#Just hope shadow can too cOugH

[eupheme]

— on the fence [into the fire, part ii]

part i | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 3.8k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, pwp, restraints, sex for favors, oral (m), exhibitionism, spanking, biting, hair pulling, light choking, sub/dom elements, PiV, radiated creampie

a/n: hi! I had a couple ideas I wanted to explore, which turned into a mini-series. I have them all mapped out & I hope to have them up for you soon! 💖

“Why don’t you show me again,” He husks, “What you’re so good at.”

Your breath catches - eyes flicking warily towards the door, but he’s quick to call you back.

“Hey, now. Eyes over here.” The Ghoul snaps, “You need to worry ‘bout me more than anyone out there.”

(Or - the Ghoul gets you out of your Vault Suit.)

You’re not sure you like the look of this town.

It sprawls wide and low across the desert, the inhabitants gathering in the shadows to escape glare of the sun. A low buzzing murmur that carries with you through the streets.

It feels suffocating, after the open miles before.

Following the dark figure of Ghoul, as you wind through the streets. Partly because you have to - that leash still pulled tight, wrapped around a fist.

Partly because you want to stick close, always.

“-don’t need you slowing me down.” The Ghoul gives the rope a yank, and you scowl, “You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

Your frown softens. His words still just as harsh, snarled out. But they’re a far cry from before.

Before, when you were certain he was going to hand you right back over to your Vault, in spite of how far you’ve come. Something significant passing in the journey through the desert, as he had taken what you wanted.

The taste of him has since faded, but he still lingers.

“Gotta earn your keep, too.” His head turns, eyeing you from beneath the brim of hat, “You good at anythin’?”

Unable to help it, you smirk - a brow raising. He scoffs in response, eyes narrowing.

“Anyone can be good at suckin’ cock, sweetheart.” He drawls, unimpressed, “’m not so bad at it, myself.”

Your lips part in surprise and he’s the one that grins, now.

The Ghoul picks up another bounty here. A shady, alley-way deal - keeping you close to his heels as he snatches the faded paper contact off a tattered board.

Running into another pair looking for jobs - a fresh scar splitting across the nose of a man who tries to start a conversation, before quickly retreating.

“Fuckin’ amateurs” muttered in reply to your heavy, silent judgement.

The client is tracked down for more information, after. Wasn’t hard to find the man with cage over the lower half of his face. Spikes that scream Raider with the way they jut through his clothes.

Fifty caps for the “goddamn no-good thief” that wiped out his stall in the night, taking every last bullet and can of cram. Last seen about two days ago, heading north.

Dead or alive, the client doesn’t care.

“Did you see ‘em?” The Ghoul frowns, “What they look like? Give me somethin’ to go off of.”

“Course I did,” The man huffs, “Looks just like me, don’t he? He’s my own damn brother.”

You can’t contain your own sideways look in disbelief, only to see The Ghoul returning it.

He bargains for a hundred, and gets it.

It’s hard not to wonder if he had taken your bounty this way. If your face had been scrawled across a piece of paper. Exchanged in a no-nonsense, disconnected way.

How much had your life been worth?

You never asked him. It’s something you’re not sure you even want to know.

The rest of the afternoon is spent stocking up. Caps exchanged for some more ammo. A couple bottles of watery chems, shoved deep in his bag to join the others.

A way the ease the cough that rattles him every few days. The smallest bottle kept out, wrenched open with a tight fist.

It snags at you - the way he swallows it like ambrosia the second he steps away. Gasping and groaning as if it’s air he needs to breathe.

“I’m good at medicine,” You tell his back - following again. Memories of the Vault pushing their way to the surface, “Could make that for you, if we find the stuff. Wouldn’t have to dilute it.”  You almost run into him, with the way he’s gone still. The tilt of his head, a single sharp eye piercing through you under the brim of a hat.

Shifting over your shoulder. Narrowing.

His hand fists in the collar of your jumpsuit instead, hauling you down the nearest alley and into the shadows.

“Hey!” You protest, your back knocked against the wall. He cages you in, knuckles pressing into your jaw with his tight grip.

The vial is pinched between his fingers, dangled in front of your face.

“You can make this?” He confirms.

You’re able to confirm it now, never quite getting a good look before. RadAway. It would be simple, compared to some of the stuff you’d had to cook up.

“Get me to a lab, some supplies,” You nod, “And I will.”

“Huh.” He’s close - you can’t help squirming in his grip, as he considers you, “Ain’t that something.”

A second, before his grip eases - but he doesn’t let go. Your bound fists rest against his chest, but there’s no force behind them to drive him off.

“Could’ve just asked.” You huff, “You don’t have to man-handle me.”

He almost smiles - his voice coming low, with a tilt of his head.

“Don’t I?”

It flusters you, how his body presses against yours. Your heartbeat kicking up a notch, your chest brushing his with each short breath.

His thumb sweeps, ghosting against your skin. Those sunken eyes dropping to your collar, with a frown.

Another glance down the aisle, before they’re dragging over you - voice lowering.

“Need to get you out of this suit.”

His words make stiffen in his arms, a sharp inhale of anticipation.

“Not so smart, are you?” He husks, his gaze dragging from your parted lips, up to your eyes, “Runnin’ around like this. Downright advertising you’re a Vaultie, when someone’s lookin’ for you.”

He’s not wrong. He tracked you down easily enough. You nod is small, a pang of regret as his fingers drop - as he steps away.

“Come on, then. I know a place.”

The place is an old saloon, the windows blasted out over two centuries ago. The gutted insides filled out with a patched-up bar, the mended tables and scattered chairs filled with patrons. Rooms to rent lining the first - and second floor - if you were brave enough to risk the staircase.

A few stalls set up alongside a wall - a barber ran by a Mister Handy with a looping stutter, the second by another Ghoul. Her few racks are filled with a patchwork of fabric, all in stained and faded patterns.

He gestures, a tilt of his head at the racks, “Pick something out, quick like.”

You’d gape at him, if you weren’t afraid he’d change his mind. Serious about your suit - you’re quick to grab a shirt in your size with only two holes. A pair of trousers, a rip at the knee.

“This ain’t for you.” The Ghoul clarifies darkly in your ear, “This is a trigger-happy town. Don’t need to be wasting my bullets.”

You hum in agreement - undeterred by his tone. The package clutched to your chest as he hands over a couple caps. Stuck over a full two weeks now in the same suit - you’re itching for the soft cotton against the skin.

Turning to leave, but then you’re halting. A couple of the patrons look familiar, hovering just inside the door. Something about that scar-

You’re trying to recall, in the crowd of people you’ve seen today - when a hand clamps down on your shoulder. Wheeling you around as the Ghoul turns to the shop owner.

“You got a room she can borrow?” There’s a change in his tone, almost a sticky-sweet edge to his drawl.

It must work - you’re shown to what used to be an old parlor room. An array of broken chairs, a heavy wooden table. The wallpaper torn and faded, the shades of cream long stained a dull, dirty yellow.

He fills the doorway - an arm propped against the frame, and you hold your wrists out to him dutifully.

You’ve worked at the knots before, to no avail - only to scowl now, as he undoes them easily with one hand.

A moment of silence hanging then, as you give him a pointed look - rubbing at sore wrists.

“You gonna leave so I can change?” You ask, “I’ll just be a second.”

The Ghoul steps forward instead, pulling the door shut behind him. An audible click, as he thumbs at the lock.

“Oh, I don’t think so, darlin’.”

A heat flares to life in your cheeks, “You’re staying?”

“That’s right,” He sinks into an old loveseat, propped up on concrete blocks near the boarded-up window, “Can’t leave you alone in a place like this. Fuckin’ vultures would swoop right in.”

You hesitate, watching him warily as an arm slings across the back, legs stretched out against the floor. If you didn’t know better then you think it was something almost akin to concern in his tone.

Or then again - he might just want to keep your bounty to himself. You had hoped you were past that, but-

“What?” His tongue pokes at his cheek, tone taunting, “Gettin’ shy again?”

The clothes are dropped unceremoniously on the table, your Pip-Boy following. A glare, as you reach for the zipper of your Vault Suit, starting to yank it down.

“Hey, now.” His hand raises, “Slowly. Got it?”

There’s an immediate urge to resist, to test him - but then, you’re catching the look on his face.

It’s hungry, beneath the brim of his hat. You start to feel like you did in the desert, and then the alley - intrigue, and desire, and an ache from his words, all melding together.

So, you take it slow. The zipper slipping from your throat, to breasts, then belly. A roll of your shoulders as you slip your arms from the tight sleeves.

His eyes follow, lingering on each inch of bare skin that’s revealed.

“Turn around.” He growls when you reach your hips, and for him - you do.

Bending at the waist as you unlace your boots and step out of them. Back arched as you wiggle, pushing the suit down past your knees. Down soft legs that part, so you can step out of them.

A glance over your shoulder, then. His head tilts, eyes sweeping from your ankles to fix on the crux of your thighs. They press together on their own, a thrill at being on display for him.

He catches you looking, his hand lazy as it drops to his lap. A lift of his hips as he adjusts, palming himself. The other hand leaving the revolver shotgun that rests on the cushion next to him.

Crooking two fingers at you, silently beckoning you over.

You fit between thighs that inch wider. His hands curl on his lap, before he’s slowly peeling his gloves off. Warm, against your hips, biting into your skin.

“Don’t make ‘em like you above ground anymore,” He idly comments, a flatness to his tone that betrays nothing.

Soft and smooth skin. You wonder if he’s thinking about ruining it - sinking his teeth in and taking a bite. Leaving a mark that you’ll carry.

You think you’d let him.

His grip dents your skin, before his hands are dropping. A heated look thrown your way, as his face tips up to yours.

“Why don’t you show me again,” He husks, “What you’re so good at.”

Your breath catches - eyes flicking warily towards the door, but he’s quick to call you back.

“Hey, now. Eyes over here.” The Ghoul snaps, “You need to worry ‘bout me more than anyone out there.”

It sends a heat rushing through you, knowing that he’s right. You’re locked in a room with the most dangerous man in the city, and it does something to you.

A boldness, in the way you reach behind. His growled out “fuck” when you let bra loosens - joining the blue and yellow suit on the floor.

The wood is rough under your knees. Letting your hands wander, lifting his hips while your work open his belt. Drawing down the rusted zipper.

You grasp at his hips, tugging the faded fabric until he’s free. Fingers tracing over thighs, just as rough and reddened at the rest of him. It’s still not much, but it’s more of him than you’ve ever seen.

Bare beneath the stained pants, cock already thick and full where it curves against his hip. All from just watching you - perhaps a strange thing to be proud of, but fuck, you are.

Your hands curl around his knees, as your head dips. Taking more time than you did before. Lips pressing against the taut base, as a hand twists in your hair again.

“Come on and thank me, sweetheart.” He growls - urging you upward, “Gettin’ those clothes for you. Make it worth my while.”

It’s different this time. A familiarity in the way your tongue presses against the flushed head. The taste of the salt on your tongue, before your lips are part around him.

A soft groan, when he’s filling your mouth again. You’ve thought about it often since last time. Wondering when he would have you on your knees again. If he’d want more, the next.

Your heartbeat thuds between your thighs, with the shift of his hips into your mouth - chasing his pleasure.

An urge to make him feel good. Without thinking - your hand wraps around his shaft, as your head eases back.

“Easy, now.” He grits, though his eyes are fixed on how your fingers curl around him. How it pumps, squeezing him with spit-slick fingers.

Jerking him into a mouth that parts so prettily for him. Your other hand slipping against his thigh, with feather-light brushes. A short inhale before you take him deep again, your fist sliding down to the base.

The next time you pull him from mouth for a breath, drool stringing from his cock to your lips, he hears himself growling out, “Stop.”

You’re being too tender, and he finds that he can’t stand it. Should have kept you bound, like last time.

The Ghoul’s fingers bite into your chin, your mouth glossy from how you swallowed him down.

“I’m taking you this time. Know you’ve been just aching for it.” He husks, his thumb pressing against your lip. Watching your tongue peek out to taste it, “Go on. Get up, and get your ass over to that table.”

Your desire nearly eclipses everything else. Pushing on his thighs for support, crossing the three steps to the side of the table.

“No,” He follows - the gun clattering on the table top, brought over from the couch. His hands at your hips, guiding you until you’re facing the door, “Right here, sweetheart. I’ll be keepin’ watch.”

It has you remembering where you are - that you’re just supposed to be getting changed. Wondering if you should worry that you don’t care - the thought of piping up, having the risk of losing this chance and denying pleasure again has you quickly adapting.

A hand presses at the small of your back insistently, bending you over it. You can feel him against the curve of your ass, sticky against your skin.

“Cross your wrists,” His thighs shift against yours, as you fix your hands that has flattened against the tabletop.

Making it easy for him to grasp at them with one hand - stretching them further, pressing them against the wood as he kicks your thighs further apart.

Leaving you on tip-toe, arched against him.

“Look at you, listening.” He almost coos, with another lazy rock. His cock shifts, fitting between your thighs, nudging against you.

“I think-” You start, but it’s punctuated by a moan, “Think you just like tying girls up.”

“Now you’re gettin’ it,” He drawls, “Though I don’t discriminate. Theres just something ‘bout havin’ you like this-”

The Ghoul leans over you then, his grip tightening. Pinning you firmly between him and the table, unable to do more than squirm as his free hand slips between your thighs, cupping you.

It’s the first time he’s touched you like this, and your muscles string tight - trying not to buck into his palm. Against fingers that rub against your clit, pressing the sticky fabric to your skin.

“Fuck.” He rasps in your ear. Nails bite into your hips, as he tears the fabric down to your thighs.

Coming back to press against your bare cunt, fingers slipping against your folds. You’re unable to help the soft whimper as he parts you, two fingers teasing at your entrance.

“Please,” You whine, as he pets against you. Smearing your slick up to your clit again, his fingers parting just as he reaches it.

His cock presses against your leg, thick and stiff. A roll of his hips until it’s pressed snug against your cunt - jutting between your thighs just below his hand.

“Your pussy is downright leakin for me, sweetheart,” He growls, “You need it that bad?”

You whine, your head turning to look - watching how he arcs over you. That blown-wide look in his eyes again, as you nod.

There’s a split second as his hand leaves you, before it’s cracking down on the meat of your ass. You gasp in shock as you go still beneath him, the pain unexpected and swirling with your heady need.

“Say it out loud,” He barks out, “Tell me just how much.”

Your skin stings, his fingers twitch before he kneads roughly at the flesh - the burn of it akin to way you ache for him.

“I need it,” You keen, “Need your cock. Want you to fuck me-”

The words cut off - a rough hum of approval before he’s lining himself up, a hand curving to grip your hip. The other flexes around your wrist, before he’s driving himself deep with a single, powerful thrust.

Your cry is loud, this time. Low and rough, pushed from your lungs as your pussy makes room for him.

“Fucking christ, you’re tight,” He grunts, unable to help the shallow buck of his hips, “Better than my goddamn dreams.”

It makes you moan - the gritted-out admission not lost on you.

Even with how wet you are, you still feel like you’re stretched wide. An ache radiating through you, sparking to life as he inches out, only to plunge deep again. The table bites into your hips, back arching as he sets a rough rhythm.

The sharp twinge starting to fade, as you begin to accommodate him. Growing accustomed to the heavy weight of him inside you, the steady stroke against your walls that has you starting to clench down around him.

Your breathing grows shorter, faster. Face turning to bury in the curve of your shoulder, muffling the moans that are pushed from you - until his hand is leaving your hip, twisting in your hair with a sharp tug.

Forcing your head back, his grip anchoring you.

“Don’t think so, darlin’. Know you saw those eyes on you,” He’s lost the steady edge to his voice, words turning rough, “Go on, be loud.”

The Ghoul’s hips pound harder, the rough texture of his cock stroking deep. Each sending a current through you, leaving your fingers and toes flexing, aching for just a little bit more.

“Saw you come in with me. Show ‘em who you belong to.”

“Fuck!” You cry, wishing you had a name to scream. Unable to muffle your ragged breath, the moans he pulls from you.

It fills the room, melding with the slick punch of his cock into your wet and needy cunt. Better than before, because his hands are on you now - leaving your hair, blunt nails dragging down your back. Ghosting across your hip, where your skin presses into the wood.

“Touch me.” You beg, again, “Let me touch myself, I can’t-”

His hand withdraws, and you whine - backpedaling. Afraid that he’s going to pull from you, finish himself across your back or your ass for asking.

“Please. Fuck, please. Don’t, I’m so close-”

He groans at your plea through clenched teeth.

Releasing his grip on you, only for his hand to slide to the base of your throat. His other arm looping beneath you as he hauls you against him, flattening against your ribs.

Palming at a soft breast, as you’re pulled up and pressed flushed to his chest.

“Listen to you, miss manners,” He grins - teeth bared, “That’s more like it, honey.”

The bandolier cuts into your skin, the wood into your thighs. And change in the angle that has your cries growing louder as his cock pounds against a soft spot inside you. Warm breath ghosting against your neck, deep rumbling growls in your ear.

Everything fades, growing hazy. His fingers tighten, but not enough to fully choke the air from you. An implication - your own hands wrapping around his wrist to anchor yourself to him. 

You can hear him inhale you, the scrape of teeth against your skin above the heavy press of his fingers. Salvation in the way the hand splayed beneath your chest drifts lower, his voice smooth in your ear.

“This is for listening,” He husks, “You understand?”

Relentless, when his fingers press against your clit. Slick and circling until you’re grinding into his touch, meeting the hard slap of his hips.

The gasping chant of “fuck, fuckfuckfuck,  please-” turning into mindless whimpers, his rough rhythm growing sloppy.

“Goddamn, you feel good.” It’s a ragged sigh, “Feel your tight little cunt squeezing me. Gonna make a mess, sweetheart?”

It sounds muted, layering with a ringing white noise. Your nails bite into his wrists as the swiftly building tides breaks. Almost missing the sweet growl in your ear.

“Let them hear how a pretty thing like you sounds coming on a cock like mine.”

You do, with the next swirl of his rough fingers - the sound broken as he rips it from you.

Bearing down around the cock that fits so deeply into you, with each blissful pulse of your release. Forgetting about the rest - about the outside world - as your nerves alight with pleasure.

His hand drops from your throat to brace against the table. Bending you flat again as he feels you flutter and gush around his length, crushing you against the top as blunt teeth close against the pulse point of your throat, biting down.

The sounds of his own orgasm muffled - a ragged groan as his cock throbs, as he fucks himself deep into you. Tasting the salt of your skin as you yelp, clenching around him - milking him until your walls are coated with his spend.

He hadn’t meant to - but the urge to pull from you had wavered the moment he buried himself in your cunt. Abandoned completely, after feeling you come so sweetly around him. An instinct lingers even now - to enjoy the soft press of your body against his, your warmth.

You shiver as his lips brush your neck, the closest thing to an apology as you’ll get - before he’s pulling away from you, leaving you clenching and empty.

A ragged hand slips between your thighs as you prop yourself up on your elbows, catching your breath. Pleasure still radiating from your core as fingertips swipe through the come that is just starting to leak from you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He laughs - the sound ragged, with a flash of yellowed teeth.

“Guess this means you better start cookin’.”

The Vault Suit is left beneath the table, a crumpled up reminder that you’re happy to leave behind.

Your cheeks burn as you leave the saloon - the strangers from before cleared out. A definite wobble to your steps - something that The Ghoul certainly notices, the low tilt of his hat hiding the curling pull of his lips.

Outlining the path towards the next bounty as you find your way out, guessing where you might find a lab along the way.

And it’s only as the city starts to fade, that you realize -

He never bound your wrists again, after.

I have the brainrot for this man for sure! Thank you for stopping by & reading 💖 (and I have also been reading so much about the new chem the Ghoul takes! For plot & smut reasons - I am going with RadAway, haha)

#please mind the tags! #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #fallout tv series #fallout #cooper howard

[eilidh-eternal]

Good morning 🥰 Wolf-shifter!Price is a bad, bad man 🤭 | Part 1 | Masterlist |

18+ MDNI | This is a DARK FIC | cw: blood, drowning, predator and prey dynamics

Little fawn… You shouldn’t be out on that ice.

John lingers at the edge of the forest, halts his routine surveillance at the fringes of his territory, and watches as you fall, can hear the ice shudder and give way, can smell the panic and fear as you sink beneath the frozen surface.

Well. A frozen meal is better than no meal at all.

He peels back layers of winter garb as he approaches the waters edge, shucking them into the snow before he makes the plunge himself. 

You must have tried to fight it, the dead weight of your heavy clothing. Still so close to the surface when he reaches you. With kicking feet he takes you under the arms and hauls you back up, pushes you up onto the ice before hauling himself out behind you, and carries you off the treacherous lake. Sharp metal prods at his thigh with each step that jostles your skate-clad feet, and a growl of contempt rumbles in his chest when he feels the blade dig into his skin, thin rivulets of warm blood mixing with the water that drips from his body. They’re the first thing he removes from you, followed by the useless coat full of lake water and the monstrosity of a sweater beneath it.

Your left side blooms a tantalizing red, droplets staining the snow beneath you like Rorschach ink bleeds onto paper, and the sweet, metallic scent floods his senses. Calls to baser instincts. But then you begin to cough and hack, water gurgling between your darkened lips, and he can hear the faint thump of the cordiform muscle in your chest beating back to life. Pulsing with more of that sweet essence.

Not so frozen after all. Still time for a little fun.

He hopes you wake soon, that he won’t have to slink along in the shadows for hours before your scent paints the forest and leads him to you. Hopes that when you wake the panic and fear will smell just as decadent mingled with the adrenaline. Oh, how he’d like to linger here and watch that panic bloom on your pretty little face. Watch the confusion turn to shock, watch the whites of your eyes swallow the irises as you realize who—what—looms over you.

But he can’t. You won’t last out in this cold in your sopping clothes, and he won’t last in this form without his. So he leaves you with his coat draped over your body, the rest of his clothes nearby in the snow, and prowls into the sanctuary of pine and aspens that shield his fur from the wind blasted clearing you lie in. 

He prowls, and he waits.

It doesn’t take long. And you’re so, so smart, little fawn. So smart to make use of the clothing he’s left for you. So very clever to follow his footprints in the snow. To wrap your arms around your middle and keep your hands balled inside the oversized sleeves of his coat.

And your scent… Oh, he had not been expecting that. The way your sweetness has tangled itself with his own scent. The way the lingering musk from his clothes wraps around your delicate, honeyed sillage. Warm and syrupy, like the blood that splatters in the snow and paints a path through the trees.

So focused are you on pushing forward, on moving and staying warm, that you do not notice the shadow at your back when you trudge into their refuge, sighing long and heavy at the absence of the punishing wind nipping at your exposed skin. You huff and puff as you fight the deep drifts, already at a disadvantage and clumsy in shoes far too big for you, his footsteps clearing the way not making much if a difference in your exhausted, wounded state.. You can hardly walk, let alone run, and so he bides his time. Watches from a distance, from the cover of pine boughs heavy and drooping with snow, from the shadows cast by the rapidly setting sun.

The snow may glitter and glisten, might make pretty patterns on frosted leaves and look pillowy soft where it gathers in drifts at the bases of tree trunks, but it is deceptive and cruel under the light of the moon. And the dark brings forth a host of malevolent, savage creatures. Things like him. 

He’s doing you a kindness, really, watching over you as you tromp through the snow. Herding you closer and closer to his den. And don’t you just look delicious, smell absolutely divine, when all that fear and panic comes rushing back when you reach the end of his tracks. You’re so lucky that it’s him who pulled you from that lake, who’s been tracking you through this forest, and not some other, overeager beast that lacks composure and control.

No, he’s going to savor you. Going to take his time wearing you down. Get your adrenaline pumping, nice and warm for him when he finally brings you to his den. Then, and only then, will he taste you. Slake the thirst gnawing away inside of him, hollowing out his insides with the need to touch and taste and devour the sweet scent he’s been following for hours.

The snarl that rips from his throat is a primal thing, more animal than man, as he tastes your desperation, the spike of adrenaline when you finally realize you’ve been followed. His growl echoes in the silence that follows, beckons you to turn around, to let him see the fear as it unfolds across your features.

Let me see you, little one. Look at my teeth and claws and show me those pretty doe-eyes.

And god are you a fucking sight when you do, eyes wide with terror and shaking like a newborn on trembling legs. He knows you don’t shiver because of the cold, knows the decadent scent of dread and horror when it hits him, knows the instant you get that sinking feeling in your stomach when your eyes meet his and instead of doing what you should do, make yourself seem bigger, louder, you deflate. You curl in on yourself and don’t make a sound, hardly even breathe, until he pads forward, and you mirror his movement.

He steps forward, you step back. He steps to the left and you’re inching to the right. So easy for him, going exactly where he wants you to, doesn’t even have to snarl to get you to move in the right direction. 

What a precious little thing you are, and you have no idea what’s in store for you.

He wouldn’t say it’s a game of cat and mouse, you haven’t even taken your eyes off of him, refuse to turn your back to him. So he keeps edging closer, hedging your little bubble of ‘safety’ you’ve managed to maintain. But then you go the wrong way, stumble over a fallen tree buried beneath the snow and it sets you off course, so he has no choice but to correct you.

Another low growl vibrates through him and it amuses him when your steps falter, when you freeze in place and he circles to come at you from the other direction.

This way, little one.

He moves further into your bubble and you start moving again, in the right direction this time. And though he can still taste the fear rolling off of you, there’s something else buried beneath it, tangy and acidic on his tongue. You don’t exactly back away from him anymore, either, just shuffle along with frequent glances over your shoulder to make sure he hasn’t gotten too close. Getting too comfortable. He’ll have to teach you how poor that decision is, to turn your back on him.

But not today. Today, you will go to his den, and he’ll be teaching you a different sort of lesson once he gets that nasty gouge on your side sorted. It’s beginning to bleed through his coat, deep red blooming against dull khaki, and you’re stumbling over everything and nothing. So he hedges closer, practically nipping at your heels to spur you on, get you moving just a bit quicker, until finally the scent of smoke and pine sap wafts through the air, and you make a relieved sound when the cabin comes into view.

You don’t need his guidance anymore. You know you need the warmth of that fire, the shelter the cabin offers. And you’re desperate enough not to care who it belongs to. Desperate enough that when no one answers your calls and you find the door unlocked, you go right in, go straight to the hearth and huddle as close as you can to the flames. You really shouldn’t, but you lay down, curl into the insulation of the coat and let your eyes droop closed, despite the risk of hypothermia that falling asleep poses. But you must be tired. You’d drowned. Nearly gutted yourself falling through the ice. Waded through wind and snow with a wolf at your back to get here.

Of course you’re tired. Tired enough that you don’t hear John come inside, don’t stir as he moves about and tends to himself and the fire. Only make a soft whining sound when he finally lifts you from the floor to settle you on the couch and peel away the blood-crusted layers that cling to your skin. He makes quick work of the wound, cleaning the dried blood from your skin and soaking up the fresh outpouring with gauze as he pushes the needle and thread through your skin, too exhausted to register the additional pain. 

Fur lined blankets settle over you, cocooning you in warmth and shielding you from the lingering cold in the air. John watches you from his place on the adjacent armchair, feet kicked up on the old coffee table, and he hums knowingly when you burrow deeper into the blankets' warm refuge.

Rest now, little fawn. You’ll need all your strength when you wake.

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price #captain price #captain price x you #john price x you #cod #captain john price x you #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod mwii #cod mwiii #cod x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #cod modern warfare #cod 141 #cod x you #tf 141 #tf141 #tf 141 x reader #141 x you #cw drowning #cw blood #cw stalking #cw kidnapping

[bunji-enthusiast]

Hello! Glad you took some days to rest its always good to take a well deserved break!

This occur after reader saved dog day from those mini critters or in that area near the cell dog day was, you're free to chose!

Dog day reacting to waking up and seeing reader is no longer resting beside/near him like they were dpig a few hours ago and strts to think the worst things had happened, only to then find reader just sat down outside looking at a picture of the smilling critters

Take as much time you need to make this no need to rush!

Nostalgia.

Note || RAAAHH. Humans are cute, you are too you know?

WC || 940

Sypnosis || He thought the worst, yet it seemed to be disproved at the sight of you holding memories.

Nightmarish, garish and all around very bloody. He didn’t want to slow down, yet his body was screaming at him to slow down, but he couldn’t afford to stop. DogDay would die if he did, something was coming straight for him and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stick around and find that out. 

“Oh gods, you have to be kiddin’ me.” DogDay gasped, hands resting upon his knees as his breath felt strained and strangled all at the same time. He wasn’t prepared, less then ready to be dealing with this. DogDay’s body was on edge, whatever – whoever – was chasing him, getting closer with every second possible on the clock.

The clock ticked, ringing in his ears. 

He was running out of time, he needed to jump and hide somewhere sufficient.

DogDay sighed once more, taking a deep breath and jumping into the masses of desecration and biting down on the iron metallic scent of blood and wafting metal of every vein and vent. He was overwhelmed with adrenaline and dizziness.

A roar resounded throughout the hallway, of which it had startled DogDay. He flinched, then began to run. 

Running far and fast, as fast as he can. DogDay felt tormented, why was that? Why was he running? So much had happened, too many things he cannot remember. Suddenly he felt a shadowed claw wrap around his waist.

Was this it? He really was gonna die after he had succeeded in surviving so long, maybe this was his punishment for surviving, for everything. 

No. No. No. NO!

DogDay jolted from where he laid, eyes adjusting to the location. He looked around to remember where he was, seeing the familiar desolate hallways and the small building he was in. An internal sigh escaped his method of silence, DogDay was okay, he was fine. 

Save for the fact he had completely new legs now after such a long time, that was luckily all thanks to you of course. 

Wait, where are you? 

“Angel?” He spoke out, hoping to get a response. DogDay’s chest tightened, recurring memories that he had lamented coming back to torment him. What happened to you? Did you get hurt? Did CatNap take you?

Oh he sincerely needed to find out, DogDay would be damned if he lost someone again. Especially after the fact that you saved him, he hasn’t done enough in return for that action of genuine kindness and generosity. DogDay hurried around, looking around in every inch and every nook and cranny that he could find, “Sweetheart?” He coughed, wincing as he clutched his side as he still felt the aftereffects of all those wounds he sustained over a long period of time. 

Finally he didn’t have to search anymore, seeing as how you were only outside, sitting against the wall as you clutched a strange picture that he couldn’t make out at his distance.

You turned, feeling his presence. Almost slightly, you flinched, seeing as how DogDay was clutching onto the doorway for support in standing. “DogDay, you're awake! Nice nap I assume?” To that, he shrugged, answering with an ambiguous tune, “Nice.. to put it simply I suppose.” 

Then a strange and sudden awkwardness took over the atmosphere for a few pressing moments, deciding to break it he had spoken up again as he sat down beside you, “What’s that your holding Angel?” You held up the picture in a questioning manner, to which he had motioned yes, he was talking about that picture in particular.

“Dunno if you wanna go down memory lane for this.” You smile, half-heartedly transformed into a smirk. DogDay had groaned audibly, patting your head within a playful gesture. You bit the inside of your cheek, chewing on it for a minute before you finally decided to show him.

“These guys, I missed ‘em..” You recounted with a mournful tune. DogDay’s white pupils slid down, widening as if he was expressing emotion. You held no reaction whatsoever as you handed him the picture.

“Smiling Critters…”

He scoffed lightheartedly, not demeaning in any which way. DogDay was glad in a sense that you found a picture of them, their faces were something he had started to forget. You laid your head on his side, feeling the tiredness weigh down your bones.

“Apparently there is a saying that naps don’t help cause the soul is tired.” He perked up at this, interested at the sudden subject of the quote you brought up. DogDay felt inebriated, spiteful at the harsh memories, but in a sense of rejuvenation he had felt hopeful. “I guess, that puts an explanation to what I feel.” Deliberated senses of gas, metal and blood may be what remain, but there can be hope to search for. 

“What makes you say this?” DogDay wondered, very interested in your inquisitive mind. You shrugged a little, very noticeable but amicable at best. “You ain’t at peace DogDay..”

His white pupils slid over to you, suddenly feeling exposed by this newfound sentiment. “Earlier I thought a noise I heard was a random one, but now I know that it was you. Having a nightmare.” You sighed, eyes closing as you felt guilt for not checking before.

DogDay felt himself smiling a little, a special recognition. “Nightmares are nightmares… I am just glad you aren’t hurt anyway.” You scoffed at him, elbowing into his side. To which he rubbed his side with an audible hey! 

You giggle at him, letting your arms lay to rest, to which his own arms did too. For a moment, reflecting on the past doesn’t hurt too badly.

So as long you two aren’t lost anymore.

[Taglist: @everythingnicen0nnie ] {want to join the Taglist next time I post a writing piece? Let me know!}

#dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime chapter 3 #x reader #dogday x reader #poppy playtime dogday

[a-hazbin-reader]

Oh my golly I just thought of this neow hear me out. So it’s obvious that Alastor doesn’t care about others personally space but he cares about his own, so what if reader hates hates HATES being touched and they keep to their own space well what if Alastor always gets to close to them literally face touching face. Reader tries to lick his face yes at first he is disgusted but then later on it’s becomes a game between the two. Now one day Alastor is yet again in readers personal bubble and reader as a warning tries to lick/bite him again but what is Alastor just grabs their face, turns it to the side, an licks a long strip across their face… reader sits there then is fuming!!!! Then it turns into a casing game. (For the sake of the story let’s say reader also has shadow powers somehow) ANYWAYS I thought is was a little funny but if you find it totally weird please ignore LOVE YOUR WORK BY THE WAY💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖❤️❤️❤️

It's so DISGUSTING I LOVE IT ❤️ Like nasty little kids so fucking hilarious

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

❌️Romantic

✅️Platonic

TW: SPIT, NASTY

Description: 👆⬆️

Alastor may have started this but you're going to finish it

From the moment you guys wake up then you both are on edge, knowing it's gonna be 👅 on sight when you see each other

Alastor hates losing so he's ready to put up one hell of a fight, using every dirty trick he can think of

But he's pushed your personal boundaries too many times for you to let it go now, you're in it to win it

You both are so equally disgusted but childishly stubborn about it, neither willing to submit

Sometimes someone will enter a room just to see two racing shadows and hear wet licking noises

"You BASTARD that's DISGUSTING!! Your mouth smells like blood!"

"Really dear, you should see someone about your excess saliva problem. I'm surprised you haven't drowned."

Okay I'm just gonna close this door-

It's to the point where the others in the hotel are scrambling to get away from you guys in fear of getting drawn into your weird little game

Except Niffty of course

She lets herself in on the game

But she doesn't get that it's just between you and Alastor and ends up terrorizing the others

Charlie and Angel just put up with it, Niffty is too cute to stay mad at~ Yes she is~

Vaggie and Husk have had ENOUGH

Not everyone banding together to finally put an end to the licking war between you and Alastor

NOT YOU AND ALASTOR MAKING A TRUCE TO TAKE THE OTHERS OUT OF THE GAME

You and Alastor refusing to look each other in the eyes after picking all that fur out of your teeth and him coughing up a hairball

Fucking Husk and Angel Dust

Honestly this probably lasts a full month before it's out of your systems and you two have come to an understanding

He'll be more mindful of your personal space and you'll NEVER put your tongue on him again

I hope this makes you laugh!! I thought it was a pretty funny idea

#alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader

[tojisun]

hot to the touch

toji x fem reader

!! smut - minors dni; clothed lap riding; begging; so much praises because praise kink goes hard; slight dacryphilia; soft dom toji; fingering; no actual penetration though sorry about that teehee // 1.6k words

: i was daydreaming this multiple times until i caved and wrote it hhshs hope you guys would like it <33; title from west coast - lana // shortest taglist: @whats-belay <3

you squeeze your legs close again, catching your bottom lip between your teeth, pretending that the lack of space between you and toji isn’t doing anything to you. you rub your thighs against each other, breath hitching when the action puts pressure at your throbbing heat.

rumbling groans reverberate from the space beside you and you startle, your heart leaping into your throat, lodging itself there. your shoulders tense, realizing that you have been caught, and slowly, as if it could stop the hammering of your heart, you turn to look at toji.

you catch his burning gaze – emerald eyes hooded with palpable desire – and you gasp, your lungs tightening. 

bathed in the dim lights of the flickering television, with his hair creating shadows just above his sharp jaw, toji has never looked more dangerous. 

he has never looked more hungry.

“c’mere,” toji murmurs, his voice echoing like a growl, his body twisting to reach for you before plucking you from your seat beside him and dropping you to his lap. 

your chest meets his, and you stumble, untethered, your fists clenching at his shirt to balance yourself. it didn’t do much, not when toji caught you, his hands finding purchase on your hips. 

your eyelashes flutter as you look at toji, studying the man under you. toji’s face is flushed, his eyes hazy. drunken.

“y’r so fucking horny f’r no reason, huh?” he asks, almost a little meanly.

toji sees the way your eyes glazed over, your fingers twitching from where they were curled at his shirt. his eyes zone in one the way your parted legs widen, your knees locking on either side of toji, soft skin going taut in tension. 

he grins. 

you whimper, breathless, feeling toji’s thumbs rub aimless circles on your sides. toji lifts himself a little bit, adjusting you two, before dropping you closer to the tent in his jeans. your breath hitches as you feel your clothed cunt meet toji’s hard-on. 

“oh,” you mumble, startling at the contact. 

toji dips his head low, his lips ghosting over your ear. “kept seeing the way you looked at me; the way you closed y’r legs every time i reached over. c’mon, there’s no need to be shy. rub y’rself on me.”

your brows furrow, your lips pursing. “but…” you begin, swallowing the lump in your throat. “it won’t feel as good for you.”

toji pauses, his eyes going wide, before a booming laugh creeps from his throat. “oh darlin’,” he coos. “aren’t you a cutie?”

you pout, feeling lost, and toji just croons a little more. 

“what?” you bite out.

“hush, you,” toji murmurs, his hands leaving your hips to caress your back, the action instantly relaxing you, and toji smiles, satisfied. “it’s not about giving me direct pleasure, kid.”

you tilt your head, confused. toji shakes his head at you, his eyes crinkling with so much fondness.

“the purpose of you rubbing y’rself on me is to make you feel good.” he pauses. “and it’s funny how you think i wouldn’t feel good seeing you using me for y’r pleasure.”

you choke, coughing a little as toji chuckles, having too much fun at seeing you flustered.

“see,” he says, cupping your cheek, his thumb caressing the skin just under your eyes. “when you react so cutely, how can i not have fun?”

you hum, lips still jutted out, before you press forward to kiss his lips. you feel toji smile in the kiss, his hold going tight for a second, as he slots his lips with yours to deepen the kiss. 

slowly, hesitantly, you roll your lips, your clothed core sliding against toji’s tented jeans. a purr slips from toji’s lips, his tongue swiping along yours, engulfing you whole.

your hands settle on toji’s stomach, your fingers sinking into the pudge that replaced defined abs, dimpling his skin even through his shirt. god, he’s so perfect under you like this. 

you break the kiss, gasping for air, your chest heaving as the air around you two begin to rise, almost burning you alive. toji falls onto the cushions again, sharp eyes narrowed in barely-contained hunger staring back at you, his hands coming back to hold your hips.

your eyes are blown wide themselves, feeling yourself be engulfed with uncontrollable desire for toji, your body trembling and feverish. 

“look at you,” toji murmurs, his voice wavering and so full of affection. so enamoured by you. “my pretty girl.”

you nod, not trusting your words, as you sink back to his lap, gliding yourself on him. sweat builds up in the back of your neck, and you push your hair away from your face, trying your best to maintain eye contact with toji.

“feels good?” toji asks, prompting more than pleasured huffs out of you.

“yeah,” you croak out, your eyes fluttering when the cold button of his jeans dug into your hardened clit, muted pleasure exploding between your legs. 

you roll your hips that way again, chasing the same pleasure, getting desperate when you realized that it’s still not enough.

tears begin to pool in the corner of your eyes, frustration palpable with your every slide. 

toji tuts, sitting up and his laxed hold on your hips gathering strength before you feel him taking charge, helping you as you rub yourself on him. 

“i know it’s not enough, baby, but can you keep going?” he asks, dipping his head to ghost kisses on your shoulder. “f’r me?”

you whine, shaking your head, feeling so edged as another faint pleasure quickly peters out, your veins thrumming with need. 

“please, toji,” you mumble, hiccuping, your hands clutching the back of his shirt. “need more!”

“of course you do,” toji replies, still so calm even when you feel his cock fully hardened under all the clothes between himself and your wet cunt. “i ruined you for anything else other than my cock, didn’t i, sweetheart?”

you mewl, nodding, ah-ah-ahs echoing in the space between the two of you as toji maneuvers you to ride him faster. 

“but show me how good you are,” he continues, kissing your neck this time, his lips parting for him to sink his teeth into your skin. 

you whine, your voice curling into itself. you clench your eyes shut, the tears finally falling and tickling your warm cheeks, feeling the way toji’s tongue runs at the ridges of the bite mark he left.

your panties are damp, sticking to your cunt, but not even your heightened arousal could tip you over the edge. this feels like torture, a prolonged teasing of what you could be riding. toji’s cock is so close, positioned at the perfect spot so that you could sink into it, but toji is resolute at making you cum like this.

you hate disappointing toji but you can’t do it.

“‘m sorry,” you begin to mumble, your lips sticking together and your words coming out jumbled. a hiccup is lodged in your throat and you pull away to look at toji, hoping that the sight of your teary eyes would sway him. “toji, ‘m sorry i really can’t.”

toji takes one look at you before he coos, flexing his arms to stop you from moving, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your tear-tracked cheeks. 

“alright, sweetheart,” he whispers, rubbing soothing nothings on your hips. “you did so good f’r me. why won’t you let me take over now, okay?”

you nod, still trembling from being edged, before startling when toji tugs your panties to the side, his fingers running along your wet folds. 

“shh,” he says, slowly thrusting two of them into your core. 

“ah!” you cry, your back arching, your hands digging into toji’s clothed back.

he didn’t even do anything other than press them in but you already feel an explosion of euphoria, your arousal building at the feeling of finally being touched. stuffed. 

“toji!” you squeal, your hips unconsciously moving again – a mimicry of your movement just minutes ago, urging toji to fuck his fingers into you.

“i know, darling, i know,” toji replies, his voice still a measured murmur, as he drives his fingers out, your walls constricting as if sucking them back in, before thrusting them into you again. 

you squeak when you feel him curling them, stretching your plush walls and teasing your sensitive core with his gentle touch.

“this is better, huh?” he asks like you are not falling apart at his touch, throwing your head back, your throat exposed, as toji begins to fuck his fingers in and out of you.

you feel your climax building, this time more pronounced and less muted, your eyes going cross-eyed as toji quickens his pace, feeling your walls spasming in the telltale of your orgasm.

“toji!” you scream as you finally cum, your walls squeezing toji’s fingers, your hands fisting toji’s hair.

“there’s my good girl,” toji croons amidst your orgasm, your buzzing ears straining to hear him. 

toji slowly pulls his fingers out of your cunt, gentle as to not overstimulate you. 

you blink your eyes open at the sudden silence, your vision still hazy as you look at toji. he’s studying his fingers, shiny and wet as they’ve been inside you, before he is moving to push them into his mouth.

“no!” you whimper, ashamed, but toji just sucks his fingers, his eyes coming to meet yours, before a satisfied purr rumbles from his throat.

when he pulls them out of his mouth, he says, “my turn to feel good now, baby.”

you shiver despite your exhaustion, watching with your teeth nibbling your bottom lip as toji lifts you from his lap to unbutton his jeans, freeing his heavy cock.

“mouth or pussy?” toji asks. 

you lick your lips, not even hesitating as you reply, “pussy, please.”

toji’s smile is wide and lewd. 

“good girl,” he murmurs.

#suns.f #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji x reader smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro x fem reader #toji fushiguro #jjk #suns #i fr had fun writing this GAHLEEE wet n everything

[poetglasses]

In Defense of Jacks in ACFTL

I do have spoilers, so this is your warning not to venture further if you haven't finished reading.

First off, I love how the story was told and how it ended. Could we have gotten more of the other characters? Yes. Did we really need to? Maybe, but I certainly didn't mind the absence. I didn't think we needed to address every character that we've met. We saw Castor and Lala, and I was happy about it, but I was strictly here for Evajacks story, and that's what I got.

I think Eva and Jacks had character development in this novel.

Eva isn't as trusting and hopeful as she was in the previous two books, and I was happy about it! Girl was getting murder attempted on her, and her husband is a narcissistic, manipulative psychopath. The only people she could trust were 1) being kept away from her or 2) avoiding her because they thought they were doing the best thing for her if they did so *cough* jacks

Jacks watched the girl he loved die! He blamed himself for what happened to Eva, and then continued staying away because he felt guilty and thought he was keeping her safe in doing so. He didn't know Apollo took Eva's memories away. He was too busy making sure Castor didn't go within 10 feet of Eva because Castor did attack Jacks after he went back in time to save her! He was still around Eva, he was just hiding in the shadows or out in the balcony peering through the windows. He genuinely thought Apollo was the better choice for Eva because at least Apollo hadn't done anything to her (as far as he knew).

Jacks apologized to her under the phoenix tree, saying that when he went back in time, he thought the stones would have taken something from him, not Eva, or are we all ignoring that because of that beautiful love confession Eva gave? He wanted our girl to live! When Eva met Castor in the Cursed Forest, Jacks literally put a knife through his best friend's chest in fear of having a repeat of the first timeline! Castor wasn't even doing anything, he was just trying to have a conversation with her.

Jacks was the tortured lover we all knew him to be. He wasn't Jacks, Prince of Hearts, with a trail of deadly kisses in search of true love in this novel. He was Jacks of the Hollow, a man who loved his girl so much he wanted her to live instead of dying at his kiss. We all know how badly Eva wanted to kiss him, and we all know Jacks can hear her thoughts. Can we blame him for staying away? He literally said that if she died again, he could not bring her back. The idea of that was terrifying to him. He already used the stones, and going to Honora would have the possibility of turning her into a vampire, maybe worse.

Jacks felt different in this novel because he finally admitted how much he loves Eva. We've seen him do so many things for her throughout the series. Was he holding back in the other two books? I'd argue not really, but he certainly wasn't going to let her be with him. He didn't want to admit he was in love with her. Dude literally held her like a grudge in the first novel, a secret in the second novel, and then a promise in the third. The hints were there for us. He would literally do anything for her. He just didn't want to admit to himself he loved her because if he allowed himself to there was the possibility that she could die.

Does Eva die in this book? No, thank god. But don't act like you read their kiss scene and didn't fucking break a little when Jacks went "No! Not again".

#acftl #tbona #ouabh #evajacks #jacks x evangeline #stephanie garber #a curse for true love #evangeline fox #jacks prince of hearts #idk what sparked this post but here it is #do with it what you will #all i know is people were saying jacks was acting different #or maybe it was the whole novel but i'll make a post on that later too #I feel like the end just became more of a rant than anything #oh well lol

[shadowdaddies]

Hi!! I adore your writing! I would love if you wrote a story with Azriel, where reader (mated with Az ) hears the IC talking about someone being clingy/annoying, and she thinks it’s her, so she withdraws herself entirely, even from Az and he finally finds out and explains they were talking about someone else, and then fluff. Love you!

hi! thank you for the request, love you!💜 (Madja stans if you're out there, maybe avoid this one)

Family

Azriel x Reader (ft. the IC and Valkyries)

You had only been mated to Azriel for about six months now, but the way that the Inner Circle had accepted you as part of the family immediately meant the world to you. You had struggled much of your life with friends and family making you feel like you were clingy, or a burden when you spent ‘too much’ time with them, so being able to be around your new family in Velaris was a breath of fresh air, lifting a weight off your chest for the first time in years.

Skipping down the stairs to join your family for dinner, you heard them from where they were already seated at the table. You froze in your tracks when you heard the words spill from Feyre’s mouth. “I know, she can be quite overbearing. It was tiresome when I had to see her so much before. I’m glad I’ve had a break from her visits, at least for the time being.” 

Tears sprang to your eyes as everyone around the table laughed at the comment, Nesta adding to the insult. “Well, I have no way of avoiding her, at least for now.” It felt as though your heart was caving in, completely crushed by Nesta’s words in particular. You had enjoyed starting training with the Valkyries lately, and you thought of the other females as your friends. 

Unable to hear anymore of their jokes, you covered your ears, running back upstairs to your room and locking the door behind you. Not a moment later, Azriel knocked on the door. “My love, is everything alright?” 

Sniffling through your silent cries, you refused to be any more of a burden than you apparently were. “I’m fine, Az. I’m just not feeling well, so I thought I would go to bed early.” 

There was a long silence before you heard a soft sigh through the door. “Okay. I’ll bring you some leftovers. Please let me know if you need anything from me, angel.”

Once you knew Azriel was back downstairs, you let the tears out. Yet again, you were unwanted, and it hurt that much worse to know that your mate was sitting at that table as well. If he didn’t defend you, he must feel the same way. After crying out every tear you could produce, you found yourself exhausted, sleep claiming you quickly. 

You awoke the next morning to a pounding on your door, a nervous Nesta on the other side. “Hey, are you in there? We missed you at training today. I had some things I was hoping to talk to you about.” 

You scoffed internally at her claims, knowing exactly how untrue they were after her words last night. Managing to produce a fake cough, you responded in a weak voice. “I’m just not feeling well. I’m sleeping but maybe we can talk later.” 

The sorrow was palpable in Nesta’s tone. “Okay then. I hope you feel better. Please let me know if I can do anything for you,” she said softly, before walking away.

Unable to be around these people any longer, you put on a coat and headed out for a walk along the Sidra, the fresh air helping to clear your spiraling thoughts. None of it made sense - they seemed so truly happy to spend time with you, so why would your family say those things? 

Just as you started to question everything, shadows swirled in front of you, your mate appearing with concern clear in his hazel eyes. “Love, what is going on? First you skipped dinner last night, and now Nesta tells me you missed out on Valkyrie training as well. Talk to me.”

Filled with anger, you couldn’t push down your emotions any longer. “I heard you all talking at dinner last night, Azriel!”

Your mate staggered backwards, raw confusion written across his face. “Love, what are you talking about? What about dinner?”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at his attempt of evading the conversation, which earned you a rare seething glare from the shadowsinger. “I heard Feyre and Nesta, and all of you laughing. They were talking about how overbearing and tiresome I am, and how Nesta ‘has to spend time’ with me now. And you - you didn’t stand up for me, Azriel.” 

Tears pricked your eyes as you watched his reaction to your words. The confusion, and the realization. Instead of apologizing, Azriel just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between scarred fingers. You were about to fly into another fit of rage when he spoke. “We weren’t talking about you. With Nesta’s new pregnancy, she is having to see Madja for check-ups often. Even though she has the hips to birth an Illyrian baby, Madja has been very concerned and it’s been driving Nesta crazy. Feyre was talking about the same, with her pregnancy with Nyx.” 

Immediately, you were filled with shame over your assumptions. Burying your head in your hands, the self-loathing came rushing into you with a renewed force. “I’m so sorry, Az. I should’ve known better than to assume - I’m just so used to feeling like a burden and I thought...” 

Azriel stepped forward, wrapping one arm around your waist as the other came to cup your chin, moving your hands away so that he could see your face. “I understand, my love. I know what you feel. But we are your family, and you are not a burden. You are so loved, and I need you to feel comfortable talking to me about these things.” 

You nodded, a soft smile of relief gracing your features as you leaned forward to give Azriel a gentle kiss. He wrapped you in both of his arms, his warm embrace filling you with immediate calm. He pulled back, the smirk on his lips highlighting the dimples that you loved. “You should speak to Nesta.”

You nodded, knowing he was right, and the two of you walked back home hand in hand, enjoying the sunset over the Sidra. When you arrived home, Nesta was waiting in the kitchen, concern etched on her face as she noticed your still-puffy eyes. “Hey, Nes,” you said weakly, and Azriel gave a kiss to your temple before leaving the room.

Nesta stood up, walking over to you with a purpose as she wrapped you in a hug. “I don’t know what you’re going through, but I hope you know that I am here for you, if you ever want to talk.” You nodded, taking a deep breath as you hugged your friend. After a long moment, Nesta pulled back, a smile on her face. “I did need to talk to you about something this morning - if now is a good time.” 

You eagerly nodded, encouraging her to continue as you took a seat next to her at the kitchen table. The beautiful female rested a hand on her stomach, absentmindedly rubbing where her baby rested as she spoke. “Madja wants me to rest from now through the rest of the pregnancy. The girls really love and respect you, so I was hoping that you could take over training them in the meantime.” 

Your heart swelled at her kind words, the affirmation that you needed in that moment. Diving forward, you brought Nesta in for another hug as you nodded, tears lining your eyes yet again. “Yes, Nesta. I’d be so honored to help with training. Thank you.” 

You pulled back, your friend taking your hand in hers as she gave it a reassuring squeeze, just as Rhys and Feyre walked in with Nyx. The little boy ran up to you, “Auntie! I missed you at dinner last night. Uncle Az said your tummy hurt. That happens to me, too.” You laughed at the sweet child, lifting him into your arms for a hug as you followed Rhys, Feyre, and Nesta into the dining room. 

Taking your seat next to Azriel, Rhys poured the wine for everyone - Nesta raising her glass as she proposed a toast to you, one of the new leaders of the Valkyries and a great addition to the family. Leaning into Azriel’s side, you smiled as you looked around at your family - thankful for this unparalleled love, love so great, love that you deserved.

#acotar #acotar x reader #acomaf #azriel #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #azriel fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar x you #acotar imagine #azriel x reader fluff #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader angst #acotar angst #the valkyries #valkyries acosf #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #feyre #feyre archeron #rhys #rhys acotar #nyx archeron

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To be alone with you 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, cheating, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your babysitting gig becomes complicated. (f!plus sized!reader)

Character: dilf!Clark Kent

Note: who predicted 2024 would be the year I converted to Cavill.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The blinds are drawn as you hug your pillow with one arm. Your body is stiff as you sleep with one leg hooked around your blankets, the bottom of one cheek exposed to the steady blow of AC. You shiver and roll onto your back, pulling the covers around you fully.

The night before is a vague shadow in your mind. You remember starting the movie but not much else. You’d been so tired after the break-in, you must’ve passed out almost immediately. You feel bad, hoping that Clark doesn’t take it to heart.

You push yourself up. Your head is thick and full with sleep. You haven't slept like this in forever. Your mouth is dry but tangy. You swallow the gritty morning and cough, turning to dangle your legs over the edge.

Your striped shorts are crooked and wrinkly and your tee shirt smells like sweat. Ugh. You're a mess. 

You stand and lumber around clumsily. You grab a change of clothes and try to stretch out the kinks as you cross the hall to the bathroom. You close the door and put your clothes on the counter, facing your reflection.

You look rough. You feel just as bad. You turn on the cold water and splash it over your face before you brush your teeth, scraping out the stale taste stuck to your tongue. You turn on the shower and undress, wincing as your thighs meet.

You must be close to your time of the month. You get a bit sensitive. It would explain your fatigue and the soreness. Great. 

You step into the glass booth and wash yourself. The warm water is soothing against your stiff muscles. God, you really hurt. You reach down to touch your folds, checking your fingers for blood.

PMS is a bitch. Not enough to bleed for a week, your body has to gaslight you into thinking you are already.

After, you pull on the fresh clothes but hardly feel more awake. Just sluggish and achy. Coffee. You don't live off it like your sister but you need it in that moment.

Thinking of, where is your sister? Not too unusual for her to he errant but it's been a few days.

As you come downstairs, you hear snoring rumbling through the first floor. You slow and tiptoe into the front room. You cautiously approach the couch and find Clark, arms crossed, sleeping on his side, cramped into the small space as he slumbers. The small throw stretched over his shoulders. 

Your stomach pits. You're certain he'd much rather be at home in his own bed. Your guilt keeps you from disturbing him.

You creep into the kitchen, making your movement muted and staggered. You flip the switch on the kettle and wait as it hums. You load the french press with grinds and teeter on your toes, dancing nervously around the tile. 

You pour the boiling water into the press and check the time on the stove. You give it time to brew and lean on the island, listlessly cupping your chin and tapping your cheek with your fingertips. As you blow out, you hear the floorboards and stand up to greet Clark as he enters. 

His hair is askew, eyes droopy, and the blanket still draped around his neck. You didn't realise before he hadn't been wearing a shirt. His pajamas hang low on his stomach, the dark hair across his chest and trailing down his stomach exposed shamelessly. You gulp and focus on his face. 

“Smells like coffee,” he grins crookedly, “morning.”

“Morning, uh, I hope I didn't wake you up,” you squeak.

“Not at all,” he waves you off, “you passed out so quick, I figured you'd be up and at em. Besides, Jonny’s an early riser.”

“Oh, okay,” you turn to press down the plunger on the press, “I'm sorry I zonked out so fast–”

There's less resistance than you expect and the coffee splashes up and overflows, splashing your hands as you recoil with a yipe. You try to shake it off but a particular spot on the back of your hand singes badly. Before you can think, Clark has your arm and angles you to the sink as he flips on the cold water.

He guides your hand under, crowding you as your arm shakes in pain. You hiss even as the water soothes. 

“Oh, I'm so clumsy,” you murmur.

“As long as you're okay,” he slowly lets you go, “you let me take care of this.”

He swipes up the dish towel and sops up the errant drops of coffee. He dries off the outside of the press and patiently pushes down the plunger. You turn off the water and use a fresh towel on your hands.

He faces you, “blistering?”

You look at your hand, “just tender.”

“You're lucky I'm here,” he chortles, “scare away all the bad men and take care of your burns.”

“Ha, yeah, I–”

“Mm, something smells like cherry blossoms,” he interrupts, sniffing the air, his blue eyes narrowing on you, “is that you?”

“Um, yeah,” you catch a wafting scent from your body, “that's my body soap. Oh no, is it setting you off?”

“Not at all,” he smiles, “I was more worried about you.”

“Ah, no, it's fine. The soap doesn't trigger me surprisingly.”

“Hm,” he leans on the counter, gripping the edge as you notice how his stomach muscles clench, “I bought Lois some cherry blossom soap once. She never used it. Guess it isn't her scent.”

“Not for everyone I guess,” you turn and open a cupboard, taking down two mugs.

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees dully, “well, I should call your dad over my coffee,” he pushes himself straight and nears, stopping right beside you as you pour into the cups, “maybe after we can go get breakfast. My treat.”

“Oh, you don't have to–”

“I want to. Kinda weird not having Jonny around, looking fir a distraction,” he accepts a mug as you slide it over to him.

“Makes sense,” you say, “well, who am I to deny a free meal?”

🏡

After searching your coffee cup for an ounce of strength, you give in to the persistent glaze in your eyes. Maybe eating will help. Clark's offer is generous, almost too generous, yet your stomach clenches at the thought of food.

You grab your purse and head down to find Clark. He's in the kitchen, rinsing his mug, your own forgotten on your night stand. He dries it and puts it away as you wait for him to notice you.

“Did you talk to my dad?” You ask.

“Yeah, actually, couldn't get through. They must be on the road. Service gets spotty, right?” He hangs the dish towel neatly, “so you ready? I gotta stop by my place and change but then we can eat.”

“Sure, uh, well, you know, if it's too much…”

“Not at all, I'm excited. There's this place I've been meaning to try for a while but Lois hasn't felt like it,” he says, “tried calling her too. Think she's still mad at me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Kent.”

“Clark,” he corrects you, “you make me feel so old.”

“Sorry,” you apologize again.

“It's fine,” he shrugs, “we should get going. I'm starving.”

“Not gonna lie, me too.”

“Must've been all the salty snacks last night,” he kids.

🏡

After you stop at the Kents', you set off for breakfast. The more you think about it the hungrier you are. You grow restless as you watch several options pass by, holding your tongue as Clark keeps driving.

You're surprised as he passes the city limits and you shift in your seat, craning to watch the sign pass. He clears his throat and turns down the radio, "almost there. Guess I shoulda mentioned it's all the way out here."

"Nah, it's fine," you shrug, "just curious."

"Really cute place, locally owned," he explains, "I prefer to give my money to an honest family business, you know?"

"Totally get it," you say coolly.

He taps his fingers on the wheel, as if he's restless or even agitated. He pulls into a gravel lot off the country road and you look up at the painted side. You passed this place with your parents a few times but never pulled over. It's a quaint brunch restaurant in a cottage-style house.

"Oh, this place," you chuckle.

"You been here?" He asks.

"No, but I've seen it."

"Right," he intones and clicks free his seat belt.

You free yourself of your own seat belt and climb out as he mirrors you. You let him take the lead and follow him to the front door. He holds it open and you enter ahead of him. You're greeted inside by an elderly lady.

"Good morning, may I show you to a table?" She offers.

You nod as Clark gives a vocal response over your head. She leads you to a table for two. You notice the place isn't very busy. There's an older man in the corner drinking coffee over a newspaper but no one else.

You sit as she introduces herself as Lena and promises menus. She shuffles away as you look at Clark who seems enamoured with the place. He admires the painting of flowers not far from your table and the lacy curtains around the front windows. It's cute but a bit outdated.

"There ya go, honies," she lays two menus on the table, her knobby hands shaking, "would you like coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please, and..." he looks at you.

"Green tea, please."

"Coffee and green," she repeats, "lovely."

She hobbles away and you shift awkwardly in your seat. She must be the only waitress. In a place like this, you're not surprised. You just hope the food is decent, not that you can be picky.

"This place is nice," he muses, "peaceful."

"Yeah, it's interesting," you say as you pick up the menu. 

"I'm glad you got some sleep," he takes his own menu and browses it lazily, "glad I could be there to keep an eye out. Protect you."

"Ah, well, yeah, I don't think they guy would come back anyway but it did help," you give a small smile and settle on eggs benedict.

"Great," he puffs out his chest just a little. 

You peek up at him. It must be a good distraction for him. With Lois and Jonny gone, he needs something to keep him busy. You can humour him.

"Here ya go, sweets," Lena returns with a mug off coffee and a teacup on a saucer. She places both shakily and stands as straight as she can to ask if you've decided on what you want.

Clark lets you order first and you speak loudly and slowly to the woman as she cups her ear. She repeats it back to you before listening aptly to Clark. When she's done, she gives a soft clap and goes back behind the counter. She scribbles on a piece of paper and puts it in the window.

You glance over at the window, distracting yourself with the blowing grass. Somehow out here, you don't feel the same tickle in your sinuses. You sit back and cross your arms, watching the lazy blue sky.

"Oh, it's so romantic, a nice breakfast for two," Lena startles you as she appears again. She places a candlestick in the middle of the table then puts a wax taper in it. You can only stare and share look with Clark as she lights it, "you are so darling together. Is it a special occasion?"

"Uh," you bite your lip and look at Clark.

"Just breakfast," he answers as he throws his hands up, "spur of the moment, you know?"

"That's precious," she squeals, "you are such a beautiful pair."

"Thanks," Clark says and you just smile awkwardly.

She winks and leaves once more. You watch her cross the restaurant and sit with the old man and his newspaper. He lowers it as she whispers to him. You turn back and face Clark, leaning forward.

"I think she thinks we're together," you keep your voice quiet, "like a couple."

"Eh yeah, I didn't want it to be awkward," he shrugs, "no harm in it, really."

Your mouth slants as you consider his response. You guess he's right. What will it hurt? She's just a lonely old woman.

"What?" He tilts his head.

"Nothing," you answer.

"Really? I mean, I could correct her if it's a big deal--"

"It's not, really," you lean forward and cross your arms over the table, "just funny, I guess. Second time it's happened."

"It is?" He furrows his thick brows.

"Yeah, the ice cream guy..." you trail off, "whatever. Just... I'm kinda young but maybe don't look it."

"It's flattering, really," he insists, "people really think I could be with someone like you."

"Well, I mean, Lois is gorgeous," you laugh, "so..."

"Lucky man, surrounded by beautiful women," he grins.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you sit back awkwardly, not expecting the compliment. You're nothing like Lois, love handles excluded, you still couldn't compare. You're just the babysitter. “Thanks, that's… you don't have to say that.”

“Well, you are,” he rubs his neck bashfully.

“Ha, yeah, well…” you clasp your hands in your lap and look again out the window.

As you watch the horizon over the dusty road, your heart roils in the tension. There's something nipping at your mind, just on the edge of your memory but you just can't grasp it. Is he just being nice or is there something more behind his compliments?

Don't be silly, he doesn't see you like that. He couldn't.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #babysitter au #superman #dc #dcu #to be alone with you

[peachesofteal]

Cough

Just a drabble. Belongs in the future of the Sassy series.

Simon Riley/female reader - Soft dad Simon Riley 1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: sickfic, comfort, medicine and illness, soft dad Simon, fluff, Simon is a good partner and dad I will be taking no questions. Simon's family is sick.

The raspy cry is what wakes him. You groan in your sleep, searching across the mattress blindly for the source of the sound, seeking Theo where he sleeps in the bassinet that you set up when he first got sick. You’re wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets and one of Simon’s old sweatshirts, fighting to get free and pull the babe into the bed with you, just as you have for most of the night. Very dim, light orange rays of dawn peek under the drawn shades, casting shadow across the wooden floor of the bedroom, and Simon rubs his eyes open, body fully in tune with the sound of Theo’s distress. He gets there first, scooping the crying boy into his arms and ushering him out the door and into the bathroom, silently hoping you didn’t wake fully.

He turns the shower onto scalding hot and draws the curtain closed, stripping Theo out of his night shirt, cradling him against his bare skin.

“We’ve got this, yeah?” Theo blinks up at him, tears dripping from his eyes, face scrunching into a scream. Poor lad, Simon thinks. “Shhh, shhh.” He tries to soothe him, pressing the baby to his chest, the steam from the shower filling both of their lungs, and Theo’s cries slowly shift into more of a wheeze. The high pitched, squeaking noise sets Simon on edge, and he hovers his mouth above Theo’s ear, trying to relax him into easier breathing. The syrupy rattle of his little lungs heightens Simon’s anxiety about the illness that’s swept the house, the thickened scrape of the coughing and gasping coming from both you and Theo filling him with unease. Sickness is not something he’s well equipped to deal with, he believes, and this silent foe that threatens his family caught him more off guard than he would care to admit.

“It can be common in babies of this age.” The pediatrician explains to both of you while he holds Theo, the big four month old squirming and crying in his grip. You cover your mouth as you cough.

“But he’ll be okay?” To a stranger, you sound calm, but to Simon, who’s seen you in too many life or death situations to count, he recognizes the waver in the higher pitched syllables, the tense string tying your shoulders taut. You’re worried, even with the doctor’s reassurance.

“This medicine twice a day for seven days should knock it out. You can try turning the shower on and closing the door in the bathroom for a makeshift steam room to help give him some relief in the meantime.” She smiles kindly and then scribbles onto an RX pad. “Call me if you don’t see improvement after the medication finishes.”

A very soft knock sounds at the door.

“You okay?” Your voice scratches when you pop your head in, nose stuffed, face tired. Theo twists his head in your direction immediately.

“Yeah, we’re alright.” Your eyes travel over the two of them briefly, taking in the baby, only in his diaper and Simon, only in his boxers, a sleepy, barely-there smile twisting your lips. You step into the foggy room, resting your chin against Simon’s arm, careful to keep your face pointed away from Theo.

“How’s his breathing?”

“Still got a bit of a wheeze.” Simon takes a closer look at you and nearly winces. You’re no longer contagious, but not particularly any better off than Theo, the exhaustion of having a sick kid compounding your own illness. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.” You lie, moving to wash your hands in the sink before stroking a finger along Theo’s cheek. “Poor baby boy.” You murmur, and then draw a scratchy breath and step backwards, coughing into the crook of your arm.

“Sweet girl,” he says, palm brushing along your sweat-dampened skin, “you should be in bed.”

“He’s due for his medicine. The alarm woke me.”

“I’ve got it.” He assures you, gesturing to the vial on the counter. “We’ve got it, huh Theo? Tell her, go back to sleep.” You raise an eyebrow.

“You sure?” you sigh heavily when he nods. “Okay.” He presses his lips against your forehead.

“I’ll check on you once I put him back down.” You glance at them again, eyes half asleep, and then click the door shut as quietly as possible.

Simon eyes the sticky pinky substance that drips from the brown bottle with disdain. Smells awful, like fake bubblegum. Theo sits with his back against his chest, legs dangling over his forearm, watching his dad in the mirror as he scoops a dose into the little baby spoon they’ve been using.

“Alright lad.” He holds the spoon in front of his mouth, trying to urge him to open up. “I know, I know.” He hums while Theo jerks his head backwards, lips opening with a wail. Simon seizes the opportunity and deposits the pink slime onto his tongue, gently tilting his head back just slightly to encourage him to swallow. “Shhh. All done, good job.” He turns him around, laying his cheek against his chest, rubbing his back until his cries quiet down.

When he cracks the door to the bedroom, you’re already knocked out, sprawled across the bed, mouth open and lightly snoring. It’s the deepest you’ve slept in a week, and he can’t bring himself to disturb your rest. He leans over you, Theo still in his arms, and kisses your cheek gently.

“Say goodnight, mum.” He whispers, one arm supporting the boy, while the other tucks the sheet closer under your chin.

He buttons Theo into new sleep clothes before placing him on his back in the crib, Simon’s giant palm just barely resting on his little chest until he settles, eyes slowly closing and breaths falling into an even rhythm. He folds up a spare baby blanket for a pillow, and lays down on the carpet, one hand grasping the bars of the crib. Just in case he wakes up. That way, he knows his dad’s here, Simon tells himself, his own eyes feeling heavy, the heat from the steam finally pulling both father and son into deep, dreamless sleep.

#sassy series #peaches writes #simon ghost riley x you #reader is referred to as mom #sickfic #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mwii #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost cod #soft dad simon riley #dad!simon Riley #sick fic #simon x sass #ghost x reader

[jasmines-library]

Hello!! I was hoping I could request for a Winchester sister reader that's taking care of the brothers when they're sick? Maybe making chicken noodle soup for them and stuff! Just something cute, I just need some comfort 🥹 Thank you if you take my request! 🫶

Noodle Soup

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: Sorry its a little short, I wanted to get some spn out for you all tonight because its been a hot minute since I wrote for spn and I’m ashamed

Word Count: 1k

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

You never thought you would ever say this, but the infamous Dean Winchester was sick. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he would ever say it. Not out loud at least, but this morning, he could hardly drag himself out of bed and he was hit with a migraine and blocked sinuses that completely threw him off balance.

 It put him in a bad mood as he tried to make his way to the kitchen, grumbling something about how he was fine. He was betrayed by the dry cough that left him heaving and leaning heavily on the side of the counter. You considered getting up many times as you watched him from the kitchen table as you scanned the papers for any possible hunts, but you knew his foul mood would more than likely end in an argument that you didn’t want to be involved in. What finally made you push your chair out from the table to put a stop to Dean’s antics was when he was fumbling around with a pan and dropped it on the floor with a clatter. 

“Alright. That’s it. ” You linked an arm around him, pulling him away from the counter. 

“Get the hell off me, Y/N.” Dean tried to push you away. “I’m fine.”

“Dean.” You gave him a look, narrowing your eyes at him stubbornly. “You can barely stand straight.”

He tried to turn back to the kitchen. “Piss off.”

You took his arm and dragged him back to the sofa. He sank back into it with a cough. 

“Stay put.”

Your brother rolled his eyes and grumbled, but made no attempt to stand. 

Sighing in content, you made your way back to the kitchen to make a start on breakfast when you heard another set of lumbering footsteps echoing through the bunker. 

“I swear to god, Dean-” You started, making your way out of the kitchen only to come face to face with a very gruff-looking Sam. His hair was tousled and his eyes had dark shadows beneath them. 

“Sammy?” You frowned. 

“Hey y/n/n” He greeted. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, as if someone had replaced it with sandpaper. Perhaps it was not just one set of coughs and sneezes that kept you up last night. 

“You too, huh?” You asked as he plonked himself on a stool in the kitchen. 

Although less stubborn than his older brother, Sam still hesitated for a moment before sighing. 

“Yep. I think we must have picked it up at the bar on the last hunt.”

It made sense. The two of them had gone out to the bar the other nights while you scouted out the local town. You weren’t sick, so it seemed to add up.

Sam groaned, rubbing his temples to try and ease the pressure. 

“Why don’t you go and join Dean? I’ll bring some food out in a bit.”

Nodding, Sammy took his leave, stumbling back to his brother. 

~

“Alrighty…” You balanced two bowls of steaming soup in your hands and you pushed open the door with your foot. 

Your brothers didn’t seem to have improved much since this morning. Stubbornly as ever they both sat bundled up in blankets on the couch, wallowing in their own self pity and watching whatever they could find on the TV to keep themselves entertained. In the meantime, you were making sure that they were well cared for: making sure their temperatures didn’t get too high, or handing them painkillers to help with the headache. It was only fair, they had spent countless hours looking after you in the past when you were ill. 

That was why you found yourself in the kitchen nursing a bowl of chicken noodle soup. It was your mother’s recipe; something that John had stashed away at the back of his journal. You could see why: it was the perfect remedy for a day like this. 

Handing a bowl to both of your brothers, you watched as they sipped the steaming liquid and twisted the noodles around on a fork. Glad to see that they could stomach food, you went back into the kitchen to grab your own bowl. Your two brothers had sprawled themselves out across the length of the sofa, so you took a seat on the floor with your head leaning against Sam’s legs. 

“Thank you.” Dean said as you took your seat.

“It’s not a problem.” You told him.

“We should be the ones taking care of you.” Dean continued.

You frowned, deepening the creases on your forehead. “Says who?”

Dean faltered. “Us.”

“Let me take care of you for once.”

The three of you stayed there for the rest of the day, talking and watching films through half lidded eyes and checking that your brothers were feeling okay. But, a few hours and a mountain of tissues later, they had finally drifted off to sleep.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@defonotashleyr @aestheticdaisies @xxrougefangxx

@hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

#supernatural x reader #spn x reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x sister reader #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x sister reader #sick fic #comfort #fluff #spn #spn fanfic

[xcherryerim]

Strange Fascination

Part two: The Shadow Under the Bed

part one

Stalker Mike x gn!reader

“And your dreams, Won't you say that in there I'm yours and keep you safe? Say you're mine. I'll always be there.” — Monster Under the Bed by Emily Mei

Warning: obsession/ stalking | mentions of over-usage (with sleeping pills but yk) | Breaking in readers house | masturbation | light toy usage | under the influence sex | penetration | unprotected sex | Mike praising reader and being a possessive fuck | soft!dom Mike | stealing readers underwear | No specific readers genitalia

Notes: I would recommend reading the first part, as it explains Mike’s obsession and stalking behavior, but in summary, After not seeing you to pick up your brother he panics and goes around the area where you live to see the reason of your absence. At night, he decides to break into your place.

Also idk if it’s obvious but Mike is too high and sleepy that he thinks he’s having a sex/wet dream but he isn’t. If you wanna skip to the smut part look for the “❥”

"Not feeling like going to school today, bud?" You asked gently, settling onto Gregory's bed. Placing your hand on his forehead, you winced at the heat radiating from his skin. Sickness was a rarity in your family, making it all the more frightening when it struck.

He shook his head weakly, a small cough escaping him. His pale face was marred with beads of sweat, his eyes brimming with pain, looking like a Victorian man on his deathbed.

…

Despite your brother's reluctance to eat, you managed to coax him into trying a few bites of his favorite meal - mac and cheese. The comforting aroma filled the room, mingling with the laughter from the TV as you played his favorite show, South Park.

You chose the most lighthearted episodes, hoping to distract him from his discomfort. The colorful animation flickered across the screen, punctuated by the show's signature humor. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"Can we get pizza later?" Gregory pleaded, those puppy dog eyes working their magic. You rolled your eyes. Sometimes, it was impossible not to cave in.

"You're pushing it," you responded, but even as you spoke, you knew you were losing the battle. His eyes held a pleading look, a silent promise that maybe, just maybe, he would start feeling better soon.

"Please," he begged, and there it was - that hint of vulnerability that got you every time. You exhale, relenting.

"Fine, for dinner, we can get pizza."

Gregory's face broke into a grin, the first genuine smile you'd seen today. Relief washed over you, knowing that you'd made him happy, even in this small way.

As you sat next to your brother, watching him slowly pick at his food, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. You remembered how it felt to be sick, how even the simplest tasks seemed impossible. But you also remembered how comforting it was to have someone there for you, offering support and understanding.

So, you continued to sit with him, occasionally laughing at the absurdity unfolding on the screen. And as the hours passed, you hoped that your presence, along with the familiarity of his favorite things, would help him feel just a little bit better.

….

After tucking Gregory in, you wished him a good night, feeling a sense of happiness wash over you.

❥ Despite everything, tonight had been a relatively normal evening. Yet, as you settled into bed, your exhaustion refused to cooperate. Sleep evaded you, a cruel tease dancing just beyond reach.

Frustrated, you stood up, making your way to the medicine cabinet. Melatonin pills, their potential untapped. With a sigh, you popped a few, waiting impatiently for the promised drowsiness, To no avail.

Instead, you found yourself pouring a generous portion of liquid sleeping aid down your throat, mimicking the carefree college days of the past.

“This is ridiculous,” you thought, tossing and turning under your covers.

However, the combination of pills and syrup began to take effect, lulling you into slumber. But as the night wore on, you found yourself awake once more. Tired of fighting, you clicked on the lamp beside your bed, casting a warm glow across the room.

Walking to the window, you gazed upon the waning crescent moon hanging low in the sky. Something was comforting about its steady presence, a constant among the chaos of life. A yawn escaped you, and with it, a realization. Perhaps your sleeplessness stemmed from worry. Worrying about Gregory, about the future, about everything in between.

With a deep breath, you decided to address the root of your restlessness. Stepping out of your room, you headed towards the kitchen, determined to make yourself a calming cup of tea.

Once you returned, clutching the steaming cup of tea, you paused near the window. In your haste, the cup tilted slightly, spilling hot liquid onto your leg. A sharp yelp, almost a full-on scream escaped your lips, but you stifled it immediately, not wanting to disturb Gregory.

At the sudden scream, Mike’s panic gnawed at his insides, threatening to consume him whole. He had pushed his luck too far, he thought. Invading personal space without consideration. Now, he waited, trembling and exposed, anticipating the inevitable confrontation.

Hot tendrils of pain radiated from the spot, but you forced yourself to focus on your breath. Slow, deep inhales and exhales carried you through the discomfort, easing the sting. Soon enough, the heat subsided, leaving behind a dull ache.

When you achieved a semblance of peace, you pulled out your sage green journal. Flipping to a blank page. Chronicles of your day poured onto the paper, each sentence capturing the highs and lows of your day. It was therapeutic, a way to process the chaos of life.

And then, there it was - mention of Mike. Your words were casual, almost carefree. “I didn't get to see Mike today though, hopefully, I can tomorrow.” You mumbled just two sentences, but they carried weight. You remembered his name, and you wanted to see him again.

Underneath the bed, Mike's body stiffened. How had you retained his name after such brief encounters? The thought filled him with equal parts pride and embarrassment. You, who knew him so little, desired more interaction. This revelation shook him to his core, Was he just a stranger in your eyes, or did you hold a place for him in your heart?

"Mike, Mike, Mike." Your voice was soft, laced with a mix of exhaustion and longing. As you reached for the nightstand, your hands quivered with anticipation. Mike watched from his hiding place, his heart pounding in his chest.

The moment you pulled out your toy, his eyes widened in shock. This was not what he had expected but, as you began to use it, your body writhing with delight, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction.

The combination of drowsiness from the pills and syrup, along with the physical release, created a heady mixture of sensations. You moaned softly, your voice ringing through the room. Each sound was like a siren's call, drawing him closer to the edge of his sanity.

His adrenaline surged, his body tense with anticipation. As you repeated his name, his heart swelled with an emotion he couldn't quite name. It was a strange mix of pride, longing, and something else entirely - something dangerous.

He felt himself leaking precum, the mere sound of your voice driving him to the brink. Disbelief washed over him; you were thinking of him during your moments of intimacy. He was grateful - no, relieved - that he wasn't alone in this longing.

Without another thought, Mike unzipped his pants, lowering both trousers and boxers just enough to free his aching erection. Semi-naked to the cool night air, his need pulsed with every beat of his heart. Every whimper you uttered drew him closer, matching the rhythm with feverish intensity.

As if entranced, he stroked himself with fervor, mirroring your satisfaction. The air was thick with appetite, heavy with the scent of forbidden lust and connection. Your cries grew louder, almost like you were urging him on, and he responded in kind, matching your pace with increasing fervor.

The boundary between fantasy and reality danced a tantalizing waltz within him, as though the sleeping pills had crafted a mesmerizing dreamscape. His frenzied strokes built the tension to a fever pitch, and as his name echoed through the night, Mike emerged from his hiding spot. A predatory grin graced his lips, and ragged gasps betrayed the satisfaction coursing through him.

"Mike?!" you stammered, your eyes locked onto the object of your fantasies. The man standing before you proudly displayed his erection, taunting yet gratifying.

"My sweet, sweet angel," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he closed the distance between you. "I knew you wanted me."

His fingertips danced delicately across your features, like an artist carefully sculpting his next piece. "You've been thinking of me, haven't you?" The question hung in the air, a declaration that shattered the façade of secrecy. No longer was he a stranger observing you; instead, you were two souls entangled in a passionate embrace.

"I've waited so long for this moment," Mike confessed, his breath warm against your skin. "To have you all to myself... to hear you call my name like that." Hunger glinted in his eyes, a testament to his craving.

With a sudden, possessive hold, Mike clutched your chin, demanding eye contact. "But now that I have it... I'll never let you go." His words carried a weighted promise, a tether connecting you both in a web of his obsession and yearning.

“Mike what are you—“ you began, but before you could utter another word, Mike silenced you with a gentle kiss, his lips firm yet tender. His tongue slipped past your parted lips, igniting a firestorm of sensations within you.

"Shh," he whispered, breaking away from the kiss just enough to speak. "No more questions. Tonight, we belong to each other, and nothing else matters."

His skilled hands traced every curve and contour of your body, exploring with a purposeful tenderness that left you breathless. "Tell me... do you know how long I've dreamed of this?" he asked, "To have you, all to myself, like this..."

Mike claimed his position above you, his throbbing length pressing insistently against your outer thigh. The mere touch sent ripples of desire coursing through him, and he started to slightly hump.

"You've consumed my every waking thought," Mike’s breath hitched, the weight of his obsession finally surfacing. As months of longing and secrecy culminated in this single moment, Mike's need became palpable. His breath hitched with each ragged exhale, proof of his pent-up desperation.

“I've waited for this, dreamt of this," he added, his voice low and husky.

For a moment, the outside world ceased to exist. You and Mike were entwined in a dance of eagerness and confusion, lost in the euphoria of the moment. The distinction between reality and fantasy didn't matter; it was irrelevant in the face of your connection.

Fixating on the silhouette of your body, he noticed your hand wrapped around the toy. Acting on instinct, Mike adjusted the device gently, synchronizing its rhythm with yours. His arousal surged at the sight, causing a low, guttural groan to escape him.

"You look so good like this, darling," Mike whispered, his warm breath dancing across your skin. "I've wanted this for so long... to touch you, to be with you..."

With delicate precision, Mike brushed your most sensitive spot with his thumb, earning a sharp gasp from you. "I know you feel it too..." he whispered, his words laced with raw truth.

The coolness from his hand traced up your thigh, causing your body to shiver involuntarily.

"Let me pleasure you, the way you deserve," Mike whispered, his fingers moving with slow, calculated strokes. He increased the pressure, his thumb tracing the throbbing between your legs. Drawing closer still, he left a trail of scorching kisses along your jawline, nipping gently at the delicate skin of your neck. His other hand explored your curves, mapping them with meticulous care.

"You're perfect... I want to worship every inch of you," he murmured, his breath hitching as your responses to his touch grew more pronounced.

"Tell me what you need," he urged, his gaze locked firmly on yours. "I'll give you anything you want, just say the word."

"Fuck me, please," you whined, the vibrating toy making it difficult to talk.

Mike's eyes flashed with raw hunger at your impassioned plea. Leaning in, his warm breath hit your skin, and a low, rumbling growl escaped his chest. "As you wish."

In a deliberate movement, he removed the toy from your trembling body. "I'll give you everything you crave."

With a grace born of fervor, Mike positioned himself between your quivering thighs. He gently lifted your legs, granting access to your awaiting entrance. The head of his cock pressed insistently against you, demanding entry.

Savoring the exquisite tension, Mike paused for a fleeting moment before burying himself deeply into you. A rough groan escaped him. The sensation was indescribable – a potent mix of pain and pleasure that stole your breath. His pace was both fierce and controlled, striking a delicate balance between his untamed passion and your comfort.

"I'm going to make you scream my name," he warned. A promise hung heavy in the air, fueling the flames of passion between you both.

Gripping your hips, his fingers bit into your skin as his pace quickened. In a display of brutal possession, he claimed your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy.

"You're mine," he proclaimed, the words laden with ownership. His eyes bore into yours, leaving no doubt about his claim.

you clutched his shirt desperately, searching for something solid amidst the tempest of sensations. "All yours," you whimpered, your body responding to his rhythm, yearning for more.

"All mine..." Mike answered possessively, digging his fingertips into your hips.

Driven by your need and his unquenchable thirst, he sinks into you with unbridled intensity. The sensation was a revelation - an exquisite fit, an intimate conquest. Your bodies merged, creating a symphony of gratification.

"You feel so good around me like you were fucking made just for me," Short of breath, his hips snapping forward in relentless pursuit of bliss. Each stroke brought him closer to the pinnacle, fueled by your mutual hunger.

"Oh god..." you cried out, clutching at him even tighter as the pleasure built within you.

Panting heavily, Mike's voice transformed into a guttural growl as he neared the precipice. "I'm going to fill you up, mark you as mine," he promised menacingly. Bending his head, he grazed your neck with his teeth in a primal claim of possession.

His grip on your hips tightened further, his fingers digging into your flesh as he thrust deeper inside you. "Take all of me, baby. Let me claim every part of you," he commanded, his eyes locked onto yours.

With each powerful thrust, both edging closer to orgasm, the tension coiling ever tighter. It was as though no other concerns existed – no consequences, no worries, only the two of them, entangled in a web of unrelenting carnal nature.

You cried, your nails raking down his back, clawing at his slick skin for stability. Your bodies moved as one, driven by an irresistible force that defied logic and reason. The scent of vigor filled the air, mingling with the sound of their labored breaths.

As the final moments stretched out before them, Mike's drive grew frantic, his eyes locked on yours in a hypnotic dance. Your cries grew louder, each one a plea for release, for the sweet relief that lay just beyond reach. And then, with a sudden jolt, you peaked, your body convulsing around him, a triumphant cry escaping your lips.

Mike's eyes widened as he felt your body twitch, his name echoing through the room. Unable to resist any longer, he followed suit, burying himself deep within you as he found his release. His world narrowed to the feel of you surrounding him, the sweet embrace of your warmth.

Yet, his need for you remained insatiable. Collapsing on top of you, he embraced you possessively, your bodies sliding against each other, chasing every tremor of your shared climax.

His movements were ragged and sloppy. "Mine... you're mine!" he whined and groaned your name against your lips, capturing you in a deep, fiery kiss. Overstimulation faded into the background, swallowed by the heady rush of their union.

This was a dream, wasn't it? A dream world where you belonged to him and him alone.

Huffing and puffing, Mike whispered, "I love you," his voice laced with genuine emotion. Nuzzling against your neck, he claimed your lips once more in a searing kiss, his words a confession born of obsession and desire. All those hours spent observing you, planning this moment... they were finally rewarded.

His heart beat wildly against your chest, matching the rhythm of yours. You both lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, lost in the afterglow of devoting love and possession.

…..

Mike woke up to the warm glow of sunlight filtering through an unfamiliar window. Confusion furrowed his brow as he shifted his body to the side, revealing your sleeping form next to him.

Panic welled up inside him, his mind racing to piece together the fragments of last night. Had everything that transpired between you truly happened, or was it all a dream fueled by his overuse of sleeping pills? Deciding there was no time to waste, He carefully extracted himself from the bed, moving with the silence of a thief. Gathering his belongings, he paused to steal one last, longing glance at your peaceful face.

In a sudden burst of impulse, he approached your dresser, quietly opening a drawer and snatching a pair of your underwear. A gleam lit his eyes as he slipped them into his pocket. Then, without another word, he climbed out the window and melted into the morning shadows.

As he disappeared from view, doubt lingered in the air. Was it real or merely a product of his overactive imagination? Regardless, the daylight served as a harsh reminder of the risk he had taken, the line he had crossed.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of the window closing. A coy smile spread across your lips as you watched Mike's retreating form, amusement twinkling in your eyes.

"So predictable, my dear Mike..." you murmured to yourself.

You knew full well that he was oblivious to the security camera discreetly positioned just outside. The unlocked window - an open invitation he simply couldn't resist - had been your doing. And, as expected, he had fallen right into your trap.

Shifting onto your side, you let your fingers trail across the rumpled sheets, still warm from his embrace. A contented sigh escaped you as you nestled back into the pillows. You reveled in the knowledge that Mike was utterly ensnared in your web. And with a devious glint in your eye, you vowed to keep him there, anticipating your next encounter with eager delight.

After all, you had no intention of letting him go.

Thank you so much for reading! should I make a part 3?

Originally it was going to be two parts but if you guys liked it I can make another part (mainly smut). If you have any questions don’t be afraid to ask them since i know the story might be confusing.

If you guys like the story and want to be added to the possible part 3 let me know so I can add you to my taglist!

taglist 🍒: @lile6969 @fatinhadesiners06 @jhutchismyl0verb0y @lefteagleblizzard @freak-accident419 @joshhutchersonsgf @valreanakuroo @jhutch-bf @cassiecasluciluce

#mike schmidt smut #strange fascination mini series #strange fascination #mike schmidt stalker #mike schmidt #mike schmidt angst #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt fanfic #mike schmidt headcanons #mike fnaf #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt fnaf #mike schimdt x reader #mike schimdt smut #mike schimdt x you #mike schmidt x y/n #mike schmidt x gn!reader #stalker mike schmidt

[kingofspadescos]

Astarion x Reader - All You Wanna Do

Warnings - ANGST WITH GOOD ENDING

TW - Trauma, Sexual trauma mention

ALMOST MADE MYSELF CRY FROM THIS-

So in Six we all know Katherine Howard's (the pink one) song right? '

'All You Wanna Do'

And it goes through her lovers but how they only used her for her body?

Tell me that isn't Astarion.

Imagine after escaping Cazador (or at some point) he tries to get back out into the dating pool. He just wanted something, anything to make the numb feeling go away. And he thought he found it, but every day he'd wake up to an empty bed and every time he could feel more and more of himself break. Its an endless vicous cycle that he tries desperstly to break but fails inevitably.

He gives up, slinking back to the shadows and watching from afar.

But then one day when he slips out at night to visit a midnight market he accidently bumps into someone.

And it just so happens to be you.

He tilts his head when you smile up at him

"Sorry, sir, apprantly the skill of walking has alluded me" you said.

He's dumbfounded, a snarky remark at the tip of his tongue but unable to make it past his lips. How could it? You were truly breathtaking, the moonlight reflecting off your skin in a way he could only describe as ethereal.

And the way you looked at him, oh gods your eyes had him reeling. There was no hunger in them, no want, no lust, just embarrassment and genuine kindness, something he was not used to being the target of.

He could handle pure mindless need, but this? Such a sweet innocent little thing like you? Oh, no, he couldn't handle that. Not when you looked at him like he actually mattered in the world.

He barely managed out a stangled 'its fine' before dashing back to his dwelling...where he proceeded to lock himself away for days.

What else was he supposed to do? His heart was beating to another rhythm, a time that only meant heartbreak, anger, and self loathing. He couldn't handle it, not again.

But then, after a few days, a knock sounded at his door, and with caution he had opened it to find you there, holding his blade.

"Hi! You dropped this at the market a few days ago" you said "I asked around about you so I could find you, which was tremendously easy, apprantly there is only one known vampire around here."

And there that smile was again and those same eyes that had him crumbling.

"Thank you" he had coughed out, gently grabbing the blade. He wanted you out, far away from him as possible, just so he could function normally. But then your fingers accidently brushed his and he was almost done for.

Panic, excitement, fear, and hope came down on him in waves as he looked into your eyes again. He barely manged to stop himself from taking a step back as if the adoration and happiness that were captured in your eyes had physically pushed him.

"Well I should probably get going" you said turning to walk, and a new panic rose in his chest, the fear of never seeing you again.

"Wait!" He said too quickly for his own liking "come in for some tea, won't you? It's the least I could do to repay you."

From there you two go closer and closer, spending as much time together as possible. Each second he spent with you he felt his heart reach out towards you as if to embrace you and never let go.

But the fear was still there, the fear that he would get to close and you would leave him, just like everyone else.

However, the day came when you confessed. A new dagger in one hand and a rose in the other you looked up at him with those eyes. The same eyes he had yet to act normal about and told him you liked him and wanted him to be yours and you to be his.

The cold hand of panic that crippled his heart made an appearance, twisting the fear into his body and causing his knees to buckle. God's, he felt so stupid, felt so vulnerable and useless, but then a warmth surrounded him.

Your embrace.

You held him, arms tightly woven around his body keeping him secure to you.

"You can say no, you can tell me no" you had whispered, and he almost jumped at the out "but if you're willing to let me hold your heart ill shall cherish it til' the sun no longer shines and even then I shall create my own."

You had him in tears, hands clutching at you in desperation and head burying into your neck.

The rest of the night was spent with assurance and love, you guiding him through a simple kiss that led to nothing more.

And in the morning when he awoke, he cried again when he saw you curled into his side, hand clutching his with the intent of never letting go.

#Bg3 #baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion my beloved #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #Six #six the musical #im crying #fanfiction #vampire

[moongumi]

⁀➷ ∵  ❝ stay professional²❞

⟶ simon 'ghost' riley x reader

⟶ cw. ooc!ghost, fem!reader, flirting, established flirtationship, sexual jokes, teasing, fondling, sexual tension, needy.

⟶ note. not edited, written out of pure thirst. this is based on the mission when ghost and soap makes lots of cute jokes (same MC from other ghost fic i've written)

to put it simply, things are tense. everyone could feel it, they could tell. ghost was constantly frustrated, seemingly angry at his own feelings.

"so you're saying you've seen his face?" your voice echoes behind him, making his ears twitch as he walks ahead leading the group.

the person you were talking to, soap snorts, "yep."

"no way." you breathed, mouth agape. your eyes flicker to the back of ghost's head, trying to imagine his face–hm. you've only felt it, with your hands and lips, see the curves of his chin and jaw in the dark. but fuck, that wouldn't compare to getting a look at him–even for a second.

"i’m jealous." you whispered, cocking your head back at soap.

soap chuckles, gripping the stock of his rifle, "nah, you'll be disappointed, trust me."

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

"where the fuck, where am i going?" you whisper shout into your radio, feeling the heat of bullets whizzing past your head tearing apart the wood, splitting the beam that protected you.

ghost sighs, his voice deep and grovelled, "calm down."

"i can't calm down." you couldn't. the shadow company had just betrayed you all and here you are, fighting for your life--firing bullets back at the people who you were working with. you rest your head against the wall, breathing heavily.

"get to the church. i'll be there, try to stay quiet."

"they're fucking firing at me, i don't think quiet's an option." with that the two that were shooting at you, drop to the ground with a loud thud.

"get going."

you sigh, moving past the bodies towards the church he mentioned. "where is soap?"

"he's on the way, don't worry about him. worry about yourself" ghost seemed preoccupied, you can hear him reloading his mags.

“you care about me then, you like me ghost?” you decide to tease him, easing the tension and your own stress.

“i like you alive.”

"uh." you groan. “alright, i’ll try to stay alive.”

ghost hears the tone of your voice. he rolls his eyes at his stupidity but decides to go for it. "you wanna hear a joke?"

"from you? you have jokes, ghost." you quip. already your mood is lightened, it lifts a weight off his chest for some reason.

"hm, want 'em or not?"

"maybe," you reply, grabbing spare mags off guns you could find on the ground from all of ghost's work. then you notice a dog, "there's a dog here."

"if it barks, shoot it."

"no way, i'm not shooting a dog," you say.

ghost clicks his tongue, "what has two legs and bleeds?"

you roll your eyes already, breathing in a breath. "what?"

"half a dog."

"fuck off." you groan. his sheepish tone and slight humour were at least comforting but fuck, his jokes were terrible and stone cold. "i didn't like that one."

"want another?" ghost decides to continue the conversation. he was doing it to be able to know what you were doing if you were in trouble–he just needed to know.

"not really to be honest," you say. you see shadows walking around the building and decide to go around hoping to not have to try to murder two large men alone where it would get loud and attract attention.

"two goldfish are in a tank..."

"hm, hm?" you only make noises, it was enough for him.

"one turns to the other and says...'you know how to drive this thing?' just a little army humour." he jokes.

you sigh, "very little, makes absolutely no sense to me."

"you're too young." that might be true, but you were old enough to be working alongside him.

you shrug, and a grin grows on your face as you say, "not too young for you i hope."

you can only hear a slight cough and rustling. no response. so you decide to change the subject. 

"i've got one for you." 

"let's hear it then," he replies quickly, he definitely heard that earlier then, he was just ignoring it.

"why was the strawberry crying?" you recall a joke soap had told you before.

"why?" he breathed.

"because he was in jam." you chuckle. cutely, he notes.

ghost's eyebrows quirked, a small grin threatening to grow on his face, "not bad, we could do this all night."

"there are many things we could do all night–ghost–" this time he chokes up, rather loudly.

you jog around, managing to sneak by most of the people and gather enough to cause a distraction. the church was properly in sight and it was almost over.

"hm, i’m at the bar now." you poke about, most of it was destroyed but still, "would love something right now."

"you like tequila?" he asks.

"nope, tastes like ass." 

"i'd murder for a whiskey."

he definitely would. he seemed like the type to like that kinda thing, you continue, "you mean scotch?"

"i drink bourbon," he replies, which makes sense.

"oh, so like a good boy, huh?" you moaned slightly as you spoke, teasing him.

"shut up." he sighs, "and focus."

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

“so you got something for masks?” you ask, nearing the church.

ghost breathes, “what do you mean?”

“mask kink? i hear you sleep with that thing,” you say, hoping he’d give a good response.

“no, you got something against my mask?” he replies.

“i do, take it off.”

“show my face?”

“yes, sir.” something about the way you said that makes his stomach turn–the pits of his gut warm and he shakes his head trying to ignore the feelings.

“negative.”

“damn, are you ugly?” you ask, your voice soft.

“quite the opposite.” you could practically hear the smirk on his face.

“it’s not fair.” you huff, climbing over an iron fence over at the church already, “is soap here?”

“no, he’s almost here. and what’s not fair?”

“he knows what you look like, and i don’t?” you say.

and then you see him, after climbing up the stairs he’s positioned at the window with his sniper rifle as he picked off many of those shadows for you and soap. 

ghost feels a weight lift off his shoulders seeing your rather tattered form finally reach him. even with all the dirt, mud and water covering you–his nose, even through the mask caught the scent of you. 

“don’t be a hypocrite, snow.”

you walk over to him, resting your gun on the wall. and sigh, “i’m not, my face is on files–”

“i know i’ve seen them.”

wait what? “the fuck–”

he chuckles, turning towards you. his eyes are dark and the paint that coats his eyelids has mostly washed off, “you’re not bad, kid.”

“you’re going to have to stop calling me kid if you’re trying to fuck me.”

ghost’s shoulder tense and his eyes darken, “what?”

“i said what i said.” you walk towards him, god, you both stink but it didn’t fucking matter. the adrenaline, the pain and fucking stench of blood–hours of unease, not knowing. it’s quiet now, silence falls between you two.

your neck cranes to look up at him, peering at him through your own dirtied balaclava, your lashes are heavy–batting them at him. chest rising and falling slowly, the tensions rise and the room grows hot and heavy.

“snow.”

“hm,” you let out a sound.

he drops his hand from the rifle, the stock hits the windowsill. within a second he’s an inch from you, and your head’s against a wall. his hand grips your throat, gently enough–forcing your head up higher for him.

“not now.”

“why not?”

his eyes flicker between your face, and your legs–the legs that are rubbing against themselves and his large thighs. you gulp, lids heavy–feeling the burn of his gaze. his gloved hands feel like fire, from your throat the palm rests on your cheeks and his fingers lace into your loose hair–he grips it. his mask is literally against yours.

you can feel the heat of his breath, “you’ve been fucking teasing me, snow.”

“i know, it was fun, now finish the job.”

his other hand, free, feels up the curves of your body–finds a resting point at your waist, he grips it tightly going under the tattered fabric to feel the heat of your skin. his eyes shut, fuck, it feels good.

“hm,” he groans, into your ear.

your smaller fingers touch his arm, his tattoos peek from his rolled up sleeves. “does it feel good?” the way he moulds your skin like dough. “other parts of me feel better.”

“i bet it does, fuck.” the skull part of his mask nudges your nose, as he breathes you in.

“feel ‘em.” it was the way you looked at him, like you wanted to give him everything. your fingers lace between his, fingerless gloved hands control his own guiding them towards your chest. “they’re yours.”

his large hands near, he could feel them twitching. but of course, fate had other desires. gunfire rings from below and you can spot soap running from way too many shadows for him to handle.

ghost pulls away immediately and grabs his effects. you rolled your eyes, “next time i guess.”

“stay professional, snow.” ghost clears his throat, as you two rush down the stairs to help soap.

you raised your eyebrows, “grabbing my tits seemed professional.”

“i didn’t.”

“you would’ve.”

he rolls his eyes, “but i didn’t.”

end note: i wrote this so looong ago but yea here it is just some teasey stuff with the same characters from the previous ghost fic i wrote kewk

© moongumi 2022. all rights reserved, do not copy and publish my writing anywhere else.

#☾ ⟶ moon writes #FINALLY POSTING THIS #cod x reader #cod smut #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #ghost fluff #simon riley x reader

[lovings4turn]

★ sick, but never of you . . . (luke hughes)

— when you're feeling incredibly under the weather, your boyfriend is there to look after you the best he can (1.3k)

+ warnings for mentions of illness and feeling sick. yes this is incredibly self-indulgent but i'm currently ill so you have to let me off okay !!!! first time writing for luke so pls don't be too too harsh !! banner from benkeibear <3

luke knew it was bad the moment he woke to the sight of your shadowed outline sitting up in bed, your body hunched over as muffled sniffling broke the silence in the room.

you hadn't been feeling the greatest all day, plagued with an annoying cough and pounding headache, but you had insisted before you headed to bed that you were starting to feel a little better, even assuring him that a good night's sleep would cure everything.

unfortunately, it seemed that sheer wishful thinking alone wasn’t enough. 

something happened overnight, and you’d gone from bad to worse within a matter of hours. what had started out as a level of illness that was more of an annoyance than anything had spiralled to an obnoxious level of discomfort.

the blocked nose, the sharp scratch in your throat, the awful cough, and the pulsing headache would all be bad enough on their own, but experiencing them all in one sitting seemed like a level of torture that you definitely didn’t deserve. yet, here you were. and there was nothing you could really do about it. 

it took every last ounce of strength in you not to cry.

you were just so frustrated. nothing felt right, and sleep was definitely out of the question; you were left with no other option than to sit and feel sorry for yourself, and hell, who could blame you?

"babe?" luke asked, voice thick with a blend of sleep and concern that already worked to soothe you a little. it was like your own personal medicine, washing over your body and allowing your muscles to relax a fraction.

"sorry," you all but croaked, and luke winced at the sound. speaking had to be impossibly painful for you right now, there was no doubt about it. "y’can go back to sleep, 'm fine."

your attempt at lying was already pitiful, but it was truly ruined when, not even five seconds later, you promptly burst into tears. luke’s extension of care had broken the emotional dam you’d tried to build up, and the wave of upset quickly came crashing over you. 

luke swore that he could feel each individual crack splintering across his heart at the sight of you. how he was simply supposed to 'go back to sleep' right now, even if he wanted to, was a total mystery to him.

"hey, hey, c'mere," he mumbled, sounding more like he was addressing a wounded animal than his girlfriend.

without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you against him, his hand tracing circles on the small of your back as you sobbed into him. small ‘i know, i know’s passed his lips, and he hoped to any god that they sounded reassuring and not patronising.

a particularly rough coughing fit interrupted your crying, and you tore yourself away from him to cover your mouth. luke mourned the loss of your body against his, the warmth replaced by the telltale cold of losing your embrace.

"i feel like fucking shit."

your voice cracked at every word, even cutting out completely on some syllables, and the expression on your face confirmed that speaking was hell for you right now.

never had luke seen you so utterly broken, and it was killing him. he knew that if you were any more coherent, you would’ve kicked him out of your room instantly, not wanting to risk getting him sick.

he knew that, because it had happened many times before.

it was like clockwork, a dance you two had mastered over the years together. you’d get a slight cold, luke would offer to take care of you, and you’d shut him down immediately, not wanting your sniffles to be the reason the devils lost one of their defensemen for a game or two.

but this was far worse than a common cold, and no amount of convincing would be able to pull luke from your side.

luke sat for a moment, formulating a plan in his mind with a level of precision only otherwise reserved for his time on the ice. he gnawed at his bottom lip gently as he thought, a hand reaching out to brush the hot skin of your thigh to let you know he was still there.

after a minute, he spoke.

“alright, i’m gonna go grab some stuff for you and i’ll be right back okay?” luke promised, rising to his feet.

a stern, yet caring, look shot down your feeble attempt at arguing with him. nothing you could say or do right now would prevent him from looking after you.

“you just get y’self comfy, babe. i’ll be back before you know it.”

a kiss to your forehead sealed his goodbye, and the soft thump of his feet against the wood flooring became quieter as he made his way into the kitchen. you sniffled once more, wiping away the stray tears from your cheeks with the palms of your hands and propped yourself up against one of the pillows, sighing deeply. 

remnants of luke’s warmth seemed to bleed along the sheets, tingling underneath your skin to remind you that he was here, looking after you, and he was happy to do it. a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you held back from burying yourself into luke’s side of the bed despite your heart silently begging you to. 

as promised, luke returned not too long after, balancing a few objects in his hands. whilst one hand clasped a steaming mug of tea, the other contained some painkillers and medicine you had in your cabinet, along with a bottle of cold water. luke had apparently grabbed anything in sight that he thought would help you out, and cupid’s arrow snagged your heartstrings once more. 

within seconds your bedside table was decorated with his haul, and the mug of tea carefully handed to you with a warning that it would be hot. luke busied himself with figuring out how much of each medication you could take, making a mental note as to when you could have the next dose with furrowed brows.

his fingers stretched out to gently tap your palm twice, a silent request for you to hold out your unoccupied hand so he could drop the pills into them for you. the fact you had woken him up at god knows what time of night and his movements were laced more with love than exhaustion was truly a testament to how much he adored you, and it made you feel giddy despite your awful state.

a sympathetic sound left his mouth as he reached out a hand to cup your jaw, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone as though you were fine china, something delicate for him to cherish and admire. 

“drink some tea and then try and get some more sleep, baby,” he said in a hushed tone, pressing a gentle kiss to your clammy forehead. “know it sounds impossible, but the meds should make it a bit easier for you. ‘m not going anywhere either, so wake me up if you need me.”

you nodded, lifting the mug to your lips and taking a small sip of the hot liquid. the fact that luke had brewed the drink in your favourite mug didn’t go unnoticed, and you gave him a fond smile over the rim of the mug as the beverage eased the strain of your throat. 

as luke clambered back into bed next to you, pulling you into his side carefully so as not to spill your tea everywhere, your frustration began to fade, curling like the tendrils of steam coming from your mug and floating towards the ceiling. 

though your sickness wasn’t miraculously cured, the soft kisses luke repeatedly pressed to the top of your head and temple provoked small bursts of happiness to erupt in your mind, like fireflies carrying a golden glow that paled in comparison to that of the boy next to you. 

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes drabble #nj devils x reader #nj devils x you #nhl x reader

[lilisouless]

Zoya: the theater group that was supposed to come for the anniversary of the end of the Ravka war cancelled, i promised a play!

Nikolai: don't worry, i got this

---

Zoya: remind me never blindly trust an "i got this"

Nikolai: why? they are making a good job on the effects, and they will do anything for money

Alina: shhh! my big moment is comming!

Jesper with a long white wig: But my beloved Mole-

Wylan whispering: Mal-

Jesper: There has to be another way!

Wylan shirtless and with a six pack painted on his belly with a marker: There is no other way, Alina. Its your fate and dying for you its mine, as said by the cool and not at all awful tattoo of mine

Mal: I wasn't shirtless when i died

Alina: in my mind you were

Jesper: i can't do it!

Wylan: you must!

Jesper: okay! (fakes stabbing Wylan who fakes a collapse) oh Mal, Rakva will honor your braveness, and i will always remember how much i love your abs...and personality and all that shit

Alina snifs: its like they were just there

---

Zoya: so..why did she choose that role?

Nikolai: she said it she wanted a loud range of emotions

Nina with a big fake black kefta: Join me, Alina Starkov! join me to the shadow side , HAHAHAHA!

Zoya: at least practicing her evil laugther actually paid up

Jesper: Never! you just will just steal my power!

Nina stomping her foot; but why won't you give it to me?! why-won't you give it to me!

Mal: and...now "the darkling" is crying like a baby...at least they got that right

Nina: You need me! you need the shadow!

Jesper: no...this is..BONE! (fakes stabs Nina)

Nina: noooo! i am dyiiing....nooo, why didn't i bring a blade proof kefta, nooo

Nina fake coughing: Alina...please...do something for me...

Jesper fake crying while an onion slips from his fake kefta: yes?

Nina: "cough" tell...Zoya...to give that little grisha, Nina Zenik (the cutest one) all the waffles she wants (fakes a collapse)

Jesper: now its my time to die too, Tamar. Tolya, bring me my boytoy

Mal: excuse me? "man toy" please

Kuwei enter the scenario while dragging Wylan around

Tolya: is he supposed to be me or you?

Tamar: he has an undercut, so probably me-

Kuwei: Sankta Alina, we can cure you! I can cure you with my axe!

Kuwei turning around,showing a sidetail on the other side of his face: this makes me want to do some poetry

Tamar: oh, he is both of us, like the detail that the arm playing me is more muscular

Tolya: its literally not-

Jesper: no...i´ll die, my job here is done

Kuwei as Tolya : but my saint! you can't leave us!

Kuwei turning around as Tamar: Ravka is still a mess

Jesper: And thats your problem now, so long suckers! (fakes to die over Wylan´s body as Kuwei cries)

---

Inej with a fake blue kefta: i hope all of you know how lucky you are to be on my pressence

Zoya: this whole play is awful, all our portrayals are so one note and exagerated, we are not like that on real life. My eyes are too good for this sight

Inej : A triple funeral, a country with no money (flips her hair) my eyes are too good for this sight

Zoya: everyone shut up

Matthias with a cardboard crown: Oh yes, and i am the king now, i was hidden to treat my injuries completely unrelated to demonic possesion and (looks up at cue cards) improbable...i am a pearl...something , something...charming

Nikolai: who let him play me?

Kaz with a cheap red wig and a patch before the big curtain falls : and i...was ruination

Zoya: always the need to have the last word

Genya clapping: as "she" should

#shitpost #grishaverse shitpost #to clear possible confussion the crows are all in the play #everyone else is in the audience looking #shadow and bone shitpost #netflix shadow and bone #six of crows #leigh bardugo #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #sab shitpost #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #inej ghafa

[sourlove]

Wedding Crasher ~ Part II of 'Street Rat' YANDERE BAKUGO KATSUKI

TW: OBSESSION, KIDNAPPING, MURDER, VIOLENCE, GORE, YANDERE THEMES

A/N: This was in very high demand so I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for all the support xxx

READ PART 1 HERE

(Female Reader)

One cold, dark evening, Bakugo Katsuki walked away from the store you worked at and never came back.

Part of you couldn't care less. Another annoyingly persistent part of you cared far too much. It didn't make sense to you. Katsuki was nothing, and yet you still found yourself searching for those scarlet eyes in a crowd. The eyes that never drifted away as if they were anchored on your visage. Sometimes, in the quiet of your mind, you wondered if anybody would ever look at you like that again.

"Y/N, smile!"

Your cheeks hurt as your lips pulled into a wide grin. When you thought back on it, agreeing to marry the first wealthy man that asked might not have been the best idea.

"You lucky bastard!" One of Yuto's drunk friends laughed loudly, as he slung an arm around you carelessly. His breath stunk with expensive alcohol when he leaned in too close to you. "How did you end up pulling a girl like this when you look like that?"

The group laughed at that and you tittered along dutifully. Yuto smirked. "Laugh all you want but she was all over me from the start."

His friend (what was his name again?) groaned dramatically and your resisted the urge to push him off. Just a few more hours, you thought, and we can go home.

"Come on man, just tell us what you did!"

Yuto shrugged and sipped his drink. "You know girls like her. All they need to see is you throwing some money around and they practically throw themselves at you."

Everyone laughed again, voicing their agreement as if you weren't standing there, still smiling like a fool. It was true that Yuto and his friends were in a much higher tax bracket than you but it wasn't like he thought you were some kind of gold-digger.

...right?

The drunkard, whose name you still couldn't recall, leered down at you, bony fingers digging into your hip. "So she's that kind of girl huh?" His breath reeked. "Tell you what, I've got a five dollar bill, do ya think she'll let me get lucky tonight?"

This time, the only people that laughed were Yuto and his smelly little friend, though by the way his hand kept creeping downwards, you could tell it wasn't a joke. The crowd sort of chuckled awkwardly, many of them glancing at you, and you realized you had stopped smiling for the first time since morning.

Kenji. You remembered his name now. When you looked at him, all you could see was your reflection in the display area of the shop, looking down with a pompous, self-satisfied smirk. As if you were untouchable. The only difference was that you were the one being looked down on. The same way you looked down on Katsuki.

Kenji was still laughing when you swung, fist hitting his throat dead on. You watched impassively as he choked and coughed, eyes bulging nearly out of his sockets. Someone screamed and the creep gaped at you, holding his throat. You hoped it would bruise.

"Your breath fucking stinks," you hissed, just as Yuto pulled you away into the garden, away from the wedding reception. You stumbled and tripped but your husband's harsh grip on your arm kept you moving, deeper and deeper into the dark garden maze. The thought of a steamy escapade in the dark of night would have been promising any other time. But not this time.

You expected Yuto to be angry but you didn't expect him to slap you across the face. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Do you know who you just hit right now?!"

"I could ask you the same."

The sudden voice made both of you jump. What you thought was a shadow shifted, revealing a large, broad frame of a man. He towered over Yuto, who was fairly tall, to his credit, but you could barely make out any features other than his light colored hair.

"And who the fuck are you?" Yuto snarled. "This is a private garden!"

The figure didn't move but Yuto surged forward, perhaps in some convoluted attempt to seem threatening. You wanted to tell him to stop, that something felt dangerous about this man but the stranger beat you to it.

There was a loud crack and you gasped when Yuto fell, struck down by the stranger's weapon. He stepped closer and a beam of moonlight fell over his face, highlighting chiseled yet familiar features. Your breath halted in your chest.

Bakugo Katsuki squatted down and fisted Yuto's hair, dragging him up to face level. "I asked you, do you know who you just hit?" The bat he used was covered in nails and a dark red substance you figured was blood, part of which was flowing from your husband's head.

"P-please," he stammered, all bravado gone. "I didn't d-do anything..."

A scowl marred Bakugo's features and he released Yuto's head, standing up. "Wrong answer, asshole." The spiked bat curved in a powerful arc in the sky before landing on Yuto's face. Again and again and again until he stopped screaming and only gurgled noises came from the mess of blood and flesh that used to be a human face.

You were paralyzed with fear, from the beginning of the assault until Bakugo finally locked eyes with you. Your knees gave way and you slumped to the ground, tears spilling uncontrollably. "Oh god, oh god, p-please- don't kill me...!"

Those eyes, those terrible scarlet eyes that you had stared down at from your pedestal, darkened. "Y/N..."

He recognized you. You sobbed and curled up protectively. "Please I'm sorry, please j-just don't kill me, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I-"

This was it, the moment he would take his revenge on you for all those years of dismissal and mockery. Bakugo frowned and moved towards you but you immediately scrambled up, intending to run further into the garden. You had to at least try to get away.

But Bakugo was much faster and stronger than the scrawny kid you remembered. You barely took two steps before he had caught you, hooking a thick arm around your neck despite your screams and struggles.

"Don't worry, baby, everything will be okay once I take you home."

Darkness creeped into your vision and the last thing you saw was the scarlet blood on your dress that only reminded you of those terrible, terrible eyes.

READ PART 3 HERE

A/N: if you liked this, please like, repost and drop a comment or request!

#obsessive love #obsessive yandere #yandere #bnha #boku no hero academia #fanfic #mha #my hero academia #yandere boyfriend #writers on tumblr #yandere x reader #yandere bakugou #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bnha fanfiction #yandere mha #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere boy #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere my hero academia #female reader #yandere bnha #bakugou x reader #x reader #tw yandere #yandere x y/n #yandere x female reader #bakugo