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swordsandholly · 10 months ago

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Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 2: Piercings and Puns

“Pleeaaasse?” Johnny whines, pressing his hands together and giving you the biggest, sparkliest puppy dog look you could imagine.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Please! My two o’clock cancelled an’ I’m so bored!” He flops over the counter, arms dangling right above the appointment books. You pointedly ignore the size of his biceps.

“I’m not letting you pierce me just because you’re bored.” You scoff. “Now shoo, Simon’s got an appointment coming in soon.”

“But ye barely have any!” He argues. “All I’m askin’ fer is a wee ear. No’ even a nipple!”

A shocked amalgamation of a bark, laugh, and scoff forces it’s way out of you at that. “It’s still a no!”

Johnny groans, but at least moves away from the counter. Unfortunately, he takes the opportunity to circle around behind you, pinching the cartilage of your ear. “C’mon, ol’ righty’s beggin’ fer a conch.”

The intercom buzzes before you can respond. You swat Johnny away with one hand while pressing the speaker button with the other. “Hello?”

“I’ve go’ an appointment with Ghost.” A man’s voice drifts through. You blink dumbly for half a moment. You still haven’t gotten used to Simon’s social media and booking moniker - he doesn’t like giving his real name out much, apparently.

You buzz him in. Johnny is still hanging around the desk even when you leave to get Simon - making your way down the shirt hall to his studio. The large man stands in front of his stencil maker, back turned to you.

You knock on his door frame quietly. “Your guy’s here.”

“Be out in a moment.” He mumbles, focused on whatever he’s doing. You don’t really know the steps by heart, but you do know that there’s something so special about watching artists perform this repetitive song and dance. This rhythm they know by heart. Skilled hands enacting each step with careful precision.

He’s so hard to read. Big and bulky but calm as the night sea. You want him to like you, but you know badgering him certainly won’t get you there. So, you turn on your heal and head back out. When you return to the front, Johnny’s disappeared back into his room.

You suck your teeth and lean back in the desk chair, rolling your earlobe between your thumb and index finger. It’s not a bad offer, really. You only have two earlobe piercings on each side. Wouldn’t hurt to add a helix… you’ve also wanted to get your thirds done for a while. Work your way up. You glance at the clock. Simon won’t be done with his client for at least an hour or so, and you’ve balanced the registers for the moment. Both Kyle and John are out today, so they won’t need anything.

It wouldn’t hurt… well, not metaphorically.

With a sigh you stand, wandering your way to Johnny’s space. The door’s wide open, and his head snaps up the moment you step close like a sixth sense. “Takin’ me up on my offer, bonnie?”

You roll your eyes. “Guess I am.”

“Whit d’ye want?” Johnny practically skips around his station, pulling out wrapped, sanitized tools and placing them on a rolling tray. He pats the center of the padded table in the middle of the room.

“Uh, been wanting to do my thirds for a while.” You shrug. “If you have time for two.”

“Och, I’ve got all the time in the world fer ye, hen.” Johnny grins, pulling up in front of you and grabbing a marker.

He’s so close as he places the marks on your ears, warm fingers feeling for the best spots. A thumb traces the back of your left ear down just to the beginning of your jaw briefly. Fuck, he smells good. Warm musk with hints of citrus around the edges. The way he tucks your hair back, hands framing your face as he lines up the dots, is so oddly intimate compared to the other times you’ve gotten pierced. He chews at his lip in concentration, pulling at the scar on his chin while turning your head back forth a couple times.

“Think I’ve got it.” He grins and steps back. “Have a look.”

You take the mirror, casually checking but not paying too much attention. You trust him to do right by you. “Looks good.”

“A’right. Now the fun part.” He grins, tearing open the pack of tools and a two new needles.

“Is this fun?” You frown, squirming a little at the size of the needle.

“It’s always fun t’poke a pretty girl.”

You roll your eyes, a growing theme between you two it seems. “Oh, you thought that was real clever, didn’t you? Had that in your pocket a while?”

“Why donnae ye reach in an‘ check?” He murmurs, leaning close to clamp your left ear. You’re half tempted to tell him it’s mean to tease a fat girl like this - but you don’t think he means anything like that by it. He’s just a flirt by nature.

Before you can answer, he shoves the needle through your ear. You stiffen, a strained noise bubbling up out of your throat.

Johnny coos as he slips the earring into your ear. “One doon.”

“Uh-huh.” You sniffle. Not that it hurts badly, just a basic physical reaction. Johnny still gives you an empathetic smile.

The second goes quicker, Johnny locked in on his work. It’s interesting, seeing how intense they get. You Is it odd to wish someone would look at you like that? With that much focus and passion?

“There ye go…good girl.” He murmurs in that deep rumble that would have you squirming if you didn’t still have a needle through your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me...”

“You’re a devil, MacTavish.”

Johnny just chuckles, knowing full well exactly what he’s doing. He steps back to look at the final result after slipping the second stud into your ear. They feel hot - like two small ovens on either side of your head.

“If it weren’t for the piercings I’d think ye were blushing, hen.”

“You’re gonna get yourself slapped one of these days.” You scoff, sliding off the table.

“Wouldnnae be the first time.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes for the millionth time.

You grunt, squatting low in an attempt to pick the last of the parlor trash. It’s not that you mind, trash was part of your duties from the start, but holy shit do these boys put bricks in their bins? You’d think tattoos would make light trash. Especially after the sharps are disposed of separately.

“Solid?” Simon appears in the hall, eyes flicking over you. You still can’t tell how he feels about you. Neutral, you suppose. At least that’s all you can glean from behind his seemingly permanent black surgical mask.

“Ya.” You sigh, letting the bag drop and leaning back to stretch. “Just heavy. Swear y’all aren’t throwing rocks in these just to fuck with me?”

You give him a grin. Simon just cocks an eyebrow - exaggerated by the small piercing lining it. You think, maybe the slight shaking of his shoulder is a laugh. In combination won’t he crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Maybe not.

“‘ere.” Simon grunts, closing the short distance between you quickly before snatching up the bag like it weighs almost nothing.

You stutter, following after him toward the back exit. “You don’t have to-“

“Not a problem.” He grunts, tossing the thing over the side of the bin. He quietly leads you back inside, locking the door behind you “Johnny go’ you already?”

When you frown in confusion he points to his ears.

“Oh! Yeah.” You shrug, leading the way back to front desk to finish up your closing duties. “He’s insistent. I’d wanted them for a while anyway so I figured there’s no harm.”

“Give ‘im an inch...” He sighs, pointing to the black bar bridge piercing at the apex of his nose. “Somehow talked me into this shite.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? I think it suits you.”

It really does. You can’t see most of his nose form under the mask but the arc of it leading up to bridge is strong, the piercing settling into the space nicely.

Simon breaks the silence. “You about done?”

“Almost. Just gotta check the ATM against the book real quick.” You nod.

He stares down at you for a moment, glancing out the semi-opaque window, now black with the night sky. There aren’t many street lamps on this side of town. You can only see a very faint glow from the one down by the car park.

“I’ll wait.” Simon settles his wide frame into Kyle’s usual chair.

“Oh! No you don’t have to! I’m sure you’re tired-“

“Wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you alone in the dark.” He cuts you off.

“It’s not a far walk-“

He scoffs. “Definitely not leaving you to walk alone.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, debating briefly on arguing. Based on his comfortable lean and crossed arms, it’s probably best to just let him walk you home. He looks so wide like that, veins prominent across his forearms. Fuck, you gotta find a boyfriend or booty call or something in this city. Anything to stop the temptation to stare at your hot coworkers.

It doesn’t take long to finish up your final chores. You turn all but one light off, wiring down from the bright overheads glaring at you all day. You glance over at Simon a few times while locking up the ATM, his covered face lit up by the light of his phone.

He leads you out of the shop once you’re finished, locking the door behind you and trying it a couple times to be sure. “Which way?”

“Uh, down here. It’s only twenty minutes.” You murmur, feeling guilty that you’ve kept him out extra late. You shove your hands in your hoodie pockets as you walk, the only sound on the street made up of your footsteps and some distant cars.

“What falls but never gets hurt?” Simon asks suddenly.

You frown. “Huh?”

“What falls but never gets hurt?”

You squint at him, trying to decipher anything from his face in the low light. You get nothing but a calm, warm gaze resting on you.

His eyes crinkle in the corners again. “Rain.”

“Pffft-“ You choke, caught off guard. “That’s such a lame pun.”

“Oh? I’ve got a better one.” Simon says, a smirk in his tone. “Why’d the mother clam scold her children?”

You chew your lip. God, you’re too literal to be clever enough for stupid puns and riddles. It doesn’t help that your head is spinning from this brick shithouse, incredibly attractive and intimidating man spitting popsicle puns at you.

“They were being shellfish.”

“Oh fuck off!” You shove at his arm playfully without thinking. He gives, let’s you push him slightly before you stiffen. “S-sorry! I don’t-“

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” The corners of his eyes crinkle deeper. Yeah, definitely a smile. You answer it with one of your own.

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thecranberriesslut · 3 months ago

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Fawn and the wolf

Summary: You're the smallest one on the team, and you have the compulsive need to prove yourself to Ghost... but have you chewed off more than you can swallow?

Pairing: Simon!Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader 'Bambi'

Warnings: Unspecified age gap, but implied that it's large, Power imbalance (military superior and soldier), DubCon, Degradation, Forcefulness, Smut, Dirty themes, Dirty talk, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Unsafe use of a gun... Read at your own risk

Wc: 4k

Notes: I have never written cod smut before and I know nothing about military stuff so bare with me, also this is way darker than my previous pieces, just a heads up. I love your notes in the comments so tell me what you think! also note that Bambi is a nickname.

You stretch your arms, extending them in front of your chest, rolling your wrists around. The smell of coffee invades your every sense—on early mornings like these on base, the cheap coffee your superiors buy for the worn down common room is like your own personal brand of cocaine, the only thing that wakes you up after sleeping too little.

The physical aspects of military training are tough. They were almost a deal-breaker for you when you first came here... but over time, they had gotten easier. You had grown to enjoy the burn of a long run or the sting of a cold shower after extensive muscle training. After a while, feeling and seeing the results became almost addictive—but that didn't take away from the fact that most days, you were almost too tired to function. Most of the required workouts you were forced to endure were designed for men twice your size, and frankly, you found it a bit sexist. Why couldn't your superior adjust them to fit you better? It would take him a maximum of 20 minutes. You had come to the conclusion that he was a sadistic asshole who enjoyed torturing you every single day with insane workouts.

You hear the coffee drip slowly into the pot. You're too tired to fully open your eyes—even putting on gear this morning had felt like an impossible task. But here you were, awake (barely), in gear, and ready to start training in a couple of minutes. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you have the huge coffee mug in your hands—burning hot, probably making the skin beneath it fiery red, but you are too exhausted to care.

You barely have time to swallow your first sip of the steaming, bitter, brown liquid when the door to the common room opens forcefully. Like instinct, you are up and alert—you can't show weakness here. You're already considered the runt of your entire team, being the youngest and also a woman. You turn around, ready to greet whoever it is with the alertness and determination of a starving fox during winter, hunting for the last rabbit left in the forest.

"Mornin', Bambi." Ghost said, his voice hoarse—but his manner alert and assertive, like always.

Bambi is your nickname on base, given to you by squadmates the first week you arrived. You liked to think it was because you were pretty like a fawn, but obviously, it was given to you for more degrading purposes. Everyone on your team thought of you as inexperienced, naive, and wide-eyed. But everyone had their own slightly degrading nickname, even your commander, Ghost. His real name was Simon Riley, but he was given the name Ghost because he stood out and had a tendency to move around quietly, like a ghost, not to mention his patent skull hood, a tactic to scare or to hide? No one knew.

"Good morning, sir," You said, trying to sound as awake as possible, waiting for the tension in the room to cool off before taking another careful sip of your coffee.

Ghost walks over to the coffee maker nonchalantly and pours himself a tall cup of coffee. You are surprised that he would even need caffeine—he's like a machine, inhuman—you've never seen him show any signs of weakness, and the manner in which he leads the team is brutal. He doesn't care if you're too tired to do push-ups; he will make you do them. Sometimes you consider the possibility that he just has no human emotions, or that he's a robot or something. Regardless of all this, you often find yourself with a compulsive need to make him happy. It's like you have to prove yourself to him constantly. You rarely complain to him about the difficult exercises he puts your team through, although you want to.

You've never been the kind of girl that just sits there quietly and lets everyone walk all over her. No—you’re the kind of girl who used to stand up for her friends in elementary school when the boys would pull their hair. You're the kind of girl that couldn't be mistaken for a doormat because you make your opinions known. If you weren't so fiery, you would never make it in the squad. Your squadmates are like brothers to you. You play rough—but when it comes to Ghost, you find that all your outward confidence just crumbles in his vicinity, and you become this pathetic rookie he can treat however he wants to. Although, you find that the same happens to most of the men on your team. Ghost is eerily calm; he radiates this quiet, overpowering energy, like a psychological horror film. And it makes everyone below him obey his commands like dogs. But it also makes you crave his approval. He never yells at you, but he never praises you either—it makes you almost obsessively try to get a reaction out of him with your good work on the exercises.

“We're doing the shooting range and combat alone today. Don't be late.” And with that, he's out of the door, leaving behind nothing but an empty coffee mug and a slight lingering smell of smoky cologne.

As you stand anxiously at the metal door of the gun range, it's like your body is stopping you from going in. You can feel the harsh cargo pants rubbing against your legs in an annoying manner, and your shirt feels too tight around your armpits—also, the coffee you drank did nothing but replace your tiredness with urgent nervousness. You've never trained with Ghost alone, but last week you were sick, so this morning you had to wake up before the sun to play catch-up with him. You are a great shooter, it's in your blood… but you have a gnawing feeling that being so close to Ghost will mess with your aim, and you will disappoint him.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force your hand to go up to the door handle. As you push open the heavy door, the lighting inside the gun range is dim—you can barely make out Ghost's silhouette, standing near the guns. You step inside carefully, as if you need to be quiet. But the gun range was far from housing; it stood alone on the other side of the base, with only woods surrounding it—you're also pretty sure it's soundproof, but not entirely sure. The range smells like mold and gunpowder, it's oddly comforting.

“Are you just going to stand there or come in?” Ghost says in a low voice, sounding indifferent—but nonetheless intimidating. You make your way inside and close the door behind you.

“Lock it.” He commands, not even trying to phrase it as a question, just a blunt order. You feel a little confused as to why he would want you to lock the door, but alas, you twist the lock until it clicks, and walk over to Ghost wearily.

“No lights?” You ask, trying to calm your nerves by talking, your hands finding the hem of your shirt and fidgeting with it.

“Burnt fuse. I expect you have no trouble shooting in the dark, rookie?” He says—it sounds like a snarky remark. You're annoyed at his tone. Obviously, you find it hard to shoot in the dark—but you can't tell him that. He'd paint you as weak and incapable.

“No problem.” You gear up, putting on hearing protectors and safety goggles. You take a gun, a simple, sleek Beretta 91, and you point it at the cardboard target ahead, waiting for Ghost to give you the okay to shoot. You are faced with silence. As you turn to look at Ghost, you see him standing next to you with a wide stance, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his black t-shirt tightening and showing off his muscles. He stares you down intensely.

“What are you doing wrong?” He asks, sounding annoyed, like you should know all this by now—although you haven't even trained shooting much.

“I—I don't know.” You hesitate, checking that the gun safety is off, your gear is on, and that you're facing the right way—you look at Ghost, confused.

“Your stance is all wrong, Bambi.” Without giving you a second to react, he moves behind you and guides your hands to the correct position. He kicks your legs farther apart and taps your thigh to signal you to move your foot slightly to the left. The gesture has nothing inherently sexual to it, but it makes a knot start to form in your lower stomach.

Ghost isn't a bad-looking man, or at least his body isn't—no one on your team has ever seen his face. He hides behind his signature skull balaclava daily, only revealing his dark brown eyes, and you presume he only takes it off to sleep and shower… if then. He has the type of body that any respectable captain would be expected to have—he's all muscle and mass. Not only that, but he's tall and broad, and if he was anyone else, you'd be trying to flirt with him every time you saw him… but even attempting to flirt with a higher-up is highly frowned upon here—you would both get fired. Also, it's not so difficult to push aside your feelings for someone who makes you train until failure every single day and rules your unit with an iron fist.

“Shoot.” Ghost orders, keeping his hold on your upper arms, directing the gun to hit the target right in the chest. He's standing so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating off him—he towers over you, and being caged in his hold like this sort of makes you feel safe. The feeling doesn't last long when he removes his hands from yours and steps back, resuming his position as the judgy officer watching you train intently.

“Now try it by yourself. Less than seven points, and you get punished.” He says, his voice dark and determined. He looks at you through narrow eyes, and his stance remains official and intimidating. It's not even his worst request—last night, he punished your fellow teammate with 100 push-ups for laughing during training. If he made you do that many push-ups right now, you would probably collapse—you needed to get this.

With nervous, shaky hands, you point the barrel of the pistol the same way as last time, you gather all your courage, only able to think of one thing— one hundred push-ups, before sunrise. Or maybe he'll make you do something worse, 200 burpees… 150 pull-ups. You shake off the distracting thoughts and by some miracle, you pull the trigger-- the bullet hits the very corner of the cardboard target, and you visibly cringe at the sight. You got zero points… you curse yourself in your mind, how could you be this bad, now he's going to make you do so many push-ups. Slowly, you turn to look at Ghost— he doesn't look disappointed, his position remains calm and collected, and that's what scares you the most.

“Get on your knees.” He says, darkly, you think it's a joke at first, but his eyes remain serious. Your eyes widen as you try to process the words that just came out of his mouth.

“Now.” He adds, when you don't move. Maybe it's just your dirty mind… maybe he meant nothing crude with it, maybe it's a new form of punishment in your squad. So you put the gun down on the cold metal desk, and slowly, anxiously, you start to lower yourself onto your knees. Ghost remains cool, his gaze following yours, as you fall lower and lower, until your knees hit the ground. He takes a couple of steps closer to you, forcing you to be face to face with his crotch. He picks up the gun from the desk, and your mouth goes dry when you try to focus, to hear the safety click on, but it never does. He crouches down slightly, and brings the barrel to your chin, lifting your chin up, and straining your neck as you're forced to look up at him.

“Do you think I haven't noticed the way you look at me when I teach combat?” He asks, his voice remaining low and calm. You're shaking, with nervousness or anticipation— you're not entirely sure.

“I— ” You begin your sentence, but are quick to notice that no other words are coming out— you wonder what he'll do to you… he might send you home, or hurt you.

“I know all the others think you're this naive little Bambi, but I see through that— you're a fucking slut.” He puts emphasis on the word slut, and the contrast between his collected voice, and the crude words, makes the knot in your lower stomach tighten, and worsens the heat between your thighs.

“And you think I don't hear you in the common room, complaining to the others about my training methods—it's like you're begging to be put in your place.”

“I haven't sai-” You begin frantically explaining, but quickly stop as he hits the gun against your chin, a clear sign to remind you who's in control.

“I suggest you shut the fuck up.” He stares into your eyes with the intensity of a hungry wolf. You expect that sort of raw intensity from him, but you are never prepared for it. You can see the conflict in his mind, in his eyes—you can almost feel what he's thinking. Furthermore, you can sense the war going on in his head; you are fighting the exact same one in yours.

“You know—in war, the good people get eaten.” He starts, enigmatically.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what happens to the smart people?” He asks, almost expecting you to give the wrong answer, his demeanor remaining slightly degrading.

“They survive?” You ask, unsure of what he's trying to say.

“They go bad.”

You look at him, confused. His words sound almost apocalyptic. You're trying to figure out what he means by them… does he mean that he's gone bad? Maybe that you should go bad? What does going bad even mean?

“Which one are you, little Bambi?”

“Smart.”

“Wrong answer.” He throws the gun on the floor, the safety remaining off, but you have no time to think about gun safety right now— as he begins to forcefully unbuckle his black, leather belt, you can't help but feel all your senses heightened, intensely pumping through your body. You can feel the heat rising up your chest, over your throat, into your cheeks and ears, turning them undoubtably red. You can hear the broken clock on the wall tick sporadically, in a completely unorganized manner. The sound of his belt buckle flying open almost hurts your ears. You imagine this is what rabbits feel, in that small window of time, right before they get eaten, when they feel the fox's eyes on them, lurking somewhere in the dangerous night. You look up into his eyes, pleading with your gaze, but you are met with a look that could almost be mixed up with sympathy. He looks like a disappointed teacher, handing you a test with a failed grade, knowing that he's the one who failed you, but displays a fake, degrading sympathy in his eyes.

He takes his cock out of his black cargo pants, it looks almost intimidating. You can't see his mouth, but you swear he's smiling a sadistic smile under his mask. He wraps his big, warm hand, into your hair, where your occiput meets the back of your neck, and he pulls your head back— the motion stings, but it brings your attention to him, away from your thoughts. When he sees you've returned from inside your head, to the current moment, he pushes your head forward. Instinctively, you open your mouth, almost inviting him in— he stuffs his rock-hard cock into your mouth, with little regard for your feelings.

“See, you're too good for war, Bambi.” He remarks, his voice soft, you can feel the patronizing tone pierce through you and hit the warm spot between your legs like lighting. You try to answer him, but your mouth lets out a small, pathetic moan, as he pushes himself further into your throat, making your eyes tear up.

“A smart girl would've never come into a dark shooting range with a dangerous man. You're too good, and you're too dumb— that's why you get eaten alive.” His words remain condescending, degrading, but his voice keeps a calm, soft tone, which contrary to what you'd hope it would do, turns you on like nothing you've ever experienced before.

Finally, he pulls you off his cock. You gasp for air, confused as to why he would stop before he finished— but it gives you an eerie sensation that there's more to come. And while you wish you could hate this, while you wish you could call him an absolute creep and report him to someone… you were smart. You had come into this dark room with this dangerous man, with full awareness and a calculated plan. You saw how he looked at your pleading eyes when he made you train until failure. Furthermore, you saw the bulge in his pants when in late night combat sessions he got you under him, and you looked like a scared rabbit. When you started in his unit, a while ago— you gathered that the best way to survive, was to play into the naive role, in reality, you were exceptionally smart, top of your class. But they didn't need to know that. Every single time Ghost talked down on you, you felt like you had the control, you'd made the decision to act dumb, to get him to lose control ever so slightly, because he gave into his anger.

Much to your avail, he turns around, going to fetch something out of the gun range closet. Dumb move, because when he was turned away from you, you grabbed the gun off the floor, making a quick, uncalculated move. As he turns around, he sees you nowhere, despite being a tough military officer, he feels a slight eeriness about not seeing you… like in horror movies, when the innocent kid starts acting odd and eventually kills everyone. He stands still, looking around the pitch black room as best as he can, until he feels the cold nozzle of a pistol on his mid back. He turns to face you, with a blank expression, and you see the rope in his hands.

“The smart people go bad, no?” You smile a wicked grin, you have the control now… and you want him to know it.

“Drop the rope and get on the floor.”

You thought he'd resist, that he'd fight the gun off your hands— but he just lays down on the cold concrete, and supports his head on his hands, and smiles at you, a smile proposing a challenge. You keep the gun in your hand, as you make your way on top of him, straddling him.

“What's your big, smart plan now, Bambi?” He says, with an annoying amount of confidence painting his words.

You bend down on top of him, and push your lips against his, like you want to devour him. His lips feel surprisingly soft, and you can still taste the faint residue of coffee and cigarettes on his tongue. He doesn't fight for dominance, instead, he sort of submits to the kiss, letting you take the lead. You feel like you've won the game, until his hips come crashing into yours, his bulge pressing against your most sensitive spot. Your mouth opens and leaves his ever so slightly, and you don't notice the gun falling out of your hand. With the newly gained advantage, Ghost pushes his tongue into your mouth, starting the long overdue war for dominance. You try to fight it, trying to gain back the small amount of control you crave— but he turns you around with ease, until he has you on your back. He's straddling you with knees on both sides of you, and his hands holding your arms tightly on both sides of your head. You're trapped again.

He doesn't waste time taunting you, he's done playing the game. Hastily, his hands leave their bruising grip on your wrists and find the button of your pants. He moves quickly and removes your pants with a sense of urgency— you don't try to stop him, you leave your hands laying where he's been holding them, and you let him remove your pants, and then your underwear. His finger finds a spot very close to your most sensitive one, but it doesn't hit the spot you need it to. He continues this torture for a while, until he stops completely and looks at you.

“No attempts to stop this? No fighting?” He questions. You never took him for this clueless. You move your hand to his, and grab it, bringing his entire hand to your throbbing center, and forcing him to please you. With a breathy voice, you say.

“Just shut the fuck up and fuck me.”

He doesn't need another word from you, as he spreads your thighs open with force, and pushes himself into you— giving you no time to get used to his size. With no warning, he starts pumping into you relentlessly, keeping up a torturous pace you thought was only possible in porn. When you open your mouth slightly, to complain or to moan, you're not sure. He stops you, wrapping his veiny hand around your throat, in an attempt to show you who's actually in control. It only makes you wetter, you like having him so desperate for control, that he would choke his own soldier— you think it only makes him seem weaker. When he loses himself like this, it's you that gains the upper hand.

“You're never telling anyone about this.” He says, through desperate pants. His hand on your throat tightens ever so slightly.

“Wouldn't want you to get fired, perv.” You shoot him a snarky remark, trying to sound confident— but the whimpers in between every word make you sound more like a pathetic adolescent. His lips latch onto your neck, biting it so intensely, his sharp canine teeth pull a little blood. You love the contrast between pain and pleasure, and feel your orgasm building up. He can feel it too.

“Try to make a smart comment now, I dare you.” He bullies, and you try to say something smart, or just something, anything— but what comes out of your mouth is a deep guttural, animalistic moan, as your orgasm washes over you.

He begins to laugh in a low tone, in between groans, as he pulls out of you, and releases his cum onto your lower stomach. It would feel degrading and dehumanizing, if you weren't just fucked out of your mind. With a weak, breathy voice, you manage to say.

“I hate you.”

He laughs.

“Sure seems like it, Bambi.”

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gf2bellamy · 30 days ago

Note

Hiii! Completely self indulgent but could I request reader is new to the BAU and they don’t quite know her that well but it’s coming up to Halloween and she starts slowly decorating her desk. No one really notices but Spencer and then one day he is ranting about Halloween traditions but is interrupted halfway throughout and reader finishes his rant. Giving away that she loves Halloween. Bonus Spencer could leave reader a little Halloween gift?

Ps I love your writing so much, I love reading. So thank you!!!

decorations — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing a/n: hiii !! such a cute idea <3 i hope this is what you asked for <333

You carefully nudged the small, plush pumpkin into place, ensuring it sat perfectly beside the tiny ceramic ghosts you had lined up just moments ago.

A satisfied smile tugged at your lips as you surveyed your handiwork—your own little Halloween haven amid the almost entirely undecorated office.

It was your first Halloween with the BAU, and you were quickly coming to the realization that your enthusiasm for the holiday wasn’t exactly shared by most of your coworkers.

Sure, there were a few scattered decorations—a couple of half-heartedly strung spiderwebs draped over shelves, a lonely plastic skeleton perched near the coffee maker—but overall, the atmosphere was lacking in spooky spirit.

Not that it bothered you. You loved Halloween. And, as it turned out, so did one of your coworkers.

“You have good taste,” came a familiar voice, light with amusement.

You looked up to see Spencer standing beside your desk, pointing at one of the tiny ghosts with a smile. His eyes, warm with excitement, flickered between you and the decoration.

“I have the same one at home,” he admitted, his grin widening.

Your lips parted in surprise. “Really?”

He nodded, his enthusiasm only growing. “Yes! I love Halloween. It’s my favorite holiday!” The sheer excitement in his voice was endearing.

Before you could respond, he continued, already diving into a fact with that spark in his eyes.

“Did you know that pumpkins were originally associated with warding off evil spirits? The tradition of carving jack-o'-lanterns actually comes from an old Irish myth about a man named Stingy Jack. According to legend—”

And just like that, he was off, launching into a detailed explanation, his words coming faster the more excited he got. You couldn’t help but smile, resting your chin on your hand as you listened.

But then, Derek interrupted Spencer, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder and effectively cutting him off mid-sentence.

"He bothering you with his Halloween rant?" Derek teased, his signature grin wide and amused.

You glanced up at him before looking back at Spencer, who had gone noticeably red, his mouth still slightly open.

“No, not at all,” you said with a small smile, shaking your head. Then, without missing a beat, you continued, “He was just telling me how the legend says that Stingy Jack tricked the Devil multiple times and, as punishment, he wasn’t allowed into either Heaven or Hell. So he was doomed to wander the Earth, with only a carved-out turnip lit by a lump of burning coal to guide his way.”

A slow smile spread across Spencer’s face, his eyes lighting up like you had just spoken his exact language. Derek, on the other hand, blinked at you, his grin slipping into an expression of surprise.

“Wait, hold on—did you just finish his nerdy Halloween speech for him?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged, biting back a smirk. “I like Halloween too.”

Spencer beamed, clearly delighted, while Derek groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock defeat.

“Oh great, now there’s two of you,” he muttered, shaking his head as he walked away.

You turned back to Spencer, who was still watching you with an undeniable look of appreciation.

“You know,” he said, almost shyly, “it’s really nice to have someone else in the team who actually enjoys all the history behind Halloween.”

Your smile softened. “Well, you can tell me all the Halloween facts you want, Spencer. I promise I won’t mind.”

His cheeks turned a little pink again, but his smile only grew.

“Be careful,” he warned playfully. “I have a lot of them.”

You simply leaned on your desk, resting your chin in your hand. “Good. I like listening.”

And with that, Spencer Reid—genuine, brilliant, and just a little awkward—stood there grinning, as if he had just met a kindred spirit.

Hours later, you were nearly finished with work, exhaustion settling into your bones as you made your way back to your desk with a yawn. You had just spent twenty minutes reviewing a report with JJ, and now all you could think about was heading home, curling up under a warm blanket, and putting on a fun Halloween movie to unwind.

But as you reached your desk, you came to an abrupt halt.

Sitting there, right beside your little ghost figurines, was a small white cup adorned with a ghost design—one that definitely hadn’t been there before.

A warmth bloomed in your chest as realization hit. There was only one person who could have left it.

You turned your head toward Spencer’s desk, already knowing what you’d find. Sure enough, Spencer was there, his eyes flickering up to meet yours before he quickly looked away, cheeks turning an unmistakable shade of pink.

“I thought you’d like it,” he murmured, his voice softer in the now mostly empty bullpen. Then, he lifted his own cup—an orange one with a grinning jack-o’-lantern face.

Your smile widened as you reached for the cup, feeling the warmth of freshly poured coffee your fingertips.

“I love it,” you said sincerely, turning back to him. “Thank you, Spencer.”

His lips quirked into a small but unmistakably pleased smile, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there.

Maybe the bullpen wasn’t decked out in spooky decorations, and maybe most of your coworkers didn’t share your enthusiasm for the holiday—but Spencer did.

And that made all the difference.

#criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction

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vanilladove · 7 months ago

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⋆₊ ♱ perv!ghost!nikolai

spooktober 2024 masterlist | divider creds adornedwithlight

ཐི ♱₊ཋྀ pairing: ghost!nikolai x fem!reader

ཐི ♱₊ཋྀ genre: smut headcanons; 18+ only!!

ཐི ♱₊ཋ content warnings: shameless smut/nsfw, mentions of size kink, alcohol + drug use, lowk dubcon, slight angst at end, nikolai’s pov（＾ω＾）

ཐི ♱₊ཋ notes: experimenting with something new lmk if u guys like it or not 😔 kicking off spooktober as an apology for delays; babusya = ukrainian grandma

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚�� who haunts an old apartment near a local circus; who still retains his maniacal trouble maker personality as a ghost

he settled on the apartment after an old babusya let him in and allowed him to stay there, offering his favorite piroshki in exchange for protection from other spirits. he messes with her, but doesn’t do anything too harmful—just some silly pranks

who gets bored after babusya passes away and new tenants move in

he’s really done everything he can to scare the shit out of all the tenants, but they keep coming and leaving—some even having the audacity to try exorcising him (it didn’t work)

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who has an insatiable urge to kill until he sees you, a sweet heartbroken girl, come to the apartment your ex was supposed to live with you in

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who decides to have some fun with you—he hasn’t seen anyone close to his age yet, and no one as pretty and cute as you

he starts small—moving things around, making noise + randomly braiding your hair at night, stealing things from your bags, switching lights on and off, etc.

he gets pissed when you take no notice, only drinking and crying over your stupid, ugly ex—seriously, nikolai saw the pictures of them and thought you could do way better

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who can’t look away from you while you undress before showering, admiring your perfect ass and tits and the soft curves of your body

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who switches your medications/supplements with aphrodisiac pills and waits until you take them while drunk, telling himself he just wants to see a reaction from you, but he has ulterior motives

he watches intensely as you suddenly feel hot and slip your fingers in your bra and panties, touching yourself in a lust-consumed frenzy

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who can’t stop himself from watching you whimper helplessly since the sensations aren’t enough—of course he has to help his little dove out by materializing both hands

he uses one to rub circles around your pretty clit and puts the other one in your mouth, training your throat for his big cock

you're too lost in the drug-fueled lust to pay any mind to the fact his hands appeared out of nowhere—you probably think it's just a sex dream

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who loves how you choke on his fingers, tears of pleasure streaming down your heated face as he inserts his long fingers in your wet pussy, watching your eyes roll back in pleasure as he hits the spots inside that you can’t reach without toys

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who savors the taste of your sweet release on his fingertips before replacing the fingers in your mouth with his cock, pushing it in with little warning

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who gets so fucking turned on by the way you adjust to his size and take him so well, using your hands to pump the length you can’t fit in your mouth

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who rewards his good little girl with his cum, shooting it down into your throat as you swallow every last drop and lick him clean, still aroused

deciding to help you out, he materializes fully and lines his tip up with your entrance, panting because he’s so close to being inside you, his latest obsession

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who pushes himself in your warm cunt, inch by inch, admiring your fucked-out glossy eyes and the arousal stuck on your thighs

he smirks when you suddenly get shy and cover your face, flustered by how attractive he is and how much pressure he’s causing in your insides

who whispers sweet nothings as you whimper from the uncomfortable stretch and assures you that you can take it all, licking the pricking tears from your eyes

he moves your hands away from your face and drags them across his abs and long white braid, occasionally peppering your body with kisses, and braiding stray strands of hair to calm you down while you adjust to his size—he can tell how full you are from the big bulge in your stomach

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who starts moving once you give him a cute nod, moving deep and slow at first until you're more used to his size

he litters kisses around your chest, kitten licking your swollen nipples which he knows are sensitive

he loves the way you slightly buck your hips up to meet his thrusts, occasionally pressing against your stomach and groaning when he can feel himself inside of you

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 breathes heavily against your smooth skin, his large hands around your waist to keep your squirming frame in place

who burrows himself into your neck as his strokes get slower, who tells you to say his name as you chase your own orgasm

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who cums when a soft i love you, nikolai rolls off your tongue, as you mess up his once neat white braid

he collapses gently on top of you--he doesn't remember the last time someone's addressed him so adoringly

he listens intently to your heartbeat, reminding him that you’re alive and he’s dead; his cold figure hugging your warm body

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who strokes your hair and rambles about nothing until you fall asleep, telling himself he's just using you for entertainment, despite the tightness in his chest

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 who disappears in the morning but still watches you intently, waiting for another lonely night where he can touch you

#vanilladove #【ｖａｎｉ＇ｓ　ｓｐｏｏｋｔｏｂｅｒ　２０２４】#vanilladovebsd #nikolai x reader #bungo stray dogs #nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai smut #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs #bsd #nikolai gogol x reader smut #nikolai gogol #nikolai gogol smut #nikolai x reader smut #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #spooktober #kinktober

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kittygowrite · 29 days ago

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Stalkers Tango

Pairing: Ghost x f!reader

Warnings: Stalking, Technically breaking into Simon's house, Gun mentioned

Summary: Simon Riley likes to think he lives up to the name Ghost. Silent, cold, secritive. But little does he know just how much you have on him...

An: Hehehe I’m in love with the reader being the dark crazy one 🥰 It's not inspired by Hannibal but… I'm watching it and it's getting me in the mood to write my beloved reader who's a little off her rocker 😌

Word Count: 900

It was a hard mission. Starting in the near-glacial pouring rain and ending with Kyle and Johnny both needing a medevac. After getting back on base, it was Laswell who made the call. Sending them all home early with thinly veiled orders to take time off, recover, and get their heads back on straight.

Silence rang in his ears. Or maybe it was the fading adrenaline of sending countless men to meet their maker. He could never tell. Ghost's shoulders weighed him down as he turned the lock and pushed open the door to his apartment. He knew Laswell was right but he would never admit it. The mission had fucked with his head, he was out of it. Maybe time off would help. Maybe.

With a haggard breath, he dragged his mask off over his head and stepped into the place he called home. Home by the definition that it was where he slept, where he kept his handful of personal belongings, where he was alone. Well, almost. The slight thump and tap-tap-tap of Riley’s nails pull his attention away from his thoughts. The dog sleepily emerges from around the corner to where the bedroom is.

Damn dog was sleeping in the bed again…

Simon was tired, pure and true exhaustion laying heavy on his bones, his steps lethargic as he kicked off his boots. Riley circles him, licking his hand and nosing at his palm until he scratches his fluffy head, content with a pet behind his downy ears. Satisfied with the attention, Riley turned to return to the bedroom. With an amused huff, Simon followed the dog, watching as the furry beast leaped onto the bed. It's not the dog's blatant disregard for the ”no dog on the bed” rule that stops Simon in the doorway of his bedroom.

No, it's the figure lying in his bed that causes the mountain of a man to come to a halt. The soft and cool light of the moon glitters through the window, illuminating the space. It catches on the silver chain around your neck. He's too far to tell what it is exactly but the charm or locket on it flashes in the moonlight with the rise and fall of your chest. His gaze continues to drag over your sleeping form, the wheels in his head spinning uselessly as he tries to take in the scene before him. Hair splayed across his pillow, limbs tangled in his sheets, cuddling into his dog.

Who the fuck are you?

He knows he should reach for the gun still strapped at his hip. Should wake you up, demand answers. Should call the cops, get you in trouble for breaking into his home. But Simon’s never been one to do what he should. Without a word or thought, he turns on his heel.

Guess I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.

You woke up to Riley nuzzling at your cheek, the dog’s nose was cold and wet, pulling a soft laugh from you. With a sleepy hum, you band your arms around the dog and bury your face in his warm fur, sighing with contentment. The morning light is soft and the apartment is quiet. Peaceful. Eventually, you nudge the dog off, pushing yourself up in the bed with a yawn and stretch.

The chill of the hardwood nips at your feet as you step out of bed, a shiver rolling up your spine from the sudden loss of fluffy blankets. Sleepily, you glance around for something to ward off the morning air, snagging a hoodie from where it was tossed over the back of Simon’s desk chair. Humming some song you can’t remember listening to recently, you head to the bathroom, doing your morning routine, unable to keep from smiling to yourself in the mirror as you fix your hair.

Simon should be back tomorrow. It was both a blessing and an inconvenience. You would have to return everything to its place in his apartment and go back to watching him from a distance… But he was back! Your sweet, handsome, brooding, gentle giant of a man was back from wherever his mission had sent him.

Practically floating back to the bedroom, you carefully look over his laundry. It was always a careful choice. What to take, what to leave, what he would and wouldn’t notice. You settle on a simple army green t-shirt at the bottom of one of his drawers, old and nearly threadbare but his smell was fused with the fabric at this point. Pulling it over your head, it settles loosely over your frame, oversized and stretched from years of wear and tear. Matched with your own pair of jeans, you glance at where Riley is sitting patiently in the hall, waiting dutifully to be let out.

Walking to the front door and grabbing the dog's leash, you look back at the fluffy creature who had trotted along behind you. Bending to clip the lead onto his collar, you coo and smile sweetly at the retired army dog, booping him on the nose. “You ready for your walk Mr. Riley?” You weren't expecting an answer so the rough voice that rang through the cozy silence of the apartment had your soul nearly leaving your body and your head snapping up to look into the living room, eyes locking with Simon’s.

“Wasn't aware we were going for a walk.”

An: First posted work and first series! Very excited to share this 😌Feedback is appreciated and encouraged, if I missed any tags let me know! Comment if you want to be added to the series taglist (gen taglist is here)

Tag list: @pythonmoth @hattiefunny

#❥ kitty writes #❥ orange cat fics #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost fluff #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #simon riley cod #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty ghost #call of duty #cw gun mention #cw stalking

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ddejavvu · 6 months ago

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pairing: james potter x reader

summary: your yule ball date goes south. James picks up the pieces

a/n: this is relatively close to a scene that's gonna be in a large marauders fic i've had as a WIP for forever so if you read that in a year and think hm that sounds vaguely familiar no it literally doesn't

You've never felt any strong kinship towards James Potter before, but now, shoulder to shoulder, equally stunned looks on your faces, you know you share an experience most don't.

"Well," James hums, dazedly, free from anger even if it should be present, "Alright then."

Neither of your should-be ball dates look up from where they're snogging each other in one of the utility closets covered up by paper streamers and an appetizer table, and you feel irritation begin blooming in your chest the way that they won't even look at you. Perhaps they can't hear you, perhaps there's fireworks in their heads and they're sharing one of those everything-else-melts-away moments.

Good for them.

You turn on your stiletto heel and head pointedly but casually towards the door to the balcony. You're eager for the cool night air on your skin- the crowd seems suffocating now. You snag a bottle of something you're sure was meant for the professors on the way out, keeping it tucked to your side to ensure no one sees you leave with it. It's amber in color and you'll figure out what it is later; right now your only concern is getting out.

You examine your feelings staring out over the grounds, moonlight bathing your skin and making the gems on your dress glimmer. You should be sad. Devastated, even, what with your date shacking up with some other girl when he should have been dancing with you. But you're not.

It's an unpleasant feeling, but it's betrayal more than heartbreak. You suppose you were never really head over heels for the boy you'd agreed to go with, it was just nice to be asked. To be wanted.

A wistful love song leaks out from the open doors to the ballroom, and you chew on its lyrics as you fit your mouth around the spout of your bottle. It warms you, your tongue suddenly heavy and tingling as you swallow a fair mouthful of the stuff.

"That was a sloppy grab," Someone calls from behind you, and you're surprisingly not tense when you recognize it as Potter's, "Someone could have seen you."

"We're not all mischief makers, Potter," You let the ghost of a smile cross your face as you stare out over the grounds, liquor residue leaving them sticky, "You should teach a class on smuggling things in and out of the school."

"I have thought about being a professor here," He admits, taking the place beside you and leaning out over the railing, "DADA if I could get it. Don't think Minnie's goin' anywhere or I'd go for Transfiguration."

"She'll be teaching our grandkids," You laugh, "And god save this school if you're ever hired."

"I'd be great." He assures you, a laugh in his eyes rather than his mouth, "So. Are you- ehm, okay?"

"Yeah." You shrug, your bare shoulders catching the slight breeze where your dress cuts them out, "It's- I'm fine. He wasn't the love of my life. Just sucks he lead me on is all."

"Right. Me too." James nods, "I- I wanted things to work with her. But I suppose in ten years I saw myself with someone else."

You attempt another sip of liquor after a bout of heavy silence, but James's hand holds the bottle away from your mouth, "Hey, slow down, killer! Liver failure is not a good method of revenge."

"Two sips won't kill me," You scoff, but you don't fight him when his large, warm hand takes the bottle from you, "You just want some for yourself."

"Yes and no." He grins, taking a swig of his own, "For courage, I s'pose. And dance moves."

You raise a brow at him, listening as the song changes from a ballad to a swinging one, something that makes you want to let loose and experiment with moves you've seen only middle-aged men showcase at weddings.

"Come on." He offers you a hand, setting the bottle aside and straightening off of the railing, "Come on, you've gotten dressed up to dance tonight, and there's no one else out on this balcony. Just you and me, let's do it."

"I got dressed up tonight to fuck," You clarify, but you're not sure if you really mean it- anything to ward away any good luck that comes to you before it sours like most things seem to be tonight.

"Well that can come after. I'm not fond of exhibitionism," James explains, hand still outstretched as you straighten your dress instead of taking it, "Come on. I'm about to lay out some truly heinous dance moves and I'll be making a fool out of myself if you don't join me."

The beat of the song really is tempting, an oldie but goodie that you'd danced to in your bedroom a thousand times before.

With a decisive huff you surge forwards, taking his hand and letting yourself relax into the rhythm the song sets for the pair of you. James is not wrong- he's a sight to behold while he's dancing, but you let him be your example and soon you're both choking on laughter as you swing each other across the balcony and dance circles around each other. The song dies down into another ballad and you let James press you politely against him, his hands never straying further than your waist as you hold his shoulders.

"I'm almost glad he ditched me," You muse, chest heaving slightly from exertion, "I don't think he would have danced with me like that."

"Mine was- uhm, she wasn't fantastic conversation." James admits, "I feel bad, but-"

"No, she's an airhead." You nod, knowing all too well that the girl James had escorted into the ballroom tonight did perhaps everything in her power to never have an intelligent thought, "It's harsh but it's true."

He nods, and your head comes to rest comfortably against his chest, cheek pressed into his dress robes.

"Thanks, James." You murmur, squeezing his shoulders gently. You feel more than hear his response, but the soft, suddenly tender, 'My pleasure, Y/N.' warms you more than the liquor had, the perfect antidote to the cool air out on the balcony as you sway in time with James.

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #james potter one shot #james potter one-shot #james potter headcanon #james potter headcanons #james potter hc #james potter hcs #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter dialogue #james potter fluff #james potter x reader fanfiction

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sulkingheichou012 · 22 days ago

Text

Into the Dungeon with You

Pairing: Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: RomCom, Action, Smut

Warning: Description of violence and profanity.

Summary: Jinwoo frowned as a new system notification appeared before him.

[Special Reward Successfully Claimed.]

Author's note: I'm happy that some of you are enjoying my silly work! Yes, if you're asking to be tagged—sure! 😊

Chapter 18

Y/N had thought she understood Jinwoo.

Stoic. Calm. Quiet.

A man who rarely showed emotion unless someone threatened his family or the world.

But now?

Now, Jinwoo was her husband.

Jinwoo was in full “husband unlocked, affection level MAX” mode.

The problem?

He wouldn’t. Stop. Touching. Her.

Y/N woke up tangled in limbs. Jinwoo was spooning her like he was afraid she’d vanish. One leg thrown over her hip. One arm across her waist. His face in her hair. And his hand—ahem—somewhere that made her blush daily.

“Jinwoo…” she whispered. “Mmh.” He didn’t even open his eyes. “You’re squeezing.” “I’m making sure you’re real.”

Y/N groaned, both flattered and mildly panicked.

Jinwoo found... other priorities.

Y/N was sitting at her desk, reviewing dungeon reports. Jinwoo walked in. Silent. Shadow Monarch smooth. Until he wasn’t. Until he planted his hands on either side of her chair and leaned in. His breath ghosted over her ear. “Take a break.” “I’m busy,” she muttered. He kissed just behind her ear. “Five minutes.” “No.” His lips brushed lower, down her neck. “I can make you forget paperwork.” Y/N swallowed. “I—Jinwoo!” And then he bit her gently.

She never finished those reports.

Y/N tried. Really, she did. She thought maybe tonight she’d cook dinner in peace. But no.

Jinwoo was behind her at the stove. Again. Arms around her waist. Again. Chin on her shoulder. And his hands? “Jinwoo,” she warned. “Yes?” Innocent. “Hands above the waist.” “They are.” “No, they’re not!” He hummed. “That’s a matter of perspective.”

She dropped the spoon. And found herself carried bridal-style to the couch. Dinner burned.

Every night.

…a battlefield. One Y/N lost. Every. Time.

He’d pull her close. Slide his fingers through her hair. Brush kisses over her temple. And then— “Wife,” he whispered, reverent. “You do remember I’m your wife every day, right?” she teased. “Mhm.” His gaze was molten. “But I like saying it. Because now you’re mine.” She arched a brow. “I was yours before.” “Now it’s forever.”

Cue: steamy kisses. Cue: hands on her waist. Cue: Jinwoo exploring every inch of her like it was the first time.

And that stamina recovery skill? It was real. Y/N had to beg for mercy.

“Jinwoo, wait—nooo!” “Yes,” he growled, smirking. “Yesss.”

The soft hum of the coffee maker filled the kitchen, mingling with the sizzle of bacon in the pan. Y/N stood at the counter, barefoot in nothing but Jinwoo’s oversized black shirt, the hem brushing against her thighs. Her hair was still tousled from sleep—or rather, from the lack of it, thanks to the last night’s stamina training lead by Jinwoo. The scent of fresh coffee and toasted bread wafted through the air as she flipped a pancake, her hips swaying slightly to an imaginary tune.

Jinwoo leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a lazy, predatory grin. He’d slipped on a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, leaving his chiseled torso bare. The honeymoon had been a blur of tangled sheets and whispered promises, but being back home didn’t mean the fire had dimmed. If anything, seeing Y/N in his shirt, moving so casually in their space, only stoked it higher.

“Smells good,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep, though his eyes weren’t on the food.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, catching the heat in his gaze. “The pancakes or me?” she teased, smirking as she turned back to the stove.

“Both,” he replied, pushing off the wall and stalking toward her. His footsteps were silent, but she felt his presence before his hands even touched her—warm, calloused fingers sliding over her hips, pulling her back against him.

“Jinwoo,” she laughed, half-protesting as she tried to focus on flipping the bacon. “I’m gonna burn breakfast. AGAIN..”

“Let it burn,” he murmured against her ear, his breath hot as his lips grazed her neck. His hands slipped under the shirt, tracing the curve of her waist before dipping lower, teasing the edge of her panties. “I’m hungry for something else.”

Her breath hitched, the spatula trembling in her hand. “You’re insatiable,” she managed, though her voice was already wavering, her body leaning into his touch despite herself.

“Says the one who kept me up all night,” he shot back, nipping at her earlobe. One hand slid up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak, while the other dipped beneath the fabric between her thighs, finding her already slick with want. “Seems like you’re not complaining.”

“Jinwoo—” Her protest melted into a moan as he pressed himself harder against her, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable through the thin sweatpants. The bacon popped in the pan, forgotten, as he spun her around to face him, pinning her against the counter.

His lips crashed into hers, hungry and unrelenting, tasting of last night’s wine and the promise of more. She clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he hoisted her up, setting her on the edge of the counter. The shirt rode up, exposing her to the cool air—and to him. His eyes darkened, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he dropped to his knees.

“Breakfast can wait,” he said, voice thick with lust, before burying his face between her thighs.

Y/N gasped, her hands flying to his hair, tugging at the dark strands as his tongue worked her over with ruthless precision. He knew her too well—every spot, every rhythm that made her unravel. The kitchen filled with her breathless moans, the coffee maker beeping in the background like a distant applause. Her legs trembled, hooked over his shoulders, and he gripped her thighs tighter, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

“Jinwoo—oh god—” She was close, teetering on the edge, when he pulled back just enough to look up at her, lips glistening, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Not yet,” he said, standing and tugging his sweatpants down just enough to free himself. He was hard, aching, and the sight of him made her whimper. He stepped between her legs, aligning himself with her entrance, teasing her with the tip. “I want to feel you when you come.”

She didn’t have time to respond before he thrust into her, deep and unrelenting, filling her completely. The counter creaked under them as he set a brutal pace, hands gripping her hips to pull her into every stroke. Y/N’s head tipped back, a string of curses spilling from her lips as pleasure crashed through her. The kitchen was a mess of heat and sound—the slap of skin, the clatter of a spatula hitting the floor, her cries mingling with his grunts.

“Fuck, you’re perfect, I love you,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. He bit down lightly, marking her as his, and that was enough to send her over the edge. She shattered around him, clenching tight, her whole body shaking as she came undone.

Jinwoo groaned, following her a moment later, spilling inside her with a final, shuddering thrust. They stayed like that, panting and tangled, until the smell of charred bacon finally broke through the haze.

Y/N laughed weakly, shoving at his chest. “You did let it burn.”

He smirked, kissing her slow and deep, still buried inside her. “Worth it.”

Several months, dozens of late-night snack runs, and countless stamina training have passed.

Fenrir had become strangely clingy.

Wherever Y/N went, the giant primordial wolf followed. Silent, looming, and attentive. His shadowy fur blended easily into the castle walls, and his glowing eyes tracked every move she made.

To most, it was unsettling. To Y/N, it was endearing… if a bit much.

“Fenrir,” Y/N sighed one morning, balancing a tray of snacks in her hands. “I love you, but you’re breathing down my neck.”

The massive wolf huffed quietly through his nose but didn’t budge from his spot at her side.

“I’m not helpless,” she said with a grin. “I can fight too, remember?”

Fenrir remained unmoving, his gaze dropping briefly to her midsection.

“You carry more than your own life now, my Queen,” Fenrir thought, ancient and knowing. “You carry the legacy of our King, and of this world yet to come.”

Y/N blinked at his look. “What? What’s that look?” No answer. Only quiet, dignified silence.

But Fenrir was already certain. He had felt it—the pulse of a life unlike any other. Small, yes. Fragile… not quite. There was power stirring within Y/N. Ancient, deep, and coiled like a newborn star.

“This child will eclipse even the light of this world,” he mused silently. “And I shall be its first sentinel.”

Y/N chuckled, scratching behind his ear without understanding the full weight of his presence. “You’re being weird today.”

Fenrir closed his eyes, indulging her affection briefly. But his mind was ever watchful. Silent guardian of life.

Over the next few days, Fenrir did not leave Y/N' side.

He sat at the edge of every room. He watched over her as she napped in the garden, his great form a living monument beside her. His breathing was so silent that even Beru once mistook him for a statue.

Jinwoo noticed. “Has he been like this all day?”

Y/N nodded, amused. “Yep. Clingy puppy mode.”

Fenrir snorted at the label, though his great body remained still.

“Puppy,” he mused, almost offended. “If only you knew, little Queen. I was ancient before your stars were born.” Still… he allowed the label. For her.

As they walked inside, Jinwoo kept an arm around Y/N. Fenrir followed. Unseen. Unheard. Watching.

The days after Fenrir’s mysterious behavior?

Pure chaos.

Y/N woke up clingier than ever. But also… bitey.

Jinwoo was lying on the couch, minding his own business, when suddenly— “Chomp.” Her teeth sank into his cheek. “Y/N… what are you doing?” he asked patiently. “I dunno,” she mumbled, still attached. “You’re… biting me.” “It’s because you’re so cute.” Chomp. “…I’m glad you think so.”

Later that night? Chomp. On his bicep. “I’m not food, you know,” he murmured. “You taste like husband,” she shrugged.

At 2:00 AM, Y/N shook him awake. “Jinwoo.” “Hm?” “I want strawberries.” “…Okay.”

Shadow exchange. Strawberries obtained. He returned… Y/N was asleep.

At 3:15 AM. “Jinwoo.” “…Yes?” “I want tteokbokki.” “Coming right up.”

Shadow exchange. Fresh tteokbokki. He returned… Y/N stared at it. “…I changed my mind.” “…To what?” “Chocolate milk.” Jinwoo sighed. “Got it.” Shadow exchange again. Chocolate milk. He returned… Y/N was snoring.

Y/N was happily chatting with Mrs. Sung in the living room, both of them perched on the couch like detectives dissecting a major scandal. Their hands flew through the air as they reenacted scenes, eyes wide with shared disbelief.

“Eomma! Have you seen the latest episode?!” Y/N gasped, grabbing Mrs. Sung’s arm like it was a lifeline. Mrs. Sung nodded, scandalized. “I did! That cheating man got caught—red-handed! With the other woman! In her car!” Y/N clutched her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. “And when she smacked him in front of everyone?! I swear I heard that slap in my soul!” Mrs. Sung leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You know, they say she practiced her slap on a melon to get the sound just right.”

At that moment, Jinwoo casually walked by, sipping his coffee. Y/N slowly turned her head to give him the look. The silent warning. The don’t you dare stare. Jinwoo froze, lowering his mug just slightly. “…What did I do?” Mrs. Sung patted Y/N’ hand approvingly. “That’s right. You let them know.” Y/N gave a tiny nod of solidarity… then blinked, her fingers tightening slightly. The room tilted, just for a second.

“Ah…” she murmured faintly. Mrs. Sung immediately caught her shoulder. “Y/N? Are you alright?” Jinwoo was already there in an instant, coffee abandoned, his hand steadying her waist. “What’s wrong?” His voice dipped low, serious. Y/N waved a hand, attempting a small laugh. “I’m fine! Just… maybe too much excitement.” Jinwoo didn’t look convinced. “No more watching dramas,” he declared.

Mrs. Sung stood up without another word, disappeared into the hallway, and came back holding a pregnancy test kit like she had it prepped for emergencies. “Trust me, I’ve been through this before—and survived.” she said matter-of-factly, handing it over like a seasoned battlefield medic. Y/N stared. “Wait, I—” “Bathroom. Now.”

Jinwoo peeked in from the kitchen, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” Mrs. Sung pointed at him without looking. “You. Sit. Stay.” Jinwoo sat like an obedient son.

Y/N returned a few minutes later, staring down at the stick in her hand. Two pink lines. “Uh…” she managed.

Mrs. Sung leaned over, squinted, and then let out a squeal that shook the heavens. “Oh-ho-ho! My grandbaby!!” She spun toward Jinwoo. “You did good! You worked hard!” she praised.

Jinwoo blinked. “I… did?” Mrs. Sung grabbed his shoulders and shook him proudly. “My son! So diligent! So productive! I knew all that stamina would come in handy!” “M-Mom!” Y/N slapped her palm over her face.

But Jinwoo’s brain was already overheating from pure happiness. He swept Y/N right off the floor into his arms. “You’re pregnant! We’re having a baby!” “I’m—Jinwoo, dizzy, remember—” Too late. He spun her around like they just won a game show.

“Jinwoo!!” Y/N yelped, gripping his neck. “PUT ME DOWN!” “But I’m happy!!” “YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE ME THROW UP ON YOU!” Mrs. Sung cheered them on from the couch. “Spin her again! She’s glowing!” Y/N shot her a look of betrayal. “Mother!!” “Don’t worry! If you throw up, it means he’s blessed!”

Fenrir, who was watching from the doorway, simply huffed in dignified silence. Chaos, he thought. Humans.

Jinwoo finally stopped spinning, setting Y/N down gently but beaming from ear to ear. “I’m going to be a dad…” he whispered, kissing her forehead softly. Y/N, still a little green, poked his cheek. “You owe me tteokbokki and strawberry milk for this.” He nodded solemnly. “I’m on it.”

Meanwhile, In Jinwoo’s inner domain.

For a moment, there was complete silence.

And then chaos.

“KYEEEEEEEHHHH!” Beru screamed, launching into the air like an overgrown cicada on steroids. “THE QUEEN IS WITH CHILD! THE MONARCH’S HEIR APPROACHES! ALL HAIL!”

Bellion let out an actual chuckle—deep, rumbling, and shockingly gleeful for a seven-foot-tall armored nightmare. “Congratulations, Shall I prepare a regiment of guards for the nursery.”

Igris silently drew his sword and saluted. A glowing black rose appeared in his free hand. He held it aloft with reverence, as if offering tribute.

Tusk was already scribbling furiously on a stone tablet: “Enchantment Plan: Anti-Teleportation, Anti-Flying, Baby-Proofing Fortresses.”

Even Greed, normally stoic, pumped both fists in the air like he’d just won the lottery.

Beru landed dramatically. “The next monarch will be legendary! We must celebrate, my king! A feast! A blood offering!”

“NO BLOOD OFFERING!” They object in unison.

It was “supposed” to be a calm evening.

Y/N sat cross-legged on their bed, flipping through a baby name book, while Jinwoo lounged next to her, elbows propped up, scrolling through his phone with intense concentration. His expression was so serious, you’d think he was reading a classified guild report… but no. He was deep in a list of baby girl names.

“How about Hana?” Jinwoo said, tapping the screen and showing it to her. Y/N blinked. “Why are you searching girl names?” Jinwoo looked at her like she was the one being weird. “Because it’s going to be a girl.” Y/N choked on her water.

“Excuse me?” she said, wiping her mouth. Jinwoo shrugged, completely casual. “It’s a girl. I know it.” Y/N set her glass down very slowly. “No, it’s going to be a boy.” “Nope. Girl.” “Boy!” “Definitely a girl.” “Why are you so sure!?” Y/N huffed, smacking his arm with the book.

Jinwoo turned toward her with that unreadable face, but his ears were turning a little red. “Because,” he said seriously, “I want her to look like you. Energetic like you.” Y/N’s cheeks flushed immediately. “She’d be chaos,” Jinwoo added with a faint smile, “but she’ll light up this house like you do.”

Y/N gawked at him for a second, then smacked his shoulder again—but gentler this time. “Stop saying sweet things, you’re trying to distract me.” “It’s working,” Jinwoo replied smoothly.

She crossed her arms. “It’s a boy. I’m sure.” Jinwoo gave her a look. “How are you sure?” Y/N gulped. Because I read the manhwa and Suho is adorable! But she kept her mouth shut and glared right back. “Woman’s intuition.”

Jinwoo leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “You’re wrong.” “Oh, I’m wrong?” “Yes. I made the baby,” Jinwoo said, raising an eyebrow. “I did all the effort.” Y/N blinked. “…And?” “The baby’s just paying rent in your womb,” he finished casually, as if it was scientific fact.

Y/N froze. “You WHAT!?” Jinwoo nodded solemnly. “Rent.” “You did NOT just say that—” “Full payment in kicks,” Jinwoo added. “See? Efficient tenant.”

Y/N threw the pillow at his face. Jinwoo caught it effortlessly, smirking as she lunged to tackle him. “You jerk! You dare say I’m just an innkeeper!?” “You’re a beautiful, glowing innkeeper,” Jinwoo teased, catching her wrists and pulling her down into his lap.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re lucky I love you,” she muttered. Jinwoo kissed her temple. “And you’re lucky I’m a responsible landlord.” “Jinwoo!” “I’ll offer a discount on rent if you kiss me right now.”

Y/N groaned into his shoulder, but she was laughing as she did it.

Fenrir, watching from the corner like the dignified guardian he was, sighed heavily and turned his back on them. Idiots, he thought. They will raise a kingdom, and yet… they are idiots.

Few months have passed.

It all started at 4 AM. As it always does.

Y/N woke up to a weird cramp. She poked Jinwoo in the ribs. “Wake up. I think this is it.” Jinwoo shot out of bed like he was raiding an S-rank dungeon. “WHERE’S THE BAG?!” “You packed it a week ago,” Y/N deadpanned, clutching her belly. Fenrir was already waiting by the door, dignified as ever but his tail wagging. It’s time.

They made it to the hospital in record time, partly because Jinwoo threatened to teleport them directly into the delivery room.

The contractions got worse. Y/N’ mood got… intense.

Mrs. Sung held her hand on one side. “You’re doing great, dear!” Y/N sniffled. “Eomma… thank you for being here.” “You’re my daughter now,” Mrs. Sung said firmly, kissing her forehead. “And after this, we’ll make Jinwoo your servant for a month.” “Make it a year,” Y/N groaned. “Deal.”

Meanwhile, Jinwoo was on her other side, holding her other hand like it was his lifeline. “You’ve got this,” he said quietly, but he was pale as hell. Y/N cracked an eye open. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” Jinwoo lied. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.” “Nope.” His face twitched. “I’m cheering for you.” “You look like I’m your support character and you’re dying in battle.”

The next contraction hit, and Y/N screamed his name. “JINWOO YOU DID THIS TO ME!!!” Jinwoo’s eyes widened. “I… yes, but—” “YOU’RE DEAD!!!” She crushed his hand in a vice grip. Jinwoo swore he heard bones crack. But he smiled anyway. “You’re doing amazing, Y/N. You’re so strong.”

Finally—after what felt like an all-night raid boss battle with no healer, half their mana gone, and aggro pulling left and right—the baby’s first cries echoed through the room.

Y/N gasped, the sound hitting her like a critical strike to the heart. “It’s a boy!” the doctor announced with a grin, carefully placing the tiny, crying bundle onto Y/N’ chest.

For a moment, everything stopped. Y/N slumped back against the bed, exhausted tears slipping down her cheeks as she stared at their son in awe. Jinwoo froze beside her, his breath caught in his throat. “…A boy,” he repeated softly, like he couldn’t believe it. Like the word alone might shatter if he spoke too loudly.

Y/N gave him a tired but victorious grin. “Told you so.” Jinwoo let out a shaky laugh that broke halfway through, his shoulders trembling. His dark eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, were now brimming with tears as he leaned in close. He kissed her temple first, gently, then their son’s tiny, wrinkled hand. “You did so well,” Jinwoo whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. Tears slid silently down his cheeks as he smiled at them both like they were his entire world. “I… couldn’t ask for more.”

And then it hit them. Both of them. Without a word, they started crying—quietly at first, tears of pure joy they didn’t try to hide. Y/N cradled Suho close to her chest, laughing between the tears as Jinwoo rested his forehead against hers. Outside the room, someone must have heard the baby’s first cry because, moments later, they heard muffled cheers, followed by sniffles and someone (probably Mrs. Sung) full-on sobbing.

Jinwoo finally pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand, but his smile stayed soft as he gazed down at his son. “He’s… beautiful,” he murmured. Y/N sniffled, brushing her fingers through the soft tuft of black hair on Suho’s head. “You think he’ll stay this cute, or will he start brooding and scaring people by the time he’s five?” Jinwoo chuckled. “If he takes after me… maybe four.” Y/N smirked, though her eyes were still glossy. “Better teach him how to smile early, then.”

Suho let out a tiny whimper, his little face scrunching in protest. Jinwoo’s expression softened even more—something Y/N hadn’t thought possible—as he carefully picked up his son, cradling him in his arms with the same reverence as if he were holding an ancient relic. “Shh,” he murmured, swaying slightly. “Time to sleep, little shadow.” And like magic—no, like Jinwoo—Suho settled almost immediately, his tiny fist curled against his father’s chest.

Y/N watched them both, utterly in love, and whispered, “He already trusts you… guess he knows who’s overpowered in this family.” Jinwoo chuckled quietly, keeping his gaze on their son as he replied, “No. That’s you.

Meanwhile, in Jinwoo’s Inner Domain.

The vast shadow plains trembled. A pulse of life, raw and ancient, rippled out.

Beru froze in mid-air, antennae twitching wildly. Then his insectoid mandibles split into a terrifying grin.

“KYEEEH! THE YOUNG MASTER HAS ARRIVED!” he shrieked.

Bellion dropped his sword point-first into the obsidian ground and roared. “IT IS TIME.”

What time? Nobody knew, but it sounded official.

Then it happened.

The elite Shadows who’d once been kings, warlords, and monsters… devolved into absolute chaos.

The High Orcs, normally stoic and terrifying, began chanting in deep, guttural voices as they formed a perfect circle.

“UGA! UGA! PRINCE! UGA!”

They stomped their feet rhythmically, shaking the obsidian ground. Then they started clapping in sync, forming a drum line with their fists pounding into their own thick chests.

One of them pulled out… maracas.

No one knew where he got them. No one asked.

Overhead, Kaisel, the fearsome dragon, landed with a bone-jarring THUD.

And then…

He tucked his tiny, bony arms under his ribs, flapped his massive skeletal wings like a chicken, and started bobbing his head in a full-on chicken dance.

Clap-clap! Flap-flap! Wiggle-wiggle!

Somehow, Kaisel managed to moonwalk backward while doing it.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” screamed a random mage-class shadow, openly sobbing with joy and confusion.

Bellion clutched his helmet, but the dignified knight was smiling. “The King’s heir is born. We rejoice.”

Beru launched himself off Bellion’s back like a missile, doing triple flips while screaming, “KYEEEHH! SHADOW PRINCE! KYEEEHHH!!”

The group of mage shadows joined hands in a ring, hopping up and down, spinning in dizzy circles and flinging off fireworks spells like they were in a rave. One accidentally cast Meteor Shower—thankfully, it fizzled harmlessly.

Tusk screamed “UNCLE TUSK! TUSK CELEBRATE!” over and over again, scooping smaller shadows up and throwing them skyward like toddlers on a trampoline.

Greed flew by with another handmade banner trailing behind him. This one read:

“PRINCE SUHO: FIRST BLOOD, FIRST BITE, FIRST CRY—THE LEGACY BEGINS.”

Even Igris, ever the silent knight, was clapping politely… until Beru tackled him around the waist like a football striker scoring the winning goal.

They all ended up in a dogpile while Kaisel flapped over them in chicken dance formation.

Fenrir stood at the edges of the chaos, his golden eyes narrowing.

Buffoons. Every single one of them.

But his ears flicked once as if in approval.

And then he laid down beside Suho’s bassinet in the real world, resting his muzzle nearby. If anyone tried to approach the young heir, they’d be eating teeth.

He might let Kaisel squawk, but nobody messes with the pup.

The hospital room was finally quiet.

Y/N had drifted into an exhausted sleep not long after the delivery, her breathing soft and steady, a faint smile lingering on her lips even as she dozed. Jinwoo had tucked the blanket around her carefully, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. He kissed her forehead softly, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, before slipping out of the room.

He needed to see their son.

The nursery was dim, the soft glow of the lights casting a warm haze over the row of bassinets. Jinwoo’s steps were nearly silent, his hands slipping into his pockets like he always did when his mind was racing. But the moment his eyes landed on the tiny, wriggling bundle marked Sung Baby, he froze.

For a full minute, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared.

His feet carried him to the glass window on their own. He placed both hands against it, as if he could reach through the barrier, as if he could hold him again.

Suho was sleeping peacefully, his tiny fists balled up near his cheeks, his breaths soft and even. Occasionally, he made an adorable little noise that Jinwoo was sure sounded like a battle cry. That’s my son, he thought, pride swelling in his chest. Our son.

Jinwoo let out a shaky breath, smiling, even as tears gathered in his eyes. “You’re really here,” he murmured, voice soft. “We were fighting over your gender for months, you know.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve even though more tears slipped through. “Your mama was so sure you were a boy. She always wins, doesn’t she?” He shook his head fondly. “She’s cool like that.”

His fingers gently tapped the glass, like he was trying to get Suho’s attention even though he knew his son wouldn’t open those sleepy eyes just yet. “Hey… whatever you are, whoever you become…” Jinwoo whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “I’ll always be here. For you. For your mama. I’ll protect you both.”

Another tiny noise came from Suho’s crib. Jinwoo laughed again, a quiet, breathless sound. “You agree with me, huh? Mama is pretty cool.”

He stood there a little longer, hands still pressed to the glass, watching his son sleep like it was the most important mission of his life. Because it was.

“Welcome to the world, Suho,” Jinwoo said softly. “I’ll make sure it’s a good one for you.”

They had barely returned from the hospital when it happened.

Y/N had just sat down on the couch, Jinwoo was fussing over adjusting her pillows (even though she swore she was fine), and baby Suho was snuggled in her arms—when Beru approached.

Very slowly.

Very seriously.

“May I… borrow the Young Master for a moment, my Queen?”

Y/N blinked, suspicious. “Uh… why?”

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes. “Beru.”

Beru gave a dramatic bow, wings spread wide, his giant claws respectfully close to his chest. “I have seen something most inspiring in the human world. A sacred rite… for the future ruler.”

Jinwoo sighed. “You’ve been watching TV again, haven’t you?”

But Y/N was already handing over Suho with a grin. “Oh, this I need to see.”

Beru carefully scooped the bundled baby into his long arms like he was holding a priceless treasure—which, in his mind, he totally was.

Without another word, Beru marched toward the nearest open balcony.

Y/N sat up straighter. “Wait, where’s he going?”

Jinwoo was already on his feet. “Beru, no!”

But it was too late.

“.....................”

The moment Beru reached the balcony, Kaisel soared out of nowhere, landing smoothly at his side, as if he’d been summoned. Bellion was already there, standing tall and proud like some royal bodyguard. And Fenrir… Fenrir stood regally beside them, tail swishing with dignified approval.

And then it happened.

Beru lifted baby Suho high into the air, his black wings flaring wide behind him. “BEHOLD! THE FUTURE HEIR!”

The shadow legion, gathered below in the training yard, immediately dropped to one knee in perfect unison, heads bowed. Some were actually crying. No, wait—that was the mage corps.

And then there was Tusk.

Oh, Tusk.

Tusk stepped forward, his staff slamming into the ground with a mighty thud. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began chanting in a deep, rumbling voice, his tone like the rise of an ancient storm:

“NNNAAAAAAHHHHHH… SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVEENNYYYYYAAAAAA… BABA GEE TIBABAAAAA…”

His voice echoed, mana crackling faintly in the air as if the heavens themselves were watching.

Jinwoo was frozen at the door, jaw slack. “What… what is happening.”

Y/N was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe.

Beru turned slowly, as if hearing them, his voice full of reverence. “I have watched the Sacred Tale, my King and Queen. It is the Circle of Life. I'm so honored.”

Jinwoo ran a hand down his face.

Beru ignored him, still holding Suho high as the entire Shadow Legion started chanting something in perfect unison that sounded suspiciously like “Nants ingonyama bagithi baba!”

Y/N wheezed.

Jinwoo muttered, “I should’ve limited his screen time.”

Y/N wiped her tears of laughter, leaning into her husband. “Oh no, I love this. Our son’s first official introduction? Perfection.”

Jinwoo sighed, then smiled helplessly as he watched his legion honor their tiny prince with the most dramatic moment in existence.

Suho, for his part, let out a tiny yawn and sneezed.

The entire Shadow Legion gasped in unison and immediately bowed lower.

Beru clutched Suho to his chest. “Blessed be the Young Master! His power is mighty already!”

Y/N giggled. “You know what? We need to record this.”

A few weeks after Suho was born, it became undeniable. He was a miniature Jinwoo. Jet-black hair that already flopped messily over his forehead, serious little brows furrowed even while he slept, and a natural “resting monarch face” that made the everyone coo but also salute him instinctively.

“He looks like you copy-pasted your face onto a baby,” Y/N mumbled one morning, her cheek pressed against Jinwoo’s shoulder as they stared at Suho napping in his crib. Jinwoo smirked proudly, one arm wrapped around her waist. “Good genes.” Y/N reached up and playfully tugged his ear. “Yeah, well. The biting worked.”

Jinwoo groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t bring that up again. You bit me every day during the pregnancy.” “And look how perfect he turned out,” Y/N said smugly, poking Suho’s chubby cheek gently with her finger. “That’s the price of a masterpiece.”

Mrs. Sung was over the moon. She visited almost every day, bringing home-cooked meals and cooing over Suho as if he was made of pure gold. “Jinwoo-ah, you finally did something right,” she sniffled one day as she held Suho, her eyes gleaming. “This child is perfect. My grandson will rule the playground and the world.” “Mom,” Jinwoo sighed. “Don’t ‘Mom’ me! If you breathe wrongly around Y/N, I’ll slap you.” Y/N, sipping her tea beside her, gave Jinwoo a sweet, smug smile. “You heard your mom.”

Mrs. Sung beamed and patted Y/N's head like a precious child.

Jinwoo? He stood off to the side. Quiet. Slightly confused why his mom gave his wife the nickname “Daughter” and him the 'side-eye in-law' look.

Jinah became the coolest aunt in existence. She had already bought Suho tiny sneakers that lit up and attempted to teach him fist bumps—despite him being only two months old. “Bro, this kid’s going to be an athlete and a genius,” she bragged, holding up Suho. “Put him down,” Jinwoo deadpanned. “Not until he does the fist bump.”

Even Jinho—Uncle Jinho, Y/N’s walking wallet, as Y/N declared—got involved, spoiling Suho with plushies and random baby gadgets. “This kid’s got VIP insurance and a gold spoon in his mouth,” Jinho said proudly. “I’m calling it: future president.” “He’s not even sitting up yet,” Jinwoo replied, but he was smiling anyway.

After the fiasco with Fenrir howling mysteriously during the pregnancy, Jinwoo wasn’t taking chances. Tusk worked overtime carving anti-teleportation and anti-flying runes into the house. Every corner had subtle, glowing glyphs. “We’re locked down tighter than a national treasure vault,” Jinwoo said, hands on his hips. Y/N patted his back. “Good job. But if he shadow-exchanges into the fridge again, we’re going to have a problem.” “...That was one time.”

By six months, Suho could hover. By eight months, he could shadow exchange… randomly. One moment he was in his crib, the next he was sitting on top of Fenrir’s head, giggling as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Fenrir, ever dignified, simply sighed in his deep, ancient way and carried the baby like an heir on a throne. “Such power in one so small,” Fenrir mused. “The realms will tremble.”

They learned to keep an eye on Suho constantly. Y/N, however, wasn’t surprised at all. “I told you,” she said one night, as they both watched Suho playing with Igris’ helmet like a toy. “He’s destined to be overpowered.” Jinwoo just sighed, hugging her from behind. “At least he’s cute.” Y/N leaned back into his chest. “That’s the biting.” “Please stop saying that.”

One sunny afternoon, while Suho was peacefully gnawing on Beru’s antenna (Beru, ever the loyal subject, simply buzzed with pride), Y/N found herself on the couch, cuddled up next to Jinwoo. Jinwoo was flipping through reports on his tablet, while Y/N scrolled through old photos on her phone.

Out of nowhere, Y/N started giggling.

Jinwoo glanced at her. “What’s funny?” Y/N turned to him, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m just thinking about our love story.” Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, putting his tablet down. “What about it?” She sat up, cracked her knuckles dramatically, and with a grin, declared, “It all started with sniffing… and ended with biting.” Jinwoo sighed. “Not this again.” “Oh yes,” Y/N said, poking his cheek. “And now? That sniffing and biting combo gave us Suho.”

Suho giggled in response, still hanging off Beru’s antenna like it was a jungle gym.

Y/N clapped her hands once. “Okay! Listen up, baby. Mama’s gonna tell you the story of how you came to be.” Jinwoo groaned. “He’s six months old. He doesn’t need to hear this.”

Y/N winked at Suho, who floated a little higher in excitement. “Too late. He deserves to know the truth.”

And maybe one day, Suho would understand the chaos, the love, and the wild adventures that brought them here.

But for now, the Shadow Monarch, his Queen, and their flying baby prince had everything they could ever need.

“The End… for now.”

<< Chapter 17

Tag requests: @kisssleeping; @catsf0rlife707; @aorifukuzawa; @joannthebish; @ojog404; @tanspostsblog; @snowy-violet; @o-qi-shisme; @sleepyamaya; @harrystylesfan2686; @night-shadowblood-writes2; @weaponxgames; @bubera974; @moonlightsof; @limerenceisserenity; @mashiromochi; @its-carlerrr; @kuramiachan; @purplehazzes; @leviackerman2030; @estrnrea;

Dear Y/Ns,

First of all—thank you! No, seriously… a HUGE thank you for riding along on this absolutely chaotic fanfic! From the very first moment Y/N sniffed Jinwoo to the legendary biting that somehow led to Baby Suho (who’s already flying around and dodging anti-teleportation runes like a tiny pro.) And I’m so, so happy you joined me to this madness lol.

I hope this story made you laugh, cry, and maybe shout, "WHY IS KAISER MOONWALKING?!" At least once. (Don’t worry,,, I’m still asking myself the same thing! Sigh…)

And guess what? I’m already cooking up some side stories—whether it’s Jinwoo’s Prime Hitting In (Yas… it’s steamy🔥) or another chaotic one-shot adventure with action, fluff, and who knows what else! If my imagination runs wild again, well… no one is safe...

Thank you again for all your support, comments, and good vibes! Y/N and Jinwoo’s story might be wrapping up for now, but who knows what’s next? If you have fun ideas or moments you’d love to see, feel free to share them—I’d love to hear from you!

— SulkingHeichou12

#jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jinwoo #jinwoo #x reader #solo leveling

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losers-clvb · 18 days ago

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"you said if we had been closer in age, maybe it would have been fine" sam winchester x party girl!reader

content: age gap, fluff, angst, language, sam is a little mean, reader is a little crazy, travis appearance lol

word count: 4k

song: all too well ten minute version by taylor swift

note: everyone say "thank you jen" for encouraging me to get this out!! love you, girl @xoswiftieprincess !

m.list meet party girl!

The winding roads had been relatively empty compared to what you had been used to in the city.

Sam drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other grasping yours in your lap. You'd been drifting in and out of sleep the entire drive, listening to the soft voices on the podcast Sam had picked out.

There had been a deal: half the drive would be Sam's choice, the other your own. You assumed he'd play the music he grew up on, the kind his brother still blasted through Impala speakers the few times he'd come with Sam to visit.

Instead, you were learning about the ancient Aztecs's religious traditions.

What a fucking snoozefest.

Still, you didn’t complain, and had even carried on a conversation about the topic. It was a lot of uh huhs and wait, what does that means, but you wanted him to feel heard. You loved his brain, you loved his enthusiasm, you loved him. So what if you had to pretend sometimes?

“Baby,” Sam muttered, putting more pressure into the strokes of his thumb on your hand. You opened an eye, turning your head to look at him.

“Hmm?” You hummed.

“We gotta stop at the store. I told Jody I’d pick a few things up.”

“Okay, honey.” You dismissed before cuddling into his arm, resting your cheek on his forearm.

When Sam had asked you to go with him to a dinner, one thrown together with his mismatched family. Dean would be there, but you already knew him. The real anxiety maker?

Some lady you didn’t know who obviously meant something to Sam.

Jody had heard about you in passing. She thought great, let Sam finally have a fling. But when your name kept coming up months after, getting close to a year of your relationship taking bloom, she knew she had to let him know she supported him. He didn’t have much of that, and Jody was always happy to play step-in-mother.

There was a small fact that had escaped her in all the times she’d heard Sam and Dean talking about you: your age. They had bickered about Dean picking fun at your youth, but she figured he was being dramatic, like he usually was. She was expecting someone maybe a year or two younger. What a surprise she was about to get.

That would be a future problem. Right now, Sam was more focused on your cheek pressed against him, breath ghosting over his skin. He was so focused on you, in fact, that he had taken his eyes off the road to admire your slightly parted lips.

The first thing he saw when he looked back to the road was the glowing red cast over the darkening street. He knew there was no hope for slamming on the brakes. He made the conscious decision to coast on through it, thanking whatever force he still believed in for allowing the cross-traffic to be nonexistent. He’d relaxed into his seat when you spoke.

“Did you just run a red light?” You had a slight slur in your voice, the sleep slowly seeping off of you. He flicked his gaze to the corner of his eye, wanting to catch your expression. Aside from the usual killing-and-maiming-of-monsters thing, Sam was pretty straight laced. He followed traffic laws, he always returned his shopping cart to the corral, and he never drank too much. This wasn’t like him.

“No.” Sam answered, mumbling the word out in hopes that you hadn’t actually seen the light, or perhaps that you had suddenly gone colorblind and couldn’t actually tell green from red.

“Mmm,” you purred, sitting up, “looked pretty red to me.”

Sam couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lips. You stretched your arms, a small noise escaping you at the relief it brought.

“It may have been slightly red.” Sam’s hand had fallen from your hand when you stretched, but he immediately placed it on your thigh, needing to just touch a part of you to keep him grounded.

“There is no slightly red, Sammy.”

“You’re criticizing my driving?” He steered the conversation away from himself, a teasing tone in his voice. “Do I have to remind you of last month?”

“I didn’t hit that curb! It got in my way.” You defended.

There had been one time during Sam’s last visit that he had dared to let you drive. He had been exhausted and, hey, you had your license, so you couldn’t have been that bad of a driver, right?

Wrong.

Whoever proctored your test must have been unconscious because there was no way you had passed on your own. You took turns too sharply, had to slam on your brakes more than once, and had even scraped a bit of the body of the car on a curb. Sam cringed at the memory of the nails-on-chalkboard noise it had made.

“Mhm,” Sam hummed and, if you were less focused on looking for the perfect spot for him to park in at the store, you would have teased him for the sassy tone of it.

You gathered your purse up, more of a formality than anything since Sam never let you pay for anything, but stopped when you noticed him just staring at you. You quirked an eyebrow up, a small pout popping your lips out.

“What?” You asked when he still didn’t move.

“I love you.” Sam answered simply, cupping your cheek in his hand. His thumb brushed across your chin.

“I know,” you giggled before kissing him, almost sighing at the taste of coffee and spearmint. “I love you too.”

And so it was, you gathered Sam’s hand in yours while you cruised the aisles of the grocery store. Sam held a basket in his other hand, ignoring the growing weight with every item you placed in it.

He had eyed the packet of gummy worms you had swiped up, but said nothing. There was no winning the argument of whether or not you needed them when you were going to a dinner. He would have to live with the fact that you were surviving on an 80% sweet treat diet.

“Chocolate or blueberry?” You asked, holding up two muffin options. Sam pretended to contemplate the decision. You scrunched your nose up and shook the packages, trying to get him to give you an answer quicker.

“Blueberry,” he finally replied, holding the basket out for you to drop them in. Just before you could skip ahead of him to the next aisle, he pulled you in for another kiss. It was quick and sweet, nothing like the heated makeout you two had when he picked you up.

Still, Sam noticed the furrowed brows of the middle-aged man who swiftly passed by. His glance at your college id card hanging out of your purse that quickly shot to observe your swollen lips gave the man all the information he needed to send a nasty glare Sam’s way. He knew what it meant. It was the “stop kissing young girls, you creep” look that he picked up on far too often for his liking.

He shouldn’t care about it. He knew that. You had gone on many tangents about how you didn’t “give a shit” if some “bitchy assholes” found a problem with the “true love” you and Sam shared.

It didn’t stop the small distance he kept between you two for the rest of the shopping trip.

Back in the privacy of the car, he let himself hold you again. The rest of the drive to Jody’s was full of laughter and you feeding him those damned gummy worms.

You were nervous. Very nervous.

What if she didn’t like you? Again, you didn’t care much what other people thought, but if Sam’s family didn’t like you, there was no way your relationship would last.

The pit in your stomach grew while each thump of Sam’s fist on the door. You stood next to him, one of his flannels draped over your shoulders and the muffins in your hands.

“Sam-,” you began to ask if Jody was nice, for around the fiftieth time that day, when the door swung open to reveal--

“Hey-ey!” Dean exclaimed, holding his arms out as if to say “look at this!”. “My two favorite dorks!”

“You weren’t calling me a dork when I outdrank your ass.” You snapped back. Technically, you had only won the little drinking game because some blonde behind you had caught Dean’s eye, but you took that as a win.

“You didn’t outdrink me, you-,” Dean started to argue, but Sam cut him off.

“Can we maybe not do this all over again?” Sam sighed. A smile was weaving itself onto his face despite his attempts at exasperation. He couldn’t help the joy that swelled in his chest at the sight of his two favorite people getting along so well.

“Of course, whatever my honey wants.” You shoved the muffins into Dean’s hands before wrapping your fingers around Sam’s arm, hanging on him to calm the anxiety that had sprung back up the moment you remembered why you were standing on a random doorstep. He kissed the top of your head and pulled you in close.

“C’mon, honey,” Dean sneered the pet name with that brotherly love he bottled up specially for Sam, “dinner’s almost done.” He turned on his heel and sauntered to the kitchen.

“I love you.” Sam mumbled to you one last time. He knew you were nervous. Hell, he was nervous too. He hoped his words would help ease you. If you were happy, he would be happy, at least, that was the theory.

You clung to Sam as he directed you in the direction Dean had gone in. The clatter of scraping and sizzling was growing louder with each step.

“Dean, get your fingers out-,” a feminine, but strong, voice scolded, “no touching!”

Your eyes caught onto the woman flitting about, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. She swatted at Dean’s hand, making you laugh. It wasn’t very loud, but she must’ve had the hearing of a dog, because she spun around. Her attention caught on Sam first, his large figure being a beacon in any room.

“Sam! You’re here. And this is-,” her voice cut off when she flicked her gaze to you. You offered a smile and she returned it, though it wavered a bit. “You must be his girlfriend! I’ve heard so many things, all good.”

“Sam goes on and on about you and Dean.” You revealed, melting into your boyfriend’s side. The tension you felt before had lifted, and you were utterly relieved for that fact.

“Well, I’ve saved his ass enough times, he better talk about me.” Jody joked. Her eye caught movement just behind her. “Dean!”

“What?” Dean tried to say, but with the biscuit shoved in his mouth, it came out as more of a “whuff?”. You snickered at the scene. Whatever initial thoughts Jody had about you faded away and you all moved about as a perfect unit, only bumping into each other once or twice.

Dinner spun by without problem. Or, well, without a clear problem. No one argued, other than the small bicker between Sam and Dean about who got to use the butter first. There were no ill-willed glares. Everything seemed to be in perfect harmony.

Until you tried to hold Sam’s hand. To his credit, he did let you rest your palm on his for a few moments. Slowly, he had inched it away, opting to hide his hands in his lap. You were left staring off into the space where he should have been, but an empty tabletop lay instead.

Laughter surrounded you.

Was Sam embarrassed to love you in front of others? You hadn’t thought that before. No, he always held your hand. He always gave you quick pecks just for the hell of it. He had never done this, never treated you like some little girl that was constantly begging for attention.

You couldn’t shake the shame you felt. It lingered on your skin through the rest of the meal. Even Jody’s apple pie couldn’t get it to go away.

Now, the night air chilled you on your short walk to Sam’s car. You didn’t dare reach for Sam, not after how he made you feel.

Sam knew something was wrong. You weren’t as happy as you usually were. You didn’t immediately weave your fingers into his when he climbed into the car. You made no move to play your music, leading the first half hour of the car ride back to your college town to be silent.

Your eyes stayed glued to the window. The darkened night sky held stars, but you didn’t feel like looking at them. You were mad. You were sad. You were embarrassed.

You heard Sam sigh, then mumble your name. His fingers brushed onto your clothed arm.

“Did you have fun?” He asked, voice soothing. It quelled a bit of the tension you held in your body, but the mental image of his hand sliding away from yours made you swallow down the thick emotion that was building in you.

“Yeah.” You answered short. It wasn’t a complete lie. Dean and Jody were fun. Sam was the one who made it not so enjoyable, but you didn’t want to confront him about it. Would it make you sound like a child throwing a fit?

“You’re kinda quiet,” Sam laughed, glancing at you for a moment. Your eyes dropped to the floor and you bit your lip to keep from responding. He frowned, concern washing onto him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s obviously something, baby. Please talk to me.” Sam tapped a finger on your thigh, out of habit. You hesitated, but he wasn’t gonna let this go, you knew that.

“Are you embarrassed of me?” You asked, voice small. You had never felt so… immature before. You hated it.

Sam nearly choked on his breath.

“What? Why would I be embarrassed? I love you.” He couldn’t believe this. How could you think he would be anything but proud of you?

“I know you love me, this isn’t about that.” You didn’t like how he was seemingly avoiding this. Did he really not see it all?

The answer was, no, he didn’t see it. It wasn’t something he set out to do. It all just happened, like all the guilt he felt about loving a younger woman just took control.

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about you not wanting to hold my hand at dinner. You made me feel like a little girl, Sam.” You unloaded it all on him.

Sam. Not honey, not Sammy. Sam. Like he didn’t mean anything to you.

Sam ignored the pang of heartache at the formality of the name.

“This is about me not holding your hand?” Sam scoffed. The condescension in his voice wasn’t intentional, but it still rang through you, making you furrow your eyebrows.

“No, Sam, this is about you not holding my hand in front of your family. You treated me like I was your friend, some acquaintance, not your girlfriend.” You didn’t even think of the next words that came out, but it was what escalated this argument. “Like loving me is wrong.”

Sam cringed at your words. He cringed because he’d thought them before. He’d thought loving you was wrong, morally, anyway. He took a deep breath, the regret he felt for what he was about to say doing nothing to stop him.

“Well, isn’t it? In some way, my love for you shouldn’t exist, right?”

You felt a shiver run up your spine. No. This couldn’t be happening. He regretted loving you.

“Why, because of my age? Because I don’t kill things for a living?” You spat out.

“Yeah. Because of your age.” Sam answered, nodding. Light flew over your faces while he drove, the signs of businesses paving the way to the end of the best thing that had ever happened to you.

“You’re not that much older than me. I mean, Jesus, I’ve had friends date men older than you.” You murmured, ignoring the pricking of tears at the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t cry, not now. It would show Sam that he was right, you were too young, you couldn’t even handle a simple fight.

“I’m thirty-,” Sam was cut off by you.

“You just turned thirty, like last month. My birthday’s in-,” this time Sam cut you off.

“You’re gonna be twenty-two. That’s eight years,” he finished the sentence with your name. He sounded far too much like a scolding parent.

“I can do math, I’m not stupid.” You scoffed, crossing your arms. Sam rolled his eyes. You were taking this all the wrong way. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. But, here he was, trying to talk you down from making him the bad guy.

“I didn’t call you stupid.” Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel to keep him focused. “You’re acting like a child,” he mumbled, hoping you wouldn’t hear it, because, really, he didn’t mean it.

“What?” You asked, pushing your head forward, ear turned to him. Now you were really pissed off. “What was that?”

“I said, you’re acting like a child.” He repeated, shaking his head.

You nodded your head sarcastically.

“If I’m such a child, maybe we shouldn’t be together. Wouldn’t want you to be a creepy old man.” You seethed, quoting his words from a few weeks into your relationship. He’d confided in you about his feelings, about how he felt wrong in how right your skin felt against him. At the time, you’d given him a kiss on the nose and said all the right things to make him feel better. Now, it was fuel for you to get through to him. You were hoping he would see where he was wrong, that he would take it all back and everything would go back to the way it had been.

Apparently you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be.” He agreed, eyes glued to the road so he wouldn’t see the effect his words had.

You froze, staring at the side of his face. He didn’t glance at you, he didn’t look like he regretted his words. The tears you had been holding back fell, streaking your mascara.

“What?” You asked, voice wavering. Please, you silently begged, please just say you’re sorry.

“We shouldn’t be together. This isn’t working, not like it should.” Sam knew he was being overdramatic to some extent. Really, your relationship did work, but he didn’t want to ruin you. He didn’t want to be the thing holding you back from something better, something easier. So, instead he hurt you. “Maybe if we were closer in age, it would. But, we can’t change that.”

“We can’t change that, so we should just ignore it. It shouldn’t matter.” You blabbered out, fingers trembling where you rested them on the middle console of the vehicle.

“It does. You know it does.”

“I don’t care about our ages!” You argued, trying to swipe away some tears.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want you to cry. It wasn’t fair, but this was how it had to be. Sometimes life wasn’t fair.

“Yeah, well, I do.” Sam sighed, flexing his jaw.

Your heart completely shattered. You couldn’t sit here and let him talk to you like this. You gripped onto the strap of your purse.

“Let me out.” Your voice was as flat as you could manage. Sam furrowed his brows. What the hell were you talking about? “Let me out. Now.” You repeated, a bit more stern.

“What? No.” Sam wasn’t gonna let you walk the streets of some random town. He would bring you back to your dorm, crying or not.

“Sam, let me out now or I’ll fucking jump out!” You threatened. Yeah, it was a little crazy, but you weren’t thinking straight. And Sam knew you, even if he pretended not to. He knew you would jump out, given enough motivation.

He pulled into the parking lot of a closed Burger King. The car hadn’t even stopped all the way before you lept out, sneakers hitting pavement. Sam huffed and put the car into park, climbing out to follow you. You were his girl -- wait, no, not anymore, but he still felt responsible for you.

You were a mess. There wasn’t a specific direction you were headed in. You just wanted away from this, away from the shame that still oozed all over you. You heard Sam call your name, causing you to quicken your pace.

“Get back in the car.” It wasn’t a demand, it was a plea. You shook your head, sucking in a steadying breath. It didn’t help.

“No.” You shuffled through your purse, looking for your phone. You needed someone, anyone. Anyone other than Sam.

“Please, just-,” Sam reached for your arm, but you flinched away.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You yelled. He didn’t get to touch you after breaking your heart like that. Your fingers slipped on the buttons on your phone as you typed, causing you to take longer to find your friend’s contact that it should have. You all but sprinted away from Sam, holding the phone to your ear.

He followed you, sighing.

“Stop acting like this.” There it was again, that fucking parental scolding. You cut a glare at him.

“Fuck,” you mumbled when the call went to voicemail. She was probably sleeping, like you should have been. That had been the plan. Sam would bring you back to the motel he always booked when he was in town to visit, and you two would spend the night together before he had to get back to helping Dean. Instead, you were here, wishing you had never met the tall man following you around the sidewalks.

“Baby-,” it just slipped out, Sam didn’t mean to say it, but you spun on your heel, cutting him off.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking call me that.” You had a murderous look in your eyes. He’d really pissed you off this time. It wasn’t your first fight, but it was looking to be your last.

You dialed another number, praying to God that he was awake. Of course, he was. I mean, when did Travis spend a Friday night not partying?

“Rosie?” Travis answered the phone with. He knew you were with Sam, you hadn’t shut up about this night for days. He just didn’t know why you were calling him.

“Trav,” you almost sobbed, the familiarity of your nickname hurting more than it should. “Can you pick me up?”

“What the fuck did he do?” Travis asked, but he was already moving toward his car. He took care of you like a sister, and he’d be damned if he would let you spend one more second hurting. Thankfully, he hadn’t drank as much as usual.

“Just…,” your lip quivered when you saw Sam standing there, staring at you like that. Like he cared. “Please hurry.”

And he did. Travis turned the three-hour drive into two hours. His hardened gaze immediately softened at the sight of you sitting on the curb near the Burger King, Sam leaned against the building, keeping watch over you.

You shot up at the sight of your savior, stumbling to him before collapsing into his arms. Travis glared at Sam. He didn’t know what had happened, but whatever it was, it had left you like this, and that was all he needed to hate the older man.

“I’m-,” Sam started to say “I’m sorry”, but Travis snapped at him before he could continue.

“Shut the fuck up.”

party girl taglist : @xoswiftieprincess @whothefvckami @giowritess

sam winchester taglist : @hobiespick

#supernatural #sam winchester #x reader #spn #supernatural x reader #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester x reader smut #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fic #party girl!reader #all too well 10 min version #taylor swift

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fettuccin-e · 1 year ago

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Just This Once

Kinktober Day 18: Squirting + Dacryphilia

Tags: Din Djarin x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv (pls wrap it before you tap it irl), fingering (r!recieving), squirting, light dacryphilia, Din being feral but also emotionally stunted (w/c: 1.7K)

A/N: Guess who fell behind on Kinktober again, womp womp. I will not give up though!! I am determined to finish, so please enjoy this Din fic that I may or may not have gotten too invested in while writing it and stay tuned for some more filth coming (and cumming hahaha) soon!! (for Kinktober I have been using this list from flightlessangelwings!)

There’s something about the coldness of space, the loneliness of it, that makes you so desperate.

When the Crest is quiet, the baby asleep, all you can feel is the vastness of the universe around you, your body cold and needy for touch. And Maker, the Mandalorian notices immediately, the way you cross and uncross your legs in the seat behind him, curling your fingers into your thighs as the stars fly past the ship. You don’t mean to be obvious, but Din always notices.

He knows how to treat you when you get like this, all needy and desperate for his touch, even when you don’t want to admit it. Din is willing to admit that you are far more than just a friend to him, but you both narrowly avoid the strength of the feelings between you both, the bond that drags you together. But still, Din knows exactly what you need, and he has absolutely no problem giving it to you.

He has you splayed across his lap, your back pressed against his chestplate, your head lolling back onto his shoulder. He’d lost his gloves the moment you’d peeled off your pants, his hands the only skin he’ll allow himself to touch you with. It’s a wonderful loophole for you, but an exercise in torture for him. He wants to feel your back pressed against his bare chest, trace his lips down your neck. Wants to feel your heartbeat against his, quick and warm and alive.

This is the Way, he reminds himself, despite knowing, deep down, that he’s already broken something just by touching you without his gloves. But stars, how can he resist when your pretty, desperate little cunt pulses beneath his fingertips, begging for more, more, more.

He ghosts his fingers up the slick seam of your pussy, and has to hold back his own groan at the way you whine, pressing back against him as your hips twitch uncontrollably.

“Stars, you’re wet,” he grunts, pressing a thick finger into your entrance, already gaping with your need for something, anything to clutch onto. “Needed me this bad, cyar’ika?”

“‘M so- so empty, Din, fuck, it’s like,” you cut yourself off with a gasp as he starts fucking you with that one thick finger, feeling it drag across your walls. “It’s like I can’t fucking breathe without you touching me, Maker, I need it all the time, Din.”

And it’s true. When you’d first started traveling with Din and the baby, you’d barely even noticed the loneliness. You’d been lonely your whole life, eager to escape your desolate little planet and see the stars.

But then Din had done this for the first time, when tensions had run too high, when things had gone just a little too far.

“Just this once,” he’d muttered, “Can I touch you?” he’d asked, and you’d said yes without a thought.

He’d peeled off his glove, touching your face gently, so gently with those calloused fingers. He’d laid you out on his small mattress, pressing the front of his helmet to your forehead as he let his hand roam the expanse of your body, squeezing your skin over your clothes before brushing them over your clit through your pants. When you’d jerked up and moaned, he could only let out a shaky exhale through his visor as he rubbed tight circles into it, enraptured by the way you whimpered and squirmed beneath him.

“Just once,” he kept muttering, even as he worked one, two orgasms out of your body, “just once.”

Except it happened again. And again. And again.

And now you can barely sleep without wanting, needing Din to touch you. He hasn’t fucked you; there’s an unspoken rule that he’s broken enough of the Creed for you, telling you his name, touching you like he does. You don’t question it, not when you’re the one getting fucked on his fingers until you’re in tears, ravenous for his hands on your body.

It’s like it gets worse as time goes on, your need for him. Even now, pressed against his chest as his thick thighs spread you wide for his hands, it’s like the first time. You writhe against him as he works another finger into your hot cunt, your slick covering his hand. You hump forward into them without meaning to, and you turn your head to tuck it into his cowl as he works you over.

Din fucks his fingers furiously into you, using his other arm to brace across your hips, keeping you pinned to him. He’s practically growling as he pumps his hand between your legs, crooking his fingers up to press against the spot that makes you cry so beautiful for him. He keeps his fingers pressed deep for a moment, just grinding the tips of them into that spot relentlessly and relishing in the way you cry his name so prettily.

“Din, please- oh fuck! Stars, it’s too much, it’s too much oh my- ah-” you wine, feeling tears start to build in your eyes as you edge dangerously close to that peak you need so bad.

“C’mon, mesh’la, let go for me, squeeze my fingers with this little cunt,” he growls, and fuck, you can’t even breathe as you let him work you over, making you cum so hard that you can’t do anything but gasp for air.

And Din can’t fucking take it anymore.

“Fuck, I-” you hear him say, and you turn your head to look at him, even as aftershocks wrack your body, even as his fingers stay buried inside.

“What, Din?” you whisper, and Din nearly curses at the sight of you. Your lashes are wet with tears, stars, why do you have to look at him like that? It wears at his carefully honed control, and fuck, he can practically feel it snap at the sight of you, as the feeling of you.

“Can I fuck you?” he rasps, and you hear him suck in a breath, “please let me fuck you.” You can't hold back the keening whine that leaves your mouth, and Din shivers behind you at the sound of it.

“Please,” you breathe, and Din pulls his fingers out of you without missing a beat, reaching behind you, between your bodies to pull his cock out of his pants haphazardly. You feel the hardness of it press against your lower back, and resist the urge to look. You don’t want to cross any more lines than he’s given you.

“Just this once,” he mutters, pulling your hips back over him, notching the thick head of his cock to your entrance. “Just need to feel you, once, fuck, just once,” and he pulls you down, down, letting his cock stretch you so wide, so perfect.

Months in space, just weeks of having Din touch you, stars, it’s nothing compared to this. You eyes roll to the back of your head as he settles deep inside, so fucking deep that it makes your toes curl.

“Dank farrik, that’s fucking tight-” he grunts, the hot, wet heat of your cunt pulsing around him almost making him fill you up right then and there. He bites his tongue, praying to the Maker that the pain stops him from ending this far too fucking soon.

He uses his hard, strong grip on your hips to roll you into him, grinding you down hard onto his cock. You can only take it as he punches his hips up in aborted, desperate little thrusts that grind into your sweet spot.

“Fuck, Din, it’s so big, I can’t-” you whine, but Din only growls beneath his visor, fucking up into you harder, and your head falls back onto his shoulder plate at the feeling of it. It’s so perfect, it’s everything you’ve needed, stars, how will you survive without him filling you up like this?

“Give me another one, cyare,” he mutters, and he uses one of his hands to bring his fingers to your clit, just like he did that first night. Except this time, his cock is inside you, spreading you so wide and pressing up into your g-spot with every fucking thrust in. You gasp for air, little whines punching out of your throat every time Din shoves in all the way.

He’s a violent man, always has been, and fucking you is no exception. He fucks you like he hunts: fast, rough, fucking monstrous. Tears finally start to pour down your cheeks, and you hiccup through your moans.

“Look at you,” he rasps, “sobbing on my cock like the needy whore you are.” He doesn’t know what’s happened to him, he’s never talked like this, let alone to you. But stars, the way you moan for him has his head spinning, has words pouring out of his mouth like they’ve been trapped there all this time. “Mesh’la, squeezing me so perfect, never want to leave this perfect cunt.”

“Din, fuck, Din, I’m gonna- stars, I’m gonna-” you gasp, your hands scrabbling at the one hand he has rubbing at your swollen clit.

“C’mon, c’mon, let me feel it, need to fucking feel it-” he mutters, and oh-

You’re pretty sure you scream as you cum, but it’s hard to hear it over the ringing in your ears as you thrash in Din’s lap. You can feel him still inside you, his horrible fingers still rubbing dexterous circles into your clit as he floods your cunt with his cum. Your orgasm feels fucking endless, your thighs trying to close but still held wide by Din’s between them.

When you finally start to hear again, the blurriness fading from your vision, you can hear Din behind you, muttering, “fuck, so beautiful, didn’t- didn’t know you could do that.”

“Do- do what?” you slur, still groggy, but as you look in front of yourself, you can see the mess you’ve made. You’d fucking squirted, your wetness drenching his thighs and the floor of the hull. The sight makes your head spin, and you hide your face in his cowl as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you close to him. The coolness of his armor is soothing to your overly-heated body.

“So good, you did so good for me, cyar’ika,” he mumbles beneath the visor. “So pretty, can’t believe- you looked so beautiful.”

You let yourself relax into his hold, and he doesn’t let you go. “Didn’t know I could do that either,” you mumble, sleep already weighing down your eyelids, exhaustion flooding your body. “We’ll have to try again later,” you mumble. “Don’t think once is enough.”

“It will never be enough,” you hear him whisper, “not with you.”

#touch starved and feral din #love of my life #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fic #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #star wars smut

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totallynot-mac · 8 months ago

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Overworked

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x Fem!Medic!Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley

After a few rough nights of work, Johnny and Simon take care of you.

➛ Content Warnings :: Personal Negligence

➛ Word Count :: 2.2k

You practically fell into your chair, your body slumping forward onto your messy desk at first contact. You groaned, your hand harshly rubbing your eyes, willing yourself to stay awake. The seemingly infinite mountain of paperwork practically leaned over you, foretelling yet another late night.

Grumbling to yourself, you mourned your lost sleep, past, present, and future. Luck had not been on your side when it came to sleep; the chaos of being the head medic at the base prevented you from getting anything more than 6 total hours of sleep in the last 48 hours. This was the first downtime you were given, a break at the tail end of a long and tiring shift, and you found yourself overwhelmed with paperwork that was already long overdue.

Your eyes drifted to the mug of inevitably cold coffee in front of you, the cartoony ghosts almost taunting you with their happy little smiles. The mug was originally a gag gift, given to you by one of your boyfriends, Johnny, a joke playing on your other boyfriend's callsign, Ghost.

The thought of your boyfriends made you smile almost mournfully. Along with taking your sleep, your unfortunate circumstances caused you to miss the small amount of time you got with your boyfriends every night.

Simon, as a lieutenant, got very little time off, almost matching you in the amount of paperwork he had. One bonus though was his ability to adjust his own schedule, so what little time he had off usually lined up with yours and Soap's.

Johnny or Soap, on the other hand, was currently recovering from a minor injury, pushing himself in the gym to get back to where he was before. Much of his free time was spent in the gym, either running through his routine or sparring with Gaz.

All this, combined with your strict but unpredictable schedule, ended with very little time to spend together outside of mealtimes and sleep. With you eating in your office and sleeping at odd hours whenever you can, you missed your opportunities to see either of them the last two days. Despite having been apart for much longer periods, you missed them, their absence fighting your motivation to finish this paperwork.

You pushed yourself off of the desk with that thought, a soft groan escaping your chest as you arched your back, stretching out your spent muscles. You pulled your old coffee towards you as you stood up. Your mug, as predicted, felt cold to the touch, the cool liquid splashing around as you carried it toward the nearby sink and coffee maker. Pouring the cold coffee down the drain, you placed your cup under the coffee maker, replacing the old grounds with fresh but probably stale ones.

The sound of a knock on the med bay door made you jump, your whole body flinching at the sudden noise.

You turned your head as the gentle noise of the door opening sounded through the room. As you turned your head, you summoned whatever energy you had to replace your exhausted look with the cheerful persona you wore to reassure your patients.

Relief filled you as a familiar mohawked head poked its way through the crack in the door, his excited smile contagious as the tension in your body already began to melt away. A genuine smile crossed your face, and your shoulder relaxed.

“Johnny.”

Johnny slid into the room, gently closing the door behind him as he spoke. “Hey Hot stuff.”

He made his way across the room, his arms wrapping themselves around you and pulling you into his body as soon as you were in reach. You felt yourself melt into the touch, resting your head on his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. You could feel his chest vibrate as he spoke, the feeling soaking into your body and warming your chest.

“We missed you, Love. When are ya done? Me and Simon wanna eat with you tonight.”

You didn’t get the chance to answer before he noticed the brewing coffee on the table behind you.

“Lass, you drink that now, and you know you won’t be sleeping tonight.”

You could practically feel his frown, the disapproval in his voice causing guilt to bubble in your stomach. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point. I’ve got a lot of paperwork to finish up tonight-” a yawn interrupted you “-no break for me yet. You and Si shouldn’t wait up.”

Johnny pulled away from you, his hands raising, cupping your cheeks and angling you toward him, worried eyes examining your face. “Bonnie, how much sleep have you gotten?”

You looked away, suddenly self-conscious of how exhausted you must look, deep purple bags under your eyes, flyaways starting to separate from your standard issue bun.

You could do nothing but shrug in response to his question, despite knowing the exact answer, the number having rung through your head all day.

Johnny’s brow furrowed at your answer, one hand falling to your waist, the other moving to your chin to tilt your head around, no doubt examining your paler expression and dark circles under your eyes.

He shook his head slightly, a frown painting his face. You let him guide you toward a nearby cot, your eyes confusedly flicking between him and your mug of coffee as he led you away from it.

The back of your knees hit the cot, causing you to startle and sit down. Johnny towered over you, his eyes not leaving yours as he grasped your cheek in his big hand. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as you basked in his presence for just a moment more.

“I’ll be right back, dove. Stay here, okay?”

“I have paperwork-”

“Stay. Paperwork can wait. For now, just listen to me, okay?”

You slowly nodded, confusion rushing through you, but you listened. As he walked out of the medical room, he looked back, giving you a look before disappearing through the door.

You sat there, looking down at your nails, idly picking at the skin around them, willing yourself not to get up and just continue your work.

You startled when the door opened again, not ten minutes later. Johnny entered the bay, one of the other well-trained medics in tow.

You looked between the two in confusion, the medic giving you a kind but sad smile, while Johnny moved toward you, stopping between your legs and lowering to look at you.

“Price has given you the night and morning off. You’re gonna come with me, eat something, and then we're gonna go to bed. Understand?”

His tone left no room to argue, and his eyes showed a steely stubbornness you rarely saw from him.

Your eyes widened as they darted back and forth between the two.

“But I have-”

“Price has given me permission to do what I can on the tardy paperwork and has given you an extra two days to do the rest.” The medic chimed in, a kind man by the name of Oliver.

Your eyes widened further, relief and realization soaking into your thoughts. You gave Oliver a smile, muttering a “thank you so much” as he nodded in acknowledgment.

Johnny quickly captured your attention again as he grabbed your thighs, settling you on his hip like you might a child. You yelped and wrapped your arms around him, before allowing him to guide your head into his neck.

The shock quickly wore off, exhaustion taking over and forcing the tension from your body, the sway of his steps causing you to practically melt into his hold.

You had barely realized anything had happened by the time you reached the room.

Ghost’s room to be exact. You both tended to bunk with him whenever you slept together, his bed being the biggest due to his size and rank. It provided ample room for the three of you to spread out, but you all ended up on top of each other by the morning anyways.

He softly set you on the bed, pulling back to look at you again. You could feel your eyes starting to droop, the familiar setting lulling you toward sleep. His hand returned to your cheek, his thumb rubbing it slowly as you leaned into his touch, a sad smile returning to his face.

“Our beautiful girl. Been working so hard and barely has time to take care of herself, isn’t that right.”

You sleepily nodded, his words and soft touch making your brain all the more fuzzy with the exhaustion your body was slowly succumbing to.

You knew that he wanted to reprimand you for putting yourself second, not taking care of yourself firstly, but he knew you were in no state of mind, or awake enough to care.

Besides, punishment was Simon’s job ;)

He instead slowly began taking off your clothes, giving you instructions to move every once and a while as he did so. You were so focused on his fleeting touches that it wasn't until he turned around to grab something for you to sleep in that you realized someone else was in the room.

The maskless face of your second boyfriend came into sight, as he crouched in front of you, a worried and slightly frustrated look painting his face. You gave him a sleepy grin, a happy whine of “Si” escaping you. His eyes softened, a soft smile replacing his frown, before he brought a plate of toast into your field of view.

“Lovie, you need to eat before you go to sleep.”

You childishly whined and turned away a bit at the idea of having to do something, too exhausted to do anything but lay down between your boyfriends and sleep for hours, days if they’d let you.

Ghost gently pulled your face back, stroking his thumb under your eye, much like Soap had done, as he chuckled.

“I know I know. But you need to eat love. When was the last time you even ate?”

As if as a response, your stomach let out painful gurgles, causing Johnny to let out a laugh from behind Simon.

He had returned with one of Simon’s shirts, one of your favorite ones due to how soft and well-worn it was. He stepped up beside you and gently pulled your arms through one by one, flipping the shirt over your head and body.

Johnny walked away once again as Simon picked up a piece of toast, bringing it to your mouth, allowing you to take a small bite. The taste of warm toast, covered in butter and cinnamon sugar met your taste buds, made better no doubt by your hunger.

Johnny then returned wearing nothing but a pair of clean boxers as he nodded to Simon before taking the piece of toast from him, taking his place in front of you and slowly feeding you the rest.

Before you realized, the food was gone, and Simon was back now, joining Soap in only boxers, as he picked you up off the bed.

You quickly latched onto Simon, pulling yourself as close to his warmth as possible.

Behind you, Johnny climbed into bed, pulling open the blankets, allowing Simon to slide your figure in. Johnny quickly pulled you into his body, so Simon could climb in after you, effectively sandwiching you in warmth and safety.

You swear you had never felt this exhausted, your limbs now heavy with lead as Simon scooched closer to you, pulling you onto his chest placing his arm around you and Johnny, who now had his arm loosely draped over your waist.

You struggled to fight your exhaustion, wanting to stay in this bubble of happiness for a while longer, but the gentle cooing of Johnny behind you, and the feeling of Simon’s deep breathing beneath you slowly lulled you into a deep sleep.

BONUS :: The sound of hushed yelling awoke you, and you quickly became aware of your boyfriend missing from in front of you. Johnny was cuddled ever closer, his figure surrounding yours, as he always did in the morning, but the spot in front of you, while still warm, was lacking the body of Ghost.

Cracking your eyes open, you could see your missing boyfriend standing in the doorway, nothing but a pair of pants and his mask hastily thrown on. His hushed voice and that of who you could only assume was a private sent to fetch one of you, barely reached your ears, only allowing you to hear random words.

A few like the repeated use of “she” and “medical” by the private are what caught your attention, and you mentally prepared yourself to have to get up for what was probably once again, not a real emergency.

What surprised you was when Ghost closed the door in the private’s face, saying something to him about “talking to Price” before leaving the man standing in front of a closed door mid-sentence.

He quickly removed his mask and pants, getting back into the bed, and looping his arm back around you and Soap.

You cuddled closer to him, looking up at him with tired eyes, confusion written on your face.

“What was that about?”

He grunted slightly, ushering your head back down to lay on his chest.

“Nothing for you to worry about. It's your morning off, go back to sleep.”

And so you did.

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yandere-wishes · 1 year ago

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⭒ㅤׂ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʀᴜɪɴɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!Dune Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓏𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒴𝑜𝓊 ♡ ｡゜

☾⋆ Paul Muad'Dib Atreides | پل معادب آتریدس

He dreamed of you again tonight. Something cathartic laying across the sands. Your touch haunts his skin, tracing scars and stars across his cheeks. He wonders what you see him as, something sacred or something exotic. Neither matters so long as you love him...

Paul's a volatile star, always one breath away from exploding. You're scared to touch the golden boy, lest your fingers return burned and your skull rattles with the echo of the cosmos. Still, it's hard to miss the devotion when his lips grace your knuckles. Hard to miss the cacophony of his heart as it reverberates across the desert.

ᯓ★ Leto Atreides | لتو آتریدس

Leto kisses butterflies into your shoulder, the taste of your skin feels like nectar on his tongue. His mind is always racing vying for your affection, your attention, your adherence. He traces your name across his star maps, each letter scribbled in a melancholy blue. You grace his chambers again tonight, it feels so wrong to only see your silhouette, to not feel your love bleeding like his does. He kisses you again, something akin to devotion. He needs to feel you under him again, needs to feel the softness of your flesh under his fingers. Something in him shatters, something inside him rearranges. You make him feel so erratic. Why must he love you this way?

𓆩⚝𓆪 Duncan Idaho | دانکن آیداهو

his lips taste of chaos, he pours his passion into you.

He feels you rattle inside his bones. Feels you coursing through his veins like unaltered spice. He's on another mission, laying in the sand and daubing your essence into constellations. He dreams of your fingers running over his muscles pushing adoration into him with a rusted kitchen knife. Your eyes never gaze at him for long. And yet each stare holds the weight of a nebula. He falls asleep to the phantom melody of your sweet voice. Dreaming of returning to you once more.

༺🕸༻ Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen | فید روتا هارکونن

There's a blade in his hand, blood marring pale fingers again. In every droplet, he sees your face. Phantom pains rampage when he hears your name. He dreams of you holding a knife to this chest, breaking the skin, and riving through muscle. Each night your ghost plagues him. Hurting him in all the ways he craves. He dubs you ecstasy, overdosing on everything he wants to do to you. Everything he wants you to do to him. He etches your name upon his bones, dedicating each open wound to you. He's going mad over the notion of you between his sheets, limbs entwined in a bloody mess. His tongue craves the taste of your flesh, starved like the trees on Arakkis. He must have you, he will have you.

-`𖤓´- Stillgar | ستیلگار

Stillgar's love is a desert tune, the winds rustling through the grains before the breaching of a sandworm. He falls harder and harder with each soulful gaze. He's spent his whole life chasing prophecies that he's forgotten how to wholly love something not written in blood and legend. He prays upon every star, that the maker has written your names together. That maybe some prophecy exists where you are to become his. He watches you sitting across the dunes, watching as the sunset pales compared to you. He whispers prayers beneath his breath, hoping you'll be with him soon.

݁˖☘︎ Gurney Halleck | گارنی هالک

He stiffens under your touch, under the sonority of your voice. His battered heart rattles in your presence, the air in his lungs freezes and he momentarily forgets that he is a soldier, a protector, a tool carved to fight for the Atreides. He's not meant to love, to crush, he's meant to kill, to teach, to follow. A weapon in every sense of the word. And yet he'd throw the world at your feet for a sliver of your attention. Gurney can't help the flames that grow within him. The raging pyro each night when he catches a rogue glimpse of you through the crack of your door. He wishes to kiss you, to hold you. To make you his in every way he knows he can't.

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yawnderu · 1 year ago

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K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part II

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

Simon scores a date with his favorite medic

Simon has to be under her watch after getting a knife to the gut.

"Oi, doc." Simon calls out and you sigh softly, gaze drifting from your patient report to him, his unmasked figure lays on the medical bed, gauze wrapped tightly over his abdomen, keeping his newest injury guarded from anything that could rub on or mess up the stitches.

"Why'd they call you K-9?" One of his thin, eyeblack stained eyebrows lifts as he looks at you, already feeling bored from having to stay still for so long, movement limited by the patched up stab wound on his stomach.

"Long story." You dismiss him, looking back down at the patient report you were writing for him. His medical file was interesting, indicating no pictures of him should ever be taken, as well as additional personal and professional information.

"You got surgery in 2020, what's that about?" You didn't notice any bigger scars whenever he was injured, having already seen his naked torso and part of his legs.

"Curious 'bout me, doc?" His tone is slightly teasing, the smug bastard thinking he's funny by asking that. A single eye roll is enough to get him to speak, a deep, gravelly chuckle escaping his lips before he answers.

"Took a nasty gunshot to the leg, was fadin' fast." He lays back down, gaze drifting towards the ceiling as he thinks about it. He was so close to death himself, only three years ago.

"Thought it'd be more interesting." Your bluntness never fails to make him double take. It's not passive aggressive or mean, just... way too honest. More than he's used to.

"I'll get a proper grand injury just for you, lass." You roll your eyes again, taking a sip from your coffee to hide the way the corners of your lips are tugging up. It's amusing, really, to find out how much Simon has changed throughout the years. Price told you he used to be much more quiet, though after 4 years of working with the task force, he was able to open up, getting more and more used to interacting with a team rather than being a lone wolf.

"That's not necessary, I can give it to you myself if you'd like." Your gloved hand presses on the scalpel on your white coat before going back to writing his medical report, tone laced with subtle humor.

"She can joke." He taunts, trying to sit up before a sharp hiss of pain escapes his lips. You frown, the report taking way too long to finish because you keep getting interrupted.

"Hold on." You walk up to him, hands holding onto his strong back before you try to help the behemoth of a man sit up. His calloused hands hold onto your forearms, a few low, deep groans escaping his lips at the strain his flexing muscles are causing to the fresh injury.

"Fuckin' hell." He mutters and you look up, eyes focusing on his pained expression for a second too long. Simon isn't ugly, really, but when his face is all scrunched up in pain, sweat gathering in the form of clear specks all over his eyeblack stained skin? He looks almost majestic. You get your head out of the gutter, placing some soft pillows behind his back to help keep him up without much strain.

"You should be healed up soon enough, got lucky the bastard didn't stab that deep." You shrug, looking back at the tiny coffee maker in your office before you look back up at him, his brown eyes already staring back at you, pupils blown, as usual.

"Want some coffee?" He shakes his head politely, eyes closing in pain as he tries to get into a more comfortable position.

"A cuppa would be nice." You flick his forehead softly, tired eyes drifting towards the clock on the wall. 0100, yet you simply nod and grab your phone from the desk.

"Try not to die while I'm gone." The door closes behind you before he can reply, brown eyes closing as he sighs when you're gone. He doesn't even know how it all started. Simon is a man of discipline, a soldier, a Ghost, yet the way his heart quickens and his cock hardens whenever he's with you is something he can't control, as if a parasite made home in his brain and is using his body as a vessel, ridding him completely of any self-control.

You come back 10 minutes later, a tray with a cup of hot tea and food placed on his lap, the almost comforting warmth quickly spreading through his legs and body.

"Thank you." He moves the spoon around the cup of Earl Grey, letting the sugar mix in for a hot minute before he takes a sip from it, nodding his head once in approval. He was starving, really, but he tried his best to eat slowly, ignoring his hungry stomach begging him to wolf it all down. His eyes drift back to the tray, attention caught by the singular orange left there.

His hands fumble for one of the knives in his clothes, finding all of the straps were removed by you and placed too far away for his injured body to reach. He looks back up at you, admiring you in silence and truly taking you in. The way you lift your glasses every once in a while even before they can slip down the bridge of your nose, the way your hand fiddles with the pen and your lips turn into a small pout whenever you're not sure how to describe something in the report, the way you look so angelic under the dim lights of the infirmary—

"What are you lookin' at?" You don't even bother looking back at him, feeling his stare on you for the past two minutes. He has such an intense gaze that makes you feel as if he can see through your soul, yet it never intimidated you.

"Nothin', bird, nothin'. Peeled you an orange."

[PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

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slitherinky · 2 months ago

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Masterlist | About me | Requests

Seductive Betrayal

Setting: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader

Summary: Working the evening shift at a small bookstore, you’re surprised when a familiar customer walks in. With his effortless charm, Draco convinces you to let him stay the night—but it doesn’t take long for him to show you, that his dark side never truly left..

Warnings: 18+ smut, MDNI, dom!Draco, dubcon, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected p in v, hair pulling, a pinch of good gir

Length: 3k words or 12 minutes

Please be aware of the warnings before proceeding. If you are underage, sensitive to depictions of violence, or intense explicit content, it is do not to read further. This story is purely fictional and does not reflect or endorse such behavior in real life. Any attempt to replicate the actions described in this story in real life is strongly discouraged.

Harry Potter and the Wizarding World is a trademark of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.

The bookshop was quiet.

Not the comforting kind of quiet—the kind that wrapped around you like a warm blanket, softened by the rustling of parchment and the occasional murmur of an interested customer. No, this quiet was heavy. It sank into the wooden floorboards, curled in the dim candlelight, pressed against the corners of your mind like a lingering ghost.

Outside, Diagon Alley was a different place than it used to be. The cobblestone streets were no longer filled with bright chatter or carefree laughter. The war had left its mark on everything, from the shattered windows of still-abandoned storefronts to the wary glances exchanged between passing witches and wizards.

You exhaled softly, running a hand over the spine of an old book, your fingers trailing over the gold-embossed letters. You should have been used to it by now—this new world, this fragile attempt at normalcy. You told yourself you were moving forward, that working here, in the tiny bookshop nestled between a half-repaired apothecary and a closed-down broom maker’s stall, was proof of that.

But some nights, when the silence stretched too long, you wondered if you were just hiding.

The bell above the door chimed softly.

It was late—too late for customers, but you looked up anyway, expecting to tell someone you were closing soon. Instead, your breath caught.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim light of the shop. His hood was drawn back now, and even in the flickering glow of the candles, you could see how pale he was. How tired. But beneath the exhaustion, there was something else. Something magnetic.

"Y/N," he murmured, stepping further inside. You didn’t expect him to recognize you after all this time. But he did.

You swallowed hard. It had been years since you last saw him—back at Hogwarts, before the war turned everything to dust. Draco Malfoy had always been arrogant, distant, wrapped in privilege and sharp edges. You had noticed him, of course—how could you not? There was something magnetic about him, something intriguing beneath the sneers and cold indifference.

But now, standing in your bookshop with the night pressing in behind him, he was different. The arrogance was still there, but it felt strained, the distance less like a choice and more like a shield. His sharp features were worn with exhaustion, his once-perfect composure just slightly unraveled.

And yet, despite everything, he was still intoxicatingly attractive. Perhaps even more so now—raw, untamed, and dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with his name.

"Didn’t think you’d still be around," he said, his lips curling into something that almost looked like a smirk. "Figured you’d have left for a shinier life somewhere else."

You crossed your arms, raising a brow. "Not all of us had the option of running, Malfoy."

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before he laughed—a quiet sound, amused but lacking real mirth. "Fair enough."

You studied him, taking in the sharp lines of his face, the faint bruising beneath his eyes. He looked worn down, but even like this, there was something about him. Something alluring.

You shook your head slightly, breaking the spell. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

His gaze flickered around the empty shop, lingering on the books stacked in uneven piles. "I was just… passing through."

"Liar."

His eyes snapped back to yours. For a second, something unreadable flickered across his face. Then, instead of snapping back, instead of defending himself, he did something unexpected. He smiled.

It was slow, effortless, and gods, it was dangerous. "Alright," he said, tilting his head. "You got me."

You hated how your stomach twisted at that.

"I don’t have anywhere to go."

You didn’t react at first. You just blinked, trying to process his words. You knew things were bad for him—you’d heard the whispers, the murmurs about the Malfoys falling from grace. But somehow, you never thought Draco Malfoy would ever be desperate enough to admit it out loud.

And yet, here he was.

For a moment, you considered telling him to leave. That it wasn’t your problem. That he had made his choices, and now he had to live with them. But the words didn’t come.

Instead, you sighed. "You can stay at my place tonight."

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Just like that?"

"Don’t make me regret it," you warned.

He chuckled. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

The walk to your flat was quiet, but Draco kept close to your side, his presence a steady warmth against the chill of the night. You were hyperaware of him—the way he moved, the way his fingers occasionally brushed against yours as you walked.

"Not bad," he mused when you finally reached your flat. "Could be worse."

You snorted, unlocking the door. "It’s not Malfoy Manor, but it’s cozy."

He stepped inside, glancing around. "Cozy," he repeated, as if testing the word. Then he turned to you, eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. "I like it."

You swallowed hard. Something about the way he was looking at you sent heat curling through your stomach. He was close now, too close, and you could smell the faint scent of rain on his clothes, the warmth of his skin.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice softer now. "For this."

You opened your mouth to say something, but then—

His fingers brushed against your wrist. Light. Barely there. But it was enough to make your breath hitch.

"I never realized," he said, tilting his head slightly, "how beautiful you are up close."

Oh.

Your heart stumbled in your chest. "Malfoy—"

"Draco," he corrected smoothly, his other hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "If we’re going to be sharing a space, we might as well use first names, don’t you think?"

You should have stepped back. You should have told him to stop. But you didn’t.

Instead, you let yourself be pulled into the slow, deliberate way he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel your pulse pounding as his fingers trailed along your arm, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your ear.

You didn’t.

And that was when everything changed.

Because in the next breath, something sharp pressed against your back.

Your wand. He had taken your wand.

Your eyes snapped open, realization hitting you like a slap to the face. But before you could move, Draco stepped back, his own wand raised. His expression was unreadable, but his grip was steady.

"I really am sorry, love," he said smoothly. "But I need the money more than I need a place to stay."

And then he flicked his wand.

"Stupe—"

You moved before he could finish.

Years of instinct kicked in, and you lunged forward, grabbing his wrist before he could complete the spell. The shock in his eyes was brief—then you twisted, knocking the wand from his hand with a sharp strike.

But you weren’t fast enough.

Draco recovered in seconds, and before you could grab your wand, he moved. Faster than you thought possible, he grabbed your arm, twisting you back against the wall. Your breath left you in a sharp gasp as he pressed forward, pinning you in place with the weight of his body.

"Nice try," he murmured, breath warm against your ear.

You struggled, but his grip was firm. He was stronger than he looked, and the sheer confidence in the way he held you still sent a shiver down your spine.

"You’re full of surprises," he mused, tilting his head. "I almost underestimated you."

"Get off me, Malfoy," you gritted out, your pulse racing.

He smirked. "And if I don’t?"

Your hands twitched, fingers itching for a weapon, for anything to fight back. But Draco was already one step ahead, his body pressing you firmly against the cold wood of the wall.

"I should have known you'd be a fighter," he murmured, his tone almost admiring. "Makes this more fun."

His eyes flickered down to your lips for half a second—so brief you almost missed it. Almost.

The worst part? You didn’t hate it.

And he knew.

"Now," he murmured, leaning in just slightly. "How about we make a deal, love?"

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your spine. Your pulse pounded in your throat, a mixture of anger, adrenaline, and something far more dangerous—something you refused to name.

"You really think I’d trust you after this?" you snapped, testing the strength of his grip. It was no use. He had you right where he wanted you, and worst of all, he knew it.

Draco chuckled, low and smooth. "Trust is such a fragile thing, isn't it?" His thumb brushed over your wrist, the touch almost gentle. "But let’s not pretend this is just about trust."

Your breath caught and his smirk deepened.

"Oh," he mused, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "I see. You like this, don’t you?"

You glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Draco leaned in closer, until his lips were just shy of brushing against your ear. "I can feel your heart racing," he murmured. "Is it fear? Or is it something else?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Draco," he corrected smoothly. "You were saying it so sweetly just moments ago."

You gritted your teeth. "Let me go."

"Hmm. Tempting offer," he drawled, his fingers tightening just slightly around your wrist. "But see, I have a dilemma. I could let you go… or I could keep you right here, exactly where I want you."

He shifted his hold, pinning your hands above your head with one swift movement. The motion pressed his body flush against yours, and your breath hitched involuntarily.

Draco noticed. He noticed everything.

His free hand drifted down, fingers grazing your jawline, then lower, tracing the exposed skin at your collarbone. The touch was barely there, light enough to send a shiver through you.

"You don’t hate this as much as you want to," he murmured, his lips barely an inch from yours now. "Do you?"

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. Your fingers curled into fists, but not to fight. Your breath stuttered, and the warmth pooling in your stomach was a traitorous, infuriating thing.

Draco tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he had just figured out.

"Admit it," he whispered, his breath teasing against your lips. "You want to know what it would be like, don’t you?"

You did.

You hated him, you hated the way he was holding you, hated the fact that he had turned this whole situation into something twisted.

But you wanted it anyway. And he knew.

His lips grazed against yours, soft and teasing. It was barely a kiss, but your pulse leaped at the touch.

"Mhm," Draco hummed. "That’s what I thought."

The way his hands moved then was smooth, practiced—like he had done this countless times before. You didn’t have a chance to resist as he swept aside your skirt, baring your legs. His touch was swift, deliberate, and despite yourself, you felt your pulse pound in response.

Draco’s fingers stroked over the outside of your underwear with a smoothness that left you breathless.

It felt good—really, really good. Your hands were still pinned above your head, but now you were leaning into him, your legs trembling. He picked you up, putting you down on the kitchen counter next to you. Draco leaned into you, making your back arch slightly as he kissed you roughly. His right hand pulled down your underwear, allowing it to drop to the ground.

Draco pushed one knee between your legs and you gasped from the contact. He smirked and slipped his knee even further between your legs. He pushed up against you, with the fabric of his pants rubbing against your pussy. You gasped and arched further. Your breathing became quickened and your cheeks turned pink. "I adore how hot you are for me, love," he purred.

His mouth slowly made his way down to your pussy. He started by kissing up your thigh. He used his hands to spread your legs even wider. You felt your pussy start to drip and he noticed, "so wet for me," he grinned.

He then placed his mouth on your pussy. You cried out from his touch. He stuck his tongue out and licked your pussy slowly. His tongue brushed over your clit and your entire body stiffened. "Oh my god," you moaned.

He started licking your clit harder. He took his fingers and slipped one inside of you. Your moans became loud and filled the room. His fingers moved up and down inside of you while his tongue moved in circles around your clit. The feeling of your orgasm built up inside of you and you tried to hold it back. You didn't want to cum already. But then he slipped another finger inside of you and your legs started to shake. He picked up the pace of his tongue on your clit and the orgasm was coming.

"Draco, I'm going to cum," you moaned. He groaned in response and that's what sent you over the edge. You exploded in pleasure as the orgasm hit you. "Oh Draco, fuck!"

He pulled away, "what's that, love?" he smirked, "are you asking for more?"

You nodded, "please," you begged.

He chuckled and kissed up your thigh until he reached your pussy again. He licked your pussy some more while slipping his fingers back inside of you.

"God, you taste amazing," he moaned, "you're so wet for me."

He then put his fingers on your clit and started rubbing. You moaned in pleasure. His fingers slid around your clit and you could feel another orgasm building up inside of you.

"Oh fuck, oh Draco," you moaned loudly.

He smirked, "cum for me love, cum all over my fingers."

At that, your body stiffened and another orgasm hit you. You started to cum all over his fingers. He watched with a grin as the orgasm continued to wrack your body.

Your body shook and your breathing became ragged.

He then stepped away from you. You panted as you looked up at him. He smirked down at you, "did you think I was done with you love?"

You stared at him, your eyes widening as you realized what he meant. He pulled away completely, leaving you panting on the counter. His face was smeared, and it was hot. He slowly pulled down his zipper and pants, revealing his cock. It was big. It was so big that it made you feel self-conscious.

But Draco didn't let you dwell on those thoughts. He continued by pulling off his shirt and you were distracted by the sight of his abs. They were perfect. He smirked at you, leaning even further over you, his cock pushing up against your pussy. It was hard and it felt good. You started to drip even more, excited for this to happen. He smirked as he felt your juices dripping over him.

"Good girl. This is how I like it."

He then gripped his cock and started to rub it against your pussy, making you moan.

"You want this? You want my cock inside of you?" He asked, teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing it around your pussy.

You moaned loudly, "yes please, god yes."

He smirked, "beg me for it. Ask me nicely and I might give you what you want."

You stared at him. "You expect me to beg you after you almost robbed me?!"

He gripped your hair with one hand, pulling your head back. His expression changed into one of anger, "I'm your master for the night, so do as you're told or I will punish you," he warned.

You shivered at the threat. You had never felt so turned on in your life and decided to give in.

"Please Draco," you asked, "let me feel your cock inside of me."

“Good girl.”

He slowly thrusted himself inside of you, making you gasp at his size. He pushed in further, making your back arch from the feeling.

"Oh Draco, oh fuck!"

He started to move inside of you, slowly at first then quickly. You tried to push back, but he stopped you. "No, love," he chuckled. "Take it like a good girl."

He moved his cock up and down, filling you completely and hitting all of the right spots.

He turned you around, so you were facing away from him. He then pushed his cock inside of you again, starting up a racing pace. You cried out at the feeling. He held onto your hips as he pounded into you. His right hand grabbing your hair, making you arch. His cock felt amazing inside of you, it stretched you to your limit but still fit perfectly.

"Fuck, oh god," you cried out.

He then reached around with his left hand, placing his finger on your clit. He rubbed it as he continued to pound inside of you. You cried out, overwhelmed with pleasure.

"Draco!" You screamed.

Your orgasm hit hard and fast, it wracked your entire body and left you shaking. Draco continued to fuck you through the orgasm until you were at your limit.

His grip tightened on your hair, pulling you even further into his thrusts. His breath stuttered and you felt his cock thicken inside of you as he came. His cum filled your pussy.

"Fuck," he moaned as he came. "Oh god, it feels good."

He then pulled out of you, leaving his cum dripping down your legs. Your mind was foggy from the pleasure and you couldn't think straight. Your body laying half collapsed on the counter.

"Come on, love," he mused. "Your bed awaits, or have you forgotten that I'll stay the night?"

You want more? My Masterlis

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marcsburnerphone · 1 year ago

Text

And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: that captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: some awkward moments, kissing

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7!!!! - part 8

———————

“Look how content he looks, his eyebrows aren’t doing that scowl thing.” Gaz whispers to the boys beside him.

Ghost does a peek over to see the sight but out of all of them he knows best how light of a sleeper John can be, so one look and he quickly he backs up.

“Take a picture.” soap says menacingly.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Ghost says.

Of course Gaz listens to the trouble maker, whipping his phone out of his pocket. The first two photos he takes are from a safe distance but as he goes to take the third he gets closer, too close. The shutter sound accidentally goes off although the ringer is on silent.

It doesn't wake you up no, but the captain's eyes shoot open, the first thing they land on is a phone in his face and he huffs an angry breath. He doesn't make a move nor let out a word in fear of waking you but the look he gives the guys standing behind the couch is deadly enough. They slowly step back and once they're at a safe distance they scurry down the hall.

At some point during the night you ended up completely on top of him. He lays there annoyed with the immature men who woke him up but absolutely thrilled that he can consciously enjoy this moment. Your head placed in the crook of his neck as you huff small breaths, your weight on top of him is almost everything he’s ever needed in this life. The way your hair wafts that familiar light floral scent is captivating. If he died right now he’d be at peace.

“John?” it startles him from his thoughts.

“Yes doll.”

“You're so comfortable.” you whisper into his neck. He laughs while running a comforting hand over your back.

“Did you hear those idiots out here not too long ago?” he asks softly.

“Nope.” you say placing a hand on his chest to lift yourself up into a sitting position. He admires the way your eyes are slightly puffy from sleep, the way your shirt wrinkled in random places. He wants to pull you back down into him, wants to ask for five more minutes. Then he smiles cause he knows one day he’ll be able to.

“Stop staring at me.” You say softly looking away from him.

“Can I take you out tonight?” you turn back to him at that. Rubbing your eyes and smiling.

“Like on a date?”

“Yes, will you grant me your presence for dinner?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah.” you try to look away and hide the blush that creeps up on your face. He breathes again, he hadn’t known he wasn’t till you answered.

“Okay, em be ready by 6 then.” He inquires.

“Okay well I feel like I can’t just sit here now so I’m gonna go get in the shower.” You stand up nervously. He nods at you trying to hide behind a stoic expression just how giddy he feels inside. He watches you until you disappear around the corner before getting up.

————

“So you asked her out?” John and the boys sit outside, there’s a cigar between John’s lips and the rest of them puff on a cigarette.

“I did.”

“You had to threaten her to say yes, didn't you captain” Ghost jokes with a gruff laugh.

“Yer no one to talk.” Soap says in defense of his captain.

“You can’t even say you’re right.” Ghost quips back making Gaz burst out in a chuckle while John just stares at them with a straight face.

“I’m nervous.” John admits.

“Wow, she makes you nervous. That’s hard to do.” Soap says.

“Of what?” Gaz asks, ignoring soap.

“I feel like I shouldn’t, like she should be with someone younger, someone with a less demanding job.” They all hum not really knowing exactly how to comfort him.

“She seems like the kind of woman that has already thought those things through.” Gaz says.

“I’m sure she has.” He replies.

“Not to fret then, unless you’re the one with the problem.”

“My only problem is that you're all still here.” He laughs before toking his cigar.

“Yeah right you love our company.” Gaz replies.

—————

By the time you're out of the shower and have dressed casually for the day John’s friends are bidding you a goodbye, ghost kindly thanks you for sharing your home with them and gives you another soft handshake.

“Once again thankyou for letting me sleep in your bed, I appreciate it.” Gaz says with a small hug before walking out.

“Lass if he doesn’t treat you right you know who to call.” Soap says jokingly.

“If you don’t leave my home right now, soldier, you won’t be leaving at all.” John says seriously, waiting to shut the door. You just laugh leaning looking up at him and hint of humor in his eyes.

“All jokes, all jokes.” He yells out as he walks to the car they all crammed into. Once they pull away John shuts the door looking over to you.

“Their fun.” You say.

“More fun than I am?”

“Yeah.” He’s surprised by your answer but at the same time not at all. Your smirk is growing into a smile as your damp hair falls over your shoulders.

“Really?” He drags out the word, giving you an opportunity to change your answer.

“Mhmm.” You say shrugging your shoulders.

“C’mere.” You laugh as he grabs at your waist throwing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

“Okay no they're not, I promise they're not.” You laugh, his fingers digging into your sides as he walks towards your room.

“Say you swear.” You kick your feet trying your best to make him let you go, but this seems to be light work for him, as if he doesn’t even feel it.

“I swear.” You laugh harder as he throws you softly onto your bed. He climbs right above your waist hovering so he doesn’t kill you with his weight.

“I don’t believe it.”

“I swear I really do.” He lets up, watching you try to catch your breath as he brushes the stray hairs from your face.

“By the way no drinking tonight, none.” You say.

“Why?”

“Cause the last time we went out together and drank only one of us made it out with their mind in the right place.” He laughs in memory leaning down close, close enough that if you moved up an inch your lips would touch.

“Trust me my mind hasn’t been in the right place since I’ve met you.” He brushes his lips against yours and immerses himself in that addicting shock of adrenaline it gives him every time.

“Oh, where’s it been then?” No answer, he just leans further into you until your lips connect softly. It’s a simple kiss and it's as electric as always but isn’t enough for you this time. You slightly open your needy lips and he happily takes the hint, swiping his tongue on your bottom lip to see if he’s right on what you’re offering, sure enough he is.

It’s slow and sensual in the beginning, and it’s actually driving him fucking insane. The taste of you is captivating in itself, the soft rhythm he sets and its consistency is melting the world around you. but the soft whine you made when he lifted your head a bit to accommodate the distance between you was the cherry on top. It’s a battle of dominance and clashing of teeth from then on. Your hands went from gently being placed on his face to being intertwined at the back of his neck and he can’t get enough. He wants more and more and more. His hands are on your waist, your face, running through your hair. He breaks from your mouth to kiss down your jaw impatient yet savoring every moment.

“John, we can't.” He knows you can’t, not that he would, he's too gentlemanly for that, you on the other hand are dancing on the line of control. Although he's desperate and impatient for you he’s also in dire need to keep you therefore no risks.

“I know, doll.” He says into the soft spot right below your ear. When he pulls away from you the look in your eyes can make any man fall to his knees. The swell of your puffy lips and the bit of saliva on your neck with your hair strewn in different places. It’s a sight to see.

You smile, completely and hopelessly falling for him, desperate so desperate that if he had kissed you one more time you wouldn’t have stopped it from going further.

“Ready in about two hours then?”

“Yeah.”

————

You get ready while listening to music, anything to calm the damn nerves in your entire body. You've had dinner with John before, you even live together, but this is completely different.

You dress nicely this time, warm yes, but nicely. Knowing John will either carry you or walk with you gives you leeway to nice outfits. A mini skirt with tights underneath, doc martens, fuzzy crew neck that almost goes over the skirt. You do your hair, light makeup.

You’re putting on your final touches, jewelry wise, when John appears in your bedroom doorway.

“Mmm dolled up for who exactly?” He gives you a long, obvious one up.

“Well I don’t know who I’ll meet, you know?”

“I know many things, dolls but not that one.”

“Well you don’t look so bad yourself.” You laugh, but really he always looks delicious.

“Can you actually help me with this?” You say holding up a gold necklace. He walks up to you, thick fingers grabbing at the dainty jewelry. You turn around moving your hair out of the way as he drapes it around your neck. He misses the clasp a couple times but when he finally gets it he lets out a satisfied grunt. You move to put your hair back but before you can you feel the wisp of his breath on your neck as his lips meet the soft skin of your shoulder humming softly. He turns you around planting one more on your lips.

“You really do look delectable.”

“Yeah yeah.” Your hands run over his scruff.

“Ready to go?” He asks, encasing the hand on his cheek.

“Yeah.”

-----------

im so sorry for the wait for this one, although its my shortest chapter yet I did put my heart into it. Being a sophmore in college isnt for the weak and im the weak.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated<3

@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppixie @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving

#angst #captain price x female reader #john price #barry sloane #captain john price #john price x reader #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod mw3

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