated from underneath you as he chuckled, splaying his touch over your lower back. You shuddered once more as he dragged his nails up your spine, goosebumps trailing over your skin. You sighed as you relaxed again, silently enjoying his up-and-down motions.

And then, he stopped. You tilted your head upwards to whine at the loss of the euphoric feeling he was giving you. But before you could utter a sound, he rolled you onto your back, situating himself between your thighs.

Squeaking in surprise, you blinked up at him in astonishment. “What’re you doing?” You whispered, knowing you'd hurt your throat if you spoke any louder.

He said nothing as he smiled down at you before kissing your forehead, then your cheek, descending downwards to your neck and chest. You suck in a breath as he reaches your nipple, pulling into his mouth with his tongue as his opposite hand begins its soft groping on the other.

You rake your nails through his hair, moaning at the soft groan you pull from him in return. Finally, he pulls away, leaving a lewd trail of saliva connecting the two of you before it breaks away. He looks up at you again with a self-satisfied sparkle in his eyes.

“How abou' I give ya' somethin' to rememba' this time?”

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