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shotmrmiller · 1 year ago

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A/N: I simply had to join on writing for John 'just the tip' MacTavish so. Here goes. Unedited, its horny its explicit yall know the deal. It was supposed to be a drabble and i got completely carried away. got me out the writing slump tho. any mistakes please ignore. CBF!Johnny because I say so.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

WC: 1.6K

Flipping through Netflix, you hear a rapt at the door. You turn to look at your dad, who gets up quickly as if expecting someone.

“Johnny, my boy! I’m glad you could make it! Had me thinking you forgot all about us. Come on in!” Your dad pulls Johnny in for an affectionate embrace that he returns immediately.

“Och, yer aff yer heid! As if I could ever forget my second family!” Giving your dad a final pat on the back, Johnny steps back. “Now where’s my girl?”

Lifting the hand holding the remote, you call out. “Present!”

Johnny almost trips over the coffee table, rushing to you. He doesn’t wait for you to stand up, just snatches your wrist and lifts you for a hug— your socked feet dangling by his shins. With his strong arms wrapped around you, he pulls you close, nuzzling his face against your neck. “Missed ye, bonnie,” he murmurs, “missed ye so much.”

As you exhale a wheezy breath, you tell him, “I love you too, Johnny, but I can’t breathe.” One last squeeze, and a squealed “Johnny!” he finally relents, setting you down.

Hands resting on your shoulders, his striking blue eyes lock onto your face, flicking across your features, as if he was re-memorizing what you look like. His intense gaze rushes blood to your cheeks, but don’t shrink under it. It wouldn’t be the first time your best friend teases you like this. “Somethin’ on my face, Johnny boy?” and bat your lashes at him, “I know I’m staggering to look at, but now you’re just being shameless.”

He lets out a huff, a small smirk gracing his lips, and mumbles, “Don’t I know it.” Your taunting smile falls off your face at that. What? Before you can even ask him what he means by that, your dad calls him into the kitchen.

“Johnny! Come get a beer, it’s about to be movie time!” Without breaking eye contact, he answers him, “Aye! Comin’!’ and with a finger tap to the underside of your chin, walks away. Heart pounding against your chest, you head towards your bedroom to get a blanket, hoping the little walk calms the butterflies in your stomach.

What?

The movie is playing, and Johnny is curled up behind you on the reclined sofa, roughened palm resting on your thigh, occasionally squeezing it. You’re mortified at the slight arousal you’re feeling just at being caressed by Johnny. Johnny. Your best friend. Who has consistently had girlfriends, who will never look at you that way. You’ve never thought of him that way either, granted, but that’s what makes this so embarrassing. Maybe you’re ovulating, biology simply reacting in the presence of a virile male, or something.

And then you feel the unmistakable bulge of his stiffening cock, faintly pressing against your arse. Gods. Heat radiating off of your face, you bite your lip and try to discreetly wiggle away, for his sake and yours. However, Johnny seems to disagree with your thoughts because he moves his hand from your thigh to grab your hips in a bruising grip, fingers digging into your hipbones, forcing you to be still.

He leans into your ear, warm breath tickling your cheek and softly whispers, “Dinnae move, hen,” and sluggishly starts to rock his hips, erection now firmly rubbing against your sleeping shorts. Johnny’s movements are imperceptible, nonexistent underneath your blanket. Not that it would matter, because the movie is reaching its climax, and all eyes are glued to the screen.

But your mind is solely focused on Johnny— the heat of his hands scorching against your skin, his prominent length hidden underneath his pajama bottoms grinding on you.

“Lift yer leg a wee bit, hen.” Keeping a watchful gaze on your parents, you silently plead that they won’t notice as you hide your compliance under the guise of trying to make yourself comfortable. Once settled, you lowered your leg and had to bite your tongue with force, to keep the moan from slithering out of your throat.

His cock, bare, right in between your thighs. Like warm velvet wrapped around steel, thick, heavy, tip pushing against your core with every minute thrust. Johnny moves even closer, arm tight around your waist, hand sliding into your bottoms, heading straight towards your soaked, swollen clit to rub feather-light delectable circles on it.

“I’m gonna stick just the tip in, a’right? I swear,” he says in a hushed tone, as he pulls back to lower the waistband of your shorts to rest on your upper thighs, “just,” he thrusts once, “the”, again, “tip.” and his leaking head slips into your hole— pushing it in until your walls flutter around it.

“Ye feel incredible, squeeze that tight pus—” your dripping cunt cuts him off, drawing out a hiss of surprise from him. His subdued voice in your ear is so seductive, so bewitching, that you can’t help but clench around him.

For most of the movie, Johnny languidly thrusts into you, truly keeping to his word. Just the tip— teasing you, making you drip onto the sofa, muted squishy, gooey noises coming from under your blanket, and you couldn’t be bothered by any of it. Flared, ridged head catching on your slippery lips with every drag of his cock. You’re drooling on your hand that covers your mouth beneath the snug blanket— struggling to hold back the mewls and whimpers threatening to escape.

All of a sudden, Johnny mutters, “The movie’s about ta end, close yer eyes and keep completely still. Stabilize and deepen yer breathin’, hen.” Without hesitation, you do as he says, body going limp in compliance, the only tell-tale sign of your excitability being the rapid pulsing of your jugular on the delicate skin of your neck.

The TV is turned off, and the living room goes completely silent, apart from the deafening sound of blood rushing in your ears. Johnny behind you feigns quiet snoring, so believable that if it wasn’t for his throbbing cock still at your entrance, you’d think he actually fell asleep.

Your dad’s poor imitation of a whisper cuts through the quiet.

“They’re asleep, let’s just leave them here.” Footsteps shuffle as they tip-toe around you both, and as they get farther away, Johnny slowly moves his hand to cover yours, truly weighing down on it. The instant their door clicks shut, he uses his other hand to pick up your leg and throw it over your shoulder, and thrusts hard, deep, until his bollocks are flush against your arse. Your nails claw at the hand over your mouth as you scream, your gummy walls stretching against his assault— a burn so exquisite, pleasure teetering on the edge of pain, achingly delicious, it sends tendrils of ecstasy directly into your veins.

He lets out a guttural moan, one only you could hear, private, intimate. “It’s about time ye let me have this sweet pussy, hen.” One vicious thrust that punches the air from your lungs and rattles the sofa, and then another, when he finally speaks again. “Fuck, we hae ta do this when we are nae restricted, hm?” His hips start a slow rhythm, long, unhurried undulating thrusts, and every time he bottoms out, he grinds his pubic bone on your clit, the tip of his cock giving your cervix a lewd kiss. Every time he reaches the entrance of your womb, it feels like he wants to go in further, to go past the dead end, and your cock drunk mind only thinks about how you want him to do it, too.

“Yer slobberin’ all over my hand, hen. S’that good, is it? Oooh, I ken it is. Only the best fer my girl, hm?” He hisses through clenched teeth, “I’m fuckin’ close. Come f’me. I’m not comin’ until ye cover my cock with yer cream, leave a white ring at the base.” His hips have been moving at the same exact speed he started at, not a stutter in his pattern. As if him fucking you into a puddle of arousal wasn’t taxing on his part.

Then he does something different, something that threatens to snap that coil in your lower tummy, and along with it your sanity. He starts giving shallow thrusts, never pulling out more than halfway, and makes sure to rub against your clit, giving you that heavenly friction you need. It has you delirious, fervent, and you start moving your own hips, uncaring of how you must look.

Johnny moves his thumb down to your nub, drawing tight, precise, merciless circles on it, and you are thrown over the edge— more like kicked off by a spartan kick from how gut-wrenching your orgasm is ripped from you. Your pleasure is so acute, so powerful that there are needle-like pricks on the shell of your ears. Your body shakes underneath Johnny, pussy throbbing and pulsing with the aftershocks of your blinding climax.

Drool escapes under Johnny’s palm, dripping down your cheeks and into your hair as you fall back, going completely limp, utterly spent. Finally getting back some coherency, you realize that Johnny’s gone soft inside of you, also drained, as he catches his breath holding himself over you. He removes his hand, uncaring that it’s sticky with your spit, and noses your cheekbone, nudging you to slant his lips over yours, curling his tongue against yours. He swallows the pathetic mewl you let out and presses one final kiss onto your lips.

“I’ve missed ye, hen. I’m so happy to be here, with ye. Let’s move to your bedroom, and in 10 minutes, I’ll give ye a proper fuckin’.”

Your eyes close shut as you let out a resigned but elated sigh.

“I love you too, Johnny.”

@rookiesbookies and forgive the tag but i had you in mind too @brewed-pangolin ill never do it again unprompted

part 2

#call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #call of duty smut #johnny mactavish #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish smut #cod #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x you

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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months ago

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i’ve only recently found ur acc and i’ve fallen in love! ur def becoming one of my inspo’s in writing my own fics!:D

now, what about t141 with an alt s/o who’s always dying their hair or piercing themselves? maybe it’s the first time they find reader doing said shenanigans, what would their reactions be? 🤔 i think soap would have the best one lol, but i’d love to hear what your thoughts about it! <3

Well, hello! Welcome! Now, I had multiple people request this very thing. I am answering one of those asks and the others will simply fall under this one (since they are all very similar). I did go with some variety here since being "alt" can mean a lot different things. I do have one with hair dying, one about showing off their taxidermy/skull collection, a metal concert, and forcing (Gaz) to have a makeover. I had lots of fun. Enjoy!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings: established relationship, humor, fluff, swearing, hair dying, taxidermy, concerts, makeovers

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Jesus bloody Christ. What happened?” John stands in the doorway of the bathroom, his eyes wide as he surveys the scene. “Did you murder someone?”

You stand hunched over like a gremlin in the shower, holding the handheld showerhead. The dye in your hair is circling the drain, but that’s not the only place is stains. The shower is going to need a good scrub as is the bathroom sink.

“I’m changing my hair?”

John blinks. “You told me you were going to a salon.”

“This is cheaper.”

His mouth opens and then promptly closes. You see the gears turning. John is reigning in the panic.

“It’ll come out,” you insist.

“Everything is red,” murmurs John.

“Only temporarily,” you insist.

“Are you talking about your hair or our bathroom countertops?”

“Are you mad?”

“No,” he says firmly, hand on the doorknob. “I’m going to shut the door and pretend that our bathroom doesn’t look like a crime scene.”

“I love you!” you call out as he starts shutting the door.

“I love you, too,” he sighs heavily. The door is nearly shut before it suddenly opens again. “Do I need to grab bleach from the store?”

“That would be great.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Stop moving,” you mutter.

“You’re gonna poke me in the fucking eye, love.”

“It’s just eyeliner. Calm down.”

“You’ve poked me already.” Kyle points at his eye. The white is slightly red with irritation.

Kyle’s gaze narrows, but you only tut, grasping the bottom half of his face with your hand. Squeezing his cheeks a bit, you tilt his face from side-to-side, observing your work. About half of his face is done. You’ve even added face piercings to his lips and nose.

The clothes were the easy part. Kyle was more than willing to put on what you picked out for him. It’s completely different from his tracksuits and jeans. He looks like he walked right out of the punk scene.

“You promised I could do your makeup.” You put a little whine in it, pouting your lip.

Kyle lightly grasps your wrist and tugs, removing your hand from his face. “I did,” he agrees. “But all this? Really?”

You’ve set out nearly every product you have, nearly covering the entirety of the bathroom counter.

“We have to match,” you insist.

Kyle’s mouth twitches slightly but he settles. “Fine. But you better make me the best-looking bloke in the joint.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“This is June.” You present the racoon skull to Johnny.

His eyes widen slightly. “Hello, June,” he greets.

You wait for the eventual frown, for the brief flicker of disgust, but it doesn’t come. Johnny isn’t drawing back or judging you at all. His attention is rapt—focused.

You gently return the racoon skull back to the shelf and point to a collection of preserved butterflies. “These were a gift from a friend.”

“They’re beautiful,” murmurs Johnny. “Do they have names?” He leans in, observing the display of colorful wings.

“No, but they do!” You enthusiastically gesture toward the rest of your collection. There are skulls and bones from all sorts of animals, preserved beetles, tentacles in jars, and even petrified fish bones.

Men say they want quirky, but when they get quirky, they run. Johnny though is entirely fascinated.

“Can I touch this?” he asks with an excitement that surprises you, pointing toward a beaver skull.

“Yes. It’s delicate though. I’m always fixing the jaw.”

Johnny lightly lifts the skull and brings it close to his face, slowly rotating it.

No. Johnny isn’t disgusted. He isn’t shaming you for your special interest. If anything, he’s fascinated.

You’re keeping him.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The shredding of the guitar reverberates in your chest. It stirs your blood, sending waves of adrenaline through your limbs until even your fingers and toes twitch with anticipation.

The breakdown is coming, and with it will come a sea of bodies. They’ll crash against each other like a massive wave before descending into chaos, nothing but flailing limbs and gnashing teeth.

Already, the energy is pulsing, becoming a frenzy that will eventually burst.

You’ve never been in the middle of the pit before. You usually stay off to the sides or well out of the way, not wanting to receive an injury.

But now you have protection. Now, you have a bodyguard.

Simon stands right behind as your support and your shadow. This isn’t his scene, not that he doesn’t enjoy a metal show, but he could care less about throwing himself around in a pit. When you expressed the desire to do so, Simon agreed, but only if he joined you.

Sure, it might scare some people off, or deter others from getting too close, but Simon is supportive anyway.

He’s just a bit vicious. A bit protective.

The shredding rises. It’s time.

A pause.

Then everything crashes.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

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milkis-deepspace · 7 months ago

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sylus x reader - caring for you

a/n: i saw a tweer about intimate non-sexual showering and it was stuck in my mind so, bon appetite!

intimate showering

while this could be one of those scenarios where lust could come up to the surface but this time, this moment was meant for tenderness. you and sylus hadn’t seen each other for way too long and needed to spend every moment together. you took off his layers - a dress shirt and pants - while he could have easily thrown in a little comment about you stripping him, this moment was a gentle one. when it was his turn, he was as gentle as the snow. he took of your hunter uniform with all the care and put it into the clothing bin. he even took the time to brush your hair, so that it would be easier to shower with. getting out all the stubborn knots and tangles. as you two stood naked as the day you were born, you stepped into the big shower. the water pressure was heavenly.

“close your eyes,” he almost whispered to you.

sylus started with adding shampoo to your hair. massaging your scalp, knowing where you were tense. he used his hands to soap your body, massaging your neck and shoulders. your eyes were closed as sylus took care of you. in this moment you wished you two could stay here forever. in his arms where you would be cared for. as he rinsed the soap off, he gave your cheek a peck to wake you up from your thoughts.

“you need to stay awake for a little while longer,”

he turned off the water and led you out to dry you. you had your own towel set at sylus’ since you spent so much of your time here anyways and sylus wanted to make you feel at home. he dried off your body and found your lotions. this wasn’t the first time he took care of you like this, but it surely gave you the same amount of butterflies as the first time. he was ever efficient and quickly got you into your sleepwear. while you didn’t notice, the pyjamas he chose were the ones you had bought together. it was a matching pair to commemorate you completing a mission.

he motioned for you to walk and sit in the bedroom. you sat with your eyes closed, not having anymore energy to open them. he came back with hairdryer in hand. the hot air from the hairdryer made you even more drowsy, and sylus made sure to not keep the dryer too close to you. in these moments your guards were truly down, and it was a privilege to take care of you like this. you had surrendered every wall for sylus. it brought him satisfaction to care for you. he was the only one to see you like this and he would never take it for granted. he kisses the top of your head and sighs fondly. sylus finds your head to be cute. it's the place where your funny, silly thoughts come alive. whenever he felt the burst of fondness beginning to pop out he would pet your head, ruffle your hair, and kiss your silly forehead. this was also a way for him to smile unbashedly while you were too busy with either blushing or or shaking your head trying to shake his hand off.

as your hair was dry, he turned the dryer off, kissed your forehead and carried you to bed, “time for bed, sweetheart.”

as the clocked ticked, exhaustion pulled the blanket over the two of you. closely entwined with the care of someone stroking a flower petals, your hands were naturally entwined. while his hands dwarfed yours - his hands engulfing yours were secretly something you looked forward to, thus you would continuesly seek out his hands. sometimes you needed his hands to warm you up, other times you seeked them to cool down, occasionally to compare hand sizes, and always seeking them out to feel safer. you were close yet not close enough. you moved your gaze once more from the ceiling to sylus and saw that he was already slumbering. your legs found his and made themselves at home and you put your head on his shoulder, burying your nose into his neck, wanting to be engulfed by his scent and needing more of his warmth to lullaby you to sleep.

#love and deepspace #sylus #l&ds #l&ds sylus #l&ds x reader #lads sylus #lnds #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #milkiway writes #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace mc #sylus x you #sylus qin #sylus x reader #sylus x mc

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yooniivrse · 5 months ago

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early mornings | myg

summary. when time seems to bend every morning and love speaks through tender touches and quiet reassurances.

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pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: established relationship au, tooth-rotting fluff

word count: 1k

content: yoongi and oc wake up in each others arms / they love each other a bit too much and they make it pretty clear / they kiss a lot :3

warnings: fear of abandonment (kind of? if you squint??), allusions to sex

notes: idk why i'm procrastinating the third part of 'stumble into you' so bad, but this is a result of me still wanting to write something. also, ignore the images at the top if they don’t go well together, i’m too lazy to actually put in effort today 😭 likes, reblogs, comments, and asks are all greatly appreciated!! i love you guys and i hope you enjoy <33333

────

main masterlist

────

Amber rays spill across the room, seeping between the gaps in the curtains and kissing your bare skin with its golden warmth.

Yoongi stirs under the sheets, attempting to untangle his limbs from you, who lay beside him. But your arms only tighten around him, and he quickly gives in to the comforts of your touch.

With your head on his chest and his arm secure under your head, he can't help the lazy smile that draws across his lips.

He's always loved early mornings with you; when neither of you have to think about anything else but each other; when time feels like it ceases to exist; when nothing else mattered, because why would it when you had each other?

You were his home; his universe; his first thought in the morning and the most frequent visitor of his dreams. Everything reminded him of you, and it was maddening. But he welcomed the longing with open arms, because he was a fool.

Because he knew that it was worth being foolish if it meant having you.

Yoongi places a kiss on your forehead, his lips pressing against a few strands of hair that lay messily across your face. The scent of your skin, faintly sweet like the lavender soap you use, lingers in the air as Yoongi buries his nose in your hair, taking in the quiet of the morning, broken only by the soft hum of your breathing. He moves his hand to rest over yours, running the pad of his thumb over your knuckles.

He doesn't expect the gentle action to wake you, but your eyes flutter open. You hum, the sound quiet and laced with exhaustion as you stretch out your body.

Your eyes light up when you meet his gaze and the butterflies in his stomach erupt, fluttering around wildly.

"Morning," you whisper. You peck his lips with a soft kiss.

"Morning," Yoongi echoes. A faint blush paints his features, and a giggle tumbles from your mouth. Yoongi catches the sound with another kiss; then a third one that lingers for a few seconds longer than the others.

It is almost embarrassing to admit the effect you had on him. You've been together for years, and known each other for even more. He knows every dip and curve of your body and you have seen him through all of his highs and lows. Yet, a kiss from you still has him blushing.

"Missed me?" you tease, and he hums in agreement.

"A lot." He kisses corner of your lips and the curve of your jaw. "You're so pretty."

You laugh; a soft sound that rings through the air. It has always been Yoongi's favourite melody-the one sound that made his heart swell and his eyes crinkle into crescent moons to accommodate his growing smile.

He tucks a few strands of your hair behind your ear, letting his hand stay to cup your cheek so that he can bring his lips to yours again. He’s addicted to the way your lips fit perfectly with his, and no matter how often he kisses you, it’s never enough

And you can't stop smiling.

The feeling that courses under your skin is almost overwhelming. It still feels surreal—that kind of love, where just being with him made the world right

The possibility of losing Yoongi terrifies you, but it's a fear that follows you everyday. Sometimes, you expect to wake up one day only to realise that this is all a cruel dream, or to find the house suddenly void of his belongings and his presence.

Sometimes, the fear creeps in before you can stop it, a quiet panic that gripped you in the space between sleep and waking. You’d reach out, half-afraid to find the bed cold and empty. But then, your hand would meet the warmth of his skin, and the fear dissolved into nothing. Because every morning, he's here. Solid, warm, and real, wrapped up in the sheets beside you. His sleepy eyes, the soft curve of his lips, the way he pulls you closer as if you’re his anchor—it’s all so undeniably Yoongi, and it makes your heart flutter with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude.

You press your forehead to his, noses brushing, as if the closer you hold him, the more real this will become. Yoongi's fingers trail lightly over your skin, tracing invisible patterns that make you shiver.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, voice raspy but tender, like he's always known your thoughts even before you speak them.

You let out a soft sigh, trying to find the words, but they dissolve on your tongue when his hand glides over your waist, settling at the small of your back.

“You’re here,” you whisper, more to yourself than him. It's a quiet confession of the relief that washes over you each time you wake up to find him still beside you. He smiles against your skin, a low hum of agreement in his throat. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, his voice carrying the weight of every unspoken assurance. "You know that I'll always be right here-right beside you, whenever you need me."

For a moment, the world falls away. There’s no fear of loss, no dread of waking up alone. It’s just him, his presence grounding you, his breath steady and warm against your neck. The intimacy of the moment swells between you, a shared heartbeat that drowns out the rest of the world.

Your legs tangle beneath the sheets as he pulls you even closer, his hand finding yours under the covers. His touch is gentle, tender, as if he’s memorizing every inch of you, and in the glow of the early morning, you feel more connected to him than ever.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his skin seep into yours, feeling utterly safe in his embrace.

And in that moment, you know—this is home.

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bunnyinvanilla · 2 months ago

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sugar daddy bar!owner john price x sugar baby!waitress series

🥀 |warnings: +18, laaargw age gap (reader is 21 and price is in his 40s), fem!reader, sugar daddy/baby relationship mentioned, not smut but suggestive.

price thought a doll like you deserved a grown, strong old man like him to treat you like a princess — spoil you rotten, wrap you up in bubble wrap and take care of you. You didn’t need to work, get your pretty hands sore and tired from pouring drinks all the time. he’d give you all the money you needed to pay off your college and to get all the pink, girly things you liked so much, ribbons and all. You just needed to sit cutely on his lap, to be his, and he’d give you the whole world. He was in his 40’s, you had only recently turned 21, a flower on the prime of her blossoming youth, who could give an old, worn out man like him some sugar.

that’s why he offered you to be his sugar baby. that offer, made you flush on the spot — he was so confident and composed, unfazed by his own words. The moment he saw redness spread over you cheeks, he knew he had you. His mustache twitched, his salt and pepper beard stretched as he wore an amused, lazy smile. you were always so obedient and compliant to him, always chirping a “yes sir” to anything he’d ask or tell you to do, a sweet, young, too young lil thing, eager to earn his praise, to feel those goosebumps trail down your skin when he muttered a gruff, deep “good girl”, you’d be the perfect submissive, you’d have it in you to be trained already, even in your innocence and inexperience..

..but, you’d initially declined his offer, because “I want to earn that money, sir, and I’d feel bad if you just..gave it to me like that”

oh, how honest, naive, innocent and pure you were. He admired that about you, but you could see it in his eyes, the way he cocked his thick, dark brown brow upward, that he didn’t believe you’d cling onto those words for long. He knew you were just too shy to accept, but you wanted to. You wanted to be his pretty, little girl. and he was right, as always. One particular night, you’d found a moment to lean your arms against the wooden counter and just breath. You’d been studying all morning, head buried in your notes, and when you got to the bar, you found dozens of soon to be drunk men ready to order alcohol and ask you to bring them ashtrays.

you wanted nothing more than go back home, snuggle in your pink, soft blankets and read your so loved books — it had just been a draining day, you enjoyed your job, but to be honest with yourself, the thing you liked the most was feeling john’s attention and eyes on you during your whole shift and maybe you could finally have someone provide for you.

so, that’s how you found yourself in front of his office door, hesitating lightly while millions of tiny butterflies flew around in your chest, your cheeks as red and warm as ripe strawberries under the summer sun.

knock, knock.

he’d recognized that knock. A feeble, light thud against wood. That couldn’t possibly have been Simon, whose hand could make the whole door shatter down with a single knock, nor Soap’s — bloody hell, that man never bothered to knock at all, he’d just break in.

so he wasn’t surprised to see you, standing meekly in front of his large, wooden desk, the hem of your skirt hugging your milky, bare thighs, your fingers fidgeting together and your eyes looking down at his sitting stance, shy and timid.

“what is it, doll? need ol’ price?” his voice was so rough, so husky, you wondered how it would sound from between your thighs, or from behind you, while his large palm pulled your hair to make you arch against him.

you blinked once, gathering courage to ask for what you’d secretly been daydreaming about, your boss, old enough to be your father, aging like the finest wine, showing you things you’d never ever experienced.

“about your offer, sir” your cheeks were burning, flaming up, “if I accept, can I still come here and help you around?”

“if you accepted,” he almost didn’t even let you finish, eyes already darkening at the thought, a wave of desire rushing through his weary, battle scattered heart, “you could do whatever you wanted, angel, you’d just have to say please”

#john price x y/n #john price x reader #john price imagine #john price x f!reader #john price x female reader #captain price x female reader #captain price x reader #cod #price x female reader #captain price smut

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whosashan · 3 days ago

Text

Pinky Promises and Butterfly Kisses

LaDS men x reader

In which - random, cute scenarios with them :)

Xavier

The night stretched infinitely above you, a canvas of midnight blue dusted with constellations. The stars shimmered like tiny beacons, their glow casting faint silver reflections onto the quiet city streets below. A soft breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it the distant hum of life still moving beneath you.

Seated atop the roof of your apartment complex, you let your gaze drift over the endless sky, momentarily lost in its quiet splendor. The chaos of the city, the ever-rushing currents of people, deadlines, and responsibilities—it all faded in moments like these. Up here, time seemed to slow, offering a rare pocket of stillness. And beside you, sprawled out without a care in the world, was Xavier.

His head rested lazily against his arm, strands of pale hair catching the glow of his Evol—the soft, luminous energy forming a delicate rabbit that playfully bounced along his chest. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, held a rare warmth as he watched the small creature flicker and jump.

"You haven’t touched your food," you pointed out, nudging the untouched slice of cake beside him. A mission was successful, and tonight was supposed to be a quiet celebration—just the two of you, away from prying eyes, from duty, from everything except the sound of each other’s voices.

Xavier hummed in acknowledgment, tilting his head slightly before finally taking a small bite. He chewed thoughtfully, and for a moment, the usual cool and composed expression he wore melted into something almost childlike—his brows lifted ever so slightly, as if the sweetness had taken him by surprise.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

"Hey, Xavier," you murmured after a moment, your voice softer, almost wistful. "Do you think the stars are watching us?"

Silence stretched between you for a beat, but when you turned to look at him, you found he was already watching you.

The way he looked at you made your breath hitch—like you were something rare, something treasured. His usual composed expression was softened by the faintest of smiles, his gaze cradling you in something that felt achingly tender.

"I think they do," he finally said, voice hushed yet certain. "They’ve witnessed wars, empires rising and falling, history shaping itself over centuries. But I’d like to believe that this moment, right here, is their favorite."

A quiet rush of warmth spread through you, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his tone. Your lips parted slightly, a blush creeping along your skin, but words failed you.

So instead, you slid closer, shifting to lay beside him. The warmth of his body enveloped you instantly, his scent—clean soap, faint traces of linen and something inherently him—wrapping around you like a second skin. He didn’t hesitate to pull you closer, his arms instinctively finding their place around you, as if you belonged there.

A featherlight kiss brushed against your forehead, lingering just long enough to make your eyes flutter shut.

"Then let’s make it worth watching," you whispered against him, your voice barely above a breath.

And with only the stars as your silent witnesses, love bloomed in the quiet, unhurried space between heartbeats.

Zayne

Mornings like these were the ones you cherished most—waking up in the quiet embrace of your lover, wrapped in each other's warmth, with the rest of the world feeling miles away.

"Good morning, love," Zayne’s voice was low and rough with sleep, a sound reserved only for you, intimate and unguarded.

"Morning, honey," you hummed, a lazy smile tugging at your lips as you shifted slightly to take in the sight of him.

His dark hair was tousled, the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the curtains casting delicate shadows across his features. There was something disarming about seeing him like this—his usually composed demeanor softened by sleep, his sharp eyes still heavy with drowsiness.

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your skin with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. His gaze, deep and unspoken, was filled with a quiet reverence, as if he were committing every detail of you to memory.

You lay there for a while, talking in hushed tones about your dreams, about how neither of you wanted to leave the comfort of the bed just yet. The outside world could wait—this moment, this stillness, was yours.

Eventually, Zayne exhaled a quiet sigh. "I think it’s time we get up." His voice held the barest hint of reluctance as he made a slow attempt to shift out from under the duvet.

But you weren’t having it. Before he could move an inch, you latched onto him like a koala, wrapping yourself around him, preventing his escape.

"Just five more minutes," you mumbled against the warmth of his neck, your grip tightening around him.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your cheek as he returned the embrace, his arms securing you effortlessly against him.

Five minutes turned into ten. Then twenty. Then thirty.

It was unlike Dr. Zayne to linger in bed for so long, yet he found himself unable to move, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing, the steady thrum of your heartbeat against him. For once, time didn’t feel like something slipping through his fingers—it simply stood still, cradling the two of you in its quiet grasp.

When you finally pulled yourselves from the warmth of the sheets, the morning unfolded at an unhurried pace.

Zayne moved through the kitchen with effortless ease, making coffee for the both of you while you perched yourself on the counter, still wrapped in his shirt. He stole glances at you every so often, his expression unreadable yet unmistakably fond.

You, however, took every opportunity to tease him—nudging him with your foot as he prepared the coffee, clinging to his side whenever he tried to move, and stealing quick kisses that made the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. His responses were quiet—small, knowing smiles, the occasional shake of his head, and a warmth in his eyes that spoke louder than words.

There was no rush, no obligations pressing against your morning. Just the two of you, utterly consumed by the simplicity of being together.

Later, you found yourselves curled up on the couch, your coffee cups resting half-forgotten on the table. Zayne sat reading one of his many medical books, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration. But you had other plans.

Without a word, you nestled yourself between his legs, resting your head against his chest.

He didn’t question it—didn’t hesitate for a second. With a soft exhale, he placed the book aside, his fingers moving instinctively to thread through your hair, slow and soothing.

A long moment passed before he spoke, his voice quieter than usual, as if the words were something fragile. "I love you."

Your heart warmed at the rare softness in his tone. You tilted your head slightly, tracing lazy circles against his chest. "I love you more."

He huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

And in the tranquil hush of the morning, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you knew—this was home.

Rafayel

You sat quietly beside Rafayel, the soft scratch of his pencil against paper filling the tranquil space between you. He was sketching something, fully engrossed in his work, while you absentmindedly occupied yourself, letting the peaceful silence settle around you.

But then, you felt it—his gaze lingering on you, burning softly against your skin.

"You’re staring," you remarked without looking up, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips as a faint warmth dusted your cheeks.

"You’re making it rather difficult not to," he replied effortlessly, his voice smooth, laced with that ever-present confidence.

You turned to face him, catching the slight amusement in his eyes, and let out a small huff. "Well, it’s rude to stare." You made a show of covering your face with your hands, only for him to gently pry them away, his fingers warm against yours.

"Sue me for wanting to admire my favorite piece of art," he murmured, his tone both playful and sincere.

Your blush deepened at his words, and he clearly noticed, judging by the smirk curving his lips.

"What’s up with you and all this teasing today?" you asked, though there was no real protest in your voice—just fond exasperation.

He chuckled, the sound deep and velvety, before reaching over to pinch your cheek. "Can’t help it, cutie. Just speaking the truth."

Rolling your eyes, you ruffled his carefully styled hair in retaliation, giggling when his expression twisted into pure horror.

"I spent thirty minutes on my hair this morning," he gasped, dramatically pouting as if you had personally wounded him.

"Oh no, what a tragedy," you mused, grinning.

"What, you’re going to punch me in the face next?" he quipped, his dramatics only making you laugh harder.

Instead of responding, you grabbed his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks together and playfully mushing them around. "Forgive me, baby," you cooed before pressing a flurry of tiny kisses across his face, earning a quiet intake of breath from him.

His ears turned a subtle shade of pink, but he recovered quickly, clearing his throat. "You’re forgiven. This time," he muttered, though his hands lingered on yours.

And then, before you could react, he snatched a paintbrush from the table and dragged a bold streak of color across your cheek.

"Hey!" you gasped, staring at him in disbelief.

"But payback is still necessary," he smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

The playful back-and-forth between you was effortless, a refreshing break from the routine of daily life. Moments like these—lighthearted, filled with laughter and mischief—made you cherish the presence of your lover even more.

Sylus

The rain drummed steadily against the window, a rhythmic symphony of soft patters and distant rumbles. The glow of the TV flickered across the dimly lit living room as you and Sylus lounged on the couch, wrapped in the kind of warmth that only a quiet night in could bring.

He had insisted—rather arrogantly—that he could rent out an entire cinema for just the two of you. But you had refused, craving something more intimate, more real. And now, curled up against him, your head resting lightly on his shoulder as you animatedly commented on the movie, you knew you had made the right choice.

Then, without warning, everything was swallowed by darkness.

A surprised gasp escaped your lips as you instinctively clutched onto Sylus, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt.

"The thunderstorm must have knocked out the power..." you murmured, a tinge of disappointment creeping into your voice.

You hesitated before untangling yourself from his warmth and standing up. "I'll get some candles," you announced, feeling your way through the shadows toward the drawer where you kept them. The strike of a match flared briefly, casting a soft glow across the room before the candles came to life, their warm flickering light breathing coziness into the space. Shadows danced across the walls, their movements gentle and fluid, creating a contrast between the storm raging outside and the quiet intimacy within.

You turned back to Sylus, watching as the golden light kissed his sharp features. His expression remained unreadable—neither irritated nor amused, just... calculating.

You huffed, crossing your arms as you sank back onto the couch beside him. "So much for wanting to spend alone time with you," you pouted.

He finally reacted, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "The night's still young," he murmured, his voice low, deliberate. His gaze slid to you, a glimmer of mischief in his dark eyes. "You still have those cards you stole from Luke and Kieran, don’t you?"

Your jaw dropped. "I didn't steal them!" you shot back indignantly, though the guilty flicker in your expression betrayed you. He merely raised an eyebrow. Huffing, you got up anyway and retrieved the deck from your room, returning with a dramatic flourish.

"So, what? You actually want to play cards with me?" you asked, skeptical.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took the deck from your hands and started shuffling, his movements smooth, practiced. The cards whispered against one another as they slipped effortlessly between his fingers.

"Let's make it interesting," he proposed, his smirk deepening. "Winner gets to ask one thing from the loser."

Your eyes narrowed at him, the spark of competition igniting in your chest. "Deal."

Several rounds passed, and much to your growing frustration, Sylus won nearly every single one. You glared at him as he leaned back, exuding the smug satisfaction of a man who had predicted this outcome all along.

"I can’t believe you won again!" you groaned, throwing your cards down in defeat.

"A deal’s a deal, sweetie." His voice was smooth, dangerously low as he shifted closer, his gaze never wavering from yours.

Your stomach tightened. He was too close now, the heat of his body radiating against you, his eyes dark and full of something unreadable—something intoxicating.

"..Fine," you relented, exhaling shakily. "What do you want, then?"

He leaned in, his movements slow, deliberate. The air between you crackled with anticipation. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin as he murmured, "A kiss."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. His voice was low, velvet-smooth, laced with the barest hint of amusement—like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You swallowed, the heat rushing to your cheeks almost unbearable. But instead of complying right away, you decided to tease him. Tilting your head slightly, you placed a soft, feather-light kiss on his cheek, then pulled back, feigning innocence.

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, without warning, his hand slid to your jaw, fingers firm yet gentle as he tilted your face toward his.

"Don't tease me, kitten," he murmured before capturing your lips with his.

The kiss was intense yet achingly tender, stealing the breath right from your lungs. His lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate hunger, as if savoring the moment, as if claiming it. A quiet gasp escaped you as warmth pooled deep within you, a sensation so dizzying that your fingers instinctively clutched at his shoulders to steady yourself.

Outside, the storm raged on. But in that moment, all you could feel was him.

Caleb

You arrived at Caleb’s apartment in Skyhaven unannounced, a spontaneous visit fueled by the simple desire to see him. The moment he opened the door, a flicker of surprise crossed his face before it melted into something warmer—something undeniably thrilled.

His apartment felt different now, softer, more lived-in, ever since you had made it your personal mission to bring some warmth into the space. A few well-placed candles, a cozy throw blanket draped over the couch, and the scent of vanilla lingering in the air—it all felt more like home now, a home the two of you had unconsciously built together.

While Caleb busied himself in the kitchen, preparing dinner with the effortless ease he always had, you wandered through the rooms, taking in the familiar yet ever-intriguing details of his space. That’s when your eyes landed on something unexpected.

A pink envelope.

It rested on his nightstand, slightly askew as if placed there with care yet forgotten. A neatly drawn heart was scrawled across the front. Your brow furrowed at the sight. Someone had given him this? Had someone confessed to him?

The rational part of you knew it was foolish to feel the sudden pang of jealousy creeping into your chest, but the idea of someone else professing their feelings for him—it gnawed at you. Caleb was attractive, undeniably so, and people always seemed to gravitate toward him. Still, you had never given much thought to the possibility of an anonymous admirer.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers closed around the envelope, and you carefully pulled out the letter inside.

You shouldn't have done it. You knew that. But curiosity was an irresistible force, and the need to know was overwhelming.

Your eyes scanned the page, absorbing the elegant strokes of his handwriting.

“[...] I don’t know when it happened—when laughter in treehouses and late-night whispers turned into something deeper. Maybe it was always there, tucked between our inside jokes and the way you always seemed to understand me without words [...]

Always yours, Caleb.”

Your breath hitched.

The jealousy that had curled in your stomach only moments ago twisted into something entirely different. It was for you.

A quiet gasp left your lips as the realization dawned. Judging by the wording, it had to be old—perhaps written before he had ever found the courage to tell you how he felt.

Heat flushed through you, guilt creeping in for prying into something so personal, yet another feeling settled in right beside it. A slow, blooming warmth in your chest. He had loved you so deeply, so quietly, even back then.

"You really shouldn't snoop around, pipsqueak."

The low timbre of his voice behind you made you jump, the letter nearly slipping from your fingers. Before you could react, Caleb plucked it from your grasp, his expression unreadable as his eyes flicked over the familiar words.

"Caleb—I'm sorry," you blurted out, words tumbling over each other in your rush to explain. "I didn’t mean to… I just thought that—"

A sudden chuckle cut you off, followed by a gentle pinch to your nose. You blinked up at him, startled.

He was laughing.

"I’m not mad," he said, his smirk deepening as he folded the letter between his fingers. "But I guess now you also owe me a love letter, hm?"

The teasing lilt in his voice made your heart stutter, and you rolled your eyes before giving him a playful punch on the arm.

"Guess you'll have to wait and see."

And wait he did.

One day, much later, a letter arrived for him—deliberately placed where he would find it.

Caleb never said a word about it, but from that night on, he kept it tucked beneath his pillow. A quiet, constant reminder that it wasn’t all a dream.

That you were his.

#love and deepspace #caleb x mc #lads xavier #love and deepspace x reader #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #zayne x #lads zayne #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace headcanons #lads caleb #lads sylus #lads x reader #loveanddeepspace #lads fluff

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flowerxbunnie · 11 months ago

Note

Tattoo artist matt 🫦 and he’s praising the reader and telling her she’s taking it really well 🫦🫦 and she gets addicted to it and keeps coming back for more tattoos 🫦🫦🫦 and he’s like ‘wow you’re single-handedly paying my bills, this one’s on the house’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦 and she’s like ‘no, i gotta pay you.’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 i think you know where i’m going with this

ps I love you 💋

Ink

Tattoo artist!Matt x Fem Reader

Warnings: needles, blood, pain, tension, no smut (yet?? 😏) but veryyyyyy suggestive at times

6.3k words

Your skin is tender and raw, a soft wince drawn from your mouth as your tattoo artist wipes the excess ink with a rough paper towel.

“So proud of this one,” Alex beams as she scoots back in her chair, the wheels rolling her towards her supply cart. She grabs a roll of plastic wrap and some tape before using her feet to roll back toward your chair. “Let’s get you all wrapped up.”

“It turned out so good, dude.” You say in awe as you hold your arm out to her.

“Did you expect any less?” She jokes, wrapping the wound snugly and taping it up before shooting you a smile. “All done. Keep the wrap on for a few hours. It’ll be a little leaky, that’s normal. Wash once a day with unscented soap… blah blah blah you know the drill. Still legally obligated to tell you.” She chuckles at the end, standing up to throw away her stained gloves. “Come up to the desk whenever you’re ready.” She says before she turns on her feet and heads to the front of the shop.

You stand up and gather your belongings feeling the adrenaline rush a new tattoo always seems to bring out of you. Your arm pulses and slightly burns, a sensation you’d become addicted to over the past couple of years. You’re not covered in ink by any means, but you’ve gotten your fair share, all done by Alex.

You love the way her shop feels more like a home than a sterile clinical office. Tapestries are hung haphazardly across the walls, strings of fairy lights sprawl across the ceilings and there’s more weird little knick-knacks strewn about than you could ever imagine counting. Your favorite is the preserved butterflies she has in shadow boxes lined down the hallway.

Once you gather your keys and bag, you take the walk to the front and admire all the sketches pinned along the walls. Alex is waiting for you with a warm smile as she tells you the total. You sit your bag down and rummage for your wallet, gathering the money along with a generous tip as always.

“You want the change back?” She asks as she counts the bills.

“Just take the fucking tip Alex.” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” she chuckles humbly, shaking her head as she sorts the cash into her vintage register.

“I know I don’t have to,” you laugh, tossing your wallet back into your bag, “I want to.”

You grab the strap of your bag and throw it across your shoulder, knocking a binder off the counter in the process. You let out a quiet curse as you bend down to pick it up, flipping it over to look at the cover.

“Oh, you should look through that!” Alex chimes in excitedly. “It’s a bunch of flash pieces that are up for grabs. They’re going quick, you should pick one out!”

“Oh nice..” you thumb through the pages, studying the intricate artwork tucked behind sheet protectors. “These are so good Alex..”

“You think?” She asks, bending down to restock her glass display cabinet with more tattoo salve.

You turn page after page, seeing traditional pieces like tigers and roses, more abstract watercolor pieces and some random goofy sketches of cartoon characters. You stop when you come across a snake separated into segments with the word ‘collarbone’ scratched underneath of it.

“This one is so detailed,” you say, running your fingers across the sheet protector. “Why’s it all broken up like that?”

Alex stands back up to her feet and looks over the page, her brows furrowing a bit as she adjusts her glasses. “Oh, it’s because it’s made to look like it’s wrapping around your collarbone. Like it’s going into your skin kinda.”

“Oh, sick,” You say excitedly, “I’ll take that one then. When can you get me in?”

“That’s not mine, girl. That’s the new guy’s design. You may have seen him here before? He transferred here like three…ish months ago?” She rambles as she sorts through a stack of paperwork.

You think back, not recalling seeing a different face in the shop. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone new. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been here and you usually get me in and out.” You pull the binder closer and admire the tiny detailing of the snake skin. “He looks pretty good.. but I don’t know if I can cheat on you.” You sigh jokingly.

“Honestly, he’s fucking amazing. His card is right there if you wanna make an appointment.” She points to a carousel of different artists’ cards. “Matt… the black card.. yep that’s it.”

You stick the matte black card in your bag and give Alex a humorous warning glare. “If he fucks my tattoo up Alex I swear to god.”

“Just make the appointment, Y/n. He’ll do good, promise. Why would I hire someone whose work I don’t trust?” She laughs and steps out from behind the counter, walking towards the door. “Now get out of my shop, I need to rest my eyes.” She laughs as she pulls the door open.

——————

You dig through your bag, pulling out hair ties, loose sticks of gum and countless receipts as you search for your favorite chapstick. “I swear I left it in here,” you think out loud, gasping as your finger slides across the corner of something sharp. You pull your hand back, sucking back a curse and see a tiny paper cut on your finger, laughing at the fact that something so small can hurt so bad. You reach back in and grab the culprit, a black sturdy rectangular card.

Fuck. It’s been 3 days.

You look over the card.

Matt Sturniolo

Appointments by text.

Come get somethin’ nice!

You pull out your phone and create a new contact, typing the 10 digit number slowly and double checking, making sure you got every single one right. You let out a sigh that you’ve been holding back, deciding to drop your worries, bite the bullet and make the appointment.

Alex won’t care, she doesn’t mind. She wants me to.

He thinks I’m a guy, funny, you think to yourself, locking your phone and sitting it on the counter.

—————

The week comes and goes, the same mundane routine dragging you through the creeping days. It’s finally Friday, meaning you’re risking the integrity of your skin on an artist you’ve never even met before, let alone vetted his work. Sure, he can draw a sketch but can he execute it just as well into your skin? The entire drive to the shop you shuffle through your playlist while your fingers absentmindedly tap against the steering wheel, mind racing with every possible outcome.

You sit in the parking lot, nerves at an all time high as you scroll through TikTok trying to numb your brain while the minutes pass. You quickly peek up to the clock on your dashboard, heaving a sigh.

5:32.

Fuck. I still have way too much time.

You groan quietly and put your phone down in your cupholder, leaning your head back against the headrest and close your eyes. Your left foot taps slowly against the footrest in your floorboard, creating a steady rhythm, pulsing along with your music that quietly hums in the speakers. You pick your head back up and grip the steering wheel with a huff, tracing your hands up and down around the warm leather.

Your eyes follow passersby as they stroll and pace down the sidewalk, essentially people watching. Your hand somehow makes its way to your mouth without realizing, your nails picking and pulling at the skin of your lips habitually. You only notice when you taste the bitter metallic flavor of blood on your tongue, silently scolding yourself as you pull down your vanity mirror.

You lick the wound and pull your sore bottom lip between your teeth, suddenly hyperaware of the shriveled, dehydrated state they’re in. Leaning across your car to reach for the glovebox, you pull it open and grab the lip oil you leave in your car for moments like this. You shut the glovebox and center yourself in the reflection of the mirror, opening the tube and applying a much too generous amount of the gloss to your lips. You smack and pucker your lips, appreciating the way they seem to come back to life, plump and slightly tinted.

You look to the side as you run your finger against the corner of your mouth, cleaning up your work. A small blackboard that sits outside the door of the shop catches your attention, propped up and smeared with chalked in words. It lists the information for an upcoming tattoo fair, has random small sketches littering the board, and lists a social media account near the bottom.

Why haven’t I ever thought of that?

You pick your phone up out of the cupholder after you slam your mirror shut, clicking the Instagram icon and typing the handle into the search bar. You click on the account, seeing that Alex’s individual account is linked at the top as well as a piercer, Darren, who you’ve met a couple of times. You scroll down through the feed, seeing copious photo collages of fresh versus healed ink and videos with music edited into the background, featuring Alex working her magic in the shop.

You scroll past a reel of Alex promoting a clean brand of tattoo healing balms, your finger coming to a still as you land on a video of a man hunched in his chair, his body leaning over as he works a tattoo gun into someone’s leg. You can’t make out much of him from the video, but he’s clad in a stone washed black t-shirt and jeans littered with ink stains. Tattoos sprawl across his left arm that pulls at the person’s skin, holding it steady as he moves the dripping needle back and forth. Though his face isn’t visible, you notice his wispy, umber brown hair that falls forward as he works. Light catches the strands and outlines each wave as they cascade over his brow bone. Scrolling down, you read the caption.

“Matt may be new but he is making himself well known in the shop! Text him to book, slots are filling up fast!”

You scroll further and find more pieces done by Matt but can’t seem to find a tagged account. Your shot nerves are soothed a bit as you examine each flawless piece of art, every one of them so perfect it’s almost like a printed photo taped to skin. You can’t deny that the man is talented. You scroll down until you reach the very first photo that mentions his name, dated three months ago just like Alex had said.

Maybe I do trust him.

You break yourself from the distraction of your phone and check the time again, quickly fixing yourself in the mirror as you realize you need to head in immediately. Your soft fingers brush down the wild flyaways in your hair in an attempt to look as put together as possible. Grabbing the handle of your bag and slinging it across your shoulder, you turn off the ignition and step out of your car, making sure to lock the doors behind you.

You feel the ground beneath your feet meeting your body in shockwaves with each step you take towards the familiar building. In the reflection of the glass you watch your figure grow closer. You let out one last deep exhale as you grip the iron handle, pulling it open and feeling the cool air shoot across your skin.

As you step in and the door falls closed behind you, you take notice that the front desk is unoccupied. Distinct chatter can be heard over the music playing in the studio just down the hall and past the foyer, deep rumbling tones that you can’t piece together. You’re familiar enough with the shop that you feel comfortable going back without a so-called escort, so you grip the handle on your shoulder and begin the walk down the dimly lit hallway.

The walls open up into the studio and the music is so loud it almost vibrates your skin. You step closer to the source of the voices, one of them being the piercer you’re familiar with. He stands talking expressively with his hands to another man who sits with his back facing you, arms behind his head as he leans back into his chair.

“Is Matt here?” You question, looking around the rest of the studio.

The men continue on with their conversation, completely unaware you’d even said anything over the racket of the rock music. Clearing your throat, you step forward, just about six feet away from them at this point and speak up once again.

“Is anyone working the desk right now?”

The piercer turns his head to face you and the man in the chair spins around, planting his feet to stop himself.

His blue eyes catch your attention first, so bright the gaze is almost difficult to keep. But you do, and so does he. He drops his hands down from the back of his head, one of his arms coming to lay on the armrest of his chair and the other stroking the stubble that peppers his chin. The tattoos across his left arm in contrast to the blank one on the right tell you that this is your guy, this is Matt.

What you don’t know is how he feels his blood pumping hot at the sight of you. He does his best to keep his eyes above your shoulders, but he can’t help letting them wander down your supple, shining skin, immediately thinking about how soft it must be. Matt sees so many women everyday, some in very compromising positions, but just the sight of you standing in front of him has made him feel weak. The way you look so innocent and bright, juxtaposing the way you’re standing in front of his sketches of skulls and anatomically correct organs being feasted on by animals.

You feel a wave of awkward silence even through the intense bass sounding through the speakers. You ask once again if anyone is working the front desk, but your voice struggles to overpower the volume. You see Matt’s cheeks pull up into a chuckle as he reaches back around to the table, fishing for his phone and clicking the volume down considerably.

You huff, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice as you repeat yourself for the fourth time. “Is anyone working the front?”

“I’m sorry honey, we don’t take walk ins.” He rasps as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “You’ll need to make an appointment.”

“I have one.” You retort, resting your weight on one of your legs.

The bearded man walks away to his piercing station, leaving the two of you in a sort of awkward staredown.

“Alex is out today, and I’m expecting a guy to be walking in any minute for my next appointment. Are you sure yours was for today?” He asks smoothly.

“You’re Matt right?”

His shoulders tense when you say his name, but he relaxes them as he nods his head. “Yeah, I’m Matt.”

“Oh, well then yeah.. I’m Y/n. Collarbone snake for 6 o’clock.” You clarify, pulling out your phone to ensure you had the date and time right.

His eyes widen and he silently scolds himself for assuming something so bold while being utterly wrong.

“Yeah, here it is.” You turn your phone to face him, stepping closer.

“I must have been tipsy when I replied or something,” he laughs and sits up in his chair, running his hands through his hair to soothe his embarrassment. “I assumed you’d be a dude for some reason.”

“No, at least not since the last time I checked.” You giggle, tossing your phone into your crowded bag.

His laugh gives you a sense of satisfaction, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he catches his breath. “Shit, that’s my bad then.” He says while pushing himself up to stand, his arms flexing under the tight sleeves of his shirt.

“No worries.” You give him a genuine smile, not wanting him to feel any more embarrassed than you can already tell he is from his flushed cheeks.

He steps forward with a long stride, his frame much larger and taller than you expected once he passes you to head to the hallway. He tries to ignore the way his pulse quickened with the way you beamed up at him moments before, walking quickly to the front desk.

You follow behind, breathing in the lingering scent his cologne leaves in his trail. Stepping in front of the counter as he grabs a stack of haphazardly sorted papers, you grab a pen from the cup in front of you.

He slides them over to you, groaning as he flips them so they’re facing your direction. “Might not be much help reading them upside down.” He chuckles. “Alright, so I’m assuming you know the drill, yeah?” He nods his head at your arms, eyes flickering over the ink.

“Mhmm..” you hum as you concentrate on crossing off and initialing boxes stating you don’t have any medical conditions hindering you from getting tattooed.

Matt watches in silence as you skim over the pages, twisting the pen between your small fingers. He places both hands on the ledge in front of him and moves ever so slightly closer, enough to watch your lashes as they brush your cheeks with each blink. If he got any closer you’d probably feel his breath hitting your skin.

You print and sign your name on the bottom of the last page, capping the pen and tossing it back into the cup. He’s stepping back as you look up at him with the papers outstretched, deciding ogling over you isn’t a very professional first impression.

“My ID is already on file.” You say as he takes the stack and turns to the side to run them through the scanner.

“Well look at you, smart girl huh?” He jokes, pressing buttons to send the papers through the machine.

You feel warmth creeping up your neck and across your cheeks as the words fall from his lips. “I mean,” you pause with a giggle, “Alex is my only artist so I know she’s got everything she needs from me.”

“And you’re cheating on her with me?” He chuckles softly as he steps out from behind the counter, turning to head back towards the studio. “Let’s get this started, shall we?” His voice is quiet, his back to you as he walks ahead.

Matt’s shirt is stretched thin across his broad shoulders, and you absentmindedly let your eyes sink down his arms, following the veins that trail from them into his hands as they swing. His walk is confident and steady, unwavering.

Part of him wishes he had let you walk ahead of him so he could selfishly glue his eyes to your legs, drinking up the way your shorts hug them perfectly. But he has to keep this professional, you’re just a customer.

He walks to his table, gripping a handle and maneuvering the headboard so that you’ll be partially sitting, partially leaning back. “Go ahead and have a seat for me.” He gestures you to the table.

You sit your bag in your lap as you adjust in the seat, a chill running through you as the cold textured leather presses against your back. Matt stands over his supply cart, looking back and forth between you and a few sheets of paper.

“I printed a few stencils but they’re all man sized..” he laughs, crumpling them up and tossing them into his trash bin. “I’m gonna have to free hand it.”

Your eyes widen as he grabs a marker off the top of the cart and pulls the lid off with his teeth, scooting his rolling chair up to your table. “Uhh.. are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Honey…” he laughs, his head falling forward before he looks up at you with a grin. “You know I sketched the design free handed, right?”

You silently curse yourself and do your best to laugh it off, but you definitely made yourself feel incredibly dumb. Somehow he switched the mood and made it feel like he was laughing with you instead of at you, though.

“Alright… first let me…” he trails off, looking around his table before replacing the marker with a fresh razor. “I know you don’t have chest hair, but I kinda have to clear the canvas regardless.” He gives you a humored smile.

He pulls his chair up, his left hand brushing your hair off of your shoulder and down your back. He grabs your tank top strap with a clenched jaw, slowly sliding it down your shoulder. His fingers feel like jolts of electricity on your skin, like he shouldn’t be touching you, but also like you want more.

He’s a tattoo artist. Alex touches me everytime she does one of my tattoos. There’s nothing weird about it, stop making it weird.

You gulp and hope that your cheeks haven’t given away your feelings as he gets the strap out of his way and leans closer. You look forward, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Matt as he slowly drags the razor across your skin.

“Alright there’s that.” He spins around and tosses the razor in the trash can, grabbing the marker once more. “Gonna sketch it out roughly right quick. It won’t look as detailed right now but I’ll add ‘em in later.” He mumbles as he tilts his head, bringing the marker to your collarbone.

Matt drags the marker across your skin with furrowed brows as he perfects the curvature of the snake to look like it’s wrapping around your bone. He can smell your sweet perfume permeating from your body, so close he can almost sniff out the individual notes. “You smell like candy.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. He bites down on his lip, shutting his eyes for a moment before he gets straight back to sketching, hoping you didn’t find it odd.

“Thank you!” You beam, “Funny enough it’s actually Prada Candy. I love it.”

He hums in response and finishes up his outline, rolling back to look at it from further away. “Sit up for me right quick.” He instructs and you listen. He nods his head, approving of his placement and sketch. “Let’s make sure you like it first.” He turns to the side and grabs a handheld mirror off his cart. He holds it out to you, his fingertips brushing yours as he hands it off.

“I love it! It’s the perfect size. Even just the sketch looks so good.” You grin as you study the purple ink in the mirror. You smile as you hand the mirror back to him, taking notice of the subtle curve of his lips.

“Great then. Already got the machine all set up and the ink wells filled. You ready?” He asks with raised eyebrows.

The look on his face tells you that you might have bitten off more than you can chew. “I… think I’m ready. Should I be worried?”

He sucks his teeth as he looks down with a stifled smirk. “Well… the collarbone isn’t the most pleasant place to get a needle jammed into your skin, I’ll leave it at that.”

You look to him with wide eyes. You’d never even considered how painful it might be, all of your other tattoos being on your arms and lower legs. “Matt, you’re scaring me.” You nervously laugh.

His stomach does a flip when you say his name for the second time today. He shoved the feeling down and reaches over, grabbing the tattoo gun in his right hand and turning it on briefly. The vibration sounds throughout the room and he assures it’s in good working condition before shutting it back off and looking up at you. “I think you’re a brave girl, you can take it.” He says lowly but causally as he rolls up next to the table, resting his left arm next to your shoulder.

The way Matt’s words fall from his lips like honey makes your skin feel as if it’s being licked with flames. You look down as he flips the gun on once again and dips the needle into the pitch black ink, the fluid dripping onto the table as he slowly raises it toward you.

“You’re gonna have to turn a little.” He almost whispers as he uses his left hand to guide your jaw to the side, giving him better access to your skin. “Alright, there we go.” He leans in as he brings the needle down into your skin, a sharp scratching and stinging pain making you gasp lightly. “You good?” He asks in a caring tone as he lifts the gun back up and scans your pained expression.

“Yeah, yeah.. I’m okay.” You breathe out. “Feels a lot different than arms and legs.”

You see him nod silently and lower the needle back to the surface of your skin, slowly pressing all the way down until he’s drawing the solid outline. He adjusts his left arm and places his warm hand onto your shoulder, his fingers gripping and pulling at the skin to keep it taut. He glances up at your face every now and again as he tattoos you, his view of your side profile and jawline begging him to keep looking. “You can move your head now. Got that upper outline all done.”

You turn your head to look at him, a smile pulling at your cheeks when you see he’s already looking up at you with hooded lids. He flashes you a small crooked grin before dipping his head back down and working on the rest of the outline. You squirm in your chair as the needle moves and works across your flesh, the area growing hot and tender.

You see a thin sheen of sweat forming on his arms under the heat of his overhead light, illuminating every dip and valley through the rolling veins on his hands. His wrist moves back and forth as he maneuvers the machine, his lip bitten between his teeth. Every few minutes his body must become sore because he moves his legs, adjusting in his seat before he brings his grip back to your shoulder.

He concentrates as he finishes the last of the outlining details, sitting up against the backrest of his chair and putting the gun down on his cart. “All done with the outline.” He smiles.

“Really?” You marvel excitedly. You peer down to take a look but huff once you realize you can’t bend your neck enough to get a good view.

Matt takes notice and leans over to grab the handheld mirror off his cart, except his left hand finds a spot atop your knee, sliding gingerly down your calf as he stretches toward his cart. As soon as his touch is there it’s gone. He leans back toward you and hands you the handle, smiling when you examine it in the mirror. “What do you think?”

You won’t lie to yourself, your pulse quickened when his hand brushed down your leg. Your only hope is he doesn’t notice the trail of goosebump he left behind in the absence of his touch. You struggle to find words, your mouth hanging open before you eventually find your voice. “I.. uh… l-looks really good.”

He exhales a small chuckle as he turns to switch the outlining needle for a shading needle. “Let me know if you need a break before I start this part.” He mumbles as he dips the set of needles into the well of ink.

You quickly shake your head. “Nope, get it over with.” You say flatly, closing your eyes. Shading is hit or miss, it either feels super relieving or like you’re getting shredded with a freshly sharpened cheese grater.

“That’s a good girl. All in one go, hm?” He murmurs as he scoots closer yet again.

He did not just say that. I’m thinking too much into this.

You give him a light chuckle and suck air in through your teeth once the needles meet your skin.

“Shhh.. you’re doing good. A lot better than a lot of crybaby men that have been on my table.” He coos as he drags the ink over the raw, bleeding skin.

If it wasn’t Matt you’d be much more of a mess. You’d probably be damn near in tears. But you can’t seem weak around him, so you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut as he shades and details the design. Your hands clench the air until your knuckles are white and throbbing, your body needing to release energy into anything other than the pain you’re in.

“Squeeze my arm if you need to. I don’t mind.” Matt proposes, stilling his movement and brushing his brown waves out of his eyes before looking at you expectantly.

You gulp and move your shaking hands to his bicep, wrapping your dainty fingers around the expanse of it lightly.

“C’mon, give me more than that.” He chuckles, “Just don’t squeeze hard enough that I fuck up your ink.”

You grip into his arm with more pressure, feeling his muscles expand and contract under his skin as he moves his forearm.

Thank god Darren left earlier. This looks so… personal.

When a small strained whimper slips out of your mouth he clears his throat, blinking hard as he wipes the tattoo with the paper towel in his left hand. He knows it’s because of the pain, he knows he shouldn’t enjoy the sound. But he does.

He can’t help himself as he finishes up the rest of the tattoo. He finds himself pressing the needle into your skin with more pressure than necessary, enough to draw more pretty sounds out of you and make you grip onto his arm. Enough for you to throw your head back onto the leather of the table, squirming your legs as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’d never do anything to mess up the integrity of his art, but god does he want to. He knows it’s wrong that his pants grow tighter with every move you make, every curse you let out as he pushes more and more ink into your skin. He sees this everyday, why is it affecting him like this?

The angel on his shoulder tells him to get the tattoo done, work fast and get you off his table. The devil on his other tells him to keep you here writhing and squeezing at him for as long as he can. His eyes drift across your sweaty face, your wet baby hairs sticking to your forehead. Your chest rises and falls as he digs in, taking his time to let the needle drag. His mind floods with sin, his hands desperately aching to pull the neckline of your tank top even a millimeter lower.

Your harsh squeeze to his arm snaps him out of his stream of thought, realizing he’d been keeping this on for too long, causing you unnecessary pain. Lifting the needle from your skin, he examines the finished piece for a moment. “All done.” He says flatly, pulling his arm from your grasp to set the machine down on his cart.

“Fuck… that was intense.” You breathe out, turning your head toward him.

“Mmm but you did great. Sat so well.” He praises as he grabs a bottle of cleaning solution.

You have no time to react before he’s squirting the liquid onto your collarbone, a harsh pulsing sting deep in your skin. “Oh that’s… fucking horrible.” You do your best to laugh through the sting.

He laughs along with you, nodding while he lets his eyes watch the droplets that flow down your chest and into the valley of your cleavage. He tears his eyes away and looks at his cart, scoffing when his box of paper towels proves empty. “Gotta go get some more paper towels,” he holds up the box, “be right back.”

“I won’t move a muscle.” You giggle and lean back onto the table.

He offers a quick smile before standing up, quickly turning around and walking to the utility closet across the studio. Once inside and out of view, he lets his hand wander down to the waistband of his jeans, slowly trailing lower to brush over his throbbing erection. He knows this is bad. He’s never had this kind of reaction to a client, and he can’t be crazy. He knows he’s seen you looking too.

He lets his rough fingertips push his shirt up and dip beneath his jeans and boxers, grabbing ahold of his pulsing cock with a slow, shaking breath. He pulls it up and tucks it into his waistband, knowing he can’t let you see the struggling tent in his pants when he walks back into the studio.

He quickly grabs a new sterile stack of paper towels and fills the empty box, sighing deeply before he begins the walk back to his station.

“They were up on a high shelf huh? Had to find a ladder?” You joke, poking fun at the fact he took longer than expected.

“Oh yeah. Had to call the fire department actually. Like when there’s a cat stuck in a tree.” He quips back with a laugh, sitting down and letting his chair roll closer to you.

He rubs the cleaning solution away and beams at his work. He may have taken longer than he needed, but damn if you didn’t get an insanely detailed snake piece. He grabs a package of Saniderm from his cart and peels the backing off, slowly applying it to the raw skin. “Leave this on for like two or three days, you can shower in it, sleep in it, the whole nine yards. It’ll start lifting and you’ll know it’s time to take it off.”

“Hmm.. Alex always uses plastic wrap.” You say questioningly, peering down at the clear bandage.

“That’s because she’s old.” He says matter of factly, peeling his gloves off and tossing them in the trash.

“She’s 35!” You chuckle and smack his shoulder.

“Yeah… old.” He replies as he fishes into his pocket. “Gotta get a picture of this, it turned out so sick.” He pulls his phone out and opens his camera, zooming in until he has the right angle and snapping a photo.

“Don’t post that, I bet I look busted.” You whine, sitting up and stretching your back.

“Well sweetheart, your face isn’t in the picture. But for the record, I think you look pretty good for a girl who just got a metric fuck ton of ink shoved into her collarbone with a needle.” He says as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

Your breath hitches inaudibly in your throat, heat lapping at your cheeks.

I have to play it cool. He didn’t call me pretty. He’s saying I took the tattoo well, that’s all.

“Thanks, Matt.” You smile, throwing your legs off the table and letting your feet hit the floor.

“After you.” He gestures his arm out as he stands, knowing he has to take the opportunity to walk behind you this time.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and walk down the hallway, feeling his eyes bore into the back of your head the entire way.

Except his eyes bore into everything he missed out on earlier. Your toned, smooth calves and up to your plush thighs that wiggle as you walk. The curve of your ass in your shorts. The way your hips sway with each step, taunting his still half-hard member.

You reach the front desk and peek into the mirror on the wall to the left of it, admiring the fresh ink. You can’t stop ogling at it as he prints out a receipt, walking up to the register and silently watching you. You turn your head to him and mumble an “oops”, stepping back to the center of the desk and grabbing the receipt from him. “Only $120?” You exclaim, widening your eyes as you look up to him.

He gives you a light nod and a shrug, brushing his hand through his fluffy waves. “You took it like a champ. Plus, I know you’ll be back. Gotta give that recurring customer discount, right?”

You know your cheeks are fire engine red at this point as you dig for your wallet, feeling as if you’re taking too long.

Am I being crazy or is that flirting? He’s flirting, right?

You open your wallet and dig out the cash, adding a generous tip to the stack before you hand it over. “I really appreciate it, Matt.”

“Not a problem. You have my number if you need anything else.” He returns as he sorts the cash into the register. He flicks his eyes back up and meets yours, a brief, almost-too-long moment of eye contact held between you two.

You blink hard a few times before clearing your throat and nodding, stepping back from the counter. “You got it. Thanks again.”

You turn on your feet and head for the door, pushing it open while your brain spins with thoughts of your encounter.

What the fuck was that?

—————

authors note: part two??? lmk 😈😈😈

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welldonekhushi · 1 year ago

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Call of Duty OC: Samantha "Butterfly" Wright 🦋

Finally, after ages, I came up with Scarlet's biography sheet! So in case you guys are curious about her, you can go through this post, hope it helps! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

If you want to see any artwork or fics on her, go to the #samantha scarlet wright tag for her content!

The tag is now changed with #samantha butterfly wright!

GENERAL

Name: Samantha

Full name: Samantha Wright

Age: 29 years old

Alias(es): Scarly (by Soap) Sammy (by her friends), Sam, Manny, Scarlet (by the teammates)

Codename: "Butterfly", Hotel Two-Six

Gender: Female

Nationality: British (UK)

Languages spoken: English (native), Arabic (conventionally), Russian (for intelligence purposes)

Date of Birth: March 9, 1984

Place of Birth: Cambridge, England

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Martial Status: Single (married in 2017 to John "Soap" MacTavish, her childhood friend — diverging canon AU)

Occupation: British SAS (Special Air Services), member of the Task Force 141

Status: Active

Rank: Sergeant

Universe: Original timeline (2011-2017), reboot (alternative AU)

Faceclaim: Jenna Coleman

Song: Tangled Up by Caro Emerald (Lokee Remix)

youtube

Biography: Samantha Wright, under the codename "Scarlet" followed her dream in joining the most elite forces of the British Army, after hearing about her father's experiences in the military. As her hard work pays off, she finally gets selected for the SAS, and then for the Task Force 141, for her skills and strength. There, she meets a very old friend, that she missed and deeply cared for..

AFFILIATIONS:

Task Force 141

Captain John Price

John "Soap" MacTavish

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Hannah "Sparrow" Clayton (@revnah1406)

Sergeant Annabelle "Kit" Pham (@applbottmjeens)

Charlotte "Jade" La Jardin (@sleepyconfusedpotato)

2nd Commando Regiment (@kaitaiga)

Sergeant Damien Whitlock

Captain Lachlan Jones

Los Vaqueros

Colonel Alejandro Vargas

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Alyssa "Aly" Martinez (@alypink)

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

Weapon induced: M4A1 Carbine, M4A1 Grenadier w/ Red Dot Sight, M14 EBR Scoped

Fighting style: Hand-to-hand-combat, martial arts, a bit of jiu-jitsu

Special skills: Has good agility, wits and strength from intensive physical and mental training.

Talents: Is able to strategise a plan for greater impact.

Shortcomings: Is a bit sensitive and confused when it comes to choosing a decision which leads to life or death.

PERSONALITY

Myers-Briggs Type: ISFP (The Adventurer)

Is a positive presence among everybody: Yes, a soldier sure is a tough-hard individual who is determined to follow their duty, but Scarlet is the opposite. She maintains her duties and also motivates and cheers others up to keep moving and never surrender, as taught by her father. The reason why others notice when Scarlet is present with them, they feel calm and encouraged.

Emotional, but also dangerous: Sure Scarlet looks like she's a sweet presence among everyone, but at the same time, we shall not forget she's SAS-trained. When things get serious, she gets serious. During some missions (1 and 2), she has shown remarkable strength and courage by eliminating enemy soldiers in combat, as if she's a different person. The cheerful presence Scarlet holds among others has another dark side inside that she never reveals, but towards her enemies.

Can indulge with anyone, and is respectful: She'd love to make friends or teammates! It doesn't mean she doesn't give importance to anyone, but she especially bonds a lot with Soap. They two have been childhood friends since the start and everyone notices how close they both are and thinks if they two are a couple. Even if Soap is her best friend and he has a superior rank, she'd still respect him as her Captain. But sure, personally, they two engage like they used to.

Very empathetic: Whether it's a random person or not who is dying in her arms, it breaks her. It happened once when she tried to save a person who was losing their life and in the end they couldn't make it. It makes her want to blame herself a bit, thinking she didn't do her duty right, even if everything wasn't in her power. Also, if she sees anyone in distress, she's able to console and help them in time of need, the reason why Scarlet is able to sympathise and understand others well.

BACKGROUND STORY

Born as Samantha Wright, she lives in a small town in England with her father, Albert Wright, who is a former SAS-soldier under the codename "Bolt", and mother Elizabeth. When Scarlet was a toddler, she used to hear stories from her father about him working in Special Air Services, an elite special forces unit, and retired the day when his one leg was brutally injured that made him unable to walk or run.

Those stories gave Scarlet an idea to also join the SAS like him, but her father chuckled and said that right now she was too young to do so. Sometime later, she met John MacTavish, who recently moved into her neighbourhood from Scotland, but wasn't happy that he shifted away from his homeland. She wanted John to be her friend, and make him familiar with the surroundings so he'll get used to everything and love staying at his new home. And soon, they two grew closer, and became best friends.

They two had a similar goal — to join the defense. And one day, that day had to come between the two, when John had to leave for military school. Bidding her best friend a bittersweet farewell, unsure what future has for them in between, John encouraged her to follow her dreams. Taking that as a motivation, Scarlet kept John close to heart, while continuing her aspiration to join the SAS.

Her father got to know about her plan, saying that it won't be easy, since the SAS had the toughest selection processes. That sure unsettled her for a while, but didn't make her back off from her decision respectively. Instead, she learnt a couple of exercises, tips and tricks on self-defense from him that mentally and physically prepared her fully at the same time.

When she recruited herself in the selection process, it was an absolutely different experience for her. The way her mind drastically changed during the training quite traumatized and scared her, knowing what it feels to be in the SAS. But, keeping her father's words by her side, she didn't let the weakness and fear sink her in and moved on further. At times, she was ridiculed by others that she'd never be able to complete the process, but chuckled it all out instead.

The day came, when her hard work paid off, and she finally became eligible for the special forces. It was a blessed feeling for her, as if luck always stood by her side. And this is where, her journey begins..

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hahaifolded · 5 months ago

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141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Thanks for the ticket Author's Notes: okay so the next four are kinda like fun (nothing fun about them really) one shots. They are building up to something... Warnings: MDNI, Angst

Kyle feels horrible for what's happening. He sees the confusion all over your face. He can see yourself questioning your abilities, your self-worth. He hates it. He hates that the team is hurting you. That he's hurting you.

But, to his relief, it seemed like the tension between the guys eased up a bit after that last mission. Maybe the rest of them got over their little crush on you. If the competition was over, then that meant the problem was over. If no one else wanted you (which the sergeant thought was dumb on their parts), then no one should have a problem when he swoops in.

So after a week of scouting all over the internet, Kyle managed to get two tickets to that concert you've been wanting to go. You had vented to Gaz when you weren't able to get tickets for your favorite artist. He remembers comforting you and even listening to a few songs with you. But now, instead of listening to music in his office, you and him were going to listen to that artist live... tonight.

Kyle's heart was racing as y’all’s tickets sat on his screen. As badly as he wanted to rush in to your office and show you himself, he decided to be discreet about it. He was pretty sure that the rest of the guys were over their little infatuation with you, but just in case, he decides to email them to you. Maybe, you'll let out a little scream, rush into his office, and ask him if they're what you think they are.

As he hovers over your email in the dropdown bar, he feels butterflies in his stomach. This was his way in. This was his way to make things right and maybe the first step in wooing you.

However, before he can click your name, he hears someone call his name. It's Price and he’s getting closer and closer to this office. Kyle fumbles over his mouse, clicking things, frantically trying to hide the tickets. As they fly off his screen, Price appears at his doorway, letting him know that the intel meeting was about to start.

The meeting starts and Gaz is simmering in anticipation. He decides that after the meeting, he'll go up to you and show you the tickets on his phone. He didn't care if the rest of the guys saw. So what if Soap whines or Price complains later? What if Ghost... wait... why was Ghost staring at him?

Gaz looks over and sees his Lieutenant glaring at him. Kyle nods his head towards him, asking what’s his deal. Ghost pulls out his phone and types on it. Within seconds, Gaz feels his own phone buzz. Curious, Kyle reads his Lieutenant's message and his stomach sinks.

Ghost: Really think you can just get the upper hand on us like that?

Kyle rushes to his emails and realizes his mistake. He accidentally sent the tickets to Ghost. He looks back at Ghost. Ghost’s stare doesn’t waver. This motherfucker was trying to intimidate him. Gaz couldn’t believe it. Whatever, it doesn't matter. Gaz wasn’t going to let Ghost get under his skin.

As the meeting comes to a close, you see Kyle shoot up from his seat. He must have something pressing to do. You feel your heart race when he starts walking toward you. You try to suppress your excitement. He probably just needs some report from you or something. You see Gaz open his mouth but before he can speak, Ghost calls his name.

"Gaz, thanks for the tickets. Real excited for the concert tonight," he booms out. Soap and Price continue packing, not paying much attention to the conversation that was happening. You, however, are now tuned in.

"Oo, that's fun. What concert are you going to?" you ask. They never ask what you were doing as of lately, but maybe they will if you sparked the conversation up first.

"I actually don't know. Gaz just invited me," Ghost lies. "Who are we going to see, Kyle?" Ghost turns to the sergeant, taunting him.

Gaz knew exactly what Ghost was doing. There were two options here, either Kyle concedes and lets Ghost win or he tells Ghost to fuck off and whisks you off your feet. He glares at Ghost, set on following through on his plan before turning to you.

However, when he sees your curious eyes, he remembers what's at risk. Ghost isn't going to go down without a fight. If Kyle starts, the infighting will start up again, meaning that you'd be gone the minute Price catches a whiff of it.

You see Kyle waver a bit before he says the name of your favorite artist. You're in disbelief. You didn't think Gaz even listened to them like that. Fuck, you showed them to him a few weeks ago when you complained to him about not getting tickets. But now here he was with tickets, taking Ghost to see your favorite artist. Sure he didn’t have to take you but you literally shared with him how much this artist meant to you. He listened to you, comforted you, and reassured you that one day it’ll happen.

Kyle doesn't miss the betrayal that flashes before your eyes or the way your smile wobbles.

"Oh," you let out, "I hope you guys have fun." You leave the room, your chest stinging with betrayal.

That night, when Ghost drags Kyle to the concert, Kyle's throat tightens when your favorite song starts to play.

Word Count: 927

More Thoughts - Next Thought

#cod x poc!reader #cod angst #cod fanfic #cod x reader #tf 141 x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader

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enhypencores · 7 months ago

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Ni-ki X Y/N

Genre: Romance/Angst/ Fluff/ Hurt-comfort

Word Count: 4K+

Warning: suggestive, slightly angsty

Synopsis: relentless schedule and physical distance from his girlfriend has already strained his nerves. But when Ni-ki finally reunites with you after a long month, he is met with useless nagging instead of affection, pushing him over the edge. The harsh words he utters in the heat of the moment may cause severe consequences.

where a childish argument sparks up your silent treatment and a clingy—jealous ni-ki will do anything for your forgiveness.

idol niki x culinary student y/n

The room, seemingly more like the inside of a coffin, dwells in darkness and reeks of ancient pizza, boxes scattered on the dust-covered floor as evidence. You can barely walk without stepping against something grimy and viscous trickling down your bare feet as if protesting against your invasion.

It’s not like you want to proceed inside this filthy den where the air is thick with the stench of rotting food but unfortunate for you, you happen to have a boyfriend who lives in this atrocious environment. Your eyes catch the faint light of his small device in the bleak darkness, and you sigh in frustration as you finally manage to make it to his bed after dodging lumps of dirt, food and empty cola bottles.

He’s rolled over on his stomach with his back to you, a Nintendo switch in his grasp as he’s fully immersed in the game, vigorously pressing his thumb on the buttons.

Your heart almost softens at the sight, but you’re soon reminded of your surroundings as you feel the wetness pooling at the edge of his bed. Your fists clench in frustration, and you reach out to grab his blanket, flinging it off.

Brows knitting up, he turns, preparing to spew insults, assuming Jake has returned to steal more of his clothes. His jaw clenches shut, eyes widening in disbelief as he sees beautiful eyes blink down at him. He almost knocks himself off the bed, blinking in a daze. His lips curve up, a familiar warmth grazing his previously scowling expression.

“Baby?” Ni-ki rasps. Contrasting from his sharp gaze, his gentle tone which he only uses to address you, sparks butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t notice the scowl contorting your features— maybe too excited about seeing you after a distraught month as he sits up on his knees and yanks you down in his arms. Your chest tingles at the familiar warmth as his scent washes over you.

Despite the absolute disaster of a room, Ni-ki smells of soap and faint cologne, his damp hair brushing against your cheeks as he holds you tight against his chest. You know he only applies hygienic efforts to himself and not his surroundings.

You want to melt into his embrace and cling to his frame, but the surrounding wreckage snaps you out of it. You push at his shoulders, forcing him away to stand upright.

Now, even the darkness doesn’t hide the absolute disappointment written across your features as you stare down at him. “I come to see you, thinking, finally, I’ll spend one free night with my boyfriend watching a movie, but you’re here snacking and playing video games,” you pointedly accuse, your gaze narrowed in anger.

Ni-ki winces, used to your gentle and sweet tone. Uncomfortable, he straightens up, and you hear his scapula release a crack as if crying in relief. Your anger flares up more at the sound.

“Have you hibernated since the tour? Jungwon and Sunoo said they haven’t even seen you in days and they literally live here.” You fold your arms over your chest, aggravated.

Ni-ki breathes harder through his nose as he stands up, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. Yellow streaks gleam in the brown moss of hair, his gaze running over your face in silence. He hasn’t seen you in weeks, and the urge to drown you in hugs and kisses overrides your infuriated words.

“I missed you— come’re.” He tries to tug you close, but you block his embrace, turning away and trudging through the mess to flicker the lights on.

The abrupt flash of fluorescents makes Ni-ki squint, his lips pressing together and jaw tightening. You settle your eyes on Ni-ki.

Dressed in a grey hoodie and sweatpants, he appears incredibly frail and thin, jawline contorting as he watches you with narrowed eyes. You can’t help but grimace as you notice the eye bags weighing down his face.

Your gaze softens. He looks unhealthily thin and pale. Suddenly, you want to cook him his favourite yakitori, rice, miso soup and teriyaki sashimi.

Truthfully, you loved cooking for your boyfriend. Despite being tired after training, you always made sure to feed him since he called it the best Japanese cuisine, sprinkling in a ‘better than my mother but don’t tell her’ which always made you laugh.

As soon as his vision accommodates, he feels his heart stutter. You’re a sight for sore eyes, bangs falling against your fluttering lashes, plump lips downturned, and brows arched pointedly. Even when you’re irritated, you’re the prettiest.

Ni-ki begins to approach you, making sure to steer clear of the cans of energy drinks loitering on the floor.

“Stay where you are,” you huff as your gaze roams the expanse.

Now, you can clearly see the pizza boxes, tissues and ketchup packs scattered on the floor; clothes and baseball caps that should’ve been in the laundry basket ages ago balled up in the corner of his room; PlayStation wires hanging down the television trailing across the centre, looping over the listless cola bottles.

“Ni-ki, this room is a disaster. Clean it up,” you command, your voice firm and unwavering.

His smile falters, fists clenching as he feels fury bubble up his throat.

After getting done with the hectic tour, Enhypen is finally awarded a break from activities— a two-week long break before he is pulled back into long practice sessions which last till night passes into dawn, till his muscles cry out in torment, till his body craves nothing but the softness of your curves. But of course, you had a job— much like him, and despite his desire to get you to himself, he knows you are a social butterfly, and your heart belongs in the culinary world. He hates this capitalist society and despises your company and his own for overworking you both.

Late-night calls and once-a-week encounters are his only getaway from the draining schedule.

But even these once-a-week encounters when he can recharge are now infected with your anger.

“Can’t you at least greet me with a kiss like a nice girlfriend before turning into my mother?” He snaps, glaring daggers as he watches you grab a few of his jackets from the floor to fold.

You roll your eyes, leaning down to pick up more of his clothes, folding them keenly before setting them on the edge of his bedding.

“I’m heading out to cook. Clean this place up,” you ignore his tantrums, speaking firmly before shifting away to leave.

As he watches you turn away, he feels his blood pressure rise, head pounding in disbelief at the sheer audacity of your actions.

You come to him after what seems like forever, and still, your love for him is less than your love for the arts. He’s certain even if you reunited with him after years, you’d prioritise your passions and leave him to master some fucking expensive caviar recipe you learned from a Russian chef in culinary school.

“Y/N, get back here right now,” he speaks through gritted teeth, and you pause in your tracks, taken aback by the sudden bitterness.

Chest heaving, he approaches you, heat pumping through his pale skin, painting his face red.

Closer than ever, he towers over you, making you feel so small. His eyes are narrower, sharp as a blade, cutting through you as he stares down. For a moment, you think he’ll knock you to the ground, but you see him shake his head, waves of fury coursing through his frame.

“Do you ever fucking miss me?” He utters with so much venom that he shakes with the bitterness of it.

You wince. Your lips part in horror. You want to say something, but the words have dissolved on your tongue.

He waits for a moment and then cracks a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, running fingers through his strands in a frenzy. “Of course, you don’t. Ten days or ten months, why would you care?” He sarcastically rasps. His words reverberate against the walls and slice through you.

Pure rage fuels through your veins, and you edge closer. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I finished up all my training to hurry to you, but I see you holed up in this stinky dorm room playing video games—” You choke up.

“Don’t show up then!” He shrieks with resolution, eyes widening purposefully. He turns away and kicks at the pile of bottles blocking his path, unleashing his wrath on the inanimate objects. “Get out! Leave me to rot in this stinky dorm!”

The room immediately goes eerily silent.

Except Ni-ki hears the shill thumping of a pulse above his ear, indicating an incoming migraine. His body feels like it’ll burst with how tumultuously the anger and frustration bubble inside his blood. He can feel the heat shoot through his arteries and collect at the back of his pupils. Distressed, he shuts his eyes and rubs a hand down his face as the ache begins to pound within his entire head.

And then, the walls mock him, reverberating the words spewed out of his mouth just a second ago. Like someone’s toppled a bucket of ice over his head, his breath hitches with realisation. He whips around, intending to fall to his knees and kiss your feet for forgiveness.

His jaw tightens.

He meets your absence.

In a fit of rage, he didn’t see your face crumble, lips tremble; he didn’t hear the sniffle and shuffling as you walked out— away from him.

He can count the times he’s unleashed his anger upon you on a single hand. Usually, he holds back, knowing that whatever was to come out in a fit of rage was absolute bullshit.

“Don’t show up then!”

“Get out! Leave me to rot in this stinky dorm!”

He groans, fisting his hair in disbelief. How dare he use such words towards you? Ni-ki fumes and curses himself. He begins to frantically pace when he stumbles against the empty boxes and cans piling up. Suddenly, he feels the urge to throw himself off the Han River.

Of fucking course, you’re right.

It looks like a bunch of apes ransacked his room, dirt and clothes scattered with food and soft drinks spilt on the grimy floor. This isn’t liveable. How did he spend weeks cooped up in this nightmare— he’ll never know.

Ni-ki determinedly leans over and collects the clothing items, hanging his jackets on the rack while folding his shirts and jerseys to keep in a neat pile. He grabs a pack of tissues, dampens them from the bathroom sink and uses it to scrub off the dried juices from the floor.

While gathering the pizza boxes and tissues, he discovers Jake’s long-lost tie under his bed. He grabs the vacuum cleaner from his storage closet, plugs it in and runs it over the remaining crumbs and dust. The machine’s groaning only further riles up his migraine, pinching the nerves in torment; however, Ni-ki is determined to make this place spotless— worthy of your presence.

Two heads poke out from behind the door, lured by the blaring sounds of the machine. Sunoo’s eyes widen, and Jake’s jaw drops at the sight.

“Do you see what I see?” Jake whispers, scared the fantasy would shatter if he spoke any louder, staring in a daze, watching as the younger boy lay on his stomach to push the vacuum under the bed till it scraped the other end.

“Nishimura Ri-ki cleaning? I see it,” Sunoo confirms, blinking rapidly.

“Hell, this must be the end of the world,” another surprised voice joins the duo, and Jake and Sunoo look up, confused at the third intrusion. Heeseung stands towering behind Sunoo’s head, peaking inside with wonder.

Ni-ki simply ignores them, extra concerned with scrubbing the place clean to quickly find his way to you. Gradually, the lair becomes a civilised room with breathable air. Ni-ki lights up your favourite vanilla-scented candles and inhales deeply, observing the expanse.

Primarily, his room was pretty sleek with a tenebrous elegancy, grey curtains, light-toned carpet and a chic black couch custom-made from Japan, all chosen to his liking. The side table carries some figurines and a pile of his favourite manga collections. In the second drawer, he likes to store hair ties, skincare products, and plushies so he can convince you to have a sleepover every time you visit. Even his wardrobe lingers with your presence. Once, when Ni-ki caught Jake wearing a hoodie that still smelled of you, he pounced on him and ripped it off the petrified Australian. From then on, Ni-ki forbade any member from touching his things. For extra precaution, he still separated specific items you liked, sparing a section to all his hoodies you wore.

Ni-ki runs a hand over his messy hair, patting down his pants and hoodie for any dust before heading out of his room.

The hallway is now perturbingly empty, and the adjacent doors to his room are shut. Ni-ki hastens inside Sunoo’s room, usually finding you seated and binging shows. Instead, he discovers Sunoo on his PC, watching some romantic anime. He dashes off and checks Jake and Heeseung’s room, but you’re nowhere to be found.

A surge of panic courses through him, thinking you’ve really left. He hastens down the hallway, stopping to check the guest bathroom (also empty) and dashing down the stairs.

As he hurries down the last step, his frantic gaze roams the expanse before pausing at the open kitchen. He freezes, his foot hanging over the previous step. His heart swells with relief.

Thank fuck, you’re exactly where you belong—right before his eyes.

With denim sleeves rolled up and hair clipped in a messy bun, you’re immersed in stirring the pot, looking absolutely ethereal in your element. Ni-ki’s breath stutters as he admires you in your own little world.

When you stepped into a kitchen, no amount of distractions could shift your focus. It was one of the things he loved about you: putting a little of your heart into everything you do. But it was also something he disliked about you. If everything in the world takes a little of your heart, what’s left for him?

He gulps down the burning sensation, reminding himself of his earlier stupidity. He kicked you out of his room.

God, he wants to smack himself so badly.

Carefully, Ni-ki takes calculated steps towards the kitchen. And like he predicts, you don’t notice, too consumed by whatever was in the pan. He sneaks up from behind and stands beside you, purposefully brushing his shoulder with yours to make you wary of his presence.

You freeze and spare him a glance. And then he notices the immediate grimace and frown weighing down your beautiful face. His heart drops further into his stomach as you look away, attending to your recipe.

He nibbles on his lower lip. He suddenly feels nervous. His palms itch, and his chest tightens with discomfort. His gaze lingers on your face, yearning for your attention. He internally begs for you to speak— shout— maybe even curse him out. You don’t do any such thing.

Instead, you wash the rice and toss some diced green vegetables in the pan with chicken bits, stir-frying it together. He leans forward, sniffing the steaming chicken, gulping down the tightness in his throat.

He finds his voice. “Teriyaki stir fry— for me?” He tries to sound optimistic, but his voice is weak with tension. His pretence is crystal clear.

Silence. Pin drop- deafening silence. It’s supposed to be good for his migraine, but your silence just makes the throbbing sensation concentrate even more, so much so that he feels a gruesome pain stir up in his neck.

His frustration mounts as he sees you turn away to wash the dirty dishes in the sink.

The silence begins to kill him. Agitated, he grabs at your shoulders, whirling you in his arms. You gasp as your palms flatten against his chest to steady yourself.

You glance up with wide eyes, and his gaze immediately softens. “Say something,” he urges, browns of his eyes drained with yearning.

His touch on your arms sends pleasurable ripples down your body, but you don’t make it known. Instead, you offer him a cold, obstinate expression, your mouth sealed shut in stubborn rage.

He feels pathetic as you look at him with steely eyes before pushing away and returning to wash the dishes. His gaze narrows in frustration. His fists tighten as a horrifying thought plagues his mind: the thought that you’ll give him the silent treatment till his last day in Korea, and he has to fly out before he gets to fix this.

Just the thought of leaving you makes him lose it.

Distressed, he bites his lip and fists his hair.

Think. Think. Think.

He spots the searing chicken, and suddenly, everything plays out before him. He envisions you coming to him with the food. You’ll have to talk to him when you give him his lunch.

He restrains a smile and waits for you to get done, arms folded over his chest as he leans against the kitchen counter, watching you intently.

Soon, you return to the stove and empty the pan on a clean plate. You scoop the rice from the cooker and serve it with sophisticated chef-like precision. You have a knack for presenting any dish—even something as simple as instant ramen—as if it belongs in a Michelin-star restaurant.

His mouth waters as he stares at the heat simmer. He can already taste the juices in his mouth. And then he patiently waits.

Your gaze roams the living room as you hold up the tray. His bashful smile widens as you approach him.

And then both his smile and heart drop when you walk past him towards the hallway— in the complete opposite fucking direction to his room. His jaw tightens as he rushes behind like a lost puppy, his confusion mounting as he sees you approach another room—Jungwon’s room.

The door is answered immediately as if he had been awaiting your arrival.

Jungwon’s smile widens, shaking the bangs out of his sight, his dimple peaking out charmingly. “I told you this wasn’t necessary, Y/N,” he chimes, but he stares at the scrumptious platter, licking his lips in excitement.

As you walked out of Ni-ki’s dorm, wiping tears from your eyes, you bumped heads with Jungwon, who instantly noticed how upset you appeared. He knew you were the most in your element whenever you cooked, so he brought up how badly he craved your stir fry. And that was all it took for you to work your magic.

God, Ni-ki was so lucky.

If Jungwon had a girlfriend as caring and talented in the kitchen, he’d probably lose his mind and devour everything you cooked like a ravenous beast.

“You said you were hungry, so I thought I’d cook you your favourite.” You give him an adorable smile, handing him the warm tray.

“Thank you, our lovely master chef!” Jungwon compliments, and you giggle softly at the nickname.

The sound makes Ni-ki sick. Your breathtaking smile directed towards someone who isn’t him makes him nauseous. The plate carrying flavours you created for someone else to devour makes him burn with resentment. The food that took so much effort to make intended for another member and not your fucking boyfriend makes Ni-ki violent. He’s never hated the sight of your food before today.

As you walk away, ignoring his presence, he hears a dull ringing in his ear. The bubbling frustration and anger have started to take a toll on his body.

It was questionable how ten hours of practice, sleepless nights and continuous shows didn’t make him this ill. But you have the power to bring him to his knees.

Jungwon notices Ni-ki standing motionless by the wall and meets his eyes with confusion.

Worst fucking mistake ever.

Predatory eyes, murderous—poisoning black holes stare him down. It doesn’t help that Ni-ki’s taller, and Jungwon shrinks, his mouth drying up in voiceless horror. Ni-ki steps forward, and Jungwon gulps, suddenly forgetting that he’s older.

Ni-ki grabs the chicken and stuffs it in his mouth. The threatening glare is enough for Jungwon to shut his mouth before Ni-ki marches away.

When Jungwon recovers, he notices only bits of capsicum and onion with plain rice remain.

Fucking Nishimura Ri-ki downed all the steaming chicken in one bite.

Jungwon withholds a groan and slams his door shut.

Meanwhile, you’re back in the living room, answering a phone call from a friend, fretting over the recent assignment. While you’re explaining it to her, you notice a towering presence behind you, his familiar cologne invading your senses even before you can turn to inspect the intrusion.

You ignore his presence, clarifying the assignment’s nuances. You assume he’ll tire out and leave to his room— the one he kicked you out of— eventually, but your breath gets caught in your throat when he grabs your wrist, jerking you close.

Your words morph into a screech of horror as Ni-ki effortlessly hoists you up on his shoulder. You’re upside down, screaming and throwing a tantrum as the phone escapes your grasp, a shrill scream of defiance leaving your mouth. You try kicking him, but he takes determined steps towards the hallway.

In a frantic haze, you catch sight of Sunoo and Jake standing in their doorway, peering to inspect the commotion. You scream for help, and for a second, you think Sunoo’s about to jump in to save your ass, but as if he’s seen a ghost— he freezes in his tracks. His fearful gaze lingers on Ni-ki, and he edges back inside, offering you nothing but an empathetic smile.

You want to curse the cowards out, but by the time you find your voice, you’re already inside Ni-ki’s room, and he’s locked the door shut. He takes you to his bed, then gently sits you on the bedding.

With your blood boiling, you can’t even meet his eyes. You attempt to reach the door, but he clenches your wrist and pulls you back. Consumed by violent rage, you punch his chest.

He takes it—without even a change to his breathing and remains blocking your path like a wall.

One. Two.

Three. Four.

By the fifth one, your fist hurts. You look up in distress.

Finally. He breathes.

You finally spare him a glance.

He feels the burden on his chest lighten, his tense frame easing as you finally spare him your complete attention— unfavourable attention but better than feeling like the discrete air that passes by.

“Give me any bruise you want, curse me out— I beg you, just don’t do this to me,” he’s stuttering, his voice low and brittle as he tries to suppress his fears.

Whenever Ni-ki sulks, his small eyes go round, and his lips pucker unintentionally. You almost falter at the sight, but his earlier words itch your insides, and you rip your wrist from his grasp in resentment.

“I would rather be anywhere else than in your fucking room.” He winces at the cruel tone, his eyes flashing with hurt as you attempt to walk off. Panic-stricken, he pushes down on your shoulders until you’re dropping onto the sheets.

Immediately, he drops to his knees and grabs your hand, pressing his lips to the back in soft kisses.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, and you feel his lips quiver against your skin. He trails kisses around until he’s peppering them in your palms.

“I’m a fucking moron— I’m sorry,” he chokes up and presses his entire face inside the warmth of your hands. You feel dampness.

Your heart throbs in torment.

“This is your room before it’s mine,” he mumbles and kisses your palms repeatedly. “You were just being your caring self—helping me get my shit together. I— I missed you so badly this month. I haven’t stopped thinking of you since the day I left,” his voice cracks.

Unknowingly, you’re also crying. You realise when wetness trails down your cheeks, and you tremble as emotions overwhelm you.

You lean down and caress his hair. “I missed you too, Riki.”

He feels a tug in his heart when you call him his real name, his chest suddenly tightening as he recalls just how terribly he missed you. And then how awfully he treated you.

He looks up with watery eyes, hair falling against his vision, and his insides shrivel in defeat. He hates your tears. Realising he’s made you cry over his stupidity, he wants to throw himself off the roof. A burning ache pools within his chest.

He releases a groan, wiping at your tears persistently.

“I’m sorry too,” you cry, and he wishes he could really burn himself alive.

“Why the fuck are you apologising?” His eyes burn with restrained anger.

He wishes you’d scold him and call it a day like any normal fucking girlfriend. But you’re his girl, insanely warm and disgustingly understanding—to him, always.

“I know I should’ve wrapped you in my arms before lashing out about how dirty the room is,” you admit, your lips pressing together with guilt. He’s watching you with confused anger as if he wants to refuse everything that escapes your mouth, but you eagerly complete your words.

“I just hate how badly overworked you are. I hate not seeing you for months. And I hate how you can’t be a normal nineteen-year-old like me. I know you aren’t some careless guy throwing a tantrum. You’re struggling to breathe in this rigorous world of stardom where one slip-up means the end of your career, where you cannot be anything less than perfect.”

As you talk about his struggles, he feels a tighter knot begin to clog his throat. Discomfort ceases his chest, and his eyes burn. His chest heaves with unspent tension.

You sniff and wipe at your cheeks. “And I guess walking into this room reminded me of your struggles. And then, I noticed how thin you’ve become— and wanted to cook you some—”

He gets off his knees, pouncing on top of you, his mouth clashing against yours in a passionate kiss. You tumble back with his body pressing down in desperate urgency.

Your breath is caught in your throat, lips frantically trying to match his intensity. His kiss dries your mouth; it’s so demanding and urgent like he’s getting to breathe air after ages. His tongue invades and intertwines with yours, sucking vehemently on your tongue for your taste. You’re a moaning, panting mess as his hands hold down your waist. He squeezes you in his hold, pushing his tongue deeper into your mouth like a depraved man.

You push at his neck defeatedly once you feel oxygen run out. He groans into your mouth, indicating his displeasure, but relents when your nails dig into his neck, forming painful crescents.

His face hovers over yours, heavy breath lingering against your gasping mouth. Impatiently, he stares into your eyes like he wants to transfer some of his energy and resilience to your body so you can let him kiss you however badly he wants. Magically, even his migraine has started to dispel— and his chest feels lighter. He also wants to smile and laugh like a lunatic and kiss you till your mouth bleeds.

The tension in your frame thickens as he rubs his nose against yours, still eyeing your heaving, flushed frame in yearning.

Warmth colours your cheeks, dried tears blinking along your lashes. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He drags his nose against your cheek and drops a noisy kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“But whatever it is, it doesn’t excuse feeding hyung before me.”

You’re confused and ready to argue, but he’s already latched his mouth onto yours, attempting to make up for all the past time. After all, he still needs to put his hands everywhere and remind you of his touch, sulk because you cooked for Jungwon, plead for ramen with tofu to stuff himself full, convince you to sleep over and feed him all night.

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oaksgrove · 2 months ago

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A Captain for Christmas

pairing: John Price x Reader

synopsis: You’ve been Kyle “Gaz” Garrick’s best friend for years, but this Christmas, he’s determined to play matchmaker. From mistletoe ambushes to not-so-subtle hints, he won’t rest until you and Captain Price have a holiday romance for the books.

word count: 1085

warnings: None, just fluff, holiday cheer, and meddling best friends!

a/n: It's almost christmas so thats my gift for y'all. Merry Christmas mates! <3

Captain’s New Year, A Captain for Christmas sequel!

The invitation came out of nowhere.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Gaz said, waving the 141’s Christmas dinner invite in front of you like a golden ticket. “Good food, good company… You’re not going to sit at home eating instant noodles again, are you?”

You shot him a flat look. “It was once, Kyle. And I was tired.”

“Whatever you say,” he teased, grinning as he dropped onto the couch beside you. “But you’re coming. No arguments.”

You sighed, already sensing you weren’t going to win this one. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of you didn’t want to.

That’s how you ended up at the 141’s Christmas dinner party, clutching a mug of mulled wine and feeling entirely out of place. The room was warm and lively, filled with laughter and the soft clinking of glasses. But you couldn’t shake the nerves curling in your stomach like an unwelcome guest.

The team was kind, welcoming in their own way, but it was obvious they shared a bond you couldn’t quite touch. You watched the way they bantered, teased, and laughed—years of trust woven into every word. It made you ache for something you couldn’t quite name.

“Relax,” Gaz whispered beside you, leaning in with a nudge. “They’re just people.”

“Intimidating people,” you muttered, your eyes flicking toward Captain John Price at the head of the table.

He had an air about him—quiet, commanding, the kind of presence that filled a room without trying. Yet, when he caught Soap’s wild hand gestures and chuckled under his breath, there was something so… human about him.

“Don’t let the beard fool you,” Gaz said with a smirk. “He’s not as grumpy as he looks.”

Before you could respond, Price’s deep voice cut through the din. “Kyle, aren’t you going to introduce us to your guest?”

Your cheeks flushed as all eyes turned toward you.

“This,” Gaz said, clapping a hand on your shoulder, “is my best mate. Been through thick and thin together.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Price said, his tone polite but curious as his eyes settled on you. He extended a hand, and you shook it, your palm warm against his.

“Likewise,” you managed, though the butterflies in your stomach were threatening to take flight.

The night carried on, and you started to relax—or at least fake it well enough. Soap’s loud laughter and over-the-top stories were impossible not to enjoy, and the food was something out of a holiday dream.

Still, your gaze kept drifting to Price. The way his eyes softened when he spoke to his team, the quiet authority in his posture. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at you—noticing when your glass was empty, offering a subtle smile when you caught him glancing your way.

And those glances… they made your heart stutter.

Gaz, ever the sharp-eyed friend, leaned in close. “You’re smitten,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“Am not,” you shot back, glaring at him.

He grinned, leaning back smugly. “You’re terrible at lying.”

You wanted to argue, but the truth lodged itself in your throat. Because the fact was, you were smitten. And you hated how obvious it was.

As the night moved to gift exchanges and drinks in the sitting room, you noticed Gaz was acting… strange. Disappearing and reappearing with that mischievous glint in his eye that meant trouble. You didn’t think much of it until Soap’s exaggerated gasp drew everyone’s attention.

“Oi, what’s this?”

You turned to see him pointing at the doorway, where a sprig of mistletoe dangled conspicuously.

“Who put that there?” Soap asked, his grin wide enough to split his face.

Gaz raised his hand nonchalantly. “Festive spirit, mate. Thought it’d add to the ambiance.”

Your stomach dropped. You shot him a look that promised retribution, but before you could say a word, you noticed Price looking at the mistletoe. Then at you.

For a moment, he hesitated, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate but gentle.

“Tradition’s tradition,” he said softly, holding out his hand.

Your heart raced as you placed yours in his. The world seemed to hold its breath as he leaned in, pressing a warm, fleeting kiss to your cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his breath brushing your skin.

Your cheeks burned, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Merry Christmas, Captain.”

The room erupted into cheers and whistles, Soap’s voice loudest of all. “Get in there, Price!”

But you barely heard them, too caught up in the way Price’s blue eyes lingered on yours, like he was seeing something he wasn’t quite ready to let go of.

Later, when the room had quieted and you’d stepped out onto the porch for some air, you replayed the moment in your mind. Your hand drifted to your cheek, the warmth of his kiss still lingering there.

The door creaked open behind you, and you turned to see Price stepping out, his coat slung over his arm.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, his voice calm and steady as always.

You smiled faintly. “Needed some air.”

He nodded, leaning against the railing beside you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Gaz… he’s been meddling, hasn’t he?” Price asked, his lips twitching into a small smile.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “He’s not exactly subtle.”

“No, he’s not,” Price agreed, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.

Silence settled again, but this time it felt different—heavier, more charged. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the way the soft glow of the porch light caught the edges of his beard.

“For what it’s worth,” he said finally, his voice low and sincere, “I’m glad he did.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

“If you’re free,” he continued, his gaze meeting yours, steady and warm, “I’d like to take you out. Properly. No meddling sergeants involved.”

You blinked, the words sinking in slowly. Then, a smile broke across your face—soft, nervous, but genuine.

“Alright, Captain,” you said, your voice teasing but light. “You’ve got yourself a date.”

And as the two of you stepped back inside, Gaz’s smug grin waiting for you, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this Christmas was the start of something far greater than you ever imagined.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod 141 #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john price #john price x reader #captain price #captain price x reader #price x reader

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evanpeterswhoresblog · 8 months ago

Text

Sleepless Nights

Remus Lupin x f!reader

warnings: smut, idk if it’s protected p in v, fingering, making out, rough sex, so idk what it’s called but spoiler the other boys watch/ listen? yeahhhhh

summary: the cure to your sleepless night rests in your boyfriends bed…

word count: 1.8k

a/n: i love this teehee hope you enjoy.

~~~

It was dark. Almost pitch black. Your arms were cold, you were just in a tank top and small pajama shorts, you rubbed your hands over them a few times before gently letting one fall to the doorknob. You shouldn’t have been there, you knew that. But sleep seemed impossible that night and the only cure you could think of was your boyfriend's warm embrace. He was surely asleep by then, but it wouldn’t hurt to surprise him. So, with your heart pounding in your chest you slowly twisted the doorknob.

The door creaked as you pushed it open. You held your breath with nervousness. You could barely see a thing. The temptation to light your wand up filled you, but you left your wand in your dorm and even if you had it, you couldn’t light it. There were four sleeping boys in the room after all.

You closed the door behind you swiftly before you began to take careful steps through the room, using your hands to guide you. His bed was the furthest from the door, unfortunately, but you could find it even in the dark. You were very familiar with it after all.

Once you reached his bed, you found his curtains were open. That wasn’t a surprise. The marauders were very close, you knew they didn’t keep many secrets from each other. Remus always told you how comfortable he felt with the boys. They were his family.

You felt around the bed to see where he was, and thankfully he was positioned more toward the other side of the mattress. You slipped into the bed and under the covers quickly. Remus shifted.

“What...?”

“It’s me, love,” you whispered. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He relaxed a bit and turned to face you. Through the darkness, you could barely see the outline of his face. But just knowing he was there looking at you made the tension in your head fade. You felt one of his hands suddenly on your waist, he used it to pull your body against his. You snuggled into him instantly.

“Bad dream?” He asked. His voice was deep, sleepy, and at that moment extremely attractive.

“No, I’m just... restless,” you answered. Your head was in his chest, you could smell his cologne and soap. It made your head spin. You were mad for him.

“Ah, well I hope I can help,” he mumbled and kissed your forehead before resting his chin on top of your head.

For some reason, it was all too much for you. The smell of him, the feeling of his arm draped over your waist, the sound of his quiet voice. Your restlessness began to fade into something different entirely. Desire. You opened your legs and moved one over his body, your thigh pressed tightly on his hip where it had been plenty of times before. You shifted again and then you felt it, his clothed cock on your clothed center. It made you hold your breath.

He wasn’t hard at first, but that quickly changed.

“Love, I thought you wanted to sleep,” he mumbled.

Suddenly you felt too hot. You moved back a bit and pulled your tank top off instantly, and your shorts right after. Though you still couldn’t clearly see his face, you knew Remus was staring at you with wide eyes. Or a smirk. Either way, he was watching. And it only made your desire grow.

“Touch me,” you breathed. “Please.”

You were desperate at that point. Your panties were soaked, your heart was racing with anticipation, and your mind was consumed by only one thought. You moved closer to Remus once again and shakily ran your fingers through his shaggy hair. You could feel his breathing pattern change.

Within a second his lips were on yours, moving fast and rough. Your stomach filled with the familiar butterflies you got when the two of you kissed and you could barely breathe. His fingertips trailed over your breasts, your stomach, and your hip, before finally settling on the back of your upper thigh, almost on your ass. He moved fast. One moment you were like that, then the next he was over you, his hand between your thighs.

You could’ve screamed from the relief his fingers gave your clit. But instead, you spoke shakily. “Close... close the curtains.”

“How about we leave them open?”

Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth with your hand as he thrust two of his fingers inside you without warning. It was too much pleasure; you could barely contain yourself.

“I need... silencing charm... Rem.”

Remus tisked and moved his head down to your shoulder. His hot breath against your skin drove you insane. “Let’s see how quiet you can be.”

He pressed a kiss to your neck, and you let out a whimper into your hand. Typically, you liked it when he got in that mood. He’d fuck you so hard you’d scream his name. But at that moment, in his open bed with three other boys sleeping not too many feet away, you weren’t sure. However, when he caught your lips in another heated kiss you decided relieving yourself of your restlessness was more important than decency. So, you didn’t dare stop.

His skilled fingers worked wonders on you, it was hard to keep quiet. Especially when he moved his lips down your jaw, your neck, your chest... When he took one of your nipples into his mouth you had to muffle your moans with your palm. You knew through the darkness the boys couldn’t see what was happening, at least not clearly. The noises, however, could be loud and clear. You tried your hardest to stifle them.

Remus kissed his way back up to your lips, leaving behind a few marks to prove his presence. As he thrust his fingers deep inside you, you bit down on his lip to stop yourself from moaning. You could feel your orgasm approaching and it was dangerous. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him tightly, your panting was probably too loud as it was. You didn’t know if you could cum without screaming.

“Rem I- fuck- please silencing charm I can’t-” Your pleading whispers filled the air.

“Can’t what?”

You whimpered as he rubbed your clit with his thumb, his other fingers still deep in you. “Can’t stay quiet. It’s too good. Please.”

He only sped up his movements and licked a line up your neck to your ear. “You think this is hard? Just wait till I fuck you.”

That was it. That sent you over the edge. You did the only thing you could think of and sunk your teeth into his shoulder as your body shook from pleasure. You held him tight as your body convulsed with waves of euphoria. Remus didn’t stutter for a second, not even when your teeth broke his skin and blood spilled into your mouth. He took it like it was nothing.

When you were done, he moved to connect your lips for a few seconds, the taste of his blood surely in his mouth too.

“Fuck that was hot,” he whispered hungrily. He ripped off your panties completely and moved to relieve himself of his boxers. “Bite me more.”

“Are you sure?” You touched the mark on his shoulder, it was swollen. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I like it rough; can I be rough?” He asked.

You weren’t sure why he was asking. The two of you had rough sex before. But for some reason, you got the impression this would be different. He was like an animal in that moment, insatiable. It made your body tingle with excitement.

“Yeah,” you answered. “Please.”

His tip brushed against your thigh, and you realized how hard it was going to be to stay quiet. You could’ve told him no, but you really didn’t want to. It was difficult, but it was exciting. So, when he began to push himself inside you, you didn’t say a word. Instead, you pulled him in for a kiss to help keep quiet as he stretched you out.

One of his hands moved down your body again, finding its place on your ass. He gripped your skin hard, his nails dug into you. And as he started his almost painfully deep and quick thrusts, he pulled you closer. The sensation was unearthly. Each thrust hit your cervix, and you were on the brink of losing all sense of your noises.

You bit down on his other shoulder, your nails dug into his back. He was fucking you so hard. You wondered if he’d cast a silent spell to make sure the bed wouldn’t rock because, at the vigorous pace, he was going, you couldn’t believe the bed wasn’t making a single sound.

Tears filled your eyes, you couldn’t breathe, it was far too much for you to remain quiet. You released his skin from your teeth and let your head fall back on his pillow. With your eyes squeezed shut, you put a hand over your mouth.

“S-Silencing charm Rem,” you breathed. Even those few words felt too loud, you couldn’t help yourself. “Please.”

He pushed himself in so far you whimpered, it hurt so good. “Yeah, yeah alright.” His breathing was far from even, and his words were unstable. He needed it too.

Silently, he closed the curtains and cast the spell. You released your breath you didn’t even know you were holding and moaned. Remus didn’t hesitate to switch things up given the new freedom of noise. He moved back on his knees and flipped you over. You gasped, but as he pulled your ass into the air you inhaled a deep breath knowing what was to come.

He fucked you so hard you cried. Your tears stained his pillows, your voice of approval and encouragement were loud. He fucked you through two more orgasms before finally letting himself get off. You loved the moans he let out as he came, and you were grateful he’d cast a silencing charm because you needed to hear him.

In the aftermath, you lay with your head on his chest. He brushed his fingers through your hair lazily, and despite how sweaty the two of you were you didn’t care to clean up. It was perfect as it was.

“Sorry if I was too much I... I don’t know,” he said after some time.

“Don’t apologize, I loved it. But I am going to be sore for probably two days so don’t try to do this again till then,” you replied with a laugh.

“You would’ve told me, right? If it was too much.” He sounded concerned, worried.

You looked up at him despite the darkness and touched a hand to his cheek. “Rem, you didn’t hurt me. Well, you did. But I wanted it. Don’t feel bad. If it was too much, I would’ve told you I promise.”

“You were crying.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, because it was so good. I love you so much, Rem. I’ve cried before during sex, remember on Valentine's Day last year?”

“Well yeah but that was different I wasn’t so... you know.”

“True, but either way I love you. And I want to do this again.” You assured him with a short kiss. “Now we should probably sleep.”

“I love you too and yeah, we probably should.”

But as the two of you fell asleep you didn’t realize there were 3 pairs of open eyes and hard cocks in the room.

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