#i would say i want to protect him but i don’t think he needs protecting

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - Everything I Do

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), light fluff, mutual pining, light angst, love confession, smut (handjob, fingering, p in v sex), Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: The Mark reaches a breaking point. Usual Warnings, little angst, lotta smut.

Author's Note: I am of the firm belief Rowena would’ve said cunt religiously if the CW wasn’t full of a bunch of pussies.

Chapter title from Video Games by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.7k

Read on A03!

Chapter 5

Dean can breathe. Not easily, but he can. He can feel the weight of something airy and thin wrapped around him, stuck to his skin and far too heavy. There’s a hand on his brow, and it’s not the right one. Dean’s not sure what the right one would even be, but he knows it’s not this one. This one feels a little wrinkled, and the nails are too long, and it doesn’t satiate the betterlust. It’s just there, pressed to his skin like it’s looking for something and not all too pleased with what it finds.

The longer it’s there, the more the betterlust pounds and stabs and scrapes at him. Rots his guts and carves open his skull and rips through his chest. It’s searching for something that’s not there, and Dean’s head is too clouded with pain and ache and sickness to figure out where he should even be looking. Not in the hand. Not in the thing around him like a shroud–hot and clinging to him like a plague—but maybe somewhere close. Because wherever Dean is—he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t have enough of a brain to guess right now—it’s unfamiliar, but feels right. He’s lying on something soft, and it smells good, and when his fingers flex, they’re tracing over an impression left on the area next to him. An indent left on the space by something that could curve and press into Dean exactly like he wants. Craves. Needs. 

The betterlust starts to flare and bellow, almost drowning out the low voices around him, and Dean knows he might die if he doesn’t find what fits into that impression and take it.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I’m not sure, a few hours?”

“Well can you try to be sure, Samuel?”

“I got here the same time you did, how am I supposed to be sure-“

“Ask our resident Dean Expert, the poor girl has been stuck with him all week-“

“No, I’m not going to make her do more. And, uh,” there’s a long sigh, and Dean still isn’t really sure what’s going on, or who these people are, or why they’re talking about him. “I don’t think it’s safe for her right now. To be around him. He said he didn’t want her-“

“He obviously lied, you idiotic boy-“

“He didn’t want her to know, Rowena. And it’s not my place to tell her-“

“She’s a big girl, she’ll survive a little bit of emotions.”

“He’d, he’d fucking kill me-“

“And he will kill himself if he does not accept what he needs! It’s quite honestly a miracle he was a stubborn enough arse to resist the Mark’s demands this long.”

Dean’s really fucking confused. There are two voices, one that sounds a little like his and one that very much doesn’t, and they’re both talking about him like he’s important. He doesn’t feel important. He mostly just feels tired, and bad, and sick. Sweaty and hungry and desperate for something he can’t name, but they say he needs to name or he’ll die, and he doesn’t even really know what names are right now-

“If I tell her, this becomes her responsibility-“

“Well, Dearie, I wasn’t aware you were stupid and blind-“

“Hey-“

“You cannot look me in the eyes and say that she would not welcome the responsibility, boy. She is so pathetically obsessed with him it makes me feel ill.”

Dean felt his mouth try to frown—he can’t figure out how to move, so it more of a twisted grimace—as he racked his mush of a brain to figure out who they could possibly be referring to. He couldn’t remember names, but he could remember presences. Remember that the voice like his was good, and he was supposed to protect it. The voice that wasn’t like his was bad, and kind of a bitch, but helpful when they ran out of options. There wasn’t a third voice, but there was a smell that he really liked. Loved. Craved. Needed-

That was the imprint. And it wasn’t here right now, but the betterlust and already spiraling around it and constricting his lungs as he tried to find it. He needed it, and it didn’t need him, and he was going to die-

“I know,” the familiar voice sighed. “Believe me, I know, but I can’t ask that of her-“

“She’ll shred your sorry arse apart if you don’t-“

“And Dean will put a bullet through my brain if I do!”

“He will die before he gets the chance. Have I not made it clear that, unless Dean receives the help our lovely, pretty, lovesick-“

Then the voice that wasn’t like Dean’s said a name, and the betterlust exploded inside him. He knew that name. He’d die and kill and cut himself to pieces for that name. He wanted it. He couldn’t have it. He needed it, more than he needs air or water or food or music. The betterlust demanded it, and was shredding apart his insides because he refused to take it, but was also lending him the strength to find it. To find Her. Dean needed to fucking find Her, or nothing would ever be good again-

His eyes fly open, and for a long movement everything is only a blinding blur of color. There’s noise around him—both voices shouting words that sound like they’re for him but he can’t understand—and Dean’s brain kicks into a vigilant, borderline feral function as he hauls himself up, something pushes him back down, and the betterlust grew feral.

“Rowena, grab the other arm-“

“I am not meant for brute labor, Samuel-“

“Are you fucking kidding me-“

Dean roars Her name clawing and grabbing at the air to try and go, try to get to Her, because he was going to fucking die, and the betterlust told him She could fix this, make this better, make Dean better-

“Oh for- Fine.” 

The voice not like Dean’s says something he can’t understand, his whole body tightens. Like a weight has been dropped on his chest, and ropes have been wrapped around his limbs, forcing him to collapse back onto the bed with a noise that might have been a whine.

“Dean.” Rowena appears in his vision, her face drawn in annoyance. “Blink twice if you understand me.”

Dean scowls, but blinked twice.

“Good. Are you going to try and kill us again?”

Dean glowers at Rowena, keeping his eyes wide open in a gesture of no, and she sighs.

“Good boy. I’ll let you up, but if you ever try and grab my hair again, I’ll make you regret having hands, aye?”

The tension vanishes from Dean’s body, and he sits up slowly, pinch the bridge of his nose to try and curb the pounding ache behind his eyes, taking deep, mechanical breathes to get some fucking control over his body. Over the betterlust. Over himself.

“Dean, are you feeling okay?“

Sam looks worried. He’s frowning and scanning over Dean with concern, like there will be wound on his skin they can patch up to fix this. 

But only one thing can fix this. And Dean still isn’t strong enough to not know where She is, not when all he can remember is dragging himself to Her room, and hearing her voice, and seeing her pretty face before it all went dark. 

Dean mutters Her name, his voice low and gruff, and Sam and Rowena freeze. “Where is she.”

“She’s eating.” Sam mutters, bracing his hands on his hips. “I told her to get some rest. You freaked her out, dude, she-“ Sam shakes his head, giving Dean a look he doesn’t understand, and doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher. “She was really shaken, when we got back. She needs-“

“She needs you.” Rowena interrupts Sam, and he shoots her a venomous glare. “You’re too much of a meat-headed dolt to see it, but that darling girl looked as if she’d been devastated over you.” 

“Rowena.” Sam hisses. “We agreed-“

“You agreed. I made no promises-“

Dean raises his hands—they both need to shut up, or his skin will fly off his body—and their argument stutters off.

“How bad is it.” He looks to Rowena, the moment alone an act of labor. “And don’t try to lie or sugarcoat it. How long I got.”

Rowena sighs. “If you insist on keeping your head up your own arse, a day. Maybe two.”

“But we’re going to try to reverse it.” Sam jumps in, his voice desperate. “And Rowena gave you something to keep you going-“

“But, as I told your brother,” Rowena’s words are harsh, and Dean appreciates it. This really isn’t the fucking time for dancing around anything. “It is a very temporary solution, and the reversal will take time you no longer have. There is an obvious fix to your little problem-“

Dean lets out a dry chuckled. “My problem? Last I checked, Rowena, you were the one who fucked this up-“

“I did not fuck anything up, you petulant man child-“

“Rowena-“

“No!” Rowena cuts off Sam with sharp words, holding Dean’s glare. “I did my job, Dean Winchester, but you are too much of an arrogant, brooding little cunt to do yours.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Watch it, bitch-“

“I did not have to help you,” Rowena hisses. “But that poor, desperate, lovesick woman begged me to. You know exactly what you need, and you are too cruel and stupid to do it.”

Dean’s hands curl into fists on the sheets. “I said fucking watch it-“

“She’s right.” Sam mutters, and Dean’s gaze whips to him, his mouth falling open at Sam’s pitying, exhausted expression.

“I’m sorry, I must be going insane, because there’s no fucking way you just sided with Rowena-“

“I didn’t side with her.” Sam snaps, running a hand over his face as he shakes his head. “I’m just trying to get you to think for five seconds. I’m trying not to lose my brother because he can’t see what’s right in front of him-“

Dean scoffs. “There’s nothing in front of me, Sam. Rowena botched the spell, and now I can’t do anything but-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, a stab of pain twisting over his ribs, and Sam throws his hands in the air.

“For crying out loud, Dean, you’re dying because of this self-righteous, sacrificial bullshit you always pull! Rowena didn’t botch the spell, you’re just refusing to give the Mark what it wants, and until you do-“

“It doesn’t matter what I want!” Dean roars, slamming a hand down on the mattress. “Fuck, Sam, I’m not going to force myself onto her just because-“

“Because you think she’ll say no?” Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude, you can’t be stupid enough to really believe that-“

Dean scowls. They don’t fucking get it. Sam and Rowena don’t know Her like Dean does. They don’t understand that She would say yes, but she wouldn’t really want it, and Dean would stain and mark Her in a way that they’d never come back from. She’d never smile at him the same, and he’d have to die alone in the dirt when she finally got the memo that he wasn’t worth helping. When She left him, her soul more tainted than when she’d found him. When his poison sunk into Her skin, and she would still be so pretty and amazing, but ruined and marred from Dean’s touch. From how weak and pathetic and toxic he was. 

He couldn’t do that. He’d rather fucking die.

“Just drop it, Sammy.” Dean mutters, his gaze falling to that imprint of Her on the bed. Her bed. Dean was finally in Her bed, and he didn’t even get to enjoy it. “It’s not happening. And you’re not going to convince me, so either fix this, or let me die without goddamn yelling at me.”

There’s a moment of wired silence, Rowena silent in the corner of the room as Sam and Dean glare at each other, and Sam shakes his head like he can’t believe Dean’s nerve. Like Dean isn’t saving the only good thing they both have. Protecting the only person that’s stayed with them, that they both love, even if Dean’s love is made of undying, animalistic, grime and dirt covered devotion, and Sam’s is purer, softer affection that could never cut and scar Her like Dean’s. 

“She was crying.” Sam finally says, his tone colder than Dean’s heard it in a long time. “When we got back, she was sobbing, Dean. Have you ever seen her cry? Ever?”

He hasn’t. Dean has seen Her grit her teeth and bite back sounds of agony from injuries, seen Her scream and flail when they’ve lost people, and seen Her so angry it scared him a little, but he’s never seen Her cry. She didn’t cry. Her eyes got glossy, and her voice grew tight and choked, but she didn’t cry. Sam has to be lying, and he doesn’t look or sound like he is, but he has to be. She doesn’t cry, so why the hell would that be the truth? But why would Sam lie, and why has She stayed this long, and fuck, everything hurts and Dean’s too damn tired to figure out what the hell Sam is trying to tell him but the betterlust is scratching at his heart to know-

“Sam,” Dean swallows, watching his brother carefully. “I-“

There’s a knock at the door, and everything in Dean flies to the sound. It’s Her. Before Sam’s hand is even on the doorknob, Dean somehow knows it’s Her. Here. Maybe for him, maybe not, but the betterlust doesn’t seem to care because it’s Her-

She looks horrible. Still so fucking pretty, but horrible. There’s a slump to Her posture as she stands in the door—hair tangled and shirt wrinkled—and Her gorgeous face is slightly puffed. Her lips pouting. Her eyes lined with red. 

Like She’s been crying. 

Sam says Her name in question, and when She speaks her voice is hoarse.

“Look, I know you to told me to rest, but-“ Her mouth falls open as her eyes land on Dean, and Her sharp inhale feels like it shoots adrenaline right into his blood. 

He tries to offer Her a winning, I’d be happy to see me too smile, but it doesn’t feel right on his face. It feels too vulnerable, where it’s always been like a shield. It feels like it’s a lie, or trick, or act of cruelty when Dean’s rarely met a woman who doesn’t flush and giggle under that attention. It’s supposed to make him feel good from their happy, hopeful eyes. It’s supposed to make them feel good from Dean’s well-crafted, carefully wielded charm.

But right now he still just feels like shit. Bottom of the gutter, horrible, flea-ridden and matted shit. A fucking piece of shit that might have made Her cry, and isn’t even smart enough to know why.

He tries again, making the smile wider, adding his most casual drawl. “Hey, Sweetheart-“

She makes a strangled sound—loud and pained, making the betterlust start to snap at Dean’s brittle spine—and all but runs to the bed, almost falling to Dean’s side as Her hands begin to grab at his face and run over his skin. Angling him for Her to examine with frantic eyes and words, igniting little paths of insatiable fire wherever She touches.

“Are you okay?!” She turns his head to the side, her fingers tracing his jaw and cheek like boils or scars might have just appeared. “Your fever is gone,” the back of Her hand presses to his brow, flipping to touch it with Her palm. “But shit, you’re covered in sweat-“ Her glare whips around to Sam, Her grip still tight on Dean’s face. He doesn’t really mind. The betterlust is still trying to climb out of his throat, but he can fight it—for Her—and this can be enough. It’s all he’ll get before he’s gone anyway. Her touch, and loud almost furious shout at Sam. “Why didn’t you change the sheets like I told you to-“

“He was dead weight,” Sam says Her name, his voice a hell of a lot kinder than when he’d been talking to Dean. “And you also told us to make sure he got some rest. Rowena said the fever broke, and he’s lucid again-“

“But this is gross Sam, and you could’ve moved him if you tried-“

“Moved him where? He started freaking whimpering when we took away your comforter-“ 

Dean scowls. “Can you guys stop talkin’ about me like I’m not right fucking here-“

Her gaze turns back to Dean, the odd, aggressively mind-numbing panic and care returning to her eyes as she begins to examine him once more. 

“You seem better, but you’re redder than you should be, and, shit, was that scar always there-“

Her finger’s trial over Dean’s chin, dangerously close to his mouth, and he has to bite down a groan as he says Her name. “That’s been there at least a decade-“

“What about this one-“

“Three years, you were there when I got it-“

“Fuck, you’re right.” She shakes her head, Her eyes suddenly boaring into Dean’s and settling warmth in his gut. “Well, are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt, or feel sick, or feel numb-“

“Sweetheart.” He catches Her hand, and she falls silent with wide eyes. “I’m-“

“And,” She moves his gaze onto Her’s, and fuck She’s always so pretty. Even when She’s pissed at him. Especially when She’s pissed at him. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, Winchester, I’ll stab you-“

He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, but maybe the realest sound he’s made since he woke up. “I don’t doubt that, Sweetheart.” He drawls, and she lets his guide Her hands away from his face. “But I promise, I’m feelin’ better.”

She nods slowly, and Dean pretends he can’t see Sam’s eye roll in the background.

“Oh. Okay.” She turns at Sam and Rowena, her voice slightly unsteady and weak. “Have you, um, have you both been in here? The whole time I was eating?”

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” She swallows, and Dean notices Her body go slightly rigid. Sam must notice too, because he tilts his head and frowns at her.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just…” She trails off, staring at her nails as her voice drop to a mumble. “There’s a lot of people in here. Makes me nervous.”

“Shit, sorry.” Sam says Her name, his voice apologetic. “Didn’t know that. We can go, if you want.”

There’s a long moment where She’s just staring at Sam, Her mouth slightly open, and her body curled in on itself like she’d been punched. Sam repeats Her name, his voice cautious, and when She snaps out of it, her voice is still soft and anxious. 

“That would be good.” She whispers. “Thank you.”

Sam nods. “No problem. Me and Rowena,” he shoots the witch a glare, and she rolls her eyes. “Are gonna go try to fix this. Text me if you need anything, either of you.”

She hums an acknowledgment, Her attention never leaving Dean as Sam and Rowena close the door, and Dean’s whole existence begins to curve into only the feeling of Her as her fingers trace over the back of his hand. 

After a long moment of silence—only the sound of Dean’s heart in his ears and the shifting of blankets under their bodies—she swallows, her voice barely a breath. “They can’t fix it, can they.”

He blinks at Her. “They’re gonna get it-“

“Don’t lie to me, Dean.” She gives him a soft smile that makes her look like she’s already grieving, and something in him lights up and withers away in the same second. “Please.”

He swallows. He is really tired of lying to Her. And he can say something closer to the truth and still hold his ground. He’s not quite that weak. Not yet.

“It’ll be close.” He grunts. “But I’ve survived worse. I just gotta pull through-“

“You don’t, though.” She whispers. “Rowena said you just have to-“

“Rowena can eat me.” Dean mutters, glaring at the door. “I’m not doin’ whatever the hell the Mark tells me to, that was the fucking point of this.”

“The point was to help you, Dean.” She sounds so freaking sad, and it’s pulling Dean apart. His will and mind all being reduced to Her. Too good and pretty to be sad. And it’s just Dean. She shouldn’t be this sad over only Dean.

“Sweetheart-“

“I don’t,” She swallows, speaking over Dean with quiet, soft words. “I don’t know why you’re being such an ass, Dean. Why can’t you just do what the betterlust wants? Isn’t it what you want-“

“It is.” Dean has to push the words through his teeth, because She so close and it’s not close enough and everything fucking hurts. “But I can’t have it, so we’re dead in the water. But Sammy and Rowena-“

“Dean.”

He can’t look Her in the eyes. Her voice is so gentle and nervous, and he’s not strong enough to look Her in the eyes and see all that worry and pity in them. He can barely even grunt an acknowledgment for her to continue.

“What do you want?”

“I’m not gonna-“

“Is it me?” She whispers, and Dean’s eyes shoot to Her’s. He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but stare at Her and try not to die as he realizes this is it. This is how he loses Her. Forever. This is the last time he gets to look at Her and bask in her beauty and kindness, the last time he gets to drown in the smell of cherries and feel a little more alive under Her touch.

But She doesn’t look afraid, or disgusted. She just looks urgent. Desperate. As confused and hopelessly hopeful as Dean feels.

And he can’t speak, or think, or do anything but stare at Her as she speaks again.

“Dean, do you,” She takes a shaking breath, and Dean needs to touch Her. “Do you love me?”

——————

He’s not saying anything. Dean’s looking at you like you’ve shot him right through his heart, ripped it out, and taken a bite. Gaping like he’s trying to ask you for it back but can’t find the breath to, blinking like he’s trying to test if you’re really there. He reaches a hand up to run over his own face, reaches out to touch you—trace broad, calloused fingers over your cheekbones and jaw, over your chin like he’s wiping something you can’t see away—and jerks back suddenly, like you’d hurt him. Burned him. Branded him.

He’s branded you. You’re never going to forget his voice in your head, sounding like he’s overdosed on something awful, and doesn’t think he’ll come back down. Like he’s trying to cleanse himself of something by whispering words that will either haunt you past the grave or feed you for the rest of your life. Your heart will never forget the way it stopped for only a second before kicking into a pace that was all too fast when Dean’s eyes closed, and your hands will always remember the cold fever of his skin.

“Dean.” You have to make your voice strong. Steady, like you’re demanding something from him and not praying to him. “Please-“

“Why-“ His voice is hoarse, almost strangled, and it makes your every muscle feel a little weaker. “Why would you ask that.”

“I’m, I can’t tell you, just please answer me-“

“Did Sam tell you-“

“Sam?” You frown, shaking your head slightly. “No, I just, this has nothing to do with Sam-“

“Then why the hell are you-“

“What would Sam have told me?”

Dean falls silent, opening and closing his mouth as he goes red, his eyes looking almost feral. He looks like a cornered animal, something starved and needy, unsure if it should bite the hand reaching for it or grab it and never let go. 

You want to hold him and never let go. You want him to grab your hand, and hold it, and never think to drop it again. You want to hear him say those words again, and have his voice be certain. You want to touch him, no matter if he’s like this or breaking or furious or—in those rare, priceless moments—happy. And you need to know. Dean’s never owed you anything, and he never will, but if there’s only one thing that he can offer you in universe, it would be really nice if it was this. If Dean ever gives you anything, please, dear God, let it be this. 

“Dean,” you whisper, moving your hand to his knee and holding his almost fearful, rabid gaze. “Please answer me. Tell me what Sam-“

“He,” Dean swallows, voice gruff. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything. He fucking swore he’d never-“

“He didn’t.” You repeat, unsure if he’s even understanding the words out of your mouth. “All I’ve talked to Sam about is the spell. But why-“

“Rowena.” He mutters, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Rowena must’ve open her bitch mouth-“

“I haven’t really talked to Rowena at all-“

“Must’ve been some fucking spell-“

“Dean!” You scream, your nails digging into his leg like you can hold him with you forever. “It was you! You told me you loved me! You had a fever and you told me you loved me, you said my name, and I just,” Your voice cracks, desperation starting to break through your blood, out of your mouth in spit. “I need to know, please, you need to tell me if you meant it-“

“Sweetheart-“

“Please.” You refuse to look him in the eyes. The moment you look in Dean’s deep, pretty eyes you’ll know what he’s thinking, and you’ll lose him forever. Everything in you is screaming to know, but you’re still not able to just look into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, please tell me.”

“Why.”

For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. The question startles you enough to make you look up, and the moment you see him something snaps inside of you. He looks wounded. Nervous. Almost as afraid of you—of your words, and what they might be capable of doing to him if you use them wrong—as you are of him.

“Why would you need to know.” He rasps, staring at his own hands. Flexing in his lap, seemingly against his will. “You’re not- It’s not somethin’ you’re-“ He looks up to you, his eyes almost pleading. “Why would you give a shit about-“

“About you?”

Dean’s throat bobs, his nod short, and you summon more bravery than you’ve ever been capable of before. Enough to reach out, over the space between your bodies that so small—but still feels like miles—and place your hand on his cheek. Keeping his gaze on yours.

“I always care about you. I-” You take a shaking breath, the last words falling off your tongue. “I love you.”

Dean’s hand shoots up to cover yours. To hold you against him, with a grip that tells you he might be trying to sear his skin into yours. 

“You-“ His voice is so soft. His hand over yours is like iron, but everything else about him seems to be dreamlike. Hazy and uncertain, both of you watching each other like you’re sure the other will vanish if you look away. “You love me?”

“Yeah,” you try to smile at him, and it’s not charismatic. It’s pleading and tragic and so fucking delicate. “I do. I mean, I have. For a while.”

“How-“

“Four years.“

He blinks at you. “No, I, I meant-“ He swallows, shaking his head. “I meant how. How did that happen.”

It’s your turn to frown at him. “How did that happen?”

“You shouldn’t love me.” He mutters, his hand over yours flexing. Like he’s trying to pull it away but doesn’t know how. “It’ll get you hurt.”

You raise your brows slightly, running your thumb over his cheek. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I-“

“Are you?”

“Of course not, I’d never-“

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why-“

“It does.” You whisper, folding your legs under you to rise on your knees, dropping your brow to his. Holding his gaze the whole time. “It matters to me, Dean.“

He makes a choked sound, but doesn’t move away. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” You whisper. “And it would be really cool if you loved me.”

Dean’s only staring at you, his eyes flicking between your own, slightly blurred gaze that can still see him so well, and your lips. 

“And it happened,” you push on, your voice growing a little weak when he still doesn’t respond. “Because it’s really easy to love you, Dean Winchester. You’re a good man.” You offer him a smile, and his own mouth falls open just a little. “And even if you don’t love me, I wouldn’t have you any other-“

Something in Dean’s eyes flickers, and he moves before you’re sure what’s happening. Yanking you into his lap with his hand—fingers now tangled in yours—catching you with an arm around your waist, and kissing you. 

Kissing you. Dean’s kissing you. 

Your body sparks into action—even as your brain becomes fogged with a hazy, Dean-shaped lust—and you fist a hand into his shirt, pulling him as close as the world will allow. He’s holding you so carefully, leaning down in a slight dip, and there could be a storm raging around you instead of the soft, romantic rain this feels like it belongs to, but you wouldn’t know. Because this is a kiss people wage wars over. 

It’s louder than music in your ears and electric in your blood, but sparks isn’t a strong enough word. It’s like lightning. Shooting through your spine and lighting up every nerve in your body to Dean. Soft lips molding perfectly into yours, warm and calloused hands skillfully mapping over your skin, a groan down your throat that you can feel settle in your lower gut and start a wildfire.  You’ve been hungry and you’ve never dared to eat, but Dean is here now and you’ll either be starved for the rest of your life or never want for anything again.

When Dean tries to pull away, you just follow him. Chase after his lips with yours, trying to get just a little more before this all comes tumbling down. Before the thought can even dare to cross Dean’s mind—that he’s not good for you, and he should go—because this is all you’ve ever wanted and you’ll be damned if you don’t cling to it for as long as he’ll allow. You’ll fall all the way down, until your body is only supported by Dean below you, and you’ll forsake oxygen until your body demands it. Maybe a little while after, too. 

And Dean doesn’t seem to care to let you go. Every time he tries to pull back it’s a jerked movement, and every time you collide again he grows more and more feral. His groans turn into deep, animalistic growls, and his touch on your skin becomes rough. Not painful, never painful, but urgent. Uncontrolled. Pulling at your skin like he’s trying to meld it into his, kissing you with bruising force, bucking up into you with his hard cock brushing your inner thighs. 

You grind down onto him once—when he hits closer to where you’re beginning to ache for him, and your own need grows stronger than you’re desire to let Dean control this—and he bites you. Dean catches your lip between his teeth, sucks in into his mouth, and grins like he’s won a prize when you whine a plea of his name.

“Holy shit,” he mutters your name, pressing his brow to yours as you both catch your breath, grabbing your waist to stop the next roll of your hips. “I’m not- I can’t do this to you-“

“You’re not doing anything to me,” you whisper. “I love you. I want this.”

Dean catches your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles and staring at the movement, his voice so low you almost don’t hear it. “Say you’re lying.”

You blink at him, and shake your head. “No.”

His eyes flash, shooting back to yours as he grunts your name. “You need to say you’re lyin’ right now, or I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” You lower your face back down, until you’re sharing Dean’s every breath. “Fuck me? Actually say you want me?”

His throat bobs, voice rough with lust. “You, I can’t fucking control it, sweetheart, if you’re fuckin’ with me you need to take it back now-“

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hand, forcing his darkened gaze back to yours. “Answer my fucking question.”

He shakes his head weakly. “You don’t-“

“I love you.” You hiss. You need to make sure he feels it, in the slightly spit on his face, that still tastes a little like him because it’s pushed through lips that are swollen from Dean, and Dean alone. You glide a hand down his chest, the kiss apparently fueling something bold inside you that hadn’t been there before. Your fingers trace down, over his abdomen—hardened from work but still soft in all the best places—and Dean takes in a sharp breath, his hands on your hips tightening enough to leave a mark, and you lean back. Just enough to open space between your bodies, just enough for you to palm him through his sweatpants.

He’s huge, and twitching under your careful, light fingers, and God, you need him inside of you in any fucking way—between your hands or filling your mouth or buried deep into your cunt—but Dean’s still just staring at you. His chest heaving, eyes so dark and wanting you might cum just from his attention, and nostrils flaring as you move your hand up, resting right over the hem of his pants. 

“I love you, Dean,” you whisper, the rush of confidence barreling down as you wait for him to do anything. “And you need to tell me now that you don’t love me, or-“ you take a long breath, dragging up the last bit of your nerve. “You need to say you love me, and do something about it.”

Something shatters in Dean’s gaze for the last time, and whatever war he’s been waging with himself reaches a brutal end as he surges back up, kissing you with all spit and bloody need. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever dared to have on his tongue, and he might be trying to chew off a bit of you to keep.

He won’t need to. He has you. He’s had you for a while, and when he leans back to watch you with glazed, hungry eyes, his words seal some deep, fragile part of you to him forever.

“I love you,” Dean grunts your name, scanning over your face like he’s afraid the words will yank you from his hands. They won’t. “I need you. I gotta have you, but I’m- I’m not in control of it right now-“

“I can take it.” You push your hand into Dean’s sweats, taking his cock in your hand. He groans, eyelids fluttering, and when you run your thumb over the head of him—pressing into the weeping slit and squeezing just so lightly—he hisses your name like a prayer. “Please, Dean. I want it. Please.” 

You pull down his pants with your free hand, taking his boxers with them, and start to slowly pump your hand up and down his impressive length. There will be bruising marks of Dean’s hands of your hips for a while, but you’ll survive. It’s worth it, to watch him unravel below you, to see Dean’s pretty eyes grow glazed with lust for you, feel his dick throb and hips jerk under your touch, hear his low growls and grunts as his jaw clenches and he doesn’t pull you away.

“God,” he moans your name, and you start to squirm above him, desperate for a bit of your own relief. “I wanna- Wanna taste you. Fuck you. Ruin you-“

“So do it,” you slip your other hand down—trusting Dean’s hold to keep you upright—and squeeze his balls. “You say you love me, Dean, but you haven’t proved it-“

The words do exactly what you’d wanted them to. Dean yanks your hand from around him, crashes his lips into yours with a fervor that might have been dangerous if it didn’t taste and sound and feel like Dean, and lets go. 

His every movement is rough and uncontrolled, because his tether over every bit of will that had seemed to keep him restrained is gone, and in its wake is only the Mark. All its lust and fury and hunger, primal and focused on you. On taking what it wants.

And you’d give it to him, even if it left a few marks on your skin and bruising on your heart, but you realize that the Mark doesn’t seem to just want to use you. If it did, Dean wouldn’t be sucking on your neck and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while tracing big, warms hands around your body to palm your breasts. He wouldn’t allow you to grind onto him, or whimper his name, or scratch at his skin as he pulls you apart with barely anything at all. When he flips your over without any effort—only a low grunt and flex of his muscles—you feel like the most priceless bag of flour in the word. Perfect to be tossed around like that forever, but worth more to him—more the Mark—than just another body.

And you can’t see him anymore, but you don’t need to. You hear the sounds of him shuffling behind you, the muffled noise of his shirt being tossed onto the floor, and then his voice. Low and feral and saying your name in a way that makes your knees weak. 

“Up.” He grunts, and you whine when he angles your hips up and pulls down your shorts, you already wet cunt being hit by the cold air. “So fuckin’ pretty, gonna ruin you, baby. You’re never gonna even think about a cock that’s not mine again-“

You nod a little stupidly, wiggling your ass back into him and moaning when his still-clothed erection presses right into you. “Fuck, Dean, please-“

He spanks your pussy—just once the stinging pleasure shooing up your spine—and you bury your face in the sheets to stifles your desperate moan. 

“Need ya’ to listen.” He mutters. “You’re gonna have to talk to me, baby, lemme know what feels good, what you’re likin’, what you need more of-“

“You,” you gasp, and Dean chuckles, running a taunting finger between your folds. “God, I need you, Dean, need you so bad-“

“You need me?” He pushes the finger into your cunt, his body moving to covers yours as he whispers in your ear. “Need me to fuck this tight little pussy until you scream? Goddamn prove you how much I’ve wanted you, how much I’ve always wanted you-“

“Yes.” You nod frantically, grinding your ass up into him. “Show me, please show me-“

Dean moves your head to the side, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss, and hums in satisfaction when he crooks that finger right up against that deep, sensitive spot inside of you, and your hands start to claw at the sheets.  

Then he’s gone. Without warning Dean draws back, yanks his finger out without warning, spanks your pussy again—chuckling at the high, needy sound that escapes your lips—and presses one hand to your lower back to still your writhing as he shuffles behind you

“Tell me whatcha want, baby.” He mutters, moving his hand to rub up and down your thigh. “And I’ll get it for ‘ya. But you have,“ He slaps your pussy one last time for emphasis, and you can only moan. “To say what you-“

“Your cock.” You whisper, spreading your legs wider for his to see. To look at your wet pussy—need dripping down to your knee—and take whatever the Mark is asking of him. “Want your cock Dean. Want you to fuck me, no holding back, please-“

He slams into you without warning. Burying himself at the hilt in one brutal movement, groaning above you as you go limp under him, trying only to twist and touch him, only to push back and somehow get him deeper. You feel so full, so fucking high on the stretch of Dean inside you, but it’s not enough-

“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good.” Dean starts to massage your ass, with one hand, the other holding you up in the air for him to use. “Better than I dreamed, feel like heaven, gonna fuck you so good like you deserve-“

“Dean, fuck-” you clench around him, the praise feeding right into your cockdrunk daze of Dean, and he groans. 

“Don’t do that,” he grunts your name, and it sounds like an order. “I ain’t gonna last if you-“ He moans as you squeeze around his massive cock again, and pulls all the way out before slamming back into you with a growl.

Your mouth falls open, a sound like a mewl escaping your mouth, and Dean starts to fuck you. Really, properly fuck you into the mattress, with low groans and an unforgiving pace, bumping your cervix and snaking a hand around your stomach to pull you up to his chest, rubbing your clit until you’re wrecked and seeing stars, thrusting up into you like a jackhammer and keeping you so blissfully pleasured and warm.

“So fuckin’ good,” he growls your name in your ear, and you squeak. “Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ well, all warm and tight, made for me. You were fuckin’ made for me-“

Dean’s thumb and fore finger roll your clit in a tight circle, and you cum with a scream. Light and color lining your vision, the far-off sound of Dean’s filthy praise making your orgasm ride out and out and out until you’re sure you’ve reached something like heaven. Your vision is still blurred when the satisfaction has washed fully through you, and you realize Dean’s stopped moving.

His hand tangles in your hair, angling your face back for him to see, and fuck he’s so handsome. Breathing heavy in your ear, lips puffed from sucking and kiss your skin, eyes glazed but still focused on you.

You must look like an idiot. Your expression is slack and needy, your eyes glazed a lips parted, but Dean looks at you like you’re a diamond and his cock twitches inside you as your eyes meet.

“Shit, baby,” he mutters. “You gotta say somethin’-“

“That-“ You let out another moan, your pussy still fluttering around him. “Good.”

He chuckles, kiss the very corner of your mouth with a smirk. “You got full words, Sweetheart?”

You swallow, the full feeling of Dean—throbbing inside you, still rock hard, pushing against that heavenly spot but with just too little pressure to send you over once more—crashing into you, and you say the only thing you can think of.

“Keep going?” 

He stares at you for a second, then shakes his head. “No, I- I’ll be fine, I can take care of myself-“

“Want you to use me.” You’re practically whining, and you’d be more embarrassed if the words didn’t make Dean jerk up into you. “Please-“

He groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. “I’m not- you’re-“

“I said don’t hold back.” You whisper, rolling your hips against him and feeling pride glow in your chest at his moan. “Fuck me, Dean. I’m yours.”

And there it is again. You say the exact right thing, the thing you knew would work, and Dean gives in. He shoves you down, flips you onto your back—pulling out for only a second as he adjusts you under him—and starts to fuck you like an animal. Rutting into you at a near inhuman speed, hitting your cervix with every thrust, every word a low growl that coils release tighter and tighter in your lower gut. 

“So fuckin’ greedy,” he grunts, slamming a little rougher. “Wantin’ more, begging me to fuck you, so fucking pretty comin’ apart on my cock, tell me how good it feels, baby-“

“Good,” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as the bed creaks around you, your whole body overwhelmed with pleasure. “Feel so full, Dean, feels so good, you’re so fucking big-“

He groans, and you start to babble. You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, because every word feels like it’s spilling from your mouth. But every inch of your brain trapped in Dean’s skin slapping against yours, his muscles flexing around you, the low and primal sounds rumbling out of his chest as his movements grow sloppy and his cock starts to throb inside of you, and you couldn’t think about anything else if you tried.

“You feel so good, Dean, please don’t stop, want you to cum, I-“ You gasp as he starts to kill up your neck, your hands shooting into his hair. “Fuck, Dean, please, so good, God, I love you-“

His mouth slams into yours, and your orgasm rushes through you like a tidal wave. Longer and powerful, leaving you so fucked out you can only whine under Dean’s body, toes curling and eyes rolling back in your head as your pussy flutters around him.

Dean pulls out, keeping one hand gently on your knee as he pumps himself with an almost blurring fist, and cums over your abdomen and thighs. It’s hot and sticky, and part of you wishes you’d had enough of a brain to ask him to let you taste it, but you’re so completely spent that when Dean collapses over you—a heavy, comfortable weight you’re more than happy to be trapped beneath—your brain wipes every other thought but Dean away, and you decide to just stay here. Where Dean’s face in buried in your neck, and your sore from all of it but there will never be a better pain to experience.

“I-“ Dean breaks the silence, words muffled in your skin. “I feel better.”

“Oh.” You huff a soft laugh. “Good.”

“What, uh, what should we tell Sammy?”

You tug on his hair, just enough to move his gaze back to yours. “That we had sex?”

“No,” Dean groans your name, a smile pulling at his lips. “About the Mark. But we should tell him that-“

You make a mock, dramatic gasp. “Dean Winchester, are you going to brag about sex to your brother-“

“It’s sex with you, Sweetheart.” He winks, rolling you both over and caging you comfortably against his chest. “And Sammy’ll be thrilled to hear it, he’s been on my ass for years-“

“Years?” You squeak. “How many years?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, all of them?”

“All of them?! What do you mean all of them-“

“I mean since I met you.” Dean starts to rub soothing circles on your back, his mouth curling in smug amusement. “Deep breathes, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You flush, still not really use to the baby thing. Or Dean’s hands on your skin, every touch lingering like an imprint that will never even try to fade. “Shut up-“

He shakes his head. “Nah. You love it.” A boyish, wide smile splits over his face. “You love me.”

You might die. You might explode into a million, tiny pieces of confetti and shimmering glass, because Dean looks so happy. There are no ghosts in his beautiful eyes, no loathing or dread stained over his perfect face. He’s happy, here, with you, and you’re not cruel enough to stop yourself from crawling up his chest and pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.

“I do love you,” you mumble against him, straddling his torso as you push yourself up flat palms. “But I’m still gonna tell you to shut up.”

He chuckles, the sound rolling and humming right into your blood. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean reaches up to tuck a little hair behind your ears, and freezes, his eyes trained on his forearm. On the Mark.

“We, uh,” he clears his throat, watching you carefully. “We do need to figure out what we’re gonna do about this.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “We do. But I, I think-“

You cut yourself off, taking his hand in yours and running light fingers over the Mark in thought. Dean stares up at you with a slight awe in his gaze that makes you feel almost important, and your words fall to a soft breath.

“If you want.” You whisper. “We can turn it back-“

“No.” He shakes his head, sounding almost panicked. “I’m not goin’ back to that shit, not now-“

“Dean.” Your fingers still on his arm. “Was it me? That the Mark wanted?”

He swallows, but nods, and you sigh.

“We’re going to have separate sometimes. And we can figure out the bloodlust-“

“We should have to figure it out though, you don’t gotta put up with that-“

“I know.” You smile at him, and it’s not hard. Smiling at Dean is never hard. “But I will.”

“Do you-“ He stares at you, tangling his fingers in yours. “Do you not want me to keep the betterlust? You can tell me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to, for me-“

“God, no.” You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “I’m just, I’m worried about what might happen when the betterlust decides I’m not enough. Or when this, um, when you-“

Dean says your name, slow and firm, and you swallow. “This is it for me. It’s you, and the Mark knows that. You’re gonna be more than enough, hell, you’re more than I deserve-“

“That’s not true.” You mumble. “You deserve the world.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. “It’s adorable that you really believe that, baby, but-“

You scowl at him. “It’s the truth, Dean. You’re a good man, I meant what I said-“

“I know you did.” His charming, cowboy grins falters slightly. Not falling, but twisting into one you’ve never seen before. Still roguish, still well designed and stealing your breath, but with a slight crack that allows you to see deeper. To see the lonely part of him, that really thinks you don’t belong here with him. That’s trying to drag you into him, because he’s certain you’ll start running if he doesn’t. “But this,” he nods to the Mark. “Is still gonna be a problem. I’m still gonna be a problem-“

“You’re not a problem-“

He says your name, the word careful and tender and holy from his lips. It’s the best way you’ve ever heard it. The only way you want to hear it again. “Do you want me to keep the betterlust.”

You purse your lips, and nod.

“Words, baby-“

“Yes.” You whisper. “But I need you to promise me that if it stops working-“

“It won’t.” He shrugs, his voice flat, as if he’s speaking in fact. “And we’re gonna keep looking for a way to get this son of a bitch off. But we’re doin’ it together.” He pauses, scanning over your open features. “If that’s what you-“

You lean down, silencing him with a long, easy kiss. It’s not desperate anymore, but careful. Like you’re making art, or starting to spin a web that could unravel with a single tug, but neither of you will let it. You’ll never let this—whatever this becomes—fall apart. You’ll put your whole life into keeping Dean, fighting for him and helping him and reminding him that he’s not really a burden. Letting him remind you that he really does want you, and he’s never going to allow you to doubt that again.

“Together.” You speak against his lips, letting your content breath fall into his mouth. “I’d like to stay together.”

He nods, mouth curving into a grin. “Alright then. Together.”

End Note: Thank you so so much for reading!!! I've had a lot of fun with this one, and I'm so happy y'all have as well! I hope to see some of you soon for the next one, and if not, thank you. no matter what!!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@tcedenslash

[oimitocat]

SKZ REACTION TO….

….you taking a bullet for them

CHAN…. absolutely hates himself. he blames himself for everything. hates himself more than the company. if he’s already suffering from insomnia then let me tell you he fully cannot sleep. every time he closes his eyes he sees you bleeding out. he cannot and will not sleep until you’re recovered enough to come home and sleep with him in his bed. he’d still be too scared to sleep, clinging to you as you’re deep in your sleep, and if he somehow falls asleep he’d wake up immediately with sobs and making sure you’re alive next to him.

MINHO… cannot be away from you. his form of guilt is to make it up to you despite you telling him you’re fine and you did it to protect him. he won’t stop coddling but you knew he had mistaken love with guilt at some point. he already only shows acts of service as a love language but you felt like he was overdoing it. you hadn’t meant to start an argument about it but you did and he ends up crying saying he just wants to make sure you’re okay because seeing you walk and talk to him is better than seeing you on the floor bleeding out. he’s just suffering and having you close to him is how he’s handling it.

CHANGBIN… self isolates. he wouldn’t do that but he can’t bear to see you. he thinks you hate him until you finally leave the hospital and show up and kiss him better. he’s a big crier, so he sobs into your chest for a good while saying he’s sorry and saying you didn’t deserve that. dealing with the press was a nightmare and he didn’t want you to hate him for not seeing you in the hospital. silently hates himself until you find out and you ease him up again.

HYUNJIN…. won’t stop crying for DAYS. even when you’re out of the hospital. he’d self loathe even when you think he’s fine. he enters a depressive episode for a while, maybe one day smiling at you and the next self isolating from you. you’d wonder what’s wrong and at some point neither of you see each other but you can’t be without him and neither can he. he just wants to be assured that it will never happen again.

JISUNG… ah poor baby, his anxiety spikes and he gets absolutely paranoid. cannot go into the public eye for WEEKS because he’d think you’d get hurt again. you two end up going into a hiatus for a while and jisung jumps even when food delivery comes by. he cries at every single thing and begs you to not hate him for being so weak. your fragile baby, you assure him every moment and soon you two feel a lot better to go back out to the public eye.

FELIX…. also won’t stop crying for days. too scared to be away from you. his hate is towards his company because how dare they let this happen. always cries himself to sleep and you thought sleeping with him would help but he still cries in his sleep and wakes you up from his nightmares. he literally needs a lot of coaxing from you, doesn’t leave your sight. his attachment towards you gets extreme but you know it’s not for long. it hurts you to see him so paranoid and worried but thankfully it gets better.

SEUNGMIN… does not want to see you. he self isolates so bad, hates everything and everyone. he doesn’t know how to handle his emotions so he ends up being tense and lashing out at everyone. when you come back he accidentally lashes out on you but you never say anything- ending up with him crying his eyes out because he couldn’t do anything but be weak and hide in his room. you coax him into knowing you’re fine as long as he’s fine. i think after that he’d start to show physical affection a lot more.

JEONGIN… will not stop crying and hyperventilating. extremely paranoid and will not leave your side. he’d just stare at you for a while and end up crying. genuinely so fragile, you panic and worry a lot. he’d always say he’d sorry and you’d have to remind him it’s not his fault. does not want to enter the public eye for a good while and you don’t either. definitely enter a hiatus with you and won’t leave your sight either. he doesn’t get better until a lot later, but he still feels bad.

[cheshireliam]

"Wrapped in Wicked Romance" Story Event: Chapter 1

Ring Schwartz

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Kate: Why did you… kill them…?

Ring: “Why”...? Is it not natural? 

Ring: I’ll kill anyone as long as Dari orders me to.

His face, splattered with blood, showed not even the slightest bit of doubt about the murder he just committed.

It was at that moment when I finally realised it.

He, too— was utterly evil. 

…

One night, I stumbled upon a secret I never should've known, which led to me becoming Fairytale Keeper for a month.

A week after, Vogel, an organisation consisting of Cursed Ones similar to Crown, appeared and seemed to be hiding something. 

…

A few days after my encounter with them, I was called upon by Vogel’s chief— Darius. 

Darius: I’ve heard about it. To deepen your understanding of Crown’s members, you became their lover for a day.

Darius: We want you to do the same thing with us. The kind Miss Fairytale Keeper will surely agree to it, right? 

Unable to make the decision on my own, I quickly went to discuss it with Victor. 

…

Victor: Lovers for a day with Vogel? 

Kate: Yes. They also mentioned that they want me to show them around the city at the same time. 

Victor: I see… I don't have a problem with that arrangement. I happen to also have been thinking about giving them a tour of the city. 

Victor: What are your thoughts, Kate?

Kate: I… I can't stop thinking about what Harrison said to me that day. 

Victor: That Vogel is lying, is it?

Victor: I understand your concern, but we still can’t say for certain whether their lies are harmful to Crown. 

Victor: I doubt that they would be so reckless as to harm you in this situation. Therefore… 

Victor: The most important factor we should consider is what you want to do.

…

(What I want to do…?) 

(Victor did say he'd turn them down if I don't feel comfortable, but…)

(Since I’m going to have interactions with Vogel as a Fairytale Keeper, I’m personally curious about what kind of people the three of them are.) 

(So in order to find out… I’ll accept this request.)

(But before that…)

Kate: Excuse me, who is that tailing me? 

Ever since I left Victor’s office, I’ve had the gut feeling that someone was following behind me. 

When I voiced it out, a man emerged from the shadows.

Kate: Ring…? 

I called his name, although I still wasn't used to doing that because he only said very recently that I could address him as such without the use of salutations. 

Ring: Y-you misunderstood. I didn't mean to tail you today.

Ring: There’s something I want to ask you about… I just couldn't figure out when to approach you.

Kate: … Something you want to ask?

Ring: I wanted to ask who you’re choosing to be your lover for a day. 

Kate: Umm… and what do you intend to do with that information? 

Ring: Depending on whether you choose Nica or Dari, I’ll need to change my route and method for being their escort for security purposes. 

Ring: With the close, intimate distance of being “lovers”... who knows what tricks you’ll pull on the two of them. 

It appeared that Ring was wary of me and planned to protect them regardless of who I chose.

(Hm? But in that case…) 

Kate: What happens to the whole escort planning thing if I choose you to be my “lover”?

Ring: ME!? 

Ring: I- I don’t understand… Normally, either Nica or Dari would be chosen for this sort of thing. You don't need to consider such a possibility. 

Kate: But Darius said to choose “one member from Vogel”. 

Kate: So choosing you isn't a problem, right?

Ring: I-it’s a HUGE problem…! M-me as your l-lo-lov-lover…!? 

… Initially, I asked the question because I was genuinely curious how he intended to go about the escorting. 

But seeing Ring turning bright red and panicking sparked a mischievous impulse in me.

Kate: I’ve decided! I’m choosing you as my lover for a day.

Ring: WHAT!? You absolutely CANNOT do that! 

Darius: Really? I think that's a wonderful idea, though. 

The voice cutting into our exchange was Darius, who happened to be passing by.

Ring: D-Dari… why?

Darius: Somehow, it sounds like it’d be interesting. 

Ring: But what if she “cajoles¹” me into doing her bidding…!? 

¹ The word for “cajole” is 篭絡 (ろう���くrōraku). Here, when Ring’s says it, it was written in hiragana as “ろーらく” to express that his pronunciation of the word wasn't very accurate; possibly because his first language is german and not english. 

Darius: You know such a complex phrase as “cajole”? Good job, good job. 

Darius: But don’t worry. Miss Fairytale Keeper could never be a threat to us.

Darius: Have I ever been wrong about such things? 

Ring: … Never.

Darius: Then there's no problem at all. 

Darius: Go on, Ring. Pass auf dich auf (have a great day²). 

² For the record, I don't understand German at all. I’m only translating based on the Japanese translation provided by the game in the form of furigana.

As soon as Darius said something to him in their native language, Ring became obedient like a well-trained guard dog. 

Ring: … Alles klar (understood). 

…

The next day, I became Ring’s lover for a day and was tasked to give him a tour of the city.

Kate: I look forward to spending the day with you. 

Ring: … Oh, uh, yeah. Dari ordered me to “pretend to be Miss Fairytale Keeper’s lover for a day”. 

Ring: Going on a… d… da… date… with you… I- I’ll do it just fine. Just you watch…! 

(Ring looks extremely nervous…)

I was a little nervous myself, but seeing how tense he was actually made me feel better. 

Ring: S-so… the first destination is The Scala, right?

Kate: Yes. Since it’s a date, I decided to take you to some of my favourite places today. 

Kate: We could take a carriage there, but the weather is pleasant today. Shall we walk instead?

Ring: … Got it. Also, um… 

Ring looked like there was something he wanted to say as he stretched his right arm out in my direction. 

Kate: …?

Ring: Ah! No… nothing. T-this is just me warming up! 

He pulled his arm back and started rolling his shoulders in circles.

[shashapato]

Nevermore High School AU

For @cerealman ‘s 🤫🤫🤫🤫…secret santa present…😱🤫😬

(Merry Christmas!!!! Hoping this will make your day!!!)

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Lenore is a huge chemistry lover. She and Duke would be neutralising acids and bases at the back of the classroom then betting a ridiculous amount of money that the other won’t drink it. (Pluto has just given up stopping them and just began quietly handing Duke whatever he needs while half-listening to the lecture half-trying to make sure his friends don’t die.)

The misfits (COUGH COUGH Lenore COUGH) have probably set a fire by accident while teasing each other. 🥰 They all got in trouble.

Berenice wants to see blood under the microscope, but uhhhh, no one wants her cutting herself (or someone else).

Eulalie refuses to do dissections. FROGS ARE FRIENDS.

Prospero and Annabel make the BEST notes and Ada is begging for them at the end of class. (Annie gives it, of course.)

Will takes notes for Monty, and when desperate, Ada asks (DEMANDS) for them. (Will says no. 🥰)

No, but Prospero would wash his hands maybe ten times when in the lab, whether it’s touching chemicals or organs or anything. (Germaphobia, yes. 😭)

Montresor is OBSESSED with dissections. He finds it super fascinating and of course, loves feeling mushy organs and blood on his hands. (When Prospero is paired with him, he forces Monty to wash his hands.)

Dodgeball when it’s boys vs girls, Lenore is protecting all the shy unathletic girls from getting hit, becoming a sort of ‘saviour’. All of them fall heads over heels for her. 😔

Berenice and Lenore are the power duo.

Duke and Pluto WISHES they could be half as good bruh.

Eulalie looks like she’s unathletic, but she is FAST.

Annabel insists she shouldn’t play dodgeball because her nails will get in the way. (She tosses a ball at Monty’s head later for being misogynistic about that.)

Ada in PE is WILD. She and Will are the most competitive unathletic goblins ever. While Will uses his thin stature to sneak around opponents, Ada straight up tackles him, using the excuse “Oh, but we’re playing football, aren’t we?” “Not American football, god’s sake!!!”

I’m sorry, but Monty playing football (idc which football) AHHHHHH. He and Will joined the school team together of course. (William Wilson only joined to be in the changing room with Monty.)

Morella is Ada’s personal shield, because Ada has ZERO awareness of her surroundings when she’s focused. Morella has to run and block balls from hitting her.

Annabel in English class writing ramblings about how much she loves Lenore, but plays it off as only ‘fiction’. (I’ve done that once, IT WORKS!!!)

Lenore takes French so she could communicate with Duke in secret. Pluto attempted to, but backed out after a few failed exams.

Pluto now takes Japanese and Eulalie is his tutor. 😔

Monty is the kind to refuse to learn any language other than English, because it’s the ‘superior language’. (He takes German lol, I can see him speaking German...but like he knows only random words and shouts them to feel smart.)

Ada sucks at foreign languages, but thinks she is fluent. She’s the student that yells out answers with the strangest accent. 😭

Ada and Monty are the couple that’s ALWAYS kissing, but they broke up like ten times then got back together so everyone’s just confused.

Annabel and Lenore pass notes in class and when asked to read it out, Lenore EATS THE PAPER.

Poor Will tries to make friends and always fail.

Duke and Pluto are the gayest ‘straight guys’. (People assume they’re straight, but… 👀)

Eulalie is the weird kid that when you get to know becomes your best friend.

Merry and Mourn are kind of the weird teachers. 😭 They give you detention for no reason and can be strict.

Anygays, thank you! :DDD This has been fun!!!

[alexvolleyball]

🧸ྀི A man! 🧸ྀི

What lads men doing for you?

characters: Sylus; Xavier; Zayne; Rafayel.

a/n: English is not my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes. Requests are open!!!

It's New Year's Eve in four days. I would love for you to decorate my Christmas tree!

warnings: Mentioning clubs, drunk people, clingy men, kids, not highly toxic jokes.

Sylus:

• He won’t let you feel uncomfortable.

• Is the club music too loud? Sylus will throw out the DJ to lower the volume.

• Is the company unpleasant? He will wrap his arm around your shoulders and lead you away.

• Is some guy staring at you strangely? Sylus will take care of him without hesitation.

• Today was another visit to the club. You didn’t give Sylus a heads-up, and now you regret it. You’ve had too much to drink and are struggling to walk. It feels like you might break your ankles in these heels. Leaning against the wall of a tall building, you touched your hot face with an equally warm hand. Your eyes struggled to make sense of the figures around you.

• “Hey, gorgeous! Need some help?” a strange male voice called out. The stranger stood too close, his hands already reaching for your shoulders when suddenly, black and red threads wrapped around him and lifted him away.

• “Keep your filthy hands to yourself.” Oh, that voice—you could recognize it anywhere. Your man arrived just in time, as always. You heard the man's screams, the crack of bones, and Sylus’s heavy footsteps. “Here I am saving you again, kitten.”

• “Sylus?” You swayed and fell right into his arms. “I missed you so much!” To be honest, Sylus likes it when you’re drunk because you become quite clingy. “These stupid heels hurt! Can I take them off?”

• He supported you with one hand while the other removed his shoes. Then he crouched down and placed you on his knee. Sylus began to take off your heels and slipped on his shoes instead. “Is this better?” he asked, gently standing while holding your heels.

• “Oh! So comfortable!” You clapped your hands joyfully, and in response, he leaned down to kiss you on the forehead.

Xavier:

• He always walks ahead of you, shielding you with his broad back.

• As one of the top Hunters, Xavier takes on the most perilous missions. When you join him on assignments, he turns into a protective hen. “Hold on. I’ll check it out.” Or “Shh, there’s someone over there. I’ll handle it; you stay put.” Or “Don’t interfere; I’ve got this.” At first, it stung, making you feel like a burden. But that couldn’t be further from the truth! Xavier just wants to keep you safe and sound.

• His worry for you even led him to argue with his superiors. When they refused to make any changes (Xavier believes you should get easier tasks), he got angrier than ever before.

• It seems that Hunter has everything under wraps, but when it comes to his beloved, he just can’t keep his emotions at bay.

• He protects you even during casual strolls. Xavier is always alert, ready to take on any threat just so you’re okay.

• When unfamiliar guys approach, he draws you in closer and shoots them a cold glare. With that displeased look, he wards off anyone who dares to come near. “Wow, you’ve really got a jealous streak!” you chuckle, watching him shoo away yet another suitor.

• “Jealous?”

• “Well, it’s when you think that someone you care about might go off with someone else. You’re deeply attached, and you feel a pang when someone tries to steal your partner. Something like that.” You smile awkwardly, realizing how silly it sounds.

• “Yeah, probably.” Xavier’s words hit home. “I’d protect you from anyone in this world.” He gently brushed your cheek and pulled you closer. “Especially from men who have their eyes on my treasure.” His soft lips brushed against yours. Through that tender kiss, he tries to convey what he can’t say aloud.

Zayne:

• This doctor won’t let you lift anything heavy.

• Heading to the store? He’ll tag along to haul all those bulky bags for you.

• Want to move the couch to make the room look nicer? Better step aside. Zayne will handle it all.

• Right now, you’re secretly trying to drag heavy boxes filled with useless junk up to the attic without your husband knowing. But you miscalculated the distance from the wall and crashed into it, sending the boxes tumbling. The racket alerted your husband, and he surveyed the scene with a disapproving look. “Why didn’t you call for me?” First, he helped you up, then you both gathered everything that tumbled out of the boxes back inside. After a heavy sigh, he stacked the boxes and lifted them effortlessly. Once everything was stowed away in the attic, Zayne came back down to you. “So, why didn’t you tell me?”

• “You were busy working, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

• “And that’s why you thought it was a good idea to do this on your own? Y/N, you’re my woman. You shouldn’t be doing all the heavy lifting when I’m around.” He pulled you into his chilly embrace, but the warmth of your body soon turned it cozy. “You could’ve hurt your back or worse.” Zayne pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

• “Sorry for worrying you.”

• “It's all good,” he sighed. “But don’t let it happen again. The mother of my future children needs to stay healthy.” He smiled and ruffled your hair.

• “Mother of your future children?”

• “You thought you could get away from me? Not a chance. I want to build a family with you. I want kids, and only with you.” Zayne's words made you blush. Despite his serious nature, he loves to playfully tease you just to see the flustered look on your face.

Rafayel:

• He always opens doors for you and pulls out your chair like a true gentleman.

• This man is far too glamorous and sophisticated for this world.

• Today, like usual, he decided to take you to the most upscale restaurant. You’ve realized time and again that in his suit, Rafayel is just too hot to handle.

• He loves it when your outfits match; it shows everyone around that you’re a genuine, loving couple.

• As he opened the car door, he waved his hand gallantly, inviting you to hop in. You laughed, lifted the hem of your dress, and slipped into the car.

• Once you arrived, the artist was the first out, opening your door and helping you out. Wrapping your arm around his, you beamed and rested your head on his shoulder. “Today, you’re glowing with happiness—it’s nauseating,” your husband joked, pretending to feel ill.

• “Oh, you rascal! I’m just…” you turned away, slightly embarrassed. “I’m just happy to have you with me.”

• “Ah, that’s it!” He said, holding the door open and ushering you inside. “How adorably sweet!” The artist chuckled, and as you made your way to the table, he pulled out your chair, sat you down, and scooted you in. “In that case, order whatever your heart desires, babe! Let’s blow this card’s limit!” He slapped the table, placing his credit card beside your hand.

• “Wow, what a surprise!” You feigned amazement. As you browsed the menu, you sneaked glances at your man. Rafayel met your gaze. “Why are you staring so hard?”

• “I love you.”

• “What?”

• “I said, ‘hurry up and order.’ I’m starving over here.” You noticed his ears turning red, and with a giggle, you intertwined your fingers with his. Rafayel looked at your hands, half-lidded eyes taking in the moment. He brushed his thumb over your knuckles and gently raised your hand to his lips, kissing it. “I want to spend my life taking you to fancy restaurants.”

© 2024 do reblog, but don’t copy or publish my work on other platforms, or translate (without my permission) into other languages. Any coincidences are coincidental! The dividers belong to me! If you want use them, just tag me: @alexvolleyball

[shartletswritings]

Prove to me

Non-Canon one shot set within the You've Dug Your Own Grave story

TW: Smutttt and not much else Happy holidays!! I wanted to make you all a little, sinful, christmas present. I do hope you enjoy!! I wrote this like… immediately after writing the first chapter of YDYOG because I needed a break from all the angst I was about to write (and because I’m a whore). Thank you all for the endless support, I know I say it every time and I sound like a broken record, but it genuinely baffles me how many of y’all read my stories and engage with my content. All my love and enjoy!!

            You stand with your back to the kitchen door; your full attention is on the jars of tea in front of you. You’re beginning to believe that this is the hardest decision you have ever had to make: mint and licorice or chamomile? Absentmindedly you pull on your bottom lip with your fingers as you deliberate. Would a combination be bad? It can’t be that bad.

            It takes a few minutes of rummaging through various drawers to locate a steeper among the mess of utensils. “Found you, fucker,” you whisper to the ball of metal. You decide a scoop of each is appropriate for one mug. After pouring the water into your mug you plop the steeper unceremoniously into the water, a small splash lapping over the rim.

            You spin on your heels to look for a snack to take back with you to your room when you notice that the lights on the far end of the kitchen have been switched off. Another black out? We just had one the other night. You sigh, you’ll be out in a few minutes anyways and you have plenty of candles waiting in your room if the power does go out. You fill a small bowl with some corn-puffed snack sitting on a far corner and put it on a tray next to the mug. You smile at the paint on the side which had been done by Aster a few weeks back. The memory of her chubby little hands smudging greens and purples onto the previously gray surface.

            Another noise catches your attention; something slams close behind you and you whip around but only see the door to the mess hall hanging open slightly. It must be the wind. You chide yourself for being so nervous. Just as you are about to pick the tray up and leave when the hair on the back of your neck stands up. This time you are certain someone is behind you, which is odd because you don’t remember hearing someone come in.

            You start to turn slowly when a low, harsh voice bites out, “Don’t.”

            You let out the anxious breath you were holding, a smile spreading on your face, “Scar, you scared the sh-”

            You are cut off by a hand clapping down on your mouth. He shifts slightly behind you, and you suddenly feel his breath, hot and deep in your ear, “You’re lucky it’s me here, Kir,” the bite in his voice sends a shiver down your spine, “what have I told you about letting your guard down?”

            He releases his hand just enough for you to speak, “I can handle myself. We’ve talked about this,” you put your hands down on the counter in front of you, bristling at his need to protect you.

            “We have,” his breath still tickles your ear, “and yet I was able to get all the to you before you even realized I was in the building.”

            “That’s not fair, you’re quieter than most people. And besides, I’d sense their… aura or something; I’d know if there was someone out to get me.”

            “You aren’t nearly as funny as you think you are,” Scar sounds unamused and you can’t really blame him, it wasn’t the smartest thing to say.

            You go to turn towards him again but his hand clamps down on your jaw to keep your head forward, claws pressing into the soft skin of your cheeks. “If you don’t want me to coddle you, prove to me you can handle yourself,” he all but growls, “I’ll give you a two-minute head start… now run.”

            It takes you a few seconds to process what he says before it clicks. It takes you a few more seconds to decide whether or not to indulge him; on the one hand you don’t need his damn oversight on your safety, you sure as hell aren’t weak or incapable. But on the other hand… it is really fucking hot.

            The pressure that had been gradually building in the pit of your belly finally snaps and you feel electric. As if sensing the change in your chemistry, Scar releases your jaw and takes a step back, giving you the room needed to bolt.

            The darkness filling the empty kitchen makes your escape more difficult than it should be, but something inherent in your blood directs you back out into the courtyard of the hideout. Dust kicks up under your boots and the only light available to you comes from windows with half-drawn blinds. Figuring out where to go is the hardest part; you know that the first spots to pop into your mind are undoubtedly what Scar will also think of. Any place shrouded in complete darkness is marked off immediately on your imaginary list due to his godsdamned eyes which eliminates about half of the places you could reasonably get to in the constricting two minutes he’s given you. Your hoverboard is also inaccessible from where it sits back in your quarters which means you’ll need to find somewhere to hide in the base and fast.

            You turn towards the tree, scrambling up the scaffolding of the mural and onto the balcony of Ekko’s workshop. Mercifully, it is both empty and unlocked. You slip inside, crouch under one of the tables, and wait. It’s dark in here, sure, but there is enough of a glow from the courtyard that you can make out everything in the room with some sense of clarity; at least he won’t be able to sneak up on you.

            Your skin feels electric and every sound has you jumping. The fear is primal, something innate within your core. You’re not scared of Scar of course, but right now you’re fucking terrified and it’s exhilarating. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been waiting. Five minutes? Ten? Time passes strangely.

            The door opens slowly and for a moment you don’t think it’s Scar with how gentle the nob turns, but the second you see the toe of his boot your heart leaps into your throat. You stick a hand over your mouth to try and muffle your breathing as you press yourself further back into the shadows under the table. He takes a few more steps into the room, turning his head, searching for you.

            You let loose the breath you had been holding as he turns, thinking he’s finally leaving, when he whips his head back around at the sound. “I know you’re in here, Kirranari.” Damn it all. You realistically have about five seconds before he pinpoints your location under the table. It takes you three to make a decision. Sure, you could run again, but where’s the fun in that?

            You rocket out from your hiding spot and rush him, slamming your weight into his chest. He stumbles back and into a wall, thankfully missing the shelf of Ekko’s glass scientific instruments. He lets out a low oof and looks down at you and your forearm pressed into his chest, almost impressed and you feel a rush of pride despite yourself.

            The moment is ruined by his clawed hands wrapping around your wrist and twisting you around to slam you into the wall. His chest presses against your back and your face smushes into the wooden wall. “Not good enough, Kir,” his voice rumbles deeply against your body and a new wave of heat flushes through you. He must know what he’s doing. From the way his breath puffs hot against your ear, you can tell he knows exactly what he’s doing. Asshole.

            With a huff, you drop low despite the wall scraping against your face and push yourself back under his legs. Before he can react, you jump up behind him and clammer onto his back. He bucks like a wild animal, but the bruising grip of your arms around his neck and legs around his chest keeps him from throwing you off. A knife slips down from your sleeve, and you allow the glint of the metal to catch in the faint light from the window. The blade is pointed away from him, but he can see that you weren’t unarmed, even in the relative safety of the hideout.

            You bring your mouth down to his ear, “Still think I can’t handle myself?” He stills for a moment, a snarl forming on his face, and you fight the urge to smile. With a quick nip to his ear you drop back to the ground, leaving him motionless for another second before he spins back towards you, his face a mix of lust and aggravation.

            “You got lucky,” he looks down at you, and you have to fight the urge to cower under his gaze. You aren’t afraid of him, of course, but you haven’t gotten this far in the undercity without a healthy amount of innate caution.

            “Right. Cuz it’d kill you to say that I did something correctly.” He opens his mouth to protest but before he can say anything, you sweep a leg towards his knees. Not expecting the blow, his knees buckle, and he crashes to the ground under his own weight.

            Unfortunately, before you can get a healthy amount of gloating out, you feel an arm wrap around your wrist to pull you down on top of him. He pins your arms to the ground, forcing you to lean over his head. You pant as you stare down at his blown-out pupils, “I only let you do that cuz you’re hot. Just so ya know. If you were anyone else, it’d be a different story.”

            He looks up at you in silence, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. Suddenly, claws make their way into your hair and pull, bringing your face up to his. Your lips only meet for a moment before his tongue presses its way into your mouth. He pulls back for a moment, “Would you let anyone else do this?” His voice is slightly hoarse, thick with lust.

            You hum thoughtfully, “Who’s to say really. I have such a hard time making up my mind, but I can think of a few I’d let kiss me.” You’re taunting him, you’re absolutely aware of that. But the dark, fierce eyes he looks at you with twinge something deep in your gut and you find yourself unable to stop. “Maybe if Ekko or Jordyn asked me nicel-”

            He growls and flips your bodies to cut you off, pinning you under his weight. “Sounds like I’m not doing enough to keep you around, then.” You grin mischievously, “It sounds like I need to remind you how much you mean to me.” He grabs one of your hands and reaches it down to cup the growing bulge in his pants and your breath catches in your throat. It’s his turn to grin as he lowers his mouth to your neck, assaulting it with nips kisses.

            You arch your back into his chest, a breathy moan ripping through your throat. “You think I’d be doing this for anyone else?” he asks, his lips attacking the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. He bites down when you don’t answer, “I asked you a question,” he chastises with a shockingly level voice against your pathetic cry.

            “N-no,” you breath into the darkness of the room and you can feel him smile against your skin. How does he always manage to reduce me to an incoherent mess, you think distantly as you struggle aimlessly against his weight.

            His hand releases your wrists and pushes the hem of your shirt up to your collarbone, tugging the band around your breasts down to lay loosely around your stomach. Painfully slowly, his lips make their way towards the hardened peaks of your nipples, but he doesn’t touch them directly. Instead, he focuses his attention on the soft skin of your breasts, eliciting a cry of frustration from your lips. You can feel the bastard smile against your skin again and you begin to get impatient. Bringing your free hand to his hair you pull, forcing his head to angle towards you.

            His top lip curls into a sneer as he is ripped away from his efforts at teasing you, you smile innocently at him. In a burst of movement you slither out from under him once more and hop to your feet, pulling your shirt back down to cover your chest. He looks up at you for a moment, still kneeling on the floor. “Did you think the game was done?” you ask, sweetly.

            Before he has even brought himself to his feet, you are already halfway to Ekko’s balcony. You pause for an instant to glance back behind you to lay eyes on a very angry looking Scar. Electricity pulses through you once more as you swing down from the balcony and onto the ground of the courtyard. A few moments later, you hear the heavy thud of Scar’s boots hitting the ground behind you. A terrified laugh rips from your chest as you take off in a sprint towards the gym.

            You make it nearly the entire way there before Scar tackles you from behind, sending the two of you tumbling towards the floor of the hallway. He pants hard in your ears, “There’s the rat I know.” You pause for a moment at his use of your nickname in your own tongue and he chuckles over you. He crushes down harder on top of you as you work to wriggle out of his grasp and into the gym like you had planned. “You think I’d let you get away again?”

            His threat sends blood flow exactly where you don’t need it, and you find yourself unable to come up with a useful escape plan. Nearly his entire weight is pressing you down onto the ground below with his hands wrapped securely around your upper arms and you can feel the weight of his hardened cock against your ass.

            “You’re pressing into my arms, Scar, it hurts,” you cry out breathlessly. He lets up immediately, mumbling an apology. You push yourself up and back into a run towards the gym, yelling to him over your shoulder, “You’re too fucking gullible.”

            He tackles you again almost as soon as you burst through the door, this time on a mat, and hisses into your ear, “You’re beginning to test my patience, Kir.” Before you can even react, he is yanking your pants down below your hips, “such a fucking tease,” he mumbles, an animalistic strength coursing through his veins.

            You arch your ass closer to his face, “I’m just doing what you asked,” you reply as innocently as possible.

            He growls and yanks your underwear down to lay with your pants at your ankles, one hand still pressed firmly against the small of your back. Fingers trail down to the wet heat of your slit, “Soaked already? You like being chased?” He rubs a finger against your throbbing clit, and you press your face to the mat below you to muffle your mewls of pleasure. “Fuck… you like being hunted down, don’t you?” You feel primal. You feel terrified. You feel fucking amazing.

            Lifting your head just enough, you answer him with a pathetic sounding whimper, “mmm-yes.” You cry out again in dismay as he removes his hand from your cunt. He shifts behind you and the squelch of his hand working your slick up and down the length of his dick fills the room. You arch you ass higher, desperate to be filled, and he only laughs.

            “That needy?” He presses the tip slowly into you and you sigh. Unfortunately, the bastard has other plans and quickly pulls back out and rocks his slick covered cock between your ass cheeks. You mumble incoherently and he laughs again, “Not so funny when you’re the one being teased, is it?”

            “S’not the same,” you mutter, one cheek squished against the mat distorting your words.

            He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls, lifting your head up from the ground slightly. “I can’t understand you when you whine like that. Why don’t you tell me what you need?” If you could glare, you would probably be lighting the room on fire with the intensity of your frustration, unfortunately all you can do is cry out at the lack of stimulation where you need him most. “I can’t hear you, Kir, what is you want?”

            This asshole is gonna make me say it? “Wan’… fuck… m,’” is all you manage. Jannah I’m pathetic.

            He adjusts himself ever so slightly so he can rub his cock against your clit, coating it further in your wetness, “You gotta give me more than that,” he whispers into your ear before nipping at the cartilage. Fuck if he keeps going like that… Another yank on your hair pulls your attention back to the present.

            Sucking in a breath, you finally say, “Fuck me, please…”

            It’s all he needs to hear to sheathe himself within you completely in one stroke. Your breath catches in your throat as you nearly choke at the complete fullness… the deliciously painful stretch of your cunt around him. Your legs are still pressed together by your pants and his weight bears down on you as he fucks you into the mat, making you tighter than normal. From the ragged breathing in your ear, you aren’t the only one affected by the position, which brings some amount of triumph to your cock-drunk brain.

            A hand wraps around your hips to pull your ass higher, crushing your head farther into the ground and rendering you almost completely immobile. All you can do is fucking take it as he bottoms out into your needy cunt, squeezing helplessly around his dick. You manage to cry his name desperately, the sound mixing with the squelch of your wetness and the clap of his hips meeting your ass.

            His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you can feel the heat of his breath on your naked skin. A distant, far away voice in your head tells you to be a bit more weary of the fact literally anyone could walk in and see the two of you, but teeth sinking into the flesh of your neck cleanses the last shreds of logical thought from your mind.

            “F-fuck you’re so tight,” he bites out in between thrusts, “you like this? You like being fucked on the ground?” All you can do is cry out and clench harder around him. “Gonna split my cock in half,” he warns into your ear, but you can’t help it.

            “M-more, please,” you murmur into the floor, praying he could hear you over the noise your bodies make.

            Scar laughs breathlessly over you, “Never satisfied, are you?”

            The hand that had been tangled into your hair travels down your back and onto your other hip, pulling you up to your knees. Your arms lay uselessly on the ground and you turn your head to see Scar as he thrusts into you from behind. Between your legs, you can make out the wet form of his cock in the darkness as it hammers into your greedy hole, pants pulled down below his waist just enough to free himself. His brows furrowed in concentration and eyes dark with lust pull your attention from the movement of his body.

            Your once wet mouth goes dry at the sight of how seriously he takes your pleasure. Almost like he loves m-. He catches your eye and smirks, bringing a hand around to press into your throbbing clit and you turn your head back to the mat to muffle the sounds of your cries.

            “You gonna cum for me? Huh?” He digs his claws into your hips, and you begin to twitch.

            “Yes!” you’re barely audible, but from the way he grips you, you can tell he heard you well enough.

            It doesn’t take long for you to finish; the pressure of his finger on your clit, the unforgiving rhythm of his hips, the sound of his barely silenced groans of pleasure, it all becomes too much. When you do shatter, it’s nearly world ending. Tearing a hand up, you desperately attempt to cover the sound of your screams as your legs shake and finally give out.

            “Just like that… T-that’s my girl.”

            You collapse down to the floor and clamp down on his cock like a vice. He stutters for a moment but resumes his thrusts to fuck you in your now prone posture through the waves of pleasure.

            His own release comes soon after and you can practically feel the pressure building deep in his gut. He presses a hand to the top of your back, anchoring you to the floor as he chases his own pleasure. The only signal he gives you is a shout that sounds almost like your name before he pulls out. You feel him spilling onto your back, painting the soft skin with ropes of thick, hot cum. His head drops back to your shoulder, and he stills, panting, arched above your still twitching form.

            After what feels like ages of comfortable silence, he finally presses a kiss to your neck, tongue smoothing the swiftly reddening marks in the unmistakable shape of his teeth.

            “You take me so well, always so good for me,” he whispers against your skin. Pulling his tank over his head, he begins to mop up the puddle of cum on your pack; pressing gentle kisses into your back as he cleans you up, murmuring your praise the whole time. Once he is satisfied that you are taken care of, he tucks himself back into his pants.

            Just as you gather the strength to pull yourself up from the floor, the door to the gym opens. Your eyes go wide as they meet with Geo’s and you squeal, hands moving to cover your chest.

            “What the fuck?” He asks, his face going red and a hand shooting up to cover his eyes. Scar whips his head around to glare at the unfortunate man. “Are you kidding me? You’re… here?” His voice is about two octaves higher than normal.

            “Get out,” Scar growls and you fight the urge to slap him. The two of you are so obviously in the wrong here it hurts. You wriggle your pants over your hips and hop to your feet.

            “Don’t. We’re leaving,” you grab Scar by the hand and march out of the room, too horrified to look Geo in the eyes. He mumbles something at the two of you but you’re already halfway down the hallway.

            “Fucking asshole,” Scar mutters, his cum-soaked shirt balled in one fist. You wheel around on your heels to glare up at him.

            “We were the problem there,” you retort, a hand going to your hip.

            “He coulda knocked.”

            “We were fucking in the gym! What were we thinking?” You run an exasperated hand down your face, “What the hell are you doing to me, Scar?” He looks hurt for a moment, brow furrowing in concern. You roll your eyes and press a finger into his bare chest, “I am not the kinda girl that fucks people in public, and yet you have turned me into this horny…” you search for the right word, “monster!”

            His worried expression cracks into a smug grin, “You’re the one that ran to the gym. We coulda stayed in the workshop.”

            You let out an exasperated noise, “And have Ekko walk in on us? No fucking way. Geo is one thing, but him? I’d rather die!”

            He shrugs shamelessly, “Guess we can just go back to your room then.”

            Your eyes widen as you shoot him a dubious look, “Back…more?”

            His smile is all sharp teeth as he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, a hand resting on your ass, and takes off towards your quarters, “You thought we were done? I’m just gettin started, Kir.”      

Tag List: @kiannaf @awenthealchemist @calciferthelivingfire @bakugokatsuki18-blog @ariwolfsstuff @mcaats  @radflapkidsludge @honeym0chi @veggiesoupdumpling @vicki--mouse  @im-jasmine @bearinthesnow

[trashideas]

Exploration of Jin-woo’s loss of emotions.

The only emotion he doesn't lose is the love for his family?

Or is that a lie?

Is he hyperfocusing on keeping his family safe to say that he still feels love?

In which, Jin-woo loses all emotions, but he still cares. Or at least, he wants to.

When he comes home late at night, he doesn't expect Jin-ah’s worried figure pacing the halls. He doesn't expect when she comes up to punch his shoulder, only to reel back with a, “Ugh, you stupid Hunters!”

“Did I do something wrong?” his head tilts as he takes in the view of their cleaned apartment. Nothing was amiss.

She looks at him, stunned. “Its 4 in the morning. You left two days ago.”

The fridge was stocked before he left. Nothing was set to expire, he double checked. He told her he would be leaving for a while. None of his soldiers indicated that something happened.

So what was the problem?

“You really don't understand, do you? Or are you just fucking with me?”

“Don’t swear…” he finds himself saying. Mother wouldn't want her to swear. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

“Today?” she scoffs, “Yes. I do have school. And you need to start texting me more.”

He texts her often. More often than anyone else. “I’m a bit confused. Why are you so upset with me?”

Jin-ah gives him a strange look. Her eyes are glistening with tears. Was she about to cry? What did do?

“You can't just… leave like that for so long. Especially with no contact. I thought- I thought,” she takes in a stuttering breath, refusing to let tears fall, “I didn't know if you were coming back. I didn’t know if you up and died somewhere or if you… left.”

Oh. So like father. “Jin-ah, I would never do that. I just got sidetracked was all.”

“That’s it? That’s your apology?”

What was there to apologize for? Ugh. This is why he prefers fighting. At least then-

At least then he wouldn't have to deal with emotions. The thing he is currently not feeling.

Oh.

Oh he hadn't expected the system to affect him so deeply. It was supposed to just be a way to get stronger. A way to protect himself. A way to get money for food, rent, and Jin-ah’s college.

It wasn't supposed to change him.

“Jin-ah,” he starts.

“No,” she interrupts him, “I’m going to bed. Goodnight,” she trods off into her room.

“…Goodnight,” he says after her door has been slammed shut.

She never slammed doors.

And he never did this.

He cringed. He would text her more often. But about what?

He retreats into his room. The only thing that could beat him was his own sister, after all. The house feels colder somehow. Maybe she forgot to turn the heat on? For some reason, he doesn’t think that's quite right.

He shuts his door gingerly. His phone feels heavy in his pocket.

[Jin-woo: I’m sorry.]

[justalittleweird]

Just some shit that gets me... I know it's long... some of my fav quotes... there's so many

"You hurt my brother, I'll kill you, I swear. I will kill you all." -1x15

"You said you're a big brother. You'd take care of your little brother? You'd do anything for him?" "Yeah, I would." -1x18

"That's my boy." -1x11&1x21

"I'm gonna say this one time you make a move on him, you'll be dead before you hit the ground, you understand me?" - 2x09

"Come here. Let me look at you... Hey, look at me, it's not even that bad. All right?... I'm gonna take care of you. I got you. That's my job, right?... Oh god..." -2.21

"I always tried to protect you... keep you safe." -2x22

"Don't get mad at me, don't you do that. I had to. I had to look out for you. That's my job." "You save my life over and over. I mean, you sacrifice everything for me, don't you think I'd do the same for you? You're my big brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you." - 2x22

"'Cause I know you... 'cause I've been following you around my entire life. I've been looking up to you since I was 4, Dean. Studying you, trying to be just like my big brother. So yeah, I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world... I wish you'd drop the show and be my brother again... just cause." -3x07

"Sammy, all I'm saying is that you're my weak spot. You are. And I'm yours." "You don't mean that. We're-We're family." -3x16

"Got your lunch? Books? Butterfly Knife?.. you okay?" -4x13

"You poisoned him." "No, I gave him what he needed, and it wasn't some bitch in a g-string. It was you." -4x14

"I'm sorry." -4x22

"I don't think we can ever be what we were. You know? I just don't think I can trust you." -5x01

"Because whatever we have between us. Love. Family. Whatever it is, they are always going to use it against us. And you know that." -5x03

"I just know we're all we've got. More than that. We keep each other human." "Thank you, really... I won't let you down." -5x03

"In between jobs, Sam and Dean would sometimes get a day – sometimes a week, if they were lucky... Sam used to insist on honest work, but now he hustles pool, like his brother. They could go anywhere and do anything... when it was clear, they'd park her in the middle of nowhere, sit on the hood, and watch the stars for hours without saying a word. It never occurred to them that...maybe they never really had a roof and four walls…but they were never, in fact, homeless." -5x22

"Sam, it's okay. I'm here... I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you." "It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him." -5x22

"Look at me. Come on. You don’t know what’s real?... Let me see your hand... This is real...I was with you when you cut it, I sewed it up. Hey, I am your flesh-and-blood brother, okay? I’m the only one who can legitimately kick your ass in real-time. You got away. We got you out, Sammy... Believe me, okay? You gotta believe me. You gotta make it stone number one and build on it." -7.02

"You can barely do it with me. I mean, you think I screw up everything I try. You think I need a chaperone, remember?"

"Come on, man. That's not what I meant."

"No, it's exactly what you meant. You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again. What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again?...who are you gonna turn to next time instead of me? Another angel? Another vampire? Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just.."

"Hold on, hold on! You seriously think that? Because none of it -- none of it -- is true. Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some junk that set you back on your heels. But, Sammy…come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you." -8x23

[msilwrites]

Papa Bear Material Ch 11 (Captain Price Fic) - The First Time (SMUT, MDNI) Chapter 1   Chapter 1 (Shorter Version) 

Chapter 2  Chapter 3   Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6   Chapter 7   Chapter 8  Chapter 9 Chapter 10

@darkangel4121@teenagellamaangel@madzzz0797@callsignferal@marmaladespread02 @poohkie90 @wizzdot @kurt-cockaine @massivescissorsthingperson @madsothree @azkza @noonespecial475 @jaeirwin14 and to everyone else I wasn’t able to tag (I tried typing the username it would not give the line that its tagged which makes me also unable to tag you (Waaah!!)) —thank you so much for sticking with me and reading along! Your support means a lot, and it’s been awesome seeing some of you follow along from the beginning. 💕 This chapter can absolutely be read as a standalone, as the dynamic between the characters has already been established and is pretty clear by now. So, feel free to dive right into this one without worry—everything you need to know about their relationship is already pretty obvious! 😉

A/N: After the Captain has finally wrapped you around his finger, you’ve been exclusively dating for months. And now? You’ve fallen hard. John? Well, he's just as bad—if not worse. Possessive, protective, delightfully ridiculous in his affection, and utterly smitten with you. When he asks you to be his partner, you can’t help but say yes. It’s everything you’ve been waiting for—for him to make it official.

And let’s be real; you know what that means, right? The intimacy? Oh, it came in full force. And let's just say, Captain Price? He didn’t hold back. He shocked you—in the best way possible—with everything he is... and everything he’s about to show you. 😏🔥

This is the last chapter for this series—this part—because the Captain has officially won you over and now he’s taking you! Woohoo! Saving the best for last, of course.

Smut warning: MDNI!

Moving forward, the story will continue as one-shots, but don’t worry—I’ll put together a masterpost to help you follow the timeline easily. So, you can jump in and out whenever you’d like!

(If you’re feeling a bit impatient and want to skip ahead to the action, go ahead and scroll down to the steamy bits—no judgment here! But just a heads-up, I wrote this with a slow build-up on purpose. I wanted the tension to simmer and the moment to hit just right when it finally comes together. So, if you stick with the pacing, I promise the payoff will be worth it. Oh, and the sex scene? It’s a little long, so there’s plenty to dive into when you get there. 😏)

----------

The question came unexpectedly, just as you were both enjoying dinner at a cosy restaurant, the low hum of conversation around you blending with the clink of glasses. You were sipping on a bottle of beer when he turned to you, that familiar smitten smile dancing on his lips, his blue eyes filled with warmth and mischief. He leaned back slightly in his chair, the edge of his voice taking on a teasing, raspy tone.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” he began, clearly amused by whatever thought had crossed his mind, “you seem to like me enough—well, at least I think so, or you wouldn’t keep showing up, right?” He grinned, clearly proud of himself. “What do you say, love? Want to make this official with me?”

You nearly choked on your beer, laughter bubbling up from your chest as you tried to steady the bottle. “You really think I’d keep showing up if I didn’t like you?” you teased, eyes sparkling with amusement.

He raised an eyebrow, that playful glint in his eyes deepening. “I dunno, maybe it’s the eye candy,” he said with a cheeky grin. “I mean, no need to go to a gallery for a muse when you’ve got this walking, talking masterpiece right here. Makes life so much easier, don’t you think?”

That audacity. The sheer confidence of this man had you laughing so hard, you almost spat out your beer. You shook your head, trying to suppress your laughter, but his smug expression only made it worse.

“Alright, alright,” you said, finally catching your breath. “Yes, John. Let’s make this relationship official.”

He grinned wider, and there it was—that satisfied look of a man who knew he’d just won the best prize.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He said with a wink, his voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. “You’re mine now, love. Officially.”

And with that, the evening felt a little sweeter, the air between you two charged with something more than just the fun of the moment. It was a promise.

---------

He walked you home that night, his arm draped comfortably over your shoulders, his imposing frame radiating warmth as he guided you toward your flat. You, in turn, wrapped your arm around his waist, savouring the familiar sensation of his solid presence beside you. His grin was wide and easy, matching the relaxed rhythm of your steps.

When you reached the elevator, your heart quickened. You’d both been dancing around this moment for a while now, and you could feel the tension building between you. But as you reached your door, he kissed you. Deeply. The kind of kiss that left your knees weak and your breath ragged. His lips were hungry, but there was a restraint, a subtle control in his touch that kept you both from going further.

He pulled back, his breath heavy but steady as he looked at you, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Not yet,” he said softly, his voice thick with understanding. “Not now. I want to make sure you're ready first, not rushing anything.” His tone was warm, full of consideration. He wasn’t forcing anything; he was waiting for you, knowing that when the moment came, it would be worth the patience.

You could hear the quiet confidence in his words, and despite the heat simmering between you, it felt right. He was taking his time, respecting the space between you, and you couldn’t help but admire him even more for it.

He kissed your hand gently before turning toward the elevator lobby, leaving your flat’s hallway behind. You stood there for a moment, sighing dreamily as the warmth of the evening lingered, then stepped back inside your place, unable to shake the smile from your face.

----------

By the weekend, something had shifted. Everything was official now, and it showed. John had dropped the restraint he’d been holding onto, and instead, he was... well, touchier. He couldn’t seem to stop stealing kisses, and his hands wandered with a confidence that had you laughing and batting him away. He didn’t even try to hide how much he enjoyed it. You weren’t complaining—you’d been ready for this.

When he took you back to his house, it felt like stepping into a warm hug. His place had this easy charm to it—clean but lived-in, with a cosy, rustic feel that made you want to sink right in. For someone with his background, it was unexpected. It felt like a safe little hideaway, just the two of you.

(John Price's Cottage Home) As you crossed the threshold, something in the air shifted. You didn’t need him to say it—you already knew exactly where this was going.

John crouched by the cast-iron fireplace, carefully arranging the logs before striking a match and coaxing the flames to life. The warm glow began to spill into the room, softening the edges of the rustic space and wrapping it in a golden comfort.

“Do you want tea?” he asked, glancing back at you. His voice was calm, grounding, as if sensing the nerves bubbling just beneath your surface. “Make yourself comfortable,” he added with a nod toward the cosy furniture.

“Sure, thank you,” you replied, offering him a small smile as you settled into the plush armchair.

It was the first time you’d been here as his partner. John had brought you to his home before, but this time was different—more intimate, more charged. You couldn’t ignore the tension thrumming quietly between you. You knew what was likely to come next, and the thought sent a cascade of conflicting emotions through you.

Sex.

Your fingers fidgeted lightly against the fabric of the chair. Could he really live up to it? You doubted it, not because of him but because of your own tangled past. You’d set your expectations low—safer that way. If you were honest, you weren’t sure you even remembered how to be truly intimate with someone anymore.

Technically, you were a virgin. All you’d ever allowed yourself was the illusion of closeness: keeping everything surface-level and out of fear. Fear of pregnancy, fear of repercussions from a family whose religious rigidity had been unyielding. The price for any perceived misstep back then would have been severe, and so you’d crafted an armour of restraint and avoidance. Even in those early, misguided attempts to hold onto love through sex, you’d only found pain—used, abused, and left to pick up the pieces of your battered self-esteem.

Eventually, you reached a breaking point. Therapy helped you heal and gave you the strength to start over. Since then, you chose celibacy, locking that part of your life away. It had been over a decade now, so long that you barely remembered what it felt like to be touched or to let go. Did it even feel good back then? Did it ever feel right? The memories had faded, becoming more distant over time.

Now, sitting here, a small chuckle escaped you—a mixture of nerves and disbelief. It wasn’t just the emotional weight of it all; you weren’t even sure if you’d remember how to be good at it. Could you even keep up? you thought with a wry smile.

A plan started to form in the back of your mind, simple and safe: focus on him. Maybe you’d just rely on what you did know—pleasure him with your mouth and your hands. Throw in a bit of creativity and a little showmanship, and it might be enough to let the moment pass without diving too deeply into uncharted waters. You tried to reassure yourself, though the thought of your jaw aching afterward wasn’t exactly comforting.

The fire crackled softly in the background, filling the quiet space between your thoughts. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel that John would see through it all—that he’d sense there was more to this moment than you were letting on.

"Love?" A deep, raspy voice, accompanied by strong hands on your shoulder, pulled you from your thoughts. You looked up to find John, holding a steaming cup of tea.

"Ah, yes, thank you, John..." you smiled.

He made his way around and settled on the couch next to the armchair where you sat.

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small sample bottle of whisky—one you’d bottled yourself. The amber liquid swirled inside as you handed it to John with a playful smile. “Thought you might like to try this,” you said, your eyes glinting.

John raised an eyebrow, eyeing the bottle. “You’ve got good taste when it comes to spirits, don’t you?” He sounded impressed. “Glad to have an expert—and a collector—around. When did you start drinking like this?”

You chuckled, accepting the compliment with a grin. “Funny story… I was about twenty, maybe twenty-one. A friend from my SCO19 unit gave me this small bottle as a gift. I didn’t know much about whisky back then. I was just happy to get a gift.”

John leaned in, waiting for the rest of the story.

“I caught a nasty cold, sore throat, the works,” you went on, laughing at the memory. “I was miserable, sitting in my flat with this bottle. Didn’t think much of it, so I took a sip. And, well…” You paused for effect. “It was like drinking smoke. I ended up coughing up phlegm like I was trying to hack up my lungs.”

John burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, that’s one way to start.”

You shrugged, still smiling. “Yeah, not the usual introduction to whisky, but hey, it worked.”

You quickly added, “Sorry for the gross story,” though you were still laughing.

John laughed harder, his deep chuckle filling the room. “I didn’t expect that, but I like it.”

The laughter faded, leaving a comfortable silence. The tension had lifted, and it felt like the two of you were settling into a new, easier kind of closeness.

The conversation shifted towards dinner, and John glanced over with a raised eyebrow. "So, where do you want to go for dinner tonight?"

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "Dinner? We just had lunch, John. Shouldn’t we be talking about other things?"

John’s lips curled into a playful smirk as he arched an eyebrow. "Other things, like what? Teatime? Aye, we could do that. So, what do you want for tea, Y/N?"

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in amusement. "No, I meant... what were we supposed to do?"

John’s expression softened, his teasing gaze giving way to something warmer. "Not when you’re not comfortable yet," he said gently, but with a firmness that made you pause.

You shook your head, a confident smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "But I am!" you protested, your voice carrying more certainty now. "I came here ready. I’ve had myself medically checked out," you added, locking eyes with him. "I even bought different sizes of condoms, just in case."

John’s laughter erupted, deep and genuine, his eyes glinting with admiration—and something darker. "Bloody hell, you really came prepared," he said, his voice low, a trace of amusement mixed with a hint of something more intense.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "Would you prefer to be underprepared?" you teased, arching a brow.

John grinned, his body leaning in closer as the air between you thickened with a palpable heat. "No, love. But I didn’t think you’d be so... thorough," he chuckled, his hand brushing against yours in a subtle but deliberate gesture.

You met his gaze with a sly smile, daring him without a word. "You’ve got to be ready for anything, right?"

He nodded in agreement, a knowing look in his eyes. "Aye, absolutely," he said, his voice low. Then, with a playful glint, he suddenly pointed off to the side. "Oh, look, Y/N. Do you see that?"

You followed his gaze instinctively, but before you could register what he was pointing at, John closed the distance between you in an instant. You barely had time to react before his hands cupped your face, his touch warm and surprisingly tender. His lips met yours, soft and gentle, a kiss that was more like a quiet promise than anything urgent.

John pulled back just enough to press another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then one to your cheek, and another to your forehead. Each kiss was light, teasing, and sweet—nothing charged, just the quiet rhythm of affection that left you breathless in the best way.

You didn’t need to say anything; the moment felt perfect as it was, a gentle connection that spoke louder than words ever could.

You set your tea cup down with a playful smile, then swatted John lightly, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Before he could react, you shove him onto the couch nearby, sliding over to straddle him with a grin.

John chuckled, his hands resting on your hips as you both leaned in, kissing and teasing each other with soft nips and playful murmurs. The air between you both was warm, charged with a kind of lazy intimacy.

Pulling back slightly, John smirked, his eyes full of amusement. “We could spend the whole afternoon like this, you know. I wouldn’t mind.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I mind,” you teased, and without warning, you pulled your turtleneck sweater over your head, revealing the black camisole underneath.

Your camisole followed next, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. Your curves revealed in a way that catches John off guard. He's always seen you in loose, shapeless clothes—who knew what you were hiding underneath? Your full figure surprises him, and there's a flicker of appreciation in his eyes.

You then begin working on his shirt, gradually unbuttoning it and pushing the material away to expose his sexy muscular physique. His skin is dotted with tattoos and scars, each telling a tale you want to learn more about. You lean back slightly, taking a moment to admire the view before continuing. Your fingers work on his belt, unbuckling it, then move to his pants, unbuttoning them with a deliberate slowness that makes the air between you crackle with tension.

Suddenly, John's large hands grip your wrists, his touch firm yet gentle. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asks, his voice laced with concern and a hint of something more.

You nod, a playful grin spreading across your face. You quickly slip his belt out of its loops, throwing it aside, then unzip his pants and draw them down.

His erection is clearly visible as it presses up against his boxer's material. You swallow as you take in the scene and realize how enormous he is. You have a brief moment of uncertainty as you consider how you're going to swallow him, but you immediately dismiss it. You can't help but laugh at the thought, and a few jaw aches are a minor price to pay. What better way to get a sore jaw than this?

John laughs, delight and excitement shining in his eyes. He teases, "I never really thought of you as aggressive," pointing to the way you've taken control and stripped him with such ease and confidence.

You slowly pull down his boxers, revealing his full thickness and length. You pause, your eyes lingering longer than you intended. His size, now fully exposed, is a vision of raw, masculine beauty—a 'monster' cock, thick, throbbing, veiny, and incredibly long. It's even longer than your head. Can this really fit in your mouth? You shake off the thought, determined to push through.

"John, sit up," you command, pulling him up. He obeys quickly, and you guide him to lean back against the backrest of the couch.

"Y/N, you don't have to do this if you—" he starts, seeing the hesitation in your eyes. But you silence him, sliding off the couch and kneeling in front of him. You grip his massive cock with your small hands, beginning to lick the tip while tugging and playing with his large balls.

He tilts his head back and groans, savoring the sensation and pleasure you're giving him. But you're not done yet.

You lift your breasts, wrapping his cock between them, and press them tightly together. The friction as you move your breasts up and down against his length, combined with your licking, nipping, and sucking, drives him wild. All he can do is watch you, grit his teeth, groan, and breathe heavily, completely at your mercy.

Wanting to push it further, you attempt to deep throat him, starting with half of his thick length already down your throat. Damn, he's big. You begin a steady bobbing motion, gradually taking him deeper and deeper. He tries to push you away, not wanting you to struggle, but you swat his hand aside, determined. Finally, you manage to take him fully, your mouth moving up and down his length slowly at first. Your mouth, jaw, and throat adjust to the stretch, and you pick up the pace.

John is a gasping, groaning mess, watching you intently. He restrains himself, his hand gently holding your hair as he gazes at your face, completely enthralled by the incredible blowjob you're giving him.

You feel his cock twitch in your throat, a sign he's close. Your eyes lock onto his as you continue to pleasure him, unyielding.

"Wait... wait... Y/N, stop, or I might just cum..." he pleads, trying to push you away, his hands gripping your shoulders.

But you're stubborn and relentless. You want to see this sexy man come undone.

You increase your speed, bobbing up and down his length, taking him deep into your throat. He can't push you off—the pleasure and your determination make it impossible.

"Y/N, wait... stop, I'm gonna cum soon if you keep this up..." he struggles to say, but you persist, unwavering.

He grips the nearby throw pillow with one hand, the other tangled in your hair. His hips buck uncontrollably against your mouth. With a primal groan, he climaxes, releasing down your throat. You swallow every drop, willingly. He gasps, catching his breath from the intense blowjob.

You release him with a pop, strings of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock. You lick your lips, a satisfied smirk playing on your face. "You're such a tasty treat, John," you purr.

He sharply sighs, still writhing and catching his breath, his gaze fixed on you.

You lean your head against his muscular thighs, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you gaze at John. He's sweaty and panting, his glistening muscles defining every contour of his body. It's a sight that's incredibly sexy to you.

You wish you could do more, but you know you've done your job well. You've given John immense pleasure, brought him to orgasm, and swallowed every drop. That should be enough to leave him spent, at least for a while.

But you're wrong. The moment John's eyes meet yours again, his strong arms lift you from your knees, pinning you down on the couch. He kisses you passionately, a bruising kiss that leaves you breathless. His hands knead your soft, full breasts, sending waves of pleasure through you. He trails kisses down your cheeks, jaw, neck, and collarbone, lingering on your breasts, nipping and licking like a man starved.

He swiftly unzips your midi skirt, pulling it down and tossing it aside along with the rest of your clothes, leaving you in just your leggings. In his haste, he accidentally tears them as he slips them off you.

"John!" you protest.

"I'm sorry, love, I'll get you another one," he murmurs, before capturing your lips again. He then hooks his fingers into your panties, sliding them down your legs to reveal your damp, eager core. A grin spreads across his face as he takes in the sight. You gulp, anticipating what's to come.

He buries his face between your legs, his tongue, mouth, and fingers working expertly on your clitoris. The sensation is overwhelming, and you melt in no time, panting and biting down on the nearby throw pillow to ground yourself as pleasure consumes you. John feasts on you like a hungry man, his tongue circling and flicking your clit with precision. He curves a finger inside you, pressing firmly against your G-spot, intensifying the sensation. The dual stimulation is almost too much to bear. You try to squirm away, the pleasure bordering on overwhelming, but John's strong grasp on your hips keeps you firmly in place. You have no choice but to surrender to the intense waves of ecstasy crashing over you, your body trembling with each skilled touch.

Your hips start to buck involuntarily against John's face, your body writhing as you lose control, soaring towards your climax.

"Joh-John... I'm... I'm gonna cum..." you manage to gasp out.

"Mmmm, then cum," he rasps against your clitoris, the vibration of his voice sending another jolt of pleasure through you.

You've never been eaten like this before—every sensitive spot attacked with precision. Pleasure and heat spread throughout your body, building to an intensity you can barely contain. You shake and buck uncontrollably faster against his face, your body on the verge of explosion.

John sits up, his tongue lapping at the juices around his mouth, his stare dark and laced with desire and longing. You bite your lip, unsure of how to react to the erotic display of him savoring your taste like it's the most delicious thing he's ever had. Your eyes widen as you notice he's hard again, his glistening cock erect and ready. You can't believe he's recovered so quickly after the intense release from the deep throat you gave him earlier.

"Now, I'm going to have you," he growls, his voice thick with lust.

Before you can even respond, he effortlessly swings you over his broad shoulder and carries you upstairs to his bedroom, your surprised gasps filling the air. He throws you onto his bed, your laughter echoing as he kicks the door closed. Grinning, he climbs on top of you, his imposing muscular frame covering yours.

He peppers sweet kisses on your cheek, the corners of your mouth, your jaw, and your neck, moving back and forth as his large hand plays with your breast, squeezing and kneading. He whispers dirty sweet nothings in your ear, "You taste so fucking good, love. I can't wait to be inside you, feeling you clench around me."

"J-John, can you get the lube downstairs?" you struggle to let out.

"Hmmm? What for? We can make you nice and wet naturally," he teases, his fingers finding your sensitive, swollen clitoris, circling it gently.

"Aaah!" you squeak, swatting his arm away, still sensitive and giggling. You turn your back to him, pressing against his chest and closing your legs. John, not having any of it, pulls you by the waist and kisses your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

"John, come on, we're gonna need that lube..." you ask again, as he continues his ministrations.

"What for? I'll just make you wetter, hmmm?" he teases, nipping the skin below your earlobe, a sensitive spot that makes you giggle and turn back around to swat him.

"John," you say, lighthearted but a little exasperated. "Listen to me... I am technically a virgin... I know you're already in the mood, and wouldn't want to waste time prepping to pop my cherry." You laugh, comfortable sharing this with him because he's proven himself to be a safe and trustworthy partner.

"What do you mean?" he asks, looking at you with a mix of shock and curiosity. The revelation that his partner is technically virgin, despite the incredible blowjob and the intimate moments you shared downstairs, catches him off guard.

"I need that lube, so you can have a good time while you take me at my back entrance... and yes, I mean anally. My back isn't exactly 'virgin'..." you admit sheepishly.

John gets up and stares at you intensely after that revelation, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. The thought of you giving this part of yourself to him, of being the first to have you completely, makes him feel primal. His face darkens with desire as he leans back in and kisses you passionately.

He whispers, "This pussy is mine, love. Mine to take, mine to pleasure, mine to claim. I'll be your first, your last, and your only. I'll make sure of it."

"You look so fucking beautiful, love, all undone like this. I can't wait to finally take you. I'll keep getting you wet until the sheets are soaked and you're ready to take me."

"Don't be silly, John, just take the lube downstairs," you say, struggling and gasping as he pleasures you with his large, long digits. "You're horny, no need to take your time."

He grins, his eyes gleaming with lust and admiration. "Watch me, love. Seeing you like this, losing yourself, is such a beautiful thing. I'll make sure you enjoy every second of it."

John pleasures you relentlessly, his fingers expertly rubbing your swollen clitoris in a slow circular motion before increasing the speed as you near climax. His other hand plays with your breast, squeezing and rubbing your nipple, adding to the pleasure and making you writhe. When you cum, he alternates, inserting two fingers into your entrance and curling them to find your sensitive spot, while his thumb rubs your clitoris again, pushing you further. You end up squirting and writhing against him, gasping and squeaking. John loves the display and repeats the process, playing you like an instrument, attacking your most sensitive spots repeatedly and relentlessly. Your body writhes, your eyes roll back, and your tongue lolls out.

"John... please... just fuck me..." you pant, overstimulated.

"Mmmm... let's get you wetter..." he whispers naughtily, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine.

"What do you mean wetter? My legs are wet, I've soaked the sheets! Ahhhh!!" you gasp.

John maneuvers you to face him and pushes you back down onto the duvet, taking in the sight of your sweaty, panting body. He bites his lip, the sight of you dripping with sweat and desire is incredibly sexy. He can't help but lean down and capture your lips in a long, passionate kiss. He trails his mouth from the corner of your lips to your cheeks, to your jaw, neck, collarbone, chest, and then to your breasts, where he sucks and nips at both nipples, squeezing them playfully. He continues down to your abdomen and then slides down to your wet, soaking core, where he playfully kisses your swollen clitoris.

Your eyes, which had been closed, open wide as you are overstimulated and sensitive. You quickly move your body and hips away from John's face.

"No, John, I just came!!" you protest, struggling to move backward against the duvet.

But John pulls your legs back to him and begins eating you out once again, his hands playing with your breasts. In a few seconds, you are a gasping, writhing mess, squirming against the duvet, your hips moving against John's mouth. You can't hold eye contact long with John, who is below, looking at you, watching your reaction as he eats you out. His blue eyes are too intense for you, knowing you'll cum again fast if you look long enough. The sensation is overwhelming, and you lose yourself in the pleasure, your body trembling with each skilled touch.

You feel the pressure building again, your body tensing as John's tongue and fingers work their magic. You can't hold back any longer, your body convulsing as another orgasm rips through you. You cry out, your voice a mix of pleasure and desperation.

"John!! Please, just take me, please!!" you beg, your body shaking with the force of your release. Your pleas are urgent, your need for him overwhelming. The intensity of your orgasm leaves you breathless, your body limp and satisfied, yet craving more of him.

John's gaze travels from your face down to your core, a playful grin spreading across his lips. "Hmmm? Still not wet enough..." he says cheekily, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"John!!" you let out, in protest. " Either let me have a moment, or I might just pass out," you say, your voice a mix of desperation and playfulness.

"Hmmm, I think you can take a few more... you know, before you pass out," he says playfully, teasing you with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

You sigh exasperatedly and grab a nearby pillow, throwing it at John. He catches it with a laugh and leans in to pepper your face with kisses, making you giggle despite your frustration.

His playful demeanor shifts as he grasps your chin gently but firmly, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. His other hand finds your breast, squeezing and teasing your nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You gasp into his mouth, but the sound is silenced by his tongue exploring yours, claiming every inch of you.

John's pelvis presses against your wet, sensitive core, his hard cock rubbing against you with a deliberate, tantalizing rhythm. The sensation is overwhelming, and you can't help but let out a soft moan, muffled by his relentless kiss. Your body responds instinctively, arching against him, craving more of his touch.

His kiss deepens, his tongue dancing with yours in a primal, hungry dance. His hand on your breast continues its torturous teasing, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your body aching for more.

John's cock rubs against your clitoris with increasing urgency, the friction sending waves of ecstasy through your body. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate to feel more of him. Your hips move in sync with his, your body begging for the release only he can provide.

You break the kiss, panting and gasping for air, your eyes locked onto his. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, a mix of lust, desire, and something deeper, something primal.

"Please, John, just fuck me already..." you beg weakly, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

John gives you a playful look, as if reconsidering. "Hmmm, but you're not wet enough yet," he teases, his voice laced with mischief.

You sigh exasperatedly, "Please, John, I need you..."

He sighs softly and leans down for a tender kiss before positioning the tip of his cock at your entrance. Slowly, he begins to sheath himself inside you. His length is thick and long, and he moves with careful consideration, worried about hurting you. You gasp at the slight, sharp stretching pain, despite your wetness, as he pushes in slowly.

He is trying to be considerate, knowing it's technically your first time being taken vaginally.

"Tell me if it's painful, I'll stop..." he murmurs, his voice filled with concern.

"Just push forward, John! Don't mind me," you say, gritting your teeth, your hands gripping his arms tightly, not letting him move back.

He slowly pushes in, his thumb rubbing your clitoris in slow circular motions to alleviate some of the pain. The dual sensation of his cock filling you and his thumb on your clitoris sends waves of pleasure through your body, mixing with the slight discomfort.

"John, no, mmmphh, don't rub, no, no, aaaahhh!!" you cry out, coming undone again, your legs shaking as his length moves a few inches deeper. "Jooohhnnn..." you whine, swatting his arm, but he chuckles and leans down for another kiss, moving deeper and deeper.

When he is finally all the way in, deep inside you, stretching you out, you gasp and pant, the sensation overwhelming. It's tight even for him, despite your wetness. John refuses to move, allowing you to get used to his size. He continues to rub your clitoris repeatedly, making you cum again, your body writhing beneath him as you adjust to his size stretching you out.

After a while, with a kiss, he pulls his pelvis back, his length retracting from your walls, only to push forward again, making you gasp. Your body is prepped and completely ready, the sensation of him moving inside you sending waves of pleasure through every nerve.

And so, he finally takes you, relentlessly, passionately. His pelvis moves tirelessly, his hips thrusting to please you. Your moans are muffled by his kisses, his weight pressing against you as he slides in and out of your warm, tight walls.

A knot forms in your womb, a pleasure unlike anything you've ever felt, building stronger and stronger. "J-John..." you struggle to let out, feeling yourself soar towards a powerful climax, something you've never experienced before.

John increases his speed, both his hands cupping your cheeks, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. His blue eyes, intense and filled with desire, make you weak in the knees and send a surge of pleasure through your stomach. You feel as if you're about to explode.

"You feel so fucking good, love," he growls, his voice low and husky. "Your tight little pussy is gripping me so perfectly. I want to feel you come all over my cock."

The pleasure builds up in your body, intensifying with each thrust. You can feel the heat spreading through your core, your muscles tensing as you climb higher and higher. John's relentless pace sends you spiraling, your body writhing beneath him, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your eyes roll back, your chest heaving as you surrender to the overwhelming sensation. You squirm against John, your hips bucking wildly, meeting his every thrust. The room fills with the sound of your moans and the wet, slapping noise of your bodies coming together.

John leans down, capturing your mouth in a passionate, searing kiss. He swallows your panting breaths, his tongue dancing with yours, claiming every gasp and moan. His hands grip your cheeks, holding you firmly as he kisses you deeply, his body moving in sync with yours.

Your orgasm crashes over you, waves of ecstasy pulsing through your body. You cry out into his mouth, your voice muffled by his kiss. Your body convulses, your inner walls clenching around his cock, gripping him tightly as you ride out your climax.

John groans, the sensation of your orgasm pushing him to the edge. He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear. "Fuck, love, you feel incredible," he rasps, his voice thick with lust. He continues to move, his hips thrusting, drawing out your pleasure, prolonging your ecstasy.

Your body shakes, your nerves tingling with the intensity of your release. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his back, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, his own release imminent.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming—a mix of lust, desire, and something deeper, something primal. You can see the strain in his face, the effort it takes for him to hold back, to make this moment last.

"John..." you whisper, your voice breathless, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You reach up, cupping his face, your thumbs brushing against his cheeks. You can feel the tension in his jaw, the heat of his skin.

He leans into your touch, his eyes softening slightly. "You're so beautiful, love," he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder and adoration. He kisses you again, softly this time, his lips gentle against yours.

As your orgasm subsides, John slows his movements, allowing your body to recover from the intense pleasure. He continues to press soft, gentle kisses to your lips, your cheeks, and your forehead, his touch tender and caring.

"Shh, love, just relax," he murmurs, his voice filled with warmth and affection. He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers tracing the contours of your cheek. "You're so beautiful, you know that?" he whispers, his eyes locked onto yours, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Your body begins to relax, your muscles uncoiling as you bask in the afterglow of your climax. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, your breaths coming in sync. His body is still pressed against yours, his cock still inside you, but he remains still, allowing you to set the pace.

He peppers sweet kisses on your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders, his lips gentle against your skin. You can feel his heart beating against your chest, the steady rhythm soothing and comforting. His hands roam your body, not with urgency, but with reverence, tracing the curves of your hips, your waist, your breasts.

"That was... incredible," you whisper, your voice breathless, your body still tingling with the remnants of your ecstasy.

After a few minutes of breathing time, you feel ready for more. You pull back slightly, your eyes meeting his. "John," you whisper, your voice filled with renewed desire. "I want you to cum too. I want to feel you."

He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. A soft smile plays on his lips, and then he's kissing you again, his body beginning to move with yours once more.

The passion between you reignites, and John begins to move his pelvis again, sliding in and out of you at a steady pace. He peppers your face with tender kisses, his lips gentle against your skin. Your eyes flutter closed, your hands wrapped tightly around him, holding him close as you lose yourself in the sensation.

There's no hurry in his movements, no rushed desperation. Instead, he takes his time, savoring you, cherishing every moment. His thrusts are deep and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He kisses your lips, your cheeks, your forehead, his touch tender and loving.

Your body responds to his, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. You can feel the pleasure building again, your muscles tensing as you climb higher and higher. His cock fills you completely, stretching you, the sensation intense and overwhelming.

He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel so good, love," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I want to feel you come with me."

Your body shivers at his words, your nerves tingling with anticipation. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, his own release imminent. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, desperate to feel him come undone.

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. Your bodies move together, the room filled with the sound of your panting breaths and the wet, slapping noise of your bodies coming together. The pleasure builds and builds, your body tensing, your muscles coiling tightly.

"John," you gasp, your voice a breathless whisper. "I'm so close..."

He leans back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, a mix of lust, desire, and something deeper, something primal.

John maintains a steady, slightly increased pace, his movements deliberate and controlled. His forehead rests against yours, his lips capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss. As he retracts, he whispers sweet nothings against your lips, his voice a low, husky murmur.

"I want to feel you come undone, love," he breathes, his pelvis continuing to move in a rhythm that sends waves of pleasure through your body. "Let go with me."

Your body responds to his every touch, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. You're close, just as you said earlier, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, your toes curling with anticipation. The sensation is overwhelming, your muscles tensing as you climb higher and higher.

"John... John!!! Joohn!!!" you cry out, your voice a breathless, desperate plea as you reach your climax. Your body convulses, writhing against him, your inner walls clenching around his cock. The intensity of your orgasm sends shivers down your spine, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

John follows soon after, a primal growl escaping his lips as he releases inside you. His lips and head press against your cheek, inhaling your scent, kissing and nipping your skin. His body shudders with the force of his own climax, his breath hot against your ear.

You both pant heavily, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts pounding in unison. John's weight presses against you, his body still covering yours. He holds your waist firmly, and in a fluid motion, flips you both over, so that you're now lying on top of him, his body supporting yours.

The room is filled with the sound of your breathing, the air thick with the scent of your combined arousal. You lie there, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your shared climax, your limbs entwined, feeling deeply connected to each other.

----------

You wake up that evening, your body deliciously sore and sated after spending the entire afternoon making love. After that intense climax, you both went for another round just half an hour later. This time, John's restraint was gone, his movements more urgent and passionate.

You climaxed repeatedly, each time more intense than the last, your body writhing and squirting with each wave of pleasure. The duvet beneath you was soaked, showing just how intense your shared passion had been. John, with a hint of sadistic pleasure, loved watching you lose yourself completely.

This continued until you both reached your final, explosive climax. Exhausted and overwhelmed, you passed out almost immediately, your body limp but deeply satisfied. The room is quiet now, the air still thick with the scent of your combined arousal, as you lie there, basking in the afterglow of your shared ecstasy.

John lies asleep beside you, his breath deep and even. You can't help but smile softly as you take in his peaceful form. Gently, you slip out of his warm embrace and the cocoon of the duvet, the cool air of the room prickling your skin. The evening sky outside is a canvas of purple, orange, and blue, painting a serene backdrop to your movements.

Your body aches pleasantly as you make your way out of the room, each step a reminder of the passionate hours spent with John. The house is quiet, the air chilled with the winter season. You gather your discarded clothes, a small smile playing on your lips as you see the state of them—a torn camisole strap, leggings, and knickers strewn aside in the heat of the moment.

Careful not to wake John, you tiptoe downstairs to the first-floor bathroom. The warm spray of the shower is a welcome relief, washing away the remnants of your passionate encounter. As you clean yourself, you notice the marks John left on your body—little reminders of his intensity. You sigh, a mix of exasperation and satisfaction, thankful for the concealing layers of winter clothing.

Your thoughts drift back to your first time with John. The memory of the pleasure sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but smile at the recollection. Finishing your shower, you step out, dry off, and slip into comfortable loose pants and a cozy turtleneck sweater.

Feeling refreshed and content, you make your way to John's rustic kitchen, ready to prepare a warm dinner to cap off the perfect day.

As you're cooking dinner, you hear hurried footsteps followed by John's voice calling out for you.

"Mmm? I'm in the kitchen, John!" you respond, hearing his sigh of relief.

A few seconds later, he enters the kitchen, his eyes softening as he sees you. He walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. He inhales deeply, taking in your fresh scent, his breath warm against your neck.

"I thought you ran away," he murmurs, a hint of concern in his voice.

You turn slightly to look at him, a playful smile on your lips. "Why would I run away? It's freezing outside, and thanks to you, my legs are weak and sore. I can barely walk, let alone make a run for it."

He chuckles, his grip tightening around you. "Well, maybe you finally realized I'm too much to handle and decided to make a run for the hills. Can't say I blame you; I can be a lot."

You grin, poking him playfully in the chest. "You're right about that. I'm completely worn out, thanks to you."

He laughs, a teasing glint in his eyes. "And yet, I plan to subject you to it all over again. But first," he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "dinner smells amazing. Almost as good as you."

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile. "Well, you need to freshen up first. I won't have you eating dinner naked."

He leans in, his voice a low rumble. "Who says I need clothes to enjoy a good meal?"

You sigh exasperatedly, turning off the stove. "Out, John. You're not allowed in the kitchen until you're fresh and dressed." You playfully push him out, laughing as he feigns protest.

Later, John returns, freshly showered and dressed, finding the dining table already set with care. He helps you put the finishing touches on the meal, his hands brushing yours as you work together in a comfortable rhythm. The room fills with the warmth of the food and the soft glow of each other's company.

Dinner is a cozy affair, the clinking of glasses and the hum of quiet conversation creating an intimate atmosphere. After the meal, you both clean up the plates and utensils side by side, the simple domesticity of the moment bringing a contented smile to his face.

As the evening wears on, John's earlier promise lingers in the air. With a playful smirk, he takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom. True to his word, he subjects you to another round of intense pleasure, leaving you both breathless and deeply satisfied. You collapse into each other's arms, the world outside forgotten, as you laugh softly and say, "Well, I guess I can handle a little too much after all."

John grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Challenge accepted. Let's see how much you can really handle." And with that, he pulls you close, ready for another round. A/N:

Sorry for the delay, everyone! I know this chapter took a while, but I wanted to make sure it came out just right. It’s been through its fair share of rewrites, but I hope the end result is worth it!

This is the final chapter for this series. The story will continue in the form of one-shots moving forward, but don’t worry—I’ll be putting together a masterpost to help you follow the timeline.

And, of course, I hope you enjoyed your first time with the Captain! (HAHAHAHA!!) Now go hydrate or something—you’ve earned it. 😏

Also, a quick shoutout: the house described in this chapter is inspired by @eleu22's moodboard for John Price’s home. I saw it, loved it, agreed with it, and then tried to create a house and an interior based on that using The Sims 4. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! 🎮✨

[ectoplasmer]

guess who is being clinically unwell over yb and technically tkb again haha it’s meeee *SOBBING*

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

"Did I ever tell you about my Omega casino run in with the Blue Suns, Eclipse, and the Blood Pack Vorcha mafia? Five thousand credits and a bottle of whiskey?"

Ft. Staff Cmdr. Kaidan Alenko, Operations Chief Ashley Williams, Zaeed Massani, & Seven. Dominik Shepard. Phoebus. MIRA'S MORE CANON ME1.5 "Are you Phoebus?" AKA: Pt. 1 of some of what happens between ME1 and ME2 with the Vorcha mafia storyline. :) Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (2021)

[tenwhiteandalusians]

is episode 8 the domitian arc ? more on this and EVEN MORE narratives i’ve been ignoring that the show said “actually,,,” about in 5

[ssreeder]

“He didn't want to think about the ramifications of the Fire Nation successfully flying one of those war-balloons over the Lower Ring… The only protection available for those poor people would fall squarely on the shoulders of those new recruits, and they would have to be ready to carry that responsibility. This situation was already a mess and they were still in the planning stages.”

Can’t believe I ignored this last chapter. Good thing Zuko isn’t in one of these meetings or there’d be a fight. Interested to see if this is a redemption for Iroh though to think of the little people or if everyone is just completely fine with the lower ring being burnt to a crisp. Bato clearly has his mind on other things so someone else needs to step up. Jeez

Bato isn’t the only one concerned about this, Suki is also pretty fired up about it in the next chapter… the tension of the upcoming battle gets heavier as we go along.

Unfortunately, there really isn’t much they CAN do to keep the Lower Ring from experiencing casualties…. but how many citizens survive & how bad the destruction is will depend on how many resources they send down there and what their plan of action will be to save lives. (If they even care about saving those lives… many of them being refugees and ‘lower class citizens’)

I am also curious to see if Iroh shows any interest in trying to help the citizens in Lower Ring or if he keeps his focus strictly on keeping the forces from reaching the Upper Ring (where his precious Zuko is)… chaos in the Lower Ring can keep troops from advancing, and there is limited space to flee depending on how Azula advances upon the city… idk. I can’t see it going well, and even Iroh, as powerful as he is doesn’t hold much authority over what the generals do with BSS… He is a tentatively welcomed guest after all. Haha.

we’ll see I guess!! Haha thanks for the ask!!

[scionshtola]

i started writing a whole thing about mir and her mom and then i realized i accidentally gave the briadis family the perfect set up for a tragic family empire tv show

[saeshiraw]

watching ror and i just have some thoughts

[bi-writes]

anatomy of us (2) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

type: limited series, part 2 (7.2k) in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

PART 1

Tradition is not something you are fond of.

It’s something forced on you. When you question it, it’s offensive–how dare you question these things, made sacred over time? Why would you want to betray thousands of years of history? Time makes it definitive. Your being makes it natural. You submit because that is the natural thing to do, so in that sense, you submit to it all.

That is your duty. That is your calling. When you are claimed, you belong to them. You are property. Autonomy be damned–your place is on your knees, keeping your mouth shut, and any behavior against that is nothing short of a punishable offense, proper. Disobedient omegas make for troublesome households.

To keep you in line, you must be held at a short length from your alpha. It is what is done. It is what is expected.

Tradition.

Simon keeps a hand on you, curled at the base of your spine as he leads you back to where the sleeping quarters are. You know it’s for your protection, but the better part of you wants to smack him off of you whenever you feel his palm press just slightly against you. When you make it back into your room, Simon pauses in the doorway after he opens it for you. He looks nervous almost, sheepish. You turn to face him, looking him up and down. “You can come in if you want. I’m not gonna carry all my stuff by myself, you could probably carry a fucking tank looking at you.”

Simon finally comes inside, ducking his head a little to make it in. You know this room wasn’t meant to house an alpha, but it’s still startling to see him do it, taking up way too much space to be anything but claustrophobic. He watches as you pack your things, stuffing your clothes into your bags and picking up small trinkets around the bedside table and desk. After the bag starts to get heavy, you shove it into his arms as you look towards the bed. It’s a standard issue twin-sized, with barely enough sheets to keep you warm and a lumpy pillow that you hate. You make a face at it before turning around and putting more things into Simon’s arms as you empty the closet.

“Tha’ it?” Simon mutters, still able to peek over the mountain of items that he holds, and you shrug.

“That’s it.”

Simon’s own room is like a hospital room. It’s too clean–there’s nothing personal anywhere, no pictures or barely any clothes other than military issue fatigues. The only civilian clothes he has wouldn’t even make you think twice if you saw him in a bar–Simon will always look like a soldier, through and through, and his room stinks like it. It smells clinical, and nothing about it is cozy or warm. You stand in the middle of the room as Simon puts your things down. You ring your hands together nervously, eyeing the bed with one single, thin sheet on it. It’s too small of a bed for the both of you. It’s too small of a bed just for Simon–you don’t want to think about the kind of sleeping arrangements you’ll need to fit with him on it.

“Wot’s wrong?” Simon asks lowly. You look over your shoulder at him. He’s putting your things into the closet. He’s divided it in half already, and some of your clothes are already hung up next to his. You look back at the bed, pursing your lips.

“There’s not enough blankets,” you say softly. “A-And…And the pillows, here, I don’t like them.”

Simon turns back to your bag, picking up another shirt to hang. You glare at the back of him. It doesn’t do anything; he doesn’t erupt in flames like you might have hoped, but it does give you a moment to notice how well those jeans fit him.

Fuck. Keep it together.

“I’ll get you more blankets,” he shrugs. “And a different pillow.”

The answer is immediate. No fuss. You want to complain, to bite back at him for it, but you don’t know how you would explain your displeasure. You’re looking for a reason to tell your omega that she’s a scheming, hopeless, naïve little shit.

“...I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” Isn’t that what he had said? Isn’t that what he had said when he gripped you by the throat and made you realize that everything you had thought about alphas was true? Hadn’t he already shown you that none of them are redeemable?

Not Kate. Not John. Certainly not Simon–they’re all scheming, terrible fucking people, and you cannot wait until you can sink your teeth into Simon’s jugular and rip it out.

Belonging to, being one’s own, fuck if you care. Simon can claim ownership all he wants, but he’ll never tame you. Your omega might be pulling the strings at the moment, but you’re going through withdrawals, you think. Your medication was your lifeline. It kept you from falling off the tightrope, and you just need to learn how to stay upright without it. You can. When you get it back, when it’s in your hands again, she’ll understand.

She has to understand that only you know what’s good for you.

Simon places the rest of your things on his desk. A couple personal things, like your jewelry and some knickknacks, and then your bag with the rest of your clothes to be folded and put away. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. At least before, you could pretend like things were still a little normal. You could pretend that in your own room, you were simply waiting for another assignment, that you were just waiting for Kate to give you a call and move you somewhere new, somewhere safer.

“Am I just supposed to stay here and wait for you?” You ask finally. Simon shuffles around the room. He doesn’t look at you; instead, he takes a seat at a desk way too small for him and spreads a few papers around, frowning when he reads something that he doesn’t like. “Is that…is that my job?”

“Dunno.” Simon takes his phone out of his pocket, and he starts typing. “Don’t really feel like babysittin’.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” you tell him. “I…I have combat experience. I was in training before this.”

Simon snorts, still focused on his phone. He shakes his head a little.

“Cute,” he mutters. “Tha’s cute.”

Patronizing shit.

“I bet I can shoot a target ten times better than you,” you spit at him. His fingers hover over the screen for just a moment, irritated, before he goes back to typing. “And I can hold my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Simon puts his phone back into his pocket. He crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a deep breath before coming over to stand in front of you. You tip your head back, and he reaches down with a hand to cup under your jaw, holding you there. Just like that–your omega has you. You lean in, just that much. Simon sees it in your eyes, and he sniffs, looking you over.

Maybe he thinks you’re pathetic. In some sense, you agree with him, because what the fuck is wrong with me? You get one look into Simon’s eyes, and something chemical in you fires. You bend, and you relax, and you know if he asked you to open your mouth so he could spit in it, it would take a tremendous amount of effort to tell him no. It angers you and excites you all the same, and the conflicting flashes under your ribs bring tears to your eyes.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself for not being able to say no. You hate yourself for being everything they said you would be. You hate yourself for being nothing like you thought you were.

You’re soft. Sweet. All bark, no bite, a spiteful kitten that deep down, aims to please. The only thing that really baffles you, though, is why you only feel this way with Simon.

Is it because they told you that you were his mate? Is it because he’s done something, that he’s projecting some kind of scent? Has he already unknowingly changed your very makeup so your body knows that you are bound to him? When you look into John’s eyes, you see alpha. You see big, salivating dog, and if you could, you’d rip the hairs of his beard out just to see him in pain.

But Simon–it’s like you can’t move. Every time you look at him, and he looks at you, he holds you there. Just like now, he’s got you, and you feel like he can read everything you’re feeling. He’s being fed your secrets, and you hate him for it, but I can’t look away, please look away, please don’t make me–

“Need to get you somethin’ to eat,” Simon says finally. “And it’s time to meet the rest of the lot.”

Simon is starting to get used to keeping a hand on you. It annoys you a little, to feel his hand at your back, but the annoyance dissolves when you realize this base is filled with sneering alphas. They holler and yell, and they are very large and angry, but they still are small compared to Simon. They quiet whenever they walk past you, and even the whiff of omega doesn’t deter them with Simon behind you.

In the mess hall, you see Captain Price sitting at a table with two others. When you get closer to the table, you cough a little, stumbling back, and Simon catches you around the waist to hold you upright. The stench of alphas hits you like a truck, and Simon grunts as he tells you relax, fuckin’ hell.

You give him a hard stare–how the fuck would he know? There’s four alphas in your close vicinity, and they’re all puffing their chests and smiling, and it stings to smell them all at once. You turn your head a little to shield yourself, and when you filter everything else out but Simon, it frustrates you a little how much of him seems to calm you down.

Smells so good. Get closer. Press your nose to it, I-I want more–

“I see you two are getting along nicely,” John comments, leaning back in his chair. You roll your eyes a little, and when you lock eyes with him, you purse your lips and try to look anything but pleased. Simon guides you to sit down; he motions to the bench, just to the left of where someone else is already sitting–a big, burly soldier with crazy blue eyes. He has a terrible haircut, short along the sides with tufts of curls falling down the middle and over his forehead. He’s wiggling his eyebrows at his lieutenant behind you. Across from him, there’s another alpha with dark eyes and soft skin, and he’s smiling like an idiot around the rim of his plastic cup. You’re a little nervous–you had spent most of your time on your old base surrounded by betas who barely gave you a glance, and now you’re off your meds and being hit with a million different sensations everywhere you go. Simon’s touch on your back eases your shoulders a little.

“Tha’s Johnny,” Simon points to the one next to you. “Tha’s Gaz. ‘n I’m sure ya had the pleasure of our Captain.”

“Yeah, looks like your beard is still in tact, so glad to see it,” you say curtly, crossing your arms over your chest. The two sergeants laugh, ducking their heads, and John raises a brow before looking at Simon with a clenched jaw. Simon just shrugs, stretching his arm out on the back of your chair, and you get the feeling this happens often–John giving Simon that look, and Simon merely brushing it off. You smile to yourself a little, looking at Simon from over your shoulder. When you meet eyes, he stares back, looking over your face. He lingers on your lips for just a second too long before looking back up again.

I bet he tastes good under that mask. Let’s find out.

“Hungry?” He asks, and you blink. Your omega has never been inside of your head like this. You nearly opened your mouth and asked him for it, asked him please, please–let me taste, I won’t look, just let me taste you. You swallow her down a little, and you just nod to keep yourself moving. Simon stands up to make his way towards where the food is, and you watch curiously as instead of standing in line, he pushes open a door into the kitchen and disappears behind it.

“LT’s been gettin’ ye special meals,” Johnny says with a full mouth. You frown a little, and not just cause he’s chewing with his mouth a little too open.

“What do you mean?”

“He has the cooks make you somethin’ special,” Gaz says as he takes a sip of water. He leans back, smiling again, and it irks you a little. Alphas are brutes, disgusting big things with too many hormones, and you hate that this one gets to be pretty, too. Not that John or his sergeant aren’t attractive, but this one definitely enjoys a good mirror selfie, and it shows. “Something not on the menu. He didn’t like that you weren’t eating much, at the beginning. Made a fuss, and now he gets you better food.”

“He can do that?”

“Well, would ye say no to tha’ big man?” Johnny snorts, dipping his crusty bread in sauce. You look back towards the door, and Simon comes out holding a tray. He sets it down in front of you, and you bite your lip looking down at it. It smells so good, and you pick up your fork gently, sticking it into the pasta and twirling it. When you take a bite and sigh, Simon takes a seat next to you, and you can barely hear the sweet rumble in his chest of satisfaction.

Providing for you. Taking care of you. He’s so capable, isn’t he? Look at what he does for you.

If Simon notices you scoot closer to him, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t react either–it wasn’t a conscious choice.

Simon’s shower has hot water. Not that the showers you’d had were cold, but the communal showers were just that–communal. Shared, and although your escort always made sure you were the only one in there while you showered, it was still feeding off a water heater that always had barely any juice left. Lukewarm showers, so you tried to finish quick.

Simon’s shower turns the water scalding. You giggle with relief when you stand under it, letting it loosen your sore muscles and relieve your aching bones. It feels good, and you take a little longer in there, taking your time and enjoying the heat.

When it’s time to wash your body, you realize you’re missing your own soap. You look around for something else, noticing the unlabeled bottle that rests on a ledge. You squirt a pump of it into your palms, and when you raise it to your nose, your eyes flutter shut.

It’s the eucalyptus you smelled on Simon. A little plastic aftersmell, which you know is from whatever backwater dollar store the military buys it from, but on Simon, it smells so good. You lather it in your hands and hold it up to your nose, and you sigh deeply.

He’s just outside. Why don’t you call for him? I bet he’s listening. I bet he’s waiting for us.

You slide your hands down your arms. With the heat of the water, the whole bathroom starts to smell like it, and you let your hands slide down further, over your waist, between your thighs. When your fingers touch your puffy clit, you’re nearly jolted back into reality.

“Fuck–” You gasp, reaching for the level, shutting the water off. The last of the water curls down the drain, and you cough as you look around. You curl your toes, grounding yourself, and then you get out of the shower and reach for the towel. When you look into the mirror, your pupils are blown wide, and you feel like you don’t recognize yourself. You drop the towel and dress yourself, trying to keep your mind occupied with menial tasks.

Get your shit together.

When you open the bathroom door, Simon is back from his little errand he had run. He’s carrying a few blankets and a thick comforter, and there’s a few new pillows on the bed with it. You use the towel to keep drying the wet strands of your hair, and Simon turns around when he hears you walk in further.

You pass by him wordlessly as you reach the bed. You put your hands on the blankets that he put down, and you close your eyes when you feel how soft they are. Threaded cotton and fleece, lots of thick feathers in the comforter to make it nice and fluffy. When you turn to look over your shoulder, Simon does a terrible job of pretending like he wasn’t just staring at your ass in the little sleep shorts you’re wearing. You want to snap at him, but your omega pinches your tongue.

Take them off. Take them off. Take them off.

“So, what…” You clear your throat. “How are we supposed to sleep in that bed? T-Together?”

Simon tilts his head to the side. You start to despise the mask. You hate that you can’t tell what he’s thinking, not even a little, and after the rather joyous conversations you’ve had with Simon (barf), you can’t say you’re entirely excited to be in this close of a space with him.

“Don’t worry,” Simon murmurs. “I’ll be good.”

Oh, that totally makes you feel better.

Prick.

He makes you get into bed and turn facing the wall as he turns out the lights. He pulls at the edge of his mask uncomfortably, and you realize he doesn’t want you to see his fine. Fine, you think to yourself, throwing the sheets back with a huff, bet you’re fucking ugly mug would blind me anyways.

You cuddle under all the blankets, snuggling into the new pillow that sinks under your head. You hum gently, closing your eyes, and you aren’t able to see Simon rubbing his chest warmly as he watches you. He sucks on his teeth, not truly understanding what he feels, but knowing that it’s soothing the beast in him to take care of you.

It rattles him. Simon isn’t used to this. He’s not used to feeling like he doesn’t have control. He resisted this for so long. He tried so hard to fight, he said no to Kate over and over and over again.

Omegas to Simon were liabilities. To care was to have a target on your back. To be mated meant having something to lose.

Ask Price, is what he told her, ask the fuckin’ sergeants, anyone but me, but she wouldn’t hear it. It had to be him, it had to be, and then she locked him into a room with her, and she leveled with him.

She told him that you are special. That you are precious. That omegas like you don’t exist, that you are one in a single generation, and there isn’t anyone else in the world that will do except for him.

Price, married to the field. The sergeants, immature and might as well be titled barracks bunnies. But Simon–purebred, quiet, controlled. Terrified of himself and what he is. His unofficial pack that he defends with his entire being, that is the only alpha worth giving to you.

Kate had thought about it before. What it might be like to push the hair away from your neck and sink her teeth there. As easy as putting her signature to paper, she could have the CIA running laps to keep you protected, but she knew that wasn’t the life for her. It couldn’t be.

In every situation, Kate would have to choose that lesser evil, and in her world, it would mean her choice would unlikely be you.

Simon? Simon answered to no one. Unlike his sergeants, he cared little for authority; he wouldn’t blink twice saying no to his superior. Unlike his Captain, Simon didn’t mind choosing the bloody way out. He was the first with his finger on the trigger, and the last to sweep a room. Kate knew–if Simon had to choose between the greater good and the omega he claimed?

Fuck the greater good. That, she could count on.

If Kate only asked for one thing, it would be this. She did promise you. She promised she would keep you away from it all. She promised that she would make things right. She promised that she would protect you, but even Kate answers to others, and the reality of this kind of world is that the only way to really protect you was to give you away.

To put you into the same world that you had only begged to be kept away from.

Nobody likes playing matchmaker, but maybe putting together the most stubborn and angry people in the world might save you from yourselves. At least she hoped so.

You’re nearly asleep when you feel Simon come to bed. All the lights are off, and it’s pitch black in the room. There’s some shuffling around the room, and then you feel the blankets move. All of the sudden, a heat stronger than you’ve ever felt takes up the entire bed. Pressed against your back, a solid chest, and then a huge arm falls over your waist.

“We cuddling now?” You mumble sleepily, and Simon breathes out slowly, not responding. When you fall asleep, it’s unnervingly easy. Your omega purrs, digging her nails into you, and when you turn your head in the dark and feel the brush of his unmasked face against yours, she preens.

He’s right there–just a little taste. Just a little. Please, please, please–

Omegas cannot claim, but they can bite. It takes everything inside of you not to sink your teeth into him.

“You smell that? Smells like fuckin’ sweets, mates.”

You take off your headphones and safety glasses, looking over your shoulder. There’s a few recruits a few lanes down from you, wiggling their eyebrows and licking their lips. One of them crudely grabs his crotch, winking at you. You make a face.

Gross.

“Let me see you, baby. Smell so good.”

You holster the gun you’re holding, leaning against the counter with your hip. You raise a brow, tilting your head to the side.

“Are you done?” You ask, and they take that as their cue to start walking closer. An invitation.

They don’t get very far. You smell him before you see him. On instinct, your shoulders relax with that whiff of charcoal. You push off the counter just in time for him to come up behind you, and you feel the heat of his chest as it presses against your back. The recruits in front of you stop immediately, and you feel a disgusting sense of satisfaction when Simon bends over your shoulder to look at you.

“‘n wot’s this?” Simon growls. You shrug, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know. They wanna have a dick-measuring contest, but I think they’re afraid they’re gonna lose,” you say. You let out an annoyed sigh, turning again to put your safety glasses on. You put the headphones back over your ears and take the gun out of your holster, turning the safety off as you line it up with the paper targets near the back of the course. “You know. Cause my dick is way bigger.”

You unload the clip just for fun. You’re supposed to be practicing on accuracy, which for you meant slower, spaced-out shots to try and hit the same spot over and over, but the sound of the gun going off again and again helps distract you from the laughing, untrained dogs that are littered across the shooting range.

When you put the gun down after emptying the magazine, Simon is salivating. The paper target head is obliterated, each bullet almost next to its last. When you turn around, Simon tilts his head to the side. You holster the gun, starting to walk, and Simon lets his eyes drop to the sway of your hips as you pass by him. It’s not a conscious decision, the way his fingers curl into fists and squeeze hard.

“Told you,” you say to him. “Huge dick, right, baby?”

Something flares in Simon’s chest when he hears it. Like a switch, his legs start moving, following you, and when he passes by a recruit that is standing much too close to you, Simon shoves the recruit back so hard, they smack their nose against the wall and curses from the impact, blood dripping under their bruised nose.

The rest of the day, you don’t see another rookie walk even five feet into your vicinity. Even without a mark on your neck, you are claimed, and right before you leave your room for dinner, Simon is fitting a dark hoodie over your head. The smell overwhelms you. It’s soaked in his scent, and you turn to face him, looking at him suspiciously. Your omega keeps you from questioning him. She wants you to start walking, because she knows he’ll touch you when you do.

It’s that night that Simon asks John for you to join them. All Simon does is slide the shredded paper target across his desk. John picks it up, tacking it onto the wall. He chuckles, shaking his head. It’s an impressive piece of paper, but being a good shot isn’t the only reason someone is cleared to work with them. Even besides that, it’s forbidden.

“Omegas aren’t allowed in the field, Simon,” John reminds him. “You know that.”

“Think tha’s why we should take her,” Simon mutters. “She’s a distraction. A good one.”

“A weapon,” John frowns. He can already hear Kate screaming into his ear if she ever saw you geared up between them on an op.

“A tool.”

“And what does she think of that, eh?” John slips his hat off, tossing it onto his desk. He sighs, running a hand over his beard, and he shakes his head. “And Kate…Kate would hang my fuckin’ head.”

“Not Kate’s responsibility anymore, she’s mine,” Simon bites back. He knows it’s wrong. In all honesty, the sentiment tasted bad from the moment he said it to you, but it is easier to let you believe that he’s using you then try and make you understand him. You wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t get his reasons, and that’s fine, so if he has to be the bad guy, so be it.

The least he could do is make himself useful. Put your skills to work, poke your mind. See what you can really do.

“Don’t let your girl hear you talkin’ like that, Simon,” John says lowly. “Not her, and certainly not Kate.”

“But you agree,” Simon continues, chuckling lowly. “I speak for her. ‘n I think she’d be right in on it, Captain. Wot else is she to do, eh? Sit in my fuckin’ quarters and wait f’me? Wot kind of life is tha’? She needs this. She’s good. I can teach ‘er. She’ll learn. Well and good she will, I know it.”

John sniffs, running a big hand over his short hair before tapping a pen over the target paper on the wall.

“I need her OK,” John relents finally. “I need to hear it from her. I get that, I’m alright with it. But she has to know what she’s getting into, Simon. And no one but you is responsible for her. If she gets into something, I’m not gonna risk Soap or Gaz for it–”

“I know,” Simon mutters. “She’ll be my shadow. I’ll teach ‘er.”

She’ll be good. She’ll be good because she’s mine.

“Bravo-7, sitrep.”

“Eyes on target. Waiting on confirmation.” Simon looks over his shoulder for a moment, where you’re sitting as his cover. You look cute, he thinks. All geared up. He lets his eyes sweep over the cargo pants that are cinched around your waist. Your nice curves. Thick thighs. Fuck, you smell good, even with all the sand up his nose and the smoke clinging to his mask. You have your rifle tucked into your elbow, and you’ve got it aimed towards the door of the roof.

“Is it always so fucking hot?” You ask, running your wrist over your lip. You’re sweating; you can feel it dripping down the back of your neck and along your back. You’re wearing a lot of gear, but you’ve done this before, and you don’t remember it being so uncomfortable. It must be the climate–you’re not used to this kind of desert, and you need to get it together.

Despite the irritation you feel every time you look at Simon, your omega wants to please him. She wants to show him she can do this, that she’s capable, and you’re starting to not like that she’s behaving as if you and her are one and the same.

I’m in control. Shut the fuck up. Let me focus.

“Just watch the door,” Simon mutters, turning back to focus. He adjusts the scope of his rifle, taking a deep breath as he leans into the stock. He gets his target into his line of sight, and he narrows his eye a little more to watch the group more closely on the ground. It’s hard to ignore you. Normally, the person covering him goes almost unnoticed. Their scent never affects him, not enough to make him look away from his scope, but there’s something in the air way too close to him, and he scrunches his nose a little as he adjusts his position on the ground. “You stink, by the way.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap. “Not my fault.”

“Certainly is y’r fault.”

“You reek, too, you ass,” you mumble, wiping your forehead again. You adjust how you’re sitting, clearing your throat. It’s scratchy, and you’re starting to itch a little all over, too. “Like wet dog.”

Simon smiles under his mask. He keeps his index finger next to the trigger, and you keep yours on it.

“How much longer do we have to do this? I mean…I thought you were SAS. Don’t you guys…get your hands real dirty? I mean, don’t you go tearing doors down? Get a lot of action? I mean, we’re just sitting ducks on a roof here right now.”

“Wot, you wanna go kick some doors down now?” Simon asks. He shakes his head. “The real job is boring. We do things nice and clean, we only get dirty when we ‘ave to. If I can get a target from 1000 yards away, then tha’s wot I’ll do. Besides. This is wot I’m good at.”

“Yeah, you look real good there on your knees, honey.”

Simon blinks hard when something strong hits his nose. It stings, makes his eyes water. He coughs a little, dropping his head for a moment.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Simon hisses. “Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?”

“I-I don’t know,” you whisper. You take your hand off your rifle for a moment to adjust the collar of your shirt, but it doesn’t help. You shift a little, loosening your tactical vest. You want to take it off, but you know that’s a bad idea out here. It’s hard to think clearly, though, when your brain is cloudy and you’re starting to see things in double every so often. “It’s…it’s too hot.”

Simon huffs, “‘n when was the last time you had a heat?”

“I’ve…I’ve never.” You clear your throat. “I’ve never had one.”

Can you smell him? I can smell him. He smells so good.

Simon nearly leaves his post. He grips his rifle tight, gloved hands squeezing the metal, and he turns to look at you incredulously.

“Fuckin’ repeat tha’?”

“I know you’re blind and dumb, but don’t tell me you’re fucking deaf, too,” you mumble. You swallow, wiping your face again, and Simon presses on the radio on his shoulder.

“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, how long do we got?”

“Just observation on target for now. Why?”

“Need 10 minutes.”

Simon shuts off the radio. You blink, starting to see double pretty consistently now, and you take a shaky breath as you grip your rifle a little tighter. You hear shuffling behind you, and you look back to see Simon moving from his position.

“What are you doing? Simon–”

“Get over ‘ere.” Simon sets his rifle down. “Tha’ wasn’t a fuckin’ suggestion, tha’ was an order!”

There’s something different in his voice at the end. Something more animal that lilts his drawl, and it makes you coherent enough to start moving–like his voice made all the fog clear up for just a few moments, long enough for you to realize you need him.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

You put your rifle down, crawling over to him, and just as you stumble, Simon catches you. You put your hands on his shoulders, falling into his lap, and he hoists you up until you’re straddling him. You feel him starting to tug on your cargos, and even in your daze, you squeeze his shoulders.

“S-Simon? What are you…What are you doing?”

“Y’r gonna go into heat soon,” Simon mutters. Alarm bells go off in your head, and you dig your nails into his shoulders. He can see it clearly–the panic on your face.

“H-Heat? R-Right now?”

“Not right now,” Simon clicks his tongue. “More like a…pre-heat. Get y’r bloody pants off–”

When Simon tugs your cargos down enough, you gasp when you see the mess your panties are in. They’re soaked, drenched until the cotton is a darker color, sticking to your cunt, and you whimper as Simon tugs you back into his lap with your pants around your ankles. It’s awkward and messy, and you’re sweating bullets, hot and bothered, and your chest feels tight. There’s nothing romantic about it, nothing sweet about the way Simon turns you in his lap. It’s hurried, but you’re just as desperate, clawing to whatever piece of him you can touch and trying to sink into him. If you could, you’d pry him open and force yourself to tuck yourself inside of him. You want to live there forever. You want to be in his skin, soaking it all in–you want it. You want this, don’t you?

He’s touching us! He’s touching us! Let him in!

“W-What’s happening t-to me?”

“‘s olright,” Simon whispers in your ear. “I’ve got ya. There we are…” He cups your pussy, making you squirm. You jolt in his lap, throwing your head back against his shoulder, and he hums as you sink into his touch. Something inside you curls and lights on fire. Your vision blurs, and his scent surrounds you. “Oh…fuck…tha’ wot ya needed, swee’eart? Yeah…”

Yes! Yes! Yes!

“Simon–” Your back arches, and you push your hips into his hand. When he touches your clit, your omega seizes inside your head, and it’s a feeling like you’ve never felt before.

She takes the reigns; and God, does she fucking pull.

You palm at the zipper of his pants. There’s something there, something you want–and you need it. There’s something in your chest that blinds you, that familiar voice in your head that chants–take it out, take it out, take it out.

“‘m workin’ on it, love,” you hear from behind, and you realize you’re talking. You’re out of your body, you think. You’re not yourself. When you feel him in your daze, big and throbbing under your hand, you whine. It comes from deep within your chest, a bubble of nonsense, and Simon coos. He drags your hips closer, and his cock slips under you, between your folds, and you use your palm to keep him pressed to you. You can’t see him, but you felt him when you first met him, and you’re feeling him now.

If there was any doubt that he was anything but an alpha, that thought disappears when his fat tip kisses your clit. He’s hot and throbbing under your hand, and he is more than enough to appease the voice in your head that’s screaming for some kind of inherent relief that it knows he can give.

“Simon, I need it–I need it–”

“I know, love.”

Fuck, Simon would win any dick-measuring contest, you think. Barely the tip of him, and you’re baring your teeth, gripping his thighs and digging your nails into him as you try and breathe through the stretch. He’s not even fully hard yet; the blood is rushing to his cock, and you moan and cry as he sits you down further and further and further–

“What the fuck–what is it you have in your fucking pants, a-a fucking pipe–?!”

“Y’r so much prettier when y’r mouth ain’t runnin’,” Simon mutters. “Ahh–fuck–’s mine, oll mine–”

You put your hands on his knees and throw it back. You’re feral, brain foggy, and all you can think about is getting yourself off. Your body clings to Simon like a thick, curling vice, pussy clamping around him and taking him to the root. You’re dripping down your thighs, wetting his cargos, and you’re thankful that he’s wearing black, otherwise you can’t think about the mess you’d really be leaving on him. The sounds are lewd. Frantic smack, smack, smack against his thick thighs, and the sound is only making you drool for more. He’s so big. He’s hitting you deep, and you swear your insides have never been stretched this far, but it’s like your body is molding itself to fit him. Like you’re making room for him.

It’s so good. It feels right. Your omega growls like an animal, crying with relief. It’s the only thing she’s ever wanted, and she has it in her hands, and she licks at your scent gland until it practically vibrates. Simon’s face is pressed to it, like he can hear her calling. His mask is the only thing separating you, but you can feel his teeth straining against the fabric. They cut over the gland, wet like his tongue is poking against it, too, and your omega screams.

Bite me, bite me, bite me.

“Not yet,” Simon grunts. “Won’t take.”

“You’ll make it take.”

He laughs, and then he punches the air out of you with a nice thrust. Then he’s on you. Suddenly, you’re on your knees, your tummy against the sandy rooftop, with a stallion of a soldier on top of you, taking you like his last meal.

He sounds like more bear than man. Growling, spitting, both hands on either side of your head as he fucks you into the floor. There’s a smile on your face, soft relief that leaves you in your pretty moans and gurgled pleas. It feels so good. The tip of his cock curves and hits against the same place each time, sending pulses that rack your body over and over and over again. Your thighs are shaking, and then Simon slips one hand under you and cups your pussy, fitting it just right until you can grind down on his palm in perfect timing with the way the fat tip of him hits you just well enough. It should hurt. You’ve never taken anything so big–of course you’ve practiced, but nothing can prepare you for the real thing.

This is still practice. You’re not in your heat, not really, and Simon hasn’t lost his fucking mind yet.

Like a fiend, you chase it. The stars, the mountain to climb, the beautiful end. You get up a little more onto your knees and you wrap a hand around his neck, force him against your jaw. You goad him on with pretty words, soft moans–that’s it, right there, please.

It’s not his first time. It’s not his first time relieving an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s not his first time taking an omega by the neck and pounding into her until she can’t speak, but it’s the first time his resolve shatters.

He wants to bite. He’s never felt the urge to bite. If it wasn’t for the mask, his teeth would be an inch deep in your neck, and he’d be memorizing what your blood tasted like for the first time. Your scent is just that much off that he knows it isn’t the right time, but fuck–the need is there. It’s clear.

Special. One of a kind. No one like her. Soft. Sweet. Mine.

His knot swells a little, but it doesn’t lock. You’re not in a proper heat, so it’s not right just yet, but you can feel the edge of it, like the preface to a glorious poem. Thick and spongy, hot, and when he comes, your eyes roll back in your head. It feels like being thirsty for days on end and finally getting that sweet drink of crystal clear water. He pumps you full, creamy and thick and dribbling between your thighs as you squeeze them together. Subconsciously, you’re trying to keep it inside, and Simon groans when as he latches his mouth over your scent gland under the mask and sucks–so hard, it pinches you just right.

The stars align. The tide wanes. You mumble softly, dopey smile on your face, and when your own high hits you, and you’re squirting into his hand, you let his rumbling, low voice pull you back to earth.

“I ‘ave ya, swee’eart,” he says. “Shhh…easy, kitty…Shh…yeah, easy.”

You sigh with relief. Simon handles you with ease. He picks you up, gets you to sit back on your heels. You don’t see it, but Simon fits his wet fingers under the mask, and you keen when you hear him suck on his fingers and hum.

He likes us. Hear that? He likes us.

“Want you to eat me,” you giggle suddenly, and Simon wipes you down, picking your pants back up and zipping them. He pats your ass gently, smoothing a hand over the back of your neck. He knows you’re still in a different headspace. He knows there’s still something else drawing your breath, but he’s trying not to think about it too much. It sounds so much like you.

“Do plenty o’tha’ when we’re in the thick o’it, kitty.”

Back in the humvee, Johnny is smiling like an idiot. He’s sitting next to Kyle, hitting him with his elbow as he wiggles his eyebrows at you and Simon sitting across from them. You tilt your head to the side, glaring.

“What?” You snap, and Johnny cackles. His eyes are flashing, and he reeks like happiness.

“Smells like ye had fun.”

“My gun is loaded, shithead,” you warn him. “And I know how the fucking safety works.”

When Johnny moves to sit in the front near your captain, you try not to think about the sudden warmth over your knee, and the squeeze of Simon’s hand on you.

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