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suguann · 2 months

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an. another ex-husband gojo fic because i'll die with this trope. this ends exactly how you'd expect (if you know me)

Satoru doesn’t take it well when you tell him you have a boyfriend after bumping into him in the grocery store parking lot. At least, you don’t think he does. It’s hard to tell, his expression inscrutable as ever behind his dark sunglasses—the sharp arch of his brow the only indication he’s heard you at all.

“Is that so?” he finally says, and for some reason, it makes you nervous. Has you grasping at straws to make something right that isn’t even wrong yet. Has any thought of this being an easy conversation shattered at your feet.

You clear your throat. “Yeah…he’s nice. You might even like him.”

No, he wouldn’t—a little voice in the back of your head tells you. Knowing it's because all of the unreadable parts of you are no longer connected to him, but instead to a man you've barely spent two months dating, and that must infuriate him.

He doesn’t ask (not that you expect him to) when you find yourself prattling on about how you met Rin through a friend, how he’s an investment banker and takes you out to his cabin on the weekends, that he’s predictable—stable is what you really mean, but don't say—with an ordinary life who wants kids—

Satoru seems to chew on that last bit of information like he’s suddenly tasted something unpleasant, the line of his brow flat and unimpressed, the slant in his mouth mutinous. He’s uttered all but three words, and so far, this entire conversation leaves you with nothing short of a stomach ache.

“He really is a good person,” you add, just because you have nothing else to say and your penchant for filling awkward, empty spaces.

Then he smiles, and you relax a little. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

You smile, too, a soft, sure thing this time that makes his widen.

But if you'd been more level-headed and less flustered about bumping into your ex-husband after several months of silence—since he signed his name beside yours in front of your lawyer—you’d realize how dangerous that smile is.

You’re unsure if it’s too contingent to be considered a coincidence, but he starts showing up in odd places after that all-too-uncomfortable one-sided conversation in the parking lot.

First, it’s at your favorite coffee shop you usually stop at on your way to work. It’s strange because you remember him hating coffee, how he'd always preferred to load it with creamer and sweetener just to get rid of the bitter taste. But you don’t mention it when he offers—no, insists on paying for your coffee and blueberry streusel muffin.

When the total pops up on the register, he doesn’t even blink when he opens his wallet.

Of course, you can't let him pay. There must be something in writing somewhere that says ex-husbands shouldn't pay for their recently divorced ex-wife's coffee.

He shrugs, smiling, after you tell him it’s expensive—has that ever bothered me?—and slides a shiny black card across the counter to the barista.

“You can't show up out of nowhere and start buying me things,” you hiss afterward, slightly flustered by the whole ordeal. The city’s big, but you still worry about one of your friends or colleagues seeing you with Satoru—they may get the wrong idea. “We’re not together anymore.”

"Do I have to message you the next time I want to get you coffee?" he tucks his hands into his coat.

"No, we shouldn't even be getting coffee together."

“Am I not allowed to be nice now that you have a boyfriend?”

“That’s not what I said,” you huff. “And you didn’t even buy yourself anything. How am I supposed to look at it?”

He shrugs, “I decided I didn’t want anything,” and you don't even think he notices that he holds your hand when you go to cross the street.

Habit. You'll write that one off as a habit, but he doesn't let go until you're in front of the tall, shiny doors of your office building.

The second time he shows up unannounced is while you're walking through the quaint park near your apartment, which you know is far from his sleek penthouse on 5th Avenue, the one with a perfect view of the city and the bay—a thirty-minute drive, at least.

“I bought a house out here,” he tells you when you ask. “It’s up on the hill.”

You know which one he’s talking about. You’ve driven past it a few times. It's a cozy brick stone with lots of windows, a white picket fence, and a large backyard, something you’ve always wanted since before you were married. According to a real estate website, his house is a little over a million.

Interest must be written all over your face because he asks: “You want to see it?”

There are a number of reasons why you shouldn’t say yes, why you should politely decline and finish your last lap along the trail and run to the grocery store afterward to pick up something for dinner and call Rin to let him hear about your day—

“Okay,” you say, hands on your hips. “But make it quick.”

He smiles down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners with something akin to affection. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to remind him, again, that you’re not together, so he’s not allowed to use pet names, but a large hand on the small of your back to usher you towards the shiny, sleek SUV across the street leaves you with a mouth full of cotton.

He watches you take in the hardwood floors and tall ceilings trimmed with crown molding. When you stop in the massive kitchen to run your fingers over the granite countertops, it almost feels bittersweet walking through the house of your dreams while your ex-husband eyes you questioningly as if he's looking for your approval.

“So? What do you think?”

The smile you give him is genuine. “It’s beautiful.”

Satoru matches your smile with a bigger one, almost blinding. “That’s good, that’s really good.”

You feel like you should ask why he bought a house this big in the first place, but there’s a pebble in your stomach if you think about family photos on the walls with him happy and smiling, his arm around a pretty wife who wears frilly aprons and kisses him on the cheek when he comes home. A future where you don’t exist, yet he’s letting you take a peak into it, anyway.

So you don’t say anything.

You meant to leave an hour ago, but he plied you with dinner— friends can have dinner together, can’t they? —which leads to two glasses of wine and then watching movies together on his very soft couch. If everything didn't feel so fuzzy around the edges, you probably would have noticed the signs sooner, that he’s trying to—

(He presses you into the couch cushions, biting marks into your neck and chest until your breaths come out fast and high-pitched.

“We shouldn’t,” you manage to say, still tipsy and tongue heavy in your mouth from the wine you had. "Toru, I should really go."

He huffs a laugh against your cheek—you note how he still wears the same cologne you bought him all those years ago when everything was so new, and there wasn't a ring on your finger yet—pressing a messy kiss there that makes you squirm. “Doesn’t this remind you of old times, though?”

“B-but I have a boyfriend.”

In retaliation, he sinks his teeth into the tender flesh around the fluttering pulse in your neck, just shy of too rough, though your fingers in his hair pull him into you like you can’t get enough.)

That maybe this means he—

(Satoru bunches the lace of your panties in his fist, shoving them up around your knees, trapping your legs together against your chest. A long, drawn-out groan rumbles in his chest at discovering the creamy mess between your thighs. “Always had such a pretty wet pussy, fuck. Do you get this wet for him, too?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs because he hears what you don’t say: No, you’ve never been this turned on when it’s with Rin. Satoru’s the only one to ever leave you wet and shaky just from a few words.)

It’s an insane thought, but it’s almost like Satoru—

(He holds his hand up to your mouth, telling you to lick before he wraps it around his cock, pressing the tip into the slick seam of your cunt. And you forgot how big he is, just on the side of too much, the bit of effort it takes for him to sink in a little, and then all at once, rending you right down the middle.

You whimper, fingers scrabbling clumsily for one of the throw pillows near your head, needing something to hold on to.

“There you go, pretty girl,” Gojo breathes, hips tight and close, grinding into you so that you can feel how deep he is. “I see she can still take it.”)

No, he wouldn’t—

(He fucks you hard enough to send you skittering up the couch, only to pull you back down again, grinding you on his cock to touch places inside you that he’s only ever managed to reach. You whine into where your face is pressed against the back cushions, biting down to muffle how loud you’re being.

He makes a displeased sound and forces you to look at him again with his fingers digging into your cheeks.

"What if I give you a little baby, huh? We'll be a family together. You, me, and our baby in this big house. Doesn't that sound nice? We'll fill the house with babies," he mutters, bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth, forcing your legs further against your chest.

The angle rubs just right inside you. You make an unintelligible noise at the back of your throat, unable to move or get better friction in this position.

“We did it your way last time, didn’t we, baby?” his little laugh is breathless, kind of mean. “I let you leave with all those silly thoughts in your head; thought you knew what you wanted, but now we’re going to do it my way from now on.”

His words should strike alarm bells, but when he fits his hand between your bodies to strum his thumb against your clit, your mind empties.

"You've always been mine." Words barely audible, he still sounds breathless; wrecked. "It's about time you get that through your head.")

Except you know he would.

A month later, you’re packing away the fine china in your apartment, wondering how the few things you own will fill a house so large.

#.things i write #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo imagine #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk drabbles #fem!reader #gojo satoru

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taegularities · 8 months

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entertainer (teaser) | jjk (m)

Summary: Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: strangers to lovers (or something); angst, bits of fluff, smut ➳ warnings: do not fall for this jk i repeat do not f– 🚨 he's kinda hot though; (not so) silent yearning, flirting, sexual tension, he is so attracted to her :'), mystery, oc is a big question mark, full jk pov!, dark past(s), crying, fear, confrontation and fighting, cocky kook, secrets and revelations, explicit sexual content (kissing, fingering, teasing, drunk shenanigans, sooo much lust, big dick jk, etc.), more warnings on drop day once the fic is finished!! not much for the teaser itself, though <3 ➳ wc: 1.8k :') (around 20k for the full thing) ➳ a/n: scratches head. this has been a long time coming and i'm beyond curious how y'all will like it :') very new and experimental, so let's see how it goes!! as always, drop a message to lmk what you think of this lil glimpse, i'll be waiting with dangling feet hehe!! <3

➳ give the Entertainer playlist a first listen! 🖤

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

“Why are you the textbook definition of a fuckboy, honestly.”

“Fuckbo—”

“Nevermind.”

If he wasn’t well acquainted with this little game, he would’ve missed your subtle, nearly veiled intent to tease. But he’s done that a million times before — hence, catches the faint twitch of your gorgeous lips immediately.

You’re enjoying this. So he should join… right?

Yet.

You’re not being entirely insincere. In fact, he hates how he picks up on the note of truth in your velvety voice.

Trimmed nails scratch the back of his head, and he barely notices once the two of you halt in front of another piece of work. Distracted, he doesn’t bear the art any mind, instead asking, “You really think of me like that?”

You shrug a shoulder. Nonchalance a constant feature, but so natural, even somewhat gentle, that he can’t help but feel drawn to you. “A little.”

“Well, shit.”

“Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the art.”

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, he glances to the canvas. It’s a mess of hues; a random arrangement of spontaneous emotions. Resembles the masterpieces he used to create in Microsoft Paint, back when his legs would still dangle off the chair.

“So,” he starts, nodding towards the painting, “what do you see in this?”

You hesitate. Or maybe it’s not hesitation — more like… a thinking pause. Sometimes, when Jungkook notices a whirring mind, he sees a steaming brain through a skull. Working at full blast.

But somehow, he only recognises a tranquil ocean as he observes you gather your thoughts. Everything about you is tender, but wrapped in dark mystery.

How much mental training does it require to become this inscrutable?

When you finally speak, you’re saying similarly odd things.

“I see… colours.” Right. Stating the obvious. Jungkook chuckles, delivering a head tilt. “And am wondering how the painter got to create this at all. I mean, this looks so meaningless at first, doesn’t it?”

“But it’s not, yeah?”

“We’re fast to think that. Most of the time, there must be a trigger, or a thought on something, no matter how small. Something might have been bothering him. This is—” A hand gestures towards the painting. “Such a chaotic mind.”

Interesting…

“Is this what you usually think about all day?” Jungkook wonders.

You scoff. “I’m just a person, too. I think about a lot of random things.”

“Ahhh. Like what?”

“Like… seeing all the green in this exhibition made me realise how that colour makes me cry.”

Jungkook takes a haphazard look around. Now that you say it — there’s no hint of a nature theme, but the abundance of green is striking. It’s as calm as you. No wonder you’d immerse yourself in a showcase such as this.

You continue, as if tracing and reading his mind like an open novel, “It’s soothing, right? And unique. These earthly things sometimes make me feel like not all of us are deserving of seeing such beauty. Like it should be reserved for those who've earned it.”

Earned it? How?

Jungkook can’t see your thoughts as clearly as you’re apparently capable of doing, but he has an inkling of what you might mean. Truly dazzling souls merit the stunning bloom of the world, right?

And then…

If that’s what it is.

He wonders — do you think he deserves to see the colour green? Or is it already over if he has to ask? Perhaps, should he be perceiving it as grey right now? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know how you think of him — doesn’t know anything about you at all. You’re a tough nut to crack.

“Hmm… that’s a way to think about it,” he says.

“Only because it’s the same for people. And I’ve had this thought about humans a lot… I…” You hesitate, blink, and then grant him your gaze. “I knew someone who was the colour green. Not everyone deserved them, either.”

Someone…

Poetic minds carry a certain pain in their eyes.

He’s been seeing it in yours. He just doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t. Yet.

Instead, he asks, “What else are you thinking about?”

“Uhmmm,” you voice, straightening your back a little, as if waking up from a dream — a nightmare? “I’ve been thinking about trying that, too. Painting, I mean. It doesn’t have to mean anything or be good. Just a great way to capture something that resonates with what I feel.”

Every word you’ve uttered today was otherworldly. You didn’t talk like this when you were at the meeting, or in his office. Your soul is somewhat free-floating here, and he doesn’t understand why.

And it’s a behaviour he usually strays away from. The vulnerable ones can be dangerous.

But somehow… you’re too strong of a magnet.

One who shrugs all the puzzles away — and he sighs in despair. Maybe it’s not time to find out what you feel just yet. What resonates with you — even though he’s dying to hear it.

He inquires, “Are you always this much of an open book?”

“No. Not at all.” Of course not. Rhetoric question — he knows this much. “But I like thinking out loud sometimes.”

“I’m glad to be a sounding board then.”

“Hah. Well, I was also thinking how I appreciate that I met you here.” Pause. Oh? What a surprise. Strokes his ego, though. And then, out of the blue again, “You wanna go to the museum restaurant?”

Jungkook has barely inhaled half of the exhibition yet. But just for today, he couldn’t care less.

Perhaps this is enough for now, visiting the overpriced restaurant, watching you from afar as you inspect your nails calmly. You’re not busy on your phone like the rest of the crowd — entertained by the same media that he’s part of.

Maybe he can be a bigger part of their lives one day — be the one flitting over their screens, the one they adore. The one they worship.

But you don’t seem to indulge in those mind-numbing devices for now. You might be an addition to his team, but privately, you float in your own world. Distracted by the thoughts you won’t disclose.

Your hands retreat, arms crossing on the table and lips curling into a smile once he strolls back to you. Satisfied, he informs you, “One cake to go with the coffee. As the lady suggested.”

“Oh. One?” you ask, “Don’t you want one?”

“I do.”

“So…” You stall, and he waits until it clicks, your head tilting in understanding. “Are we sharing?”

Jungkook lifts a thumb, pointing over his shoulder, back to the register, “Those chocolate cakes are sweet as hell. I’ve got a sweet tooth, but believe that it’ll be enough for us two.”

You laugh — a candied, disarming chuckle before you breathe an, “Alright.”

Jungkook doesn’t know you well enough to feel any skip of his heart; yet, you stir something else in his mind. While he does avoid them, it’s still always people like you who intrigue him the most — those who veil themselves in a coat of secrets.

He sighs.

“That was fast,” you note, eyes at a point behind him.

And he understands when the waitress arrives a couple moments later, serving two perfectly prepared cappuccinos and a mouth-watering chocolate fudge piece.

You thank her with a gentle smile, and tuck a hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your dangling silver earring.

And he watches.

Watches as you nod towards him, urging him, “Start then.”

Observes your smile as he signals you to start instead. And he gazes at you as your delicate digits reach for the fork, tearing off a piece, wrapping your lips around the utensil.

And then… oh God.

He feels his guts twist; hears all background noise fade; blood rushing away from his head.

All the way through his body as you slowly relish the sweetness and then drag the wet tip of your tongue over the fork. Licking away the leftover chocolate.

Jungkook swears it happens in slow motion. And witnessing your elegance in snail’s pace… makes him sick.

When your eyelashes flutter, gape lifting to meet his, the sound around him comes alive again — as does he. He averts his stare from your mouth, covered in the same colour as the coffee, but you notice.

You catch him looking. And it makes you… smile? Shit.

But you don’t boast your effect; only digress as you say, “Well… tastes as fancy as it looks. Try.”

You’re as relaxed with him as you can be. But you always are; with everyone. He craves that bit that’s only reserved for him — and maybe he’s too zealous too fast. He hasn’t known you for long.

Making you smile must be an achievement, though, right? If only… you didn’t think of him like…

He nods, and then leans over the table ever-so-slightly. His knees brush against yours, a soft but deliberate move. He places an elbow on the table, grasping the fork, close to you. If he lifted his hand, he could touch your cheek.

He wishes he could.

His eyes meet yours through his bangs, the cake’s taste irrelevant to your presence. And when his ego doesn’t let him live, he finally asks, almost as if insulted, “Do you actually perceive me as a fuckboy?”

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, furrowing your eyebrows, and then giggle before questioning back, “Jungkook… that’s bothering you this much? Mmmh. How would you like to be perceived?”

“Just. As a decent guy who wants to get to know you. And I know you know.” You blink, but he doesn’t buy it. So he elaborates, “I’ve been trying to make clear that I find you interesting. And somewhat attractive.”

People usually display a flicker of glimmer in their eyes upon hearing such praise. But you don’t budge; in fact, your eyes remain the same, if not a little darker. Why?

Yet, you cock an eyebrow, sporting a teasing, playful tone, “Somewhat, hm?”

He shakes his head, clicks his tongue.

“You’re pretty and I think you know,” he blurts, “and I don’t want to screw up right away.”

Is it the habit of never failing; getting what he wants? The urge to solve an enigma? The chance to dive into you until you’re bared to him? Why are you so interesting to him?

You’re just a person.

Maybe it’s just the unsettling need to discover what you’re hiding — it won’t let him rest. There’s something about you that screams to him to unravel.

He doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t know if you’re even from the same world as him — even though you seem to have crossed his realm before.

No matter what it is; Jungkook only understands for now that he wants to take off your layers.

Wants you to be the colour green for him.

wrote most of it now and while sick, so it might change hehe! but i hope it's okay so far, and it shall only get better!! i'm so so excited for this, like i've been working on it and putting thought into it since october, so i hope it's worth the wait <3

as always, send your thoughts, questions, complaints lol lemme know what you think or i might perish sniff. super curious to know!! also, here's the taglistttt 🤍 love and appreciate you all <3

#jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook

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leftoverpages · 3 months

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Whispers of the Waves

Pairing ✦ Qimir x reader

Tags ✦ romance, LONGING, just kiss you idiots.. reader uses she/her

Notes: do i have a lot of fics to post? yes. do i still write new ones? yes! I might have to start posting 2 times a day just to catch up

Wordcount ✦ 1.1k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the restless waves of the ocean. Qimir stood on the rocky shore, his gaze fixed on the shifting waters. This remote corner of the galaxy was far removed from bustling cities and starports, offering a rare moment of solitude amidst his relentless quest for knowledge and understanding.

Emerging from the distance, you appeared like a silhouette against the fading light. Weeks of travel had forged a silent companionship between you and Qimir, bonded by a shared purpose and unspoken understanding. The journey had been arduous, leaving you both weary and in need of respite, which the sea now graciously offered.

Without a word, you made your way towards the water, shedding layers of travel-worn clothing. Qimir watched from a distance, his expression inscrutable behind a mask of stoicism. He was a man of few words, his emotions often veiled, yet he found himself inexplicably drawn to your presence as you immersed yourself in the cool embrace of the sea.

The waves lapped gently at your skin, washing away the weariness of travel. You closed your eyes, allowing the rhythmic sounds of the ocean to soothe your senses. In this tranquil moment, Qimir's gaze followed your every move, his eyes dark and intense. There was something about you that captivated him, a strength and determination that mirrored his own. He had always been a loner, driven by his quest for knowledge and power, but you had become an unexpected companion. Unbeknownst to you, he found himself longing for something more—something he was reluctant to acknowledge.

As he watched you, he couldn't help but admire the way the water glistened on your skin, accentuating every curve and line of your body. You were strong and resilient, your muscles honed by the hardships of your journey. Yet, there was a softness to you as well, a grace that he found utterly captivating. He longed to reach out and touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, but he held himself back, knowing that such desires were dangerous.

You caught him watching you and offered a small smile, a silent acknowledgment of his presence. He hesitated for a moment, then began to remove his own garments. The air was filled with the sound of the waves and the distant call of seabirds, a natural symphony that seemed to underscore the tension between you. Qimir felt a flutter in his chest, a warmth spreading beneath his stoic exterior as he struggled to maintain his composure.

As he stepped into the water, you could feel the electric charge of his proximity. He was close, but not too close, maintaining a respectful distance. Yet, there was an undeniable chemistry, a pull that seemed to draw you together despite the vast expanse of the sea.

For a while, you both stood there, the water swirling around you. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the shore. Qimir's eyes never left you, tracing the lines of your body with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something that he couldn't quite define.

"You seem lost in thought," you remarked softly, your voice a gentle melody against the backdrop of the ocean's whispers.

Qimir blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your directness. He cleared his throat, a faint hint of color rising to his cheeks. "I suppose I am," he replied, his voice betraying a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show.

You nodded knowingly, the fading light catching the strands of your hair as a gentle breeze swept in from the sea. "It's a place for reflection," you offered, your tone understanding yet encouraging.

He nodded in agreement, grateful for the understanding in your words. "Indeed," he murmured, his gaze drifting to where your hand rested on the water's surface, fingertips barely breaking the calm.

Emboldened by the shared moment, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. The touch sent a tremor through him, a sensation that echoed through every fiber of his being. Qimir's breath caught in his throat, his gaze locked with yours as he felt a stirring within him, a longing he had long suppressed.

Qimir's eyes traveled over your form, noting the way the water glistened on your skin. His heart ached with a longing he dared not voice. Every fiber of his being wanted to close the distance between you, to pull you into his arms and let go of the control he held so tightly. But he knew that giving in to his desires could lead to complications, distractions he could ill afford on this perilous journey.

You watched him, too, your gaze tracing the contours of his body. He was lean and powerful, his form sculpted by years of rigorous training. The scars that marked his skin were a testament to the battles he had fought and survived. There was an intensity in him, a fire that burned just beneath the surface.

The water swirled around you both, a cool embrace that contrasted with the heat of the moment. Qimir's breath hitched as you moved closer, the space between you narrowing. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, a mix of longing and restraint.

"Why do you always keep your distance?" you asked softly, your voice a whisper carried on the sea breeze.

Qimir hesitated, torn between the desire to confide in you and the fear of exposing his vulnerabilities. "Because..." he started, his voice low yet earnest. He swallowed hard, steeling himself to continue. "Because closeness... can be a risk," he admitted, his gaze never leaving yours.

You nodded slowly, your expression soft with empathy. "Sometimes, the risk is worth it," you replied, your voice a gentle encouragement.

His heart raced as he looked at you, the setting sun casting a halo around your silhouette. The walls he had built around himself were crumbling, brick by brick, under the weight of your presence. In that moment, amidst the tranquil beauty of the ocean and the fading light of day, Qimir realized that he had found more than a companion in you—he had found someone who understood the complexities he guarded so fiercely.

As the last rays of sunlight kissed the horizon, Qimir felt a sense of clarity wash over him. The uncertainties of the future remained, the dangers of their quest still looming on the horizon. Yet, in this fleeting moment, there was a glimmer of hope, a silent promise carried on the ocean breeze.

And perhaps, he would find the courage to step closer, to embrace the unknown, and to discover that the greatest discoveries were not always found in distant galaxies or ancient texts, but in the quiet moments shared with someone who saw beyond the mask he wore—a person who touched his heart in ways he had never imagined possible—hidden beneath the surface like the secrets of the sea.

#qimir the acolyte #qimir x reader #qimir x you #star wars x you #star wars x reader #star wars #the acolyte #the master #the stranger

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sunderwight · 4 months

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SV fic where every Cang Qiong peak lord is actually a transmigrator, but such different varieties that Shen Yuan and Airplane are still the only ones who identify one another as such, and they think everyone else is actually the character they represent and everyone else is convinced they're the only transmigrator.

Yue Qingyuan transmigrated into his character's early childhood, but the twist there is that he was a child of a similar age when he transmigrated, and is fully convinced that he had found a magical portal to another world, somehow failed the test of heroism, and is now stuck in a crapsack dystopia that he failed to fix by not being a good enough portal hero. The idea of transmigrators possessing others bodies never occurs to him because he doesn't realize that he himself changed bodies at any point, he just thinks he got a fantasy world makeover that made his hair longer and swapped out his clothes (he was, like, eight years old at the time).

Liu Qingge also transmigrated into his character pretty early on, but in his case he didn't come originally from our world, he came from a wuxia story's world. He was a swordsman and martial artist there, too. He has no notion of any kind of plot or system, he just thinks that he managed to kick enough ass to ascend to the next life and next tier of learning to kick ass, which now involves more flying around and energy blasts and such.

Mu Qingfang is in one of those "doctor from the future goes to an old-timey/magical world and applies advanced knowledge to max out their doctor skills" type stories. He is from our world but from like, the 1920's-ish, and he never read PIDW or any isekai at all. No one ever catches on to him because anything weird he does just seems like Airplane's anachronistic writing or is no more or else inscrutable to the other characters than the rest of his medical knowledge seems to be. He has some suspicions about Shen Qingqiu being a transmigrator like him, but in his own case he gained all of the original Mu Qingfang's memories when he transmigrated so it could also just be amnesia, and he doesn't want to broach the subject if he's wrong. Also he figures it's not necessarily his business, he's just interested because transmigration is a fascinating medical mystery.

Qi Qingqi, on the other hand, had plenty of familiarity with isekai and such as a concept, but she transmigrated as a teenage girl and is pretty sure she's in her own girl's adventure story. But she's desperately trying to avoid any semblance of plot because the girls in those stories always end up married to guys by the end and she's not into dudes. Consequently she's a little worried that some of the troubles embroiling everyone else are a result of her running away to Girl Warrior Peak and not ever meeting like a handsome prince or anything along those lines. It's well after bingqiu becomes a thing that she realizes she's in a danmei instead, and then she's just convinced that she gay'd up the universe (you're welcome) and starts to relax a bit.

And etc, etc, Wei Qingwei and the rest are all living different tropes and angles of a transmigration experience.

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain

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ceilidho · 10 months

Text

landscape with honey

summary: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 4. (read the whole thing on ao3 here) tags: light daddy kink, breeding kink, very nsfw, she/her pronouns for reader

He starts showing up at your house at odd hours.

You’re fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. Wrapping yourself in just a housecoat, you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. When he finishes, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loading his tools back in the car and driving off.

You sip your coffee and wonder. Odd.

The next day, you find him raking the leaves in your lawn. Two days later, he shows up at the grocers when you’re picking up produce, and helps you carry all your bags to the car. He also adds a peculiar amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don’t need the pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet.

He pays for the whole order.

You’ve never had to wonder about a man’s actions. Men are largely inscrutable to you, ever-shifting. They say one thing and mean another. They look at you like one might look at an oil painting, entitled something like Virgin Meeting Her Lover’s Eyes From The Top Of The Staircase or Landscape With Virgin. They speak to you as though an answer were entirely antithetical to their purpose in conversing with you.

John listens to you with a focus that borders on intimidating, like he wants to hear each word enunciated exactly how you might enunciate it. It has the sharp clarity of respect, of a mutual acknowledgement of humanity. He also comes over to fix your sink without you having to ask. The world of men is still largely confusing to you.

John grows surlier as the days grow shorter though. He doesn’t snap or snarl at you the way he does sometimes with his recruits (you rarely see him interact with them, but sometimes you’ll drop him off his lunch on the days when you’re feeling particularly generous and that’s when you’ll have the rare pleasure of hearing him shout at a trembling twenty-three year old for littering on the trail like a military captain), but it’s a near thing.

The worst is when he catches you on a jog one morning on his drive to work. You see his truck with the faded red paint pass you by and you give a short wave that he returns. He passes you by about half a yard before coming to a full stop and reversing. You stare at him as the window rolls down, brows furrowed.

“Hi Jo—” you start.

“Get in the car,” John growls. You hear the doors unlock.

“…My uh…my shift’s in two hours, John, I can’t just—”

“Get in the car.”

“This is my only time to exercise!”

“If I have to get out of this car and drag you inside, honey, I will. Don’t play with me. Get in.”

You get in the car. Probably wisely. Still dripping sweat and shivering from the cold—you’re not used to jogging in the winter, or at all for that matter, but it seemed like as good a time as any to start—you glance over to stare at the side of John’s face. His jaw is set, almost as if in anger. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel as he makes a U-turn and drives back into town. The cab of his truck smells like flannel pulled out from the back of a closet, almost musty, but comforting in the way that old clothes can sometimes smell. There’s a cigarette ashed out in the dish in front of the centre console.

He takes you to the nearest bakery for coffee and a breakfast muffin and stares you down until you eat the whole thing. You feel like you have to scarf it down. Customers bustle into the bakery to order coffee to-go and fresh cookies and scones in waxy paper bags; everyone in town knows each other so you try to avoid the more curious stares when they’re turned on you.

“This is weird,” you say, staring down at the crumbs on your plate. “This is really weird.”

“This is what you get for exercising before winter,” John says, flagging down the barista for another muffin and a refill on your coffee. “Waste of calories.” The last part is said derisively, almost with a scoff.

You frown. “Lots of people exercise. Even when it snows.”

“Winter is a time for hibernating. Not…sweat,” he says with a grimace, like the very thought is anathema to him.

"Hibernating?" you repeat skeptically, scrunching up your nose. "I mean, I spend a lot of time indoors, but I wouldn't say I'm hibernating."

John stares at you until you look away, flushed. "Finish your breakfast."

The barista returns with another blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of coffee. At least John's the one paying. When he finally seems satisfied, he hustles you home and leaves you off at the door with a stern warning.

“You gonna be good for me this time?” he asks, a finger curled under your chin, tilting your head up. One of his hands curls around the doorframe and your heart jumps when you hear the wood creak under his grip. This close, you can see the faintest silver streaks at his temples and the flecks of it in his beard.

“It was just a light jog,” you mumble, looking away.

“Not a light anything,” he warns, ducking closer until you feel like shrinking back, like disappearing into your house. “Bake a cake if you have to burn off energy so bad. I’ll be over around seven, alright?”

You mumble something, the words getting lost in themselves. It’s impossible to think with John in your space like this. It’s only when he finally pulls away and ambles back to his truck that you rock back on your heels, let go of whatever spell he had you under.

The first week of December hits town like a truck.

You’re trudging home alone after your shift when you make the decision to cut through the forest because you missed the last bus and you don’t want to spend an hour walking home. The first snow of the season has caught you off guard, clad in boots too autumnal and a sweater too thin for the biting cold. The flakes fall in thick chunks that stick for a brief moment before melting into the skin.

It’s not the first time you’ve travelled through the forest alone. The town is surrounded by pockets of the forest, like it can’t help enveloping whatever space is left for it. Oftentimes it’s easier just to cut through the woods rather than travel the long way around. You wouldn’t even call this the forest proper, not like the acres of trees sprouting over the mountains just off in the distance.

A bush rustles. Your eyes flick over for a second, breath hovering in your chest before you decide that it’s just a squirrel. Nothing ever happens in a town like this. The man from the other day notwithstanding, nothing truly bad ever happens. You keep walking down the partially demarcated path, lit only by the full moon overhead. It’s so dark that the snow around you is almost blue.

The bush rustles again. You stop this time, feet staying planted in the snow long enough for your feet to grow cold. You stare at the dark shoots covered in a layer of snow; it stripes the branches like candy from a time ago, licorice twisted with white bark, and it doesn’t move when you look at it. The bushes and trees are dense, impossible to peer through. Even walking through the forest doesn’t make you feel immersed in it. You follow a barely marked path, hard to see through the recent snowfall, and stare out into the dark woods with a kind of animal sense. Not sure whether you’re alone, whether something’s there with you, and whether it’s sensed you or if you’ve sensed it first.

You start walking again when your feet go numb. Better to just get home.

It comes behind you again as a slightly louder rustle. It’s harder to shake off the fear this time, harder to say that it’s just the wind. The snow crunches under more than one set of feet, branches cracking under the weight of something larger than you.

You don’t want to turn around, but the sound of something chuffing makes your stomach drop. The first thing that emerges when you turn to face it is its massive head, a white frosted muzzle, and the visible hump on its back. The wispy smoke of its breath puffs out when it breathes. Its eyes are dark, hardly reflecting any light at all. Then the rest of it emerges, the saplings bending out of its way as it clambers out of the woods and onto the path, staring you down all the while.

You’ve never seen a bear before. Not this close. Not so close that you know it’s been stalking you, know that it didn’t come upon you by accident. You’re staring down at your own body from somewhere else, fear displacing you. Rending you from your own body. There’s no way to guess its weight at a glance, but it’s easily twice the size of you, easily more than that.

When it takes a step forward, everything goes dark.

You wake up snuggled under the warmth of a thick blanket. Sleep is creamy thick, engulfing you on all sides, only the faintest prickle of awareness letting you know that you’re awake.

It’s unpleasant to leave the cotton miasma of sleep, you think. Your nose scrunches up and you let out a tired huff, trying to will yourself back into it. The harder you try to force yourself back into it though, the farther away it floats.

Still it weighs you down. It takes an age to work up the energy to so much as twitch a finger. Even your eyelids insist on staying shut. Yet, the prickle of consciousness needles at you as if to say hello, wake up, you need to get up. You sigh and try to shimmy up onto your elbows.

A hand shoves you back down. The breath rushes out of you.

“Get…back down,” a rough voice grunts from over you and then the full weight of a man settles on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress.

Consciousness snaps back into you, elastic sharp. The weight of him pins you to the bed, makes you sink into the plushness of—and this is gradually coalescing in your mind—an unfamiliar place. All four corners of your body are trapped under him. The voice is familiar though. Ragged, brutal. A saw taken to the trunk of an old, thick tree, too many interior rings to count. You whisper John’s name and he grunts, making you flinch from how the sound reverberates through the side of your head.

Exhaustion is thick though and it leaves you heavy, even when John slowly lifts himself to his elbows from behind you. You feel him drag his body down the length of the bed, beard scratching into your skin with every petal soft kiss dropped along your spine during his descent.

“John?” you whisper, only just able to turn your head, not even able to struggle up to your elbows. “J-John?”

He doesn’t answer you. The room is near pitch black, only a window on the other end of the room with the curtain pulled back the smallest amount enough to let the moonlight in. Even the moonlight isn’t enough. You know from the shape of the window that this isn’t your house, that it must be somewhere else. You can only surmise from John’s presence that it’s his, but that thought passes over you like a rock skipping over water.

“Wher’m’I?” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut when his lips press over the small of your back. Sensitive there.

Rough hands with callused fingertips smooth over your ass, pressing into the flesh. His fingers pry your cheeks apart, thumbs dipping into the space between and pressing over your hole, making you burn all over. You’re too far gone to worry about any hair on your legs or anything about your body other than John’s hands undulating over your ass and thighs. You flinch violently when his teeth sink into the meat on the underside of your ass, so tender that even exhausted to the bone your body lashes out.

Big hands pry your legs apart. You flinch at the sudden hot breath over your sex, a whine tickling your throat. His face hovers so close to your centre that the tip of his nose presses on the tender skin near your entrance.

“Wha’ d’you…think you’re doin’...” you ask breathlessly. Your brain tries to order your leg to kick, but it stays flat and limp on the bed.

The first touch of John’s tongue along your slit makes you melt, the flat of his tongue lapping upward and making your hips tilt up with it. It almost makes your mind go blank again, almost tips you back into the unconscious world because the synapses in your brain stop firing the second you remember that it’s John between your legs licking hungrily at your cunt. John from the grocery store, John from the ranger’s station in the mountains—the John you’ve been crushing on and coveting for months now, content to just be friends with the gruff, handsome man in the house next to yours. Now sucking one of your nether lips into his mouth and tracing his tongue up the inside, gliding it over the supple flesh.

“Yer in the den,” John mumbles into your pussy and it’s like he sears the words into your brain. “‘N I’m takin’ care of you, honey.”

“The…the den…?” It’s so hard to keep your thoughts in order. Each flick of his tongue makes you gasp, pussy growing wetter and hips grinding languidly down on his face.

He hums instead of answering.

“Why’m’I so tired?” you slur.

His tongue saws over your clit from behind. It tears a broken whimper from you. You feel every textured ridge, the way it flicks around in a circle and then up and down again.

“Winter season,” John says, sucking your clit into his mouth until you whine at the top of your lungs. “Bear’s sleep in winter.”

“Tha’s silly. M’not a bear,” you moan.

“No,” he agrees, humming into your sex. “Jus’ mated to one. Makes you sleepy too, honey.”

“Mated?” you repeat back, but it’s lost in the way you moan when he eats your pussy from the back, licking into you with renewed vigour. Hungry like a bear. Grunting like a satisfied man, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up.

Words and old memories about bears hardly matter when the handsome man from next door spreads your legs wide, almost to the point of pain, and sinks his tongue into your hole again. You never would’ve expected John to be vocal, but he’s noisy behind you, groaning into your cunt. He keeps mumbling things under his breath that you can’t catch.

“John—” you gasp, biting your lip when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. “John—John—”

He only has to give you a single finger to tip you over the edge, feeds it in nice and slow. Your cunt clenches down at the intrusion, teeth nearly breaking through the skin of your lip.

When he crawls back over you, anticipation makes you shudder. You hear something faint in the background that grows steadily louder as John rests his elbows on either side of your head, until you realize that it’s your own voice murmuring, “Put it in, put it in, put it in—”

He obliges. A thick, steady plunge that hardly manages more than a handful of inches before you’re crying, and it’s too much, too much, too much. Pleasure not a limpid pool anymore but something cavernous and deep-dwelling, pulling you in or trying to make a home inside of you for it. John’s biceps tense with the strain of holding himself back.

You balance on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. There’s a single thought in your head that it might burn you up from the inside; it runs a jagged hole through you.

His nose drags through your hair. “Never expected you. Thought I’d go another season alone ‘till I started smellin’ you around town.”

You hiccup. “Y’never—never paid me any attention ‘for— before, ah—”

“‘Course I paid attention to’ya, honey,” John says into your ear, grunting when he drives deeper into your pussy, still just a languid grind of his hips, so mind-numbingly slow that your thoughts sizzle out of your head. He keeps dragging his hips back and plunging in, barely pulling away from you, all skin on slick skin. “Made a home for m’self in your house. Made sure we had ‘nough to eat for the winter.”

“The winter?”

“Won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few months.” He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck, giving in to the urge to bite just a little. His body stays pressed tight to yours, hardly an inch of space between the two of you. “Wasn’ sure at first if it’d be here or in your house so… fuck, I had to get ready. Make sure you’d be safe when it hit.”

“Don’ even…know wha’ that means,” you mumble into the mattress, then squeal and fist the fists when John shoves a hand under you to grope your chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shushes you. “All y’have to do now is lie there ‘n take my cock, okay, honey? Can’ya do that for me? I’ll get some food in you after we’re done, then send ya back to bed.”

Only a whine comes out when you open your mouth. John’s arm by your head forces you to breathe in the scent of him, musky and rich. You stare at the hair on his knuckles and his thick fingers gripping the sheets as well, old nicks and scars decorating his hand. You can’t stop staring at his fingers and thinking that he had one of those in you before, that he’s felt you from the inside.

He never pulls away, never changes positions, just fucks you on your tummy in his bed. You’ve never been in John’s bedroom before, but this has to be his room—even the pillowcase smells like him, pine needles and cigar smoke. He keeps up a steady pounding into your cunt, rutting like a wild animal. Has to be close. Gets so close to you that you feel smothered, trapped in place. Like if you struggled, he wouldn’t let up. You want to test it, see if you could, but the heaviness is still in your limbs, keeping you docile. Convenient. A little convenient thing for him to use, like a doll to get himself off with.

“Never coulda imagined such a pretty girl f’r me,” John groans, getting a grip in your hair to twist your head, tugging you into a kiss. Your whole body sparks to life, so shocked that you can’t even kiss him back at first. You wait until he pulls back, staring into his half-lidded eyes through the mess of your hair all tangled up around you. “Gave up on thinkin’ there was anyone out there. Thank fuck I found you first, honey. Can start workin’ on all the good stuff now. Get you to give daddy a baby.”

“D-daddy?” you gasp back, almost scandalized.

He pants into your shoulder, worked up now. “Yeah, honey. Don’ I take care of you? Buy y’r food, fix y’r house? Give you someplace nice ‘n warm to sleep?”

You feel soaked with sweat, twitchy, on the verge of something dangerous. Vision all fogged up, heart beating so fast that your skin buzzes. Stretched out on a fat cock and pinned in a man’s bed, nowhere to run or hide.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter when John gets a bit rougher, his breathing getting more staggered, laboured.

“That’s right, girl,” he grunts, “I’m y’r fuckin’ daddy then, aren’t I?”

Magma bubbles up from deep inside of you. Rockslides off in the distance beat against the ground. When you cry out, it gets lost in the rubble.

You stumble into the living room maybe hours later after using the washroom across the hall. Maybe a day later. It’s hard to say how many times the sun has risen and fallen behind the mountains. The clock face stares back at you uncomprehendingly.

Come drips out of you onto the floor. Thick droplets run down your inner thighs. John is still sleeping in the bed where you left him, snoring like a chainsaw. It must’ve been what woke you up. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since he first brought you home, since he left a mess in your pussy, which is still puffy and sore from rough use. You walk with halting little steps to try to minimize the ache.

You stare bleary-eyed around the room. It feels somehow different than the previous times John’s had you over; there are more throws and blankets draped over the couch, candles scattered around the living room with a lighter on the mantle.

There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, blanketing the house in a layer of warmth. It makes you sluggish, stumbling forward only a handful of steps before the shaggy rug in front of the fire drags you back down to the floor.

“What’re you doing out of bed, pretty girl?” someone rumbles from behind you.

“Had t’pee,” you say, blinking. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes unsuccessfully. “Why’m’I still so tired? It’s been…I slept so long…”

“C’mon, honey,” John says, coming up behind you and curling his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Told you it was gonna be a long winter. Maybe just one more and then somethin’ to eat, okay?”

It’s easy to sink to the floor, so easy. Especially with the fluffy rug under your feet. Especially with the fireplace toasting you from the outside in, the tinder crackling in the hearth. Everything in the house is dark and warm, only the fire giving you any light at all. Outside the window, the moon is still heavy in the sky.

Something about the humidity of the den makes you suddenly so tired, boneless, pliable when he goes to move you, when John curves himself around you in the furs and reaches down to slide a hand between your thighs.

He grunts when he finds you wet and wanting, sinking a couple fingers in and palming your clit. He doesn’t talk much still, but he says good girl when he cants your hips and slowly stretches you out on his cock. Feeds it into you achingly slow, like molasses. Like nothing’s due for another few months, so why rush it? He’ll take his time so you’re nice and happy and sweet come spring for cubs.

You’re not sure what that means. The pace is slow and deep, like before but less intentional. Like he just wants to savour the warmth of your body.

When he finally comes deep inside you, your body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the rug. You expect John to pull out and turn over, maybe pull you onto his chest so you have somewhere to rest. Instead, he sighs all tired and content, and stays in you, still plugged up in your cunt, his spend only just starting to leak out into a pool beneath you.

“Are we gonna eat?” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Somewhere behind you, he laughs; it’s soft like a snowfall in winter. “Yeah, honey. After a nap, we can eat.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain price #captain john price #cod price #john price #price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader

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nereidprinc3ss · 9 months

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hii! could i request something w spence where he asks uni reader to move in with him and r is kinda nervous about it please🙏🙏 love all of ur fics, and thanksss 🫶🫶🫶

yass this is super cute!!!! thank you for the request, hope i did it justice

warnings/tags: fluff!! a teensy bit suggestive at the end if u squint... i cant help myself. i'm an animal

requests are open! sfw and nsfw welcome

(a/n: this is probably an awkward spot to put this but I didn't wanna make a whole other post: THANK YOU GUYS FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT!!! i have gained over 100 followers since i last posted and have over 1k notes on both of my recent works thats literally bonkers insane crazy town ACTUALLY. i love hearing your thoughts and reactions to my work even if its just a silly little comment. so yeah. thanks and so much love to u ALL)

“So basically, I’m not allowed in the dorm except to sleep because she always has her boyfriend over, and I told her that’s literally insane—I’m paying thousands of dollars to be there just like her. If she wanted privacy she should have gotten a single. She can’t just lock me out of our shared bedroom all the time! I live there!”

You’re stabbing violently at your food by the time you finish your verbal tirade.

“Okay, maybe put the knife down before you hurt yourself,” Spencer suggests, readying a hand to take the implement away from you if necessary. The knife clatters against your plate as you drop it.

“She’s driving me fucking crazy,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes until you see fireworks. “And the housing department said I don’t have grounds to transfer rooms, so I’m stuck with her for the rest of the year.”

There’s no reply from your boyfriend, and a pang of guilt in your chest makes you look up at him again. His expression, as so often is the case, is inscrutable.

“I’m sorry for ranting. I’m really happy to see you and I don’t mean to ruin dinner, I just—”

“You could stay with me,” he interrupts.

You blink.

“Like... when she locks me out?”

Spencer laughs self-consciously.

“No, like... permanently.”

For a moment you just gape at him like an idiot, trying to comprehend his offer.

He wants you to move in... with him. Permanently. He wants to live with you.

You realize you’ve been staring at him for far too long, and you lean back, inhaling deeply as the world launches into motion again.

“That’s... a big step, Spence,” you breathe. His eyes scan you head to toe, and you realize he’s most definitely analyzing your body language.

“You don’t have to say yes. It was just an offer,” he shrugs, standing up and clearing the plates from the table.

“Wait,” you call, following him to the kitchen. “Are you upset now because I leaned away from you when you asked?”

He turns from the counter, looking at you blankly.

“Of course not. That would be ridiculous.”

Oh, he totally is.

You tentatively step forward, gently lacing your fingers through his—but unable to meet his eyes.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you begin gingerly, “but I’m... I’m not done with school. We always said I would move in once I graduated.��

“That’s an arbitrary limitation we set for ourselves. There are plenty of ways to get you from here to campus every day.”

“But you’re not even here sometimes. I would just be alone.”

“You would have the whole apartment to yourself. You would have my bed. You wouldn’t have to share a shower with an entire floor of college students anymore. And ultimately, we would get to spend a lot more time together.”

You try to speak but find your throat is tight. Spending more time together is exactly what you’re afraid of.

“What’s your real objection here?” he asks quietly, running his thumb back and forth over the underside of your wrist. You swallow, watching the motion of his hand.

“I’m afraid, that if we move in together... you’ll stop liking me.” The words come out paper thin, barely audible.

And he laughs. Your teary eyes dart up, surprised by the reaction—slightly hurt, even.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m not laughing at you,” Spencer says, sobering up when he sees your baleful expression. “I just can’t believe you think I’d stop liking you.” He wipes away the tears beading on your eyelashes delicately. “I’m in love with you. Neurologically that is pretty hard to undo.”

You study his face, looking for any sign of hesitation or dishonesty. All you find is pure fondness in the curve of his lips; utter devotion in the soft set of his eyes.

“You promise you won’t start hating me as soon as I move in?”

“I promise.”

You lean against his chest, craning your neck to look up at him.

“I can be pretty annoying.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“I take really long showers.”

He kisses you softly. “Me too. I’m sure we can figure out a way to conserve water.”

Despite your reservations you smile against his lips.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Okay.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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ghoulfriends-and-tin-cans · 5 months

Text

Howdy Partner - Part 1

I...yep. This fic finally broke out of the cage in my brain and found its way into the world. Careful. It bites.

If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Pre-War!Cooper Howard (Fallout Show) x fem!Reader

[A/N: This is just fluff with some suggestive language, because as sinfully hot as he is as a Ghoul, he looks like an absolute cinnamon roll as an actor.]

Warnings: Fluff, mild angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, they both think their feelings are unrequited, Cooper is already divorced, flirty friends to lovers, they both wanna kiss so bad, drinking but not heavy, mentions of alcohol, they're not tipsy but they have had a couple of glasses of champagne.

~*~

"Cut! That's a wrap for this week," the director called, and everyone on set began to disperse. Beginning to corral the various props so they could be stored until Monday, I breathed a sigh of relief that the week was over. Halfway through winding up one of the ropes, someone cleared their throat behind me.

"Pardon me, ma'am. Any chance an ole cowboy could int'rest you in a celebratory drink?" The faux western accent drew a smile across my lips before I could school my expression. When I turned, Cooper Howard stood in full costume with his cowboy hat held respectfully over his chest. Always such a gentleman.

"Surely there's some gorgeous starlet who you'd rather be drinking with, Mr. Howard," I teased as I laid the looped rope onto its hook. Clasping my hands behind my back, I blinked innocently up at the man who'd been my friend for years and had quickly carved a spot for himself in my heart.

"Now, why would I want to take another woman out on the town when the most gorgeous one in all of Hollywood is standin' right in front of me?" He murmured, and despite the pang it sent through my heart, I gave a sly smile as I grasped his arm.

"One of these days, Coop, you'll regret being so flirty with me," I said as he plunked his hat on top of my head instead of his own. I couldn't imagine it looked as good on me as it did on him.

"Oh? And why's that?"

"Because, one of these days, the woman destined to be your next wife might overhear you, think you're taken, and give up before she's even met you." We walked toward his trailer, dodging busy workers as we talked. "Or worse...I might actually think you mean those sweet little things you say to me."

Keeping my head forward as we walked, I caught him looking at me out of the corner of my eye, his expression inscrutable.

"Wouldn't that just be a shame," he muttered, but his tone contradicted his statement entirely. A large grin stretched Cooper's lips as we stepped inside his trailer. I knew the drill by now. We left the door open, and I took a seat as he ducked behind a privacy screen at the other end. His accent fell away as he changed out of his costume. "That hat's yours now, by the way."

For a moment, all I could hear was the gentle sound of cloth as I tried to force my tongue to work.

"What?"

"They had about ten of those hats for this movie, and I snagged a couple. One for me, and one for you. That one's yours," he called, and butterflies swarmed in my stomach. "Assuming you want an old actor's hand-me-down, of course. You could always just leave it in my trailer today when we go for drinks and the costume people will find it. I just remember you saying you liked the way the one from this particular movie looked, so I figured..."

He trailed off as he walked out from behind the privacy screen in a white button-down shirt and some dark brown slacks. My breath hitched in my throat, but I shook my head quietly.

"No, I do love it. I'm not leaving it here," I said as I got to my feet. "Thank you, Cooper."

Pink dusted his cheeks, and I couldn't help but wonder how I got this lucky. He didn't feel the same as I did, but it was enough that he considered me one of his close friends. Or, at least, that's what I told myself on those lonely evenings when I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in his arms.

I'd been lost in thought for a moment, snapping back to reality when he waved a hand in front of my eyes.

"You in there?" He asked, a mix of amusement and concern coloring his features as I blinked up at him. "You looked like you were a thousand miles away."

"Only about fifteen," I muttered, and before he could ask what I meant, I plastered what I hoped was an enthusiastic smile on my lips. "Well, what are we waiting for? You wanted a celebratory drink, so let's go get it, shall we?"

Cooper had known me for too long to be fooled by that. Like always, I could see his jaw clench for a second as he tucked the information away in the back of his mind for later, then smiled back at me.

"Lead on, ma'am." His faux western accent was back, and he gave me a little wink as I slipped past him out of his trailer.

I'd expected to find myself in a bar with him, but Coop had different plans. He'd driven me to his place - a much smaller house than the one he'd previously shared with his daughter and his ex-wife. He'd downsized after the divorce, choosing a more rustic place that was closer to nature than his cushy almost-mansion had been. Modern conveniences were still present, but he was no longer surrounded by the stifling side of city life.

Kicking our shoes off and wandering out onto the upstairs balcony, we raised our champagne flutes and toasted the success of the new movie. I tried not to watch the bob of his Adam's apple too closely as he swallowed.

Looking out at the dark expanse of the night and the bright lights of the city several hours later, we'd barely finished more than a couple of glasses each. It was so incredibly easy with him. We'd talked the whole evening away, focusing on everything and nothing, paying no mind to the fact that the world kept spinning without us.

Eventually, a cold breeze whirled through the air, and we retreated inside. Cooper grabbed an oversized blanket and we cuddled up together in his living room in front of the fireplace. Setting the hat he'd given me on the coffee table, he wrapped his arms around me and let me rest my head on his chest.

This wasn't the first time we'd curled up like this, but it felt more weighted this time. His chin touched the top of my head just as I noted how fast his heart was beating.

Adrenaline. That's all it was. We'd both been startled by how quickly the temperature had dropped. There was no way it could be anything else.

"It looks better on you," he murmured against the top of my head, and my own heart thudded faster in my chest. "The hat, I mean."

A huff of laughter escaped me.

"Somehow, I think your fans might disagree, Mr. Howard. Hell, even I disagree," I admitted as I toyed with one of the buttons on his shirt.

"That's too bad. All of you are wrong. You look so damn good in it," Cooper said as one of his hands skimmed up my back. He sounded more serious than any of his other silly little flirtatious statements ever had - a feat I hadn't thought possible. I could never tell if he was joking when we were alone like this.

"Careful, now. I might end up thinking you're serious–"

"I am," he blurted as his grip around me tightened by a fraction. "I'm serious."

When I lifted my head to look up at him, Cooper was already looking at me; his gaze was soft and vulnerable as he lifted a hand. The backs of his knuckles brushed down the side of my face so gently that the breath was stolen from my lungs.

"Cooper..." I tried to tell him what I was feeling - tried to force all of the words I'd been holding back to the tip of my tongue - but they got stuck somewhere in my throat.

"It's okay," he breathed, his voice was low and rough as he spoke. "You don't have to say anything. I know this probably isn't... I'm divorced, older, and I have a kid. I'm not under any delusions about how undesirable my situation is, but I just wanted to say it once...before I lost my nerve."

I must've fallen asleep. I was dreaming, I had to be.

"I don't expect you to feel the same. You're so beautiful, so kind...you must have men beating down your door for a chance to be with you, and you're stuck here drinking with a washed up old man," he murmured, guilt winding around every word. "When I drive you home in the morning...if it would make you more comfortable, we can forget I ever said anything...blame it on the champagne."

Alarm rocketed through me. I didn't want that. I didn't want to forget. I didn't want to blame it on the alcohol.

Dream or not, I just wanted Cooper.

Leaning upward, I took a chance and pressed my lips against his. They'd always looked soft. I never thought I'd get the chance to find out what they felt like on anything but the back of my hand.

When he kissed me back, I'd never been so glad to be wrong.

Giving in to my desires, I braced one hand on his chest and buried the other in his soft, dark hair. He grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me closer as we drowned in each other.

When we finally broke apart, Cooper nuzzled my nose drawing a breathless, joyful giggle from some dazed part of my mind.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, and I nodded my head.

"I did assume I would be when you stated that you'd be driving me home in the morning," I teased, and he gave me a gorgeous smile, his eyes twinkling in the low light.

"Beautiful smart-ass. I meant...stay in my room with me. Not the guest room," he murmured even as his gaze dropped to my lips again. "I promise I'll be good - keep my hands to myself."

"You don't have to." The words whispered against his lips prompted a hungry hum from his throat, but he shook his head.

"I want to wine and dine you first. You deserve that...deserve to be treated like a princess," he said, "that way, when the time comes, and I finally have you all to myself, you'll know how much you mean to me."

A desperate whimper escaped me, and he smirked like the cat that got the canary.

"Now, can you be a good, patient girl for me tonight, sweetheart?"

I agreed, muttering under my breath that he was a damn tease, but my protests were silenced by the look Cooper gave me as he led me to his bedroom. Longing looked good on him.

~*~

Taglist:

@live-logs-and-proper

#ghoulfriends-and-tin-cans fic #Cooper Howard x Reader #Pre-War!Cooper Howard x Reader

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denpa-dere · 1 year

Text

hello and welcome to my house arrest series. this is going to be super self-indulgent and a little different than my last couple of fics. updates linked below.

___

afab!mc x polyship

description: NSFW (though the intro is just suggestive), you are confined to your room for your own protection. But how long will that last when the only thing standing between you and your housemates is a door and some willpower?

warnings: straight up breeding kink fodder. she/her pronouns and afab!mc descriptions. a little humiliation if you squint.

|| Intro || Mammon || Asmo (mini) || Levi || Satan (mini) || Beel || Lucifer (mini) || Asmo || Belphie (mini) || Belphie || Barbatos (mini) || Satan || Diavolo (mini) ||

___

So, about that morning...

You opened and closed your mouth once, then twice. You swallowed thickly.

“What..?” The question trailed off into the ether.

Across from you sat Lucifer, brow furrowed and eyes screwed shut, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, looking very much like he’d rather sink into the floor than continue this conversation.

“I’m aware how uncomfortable this situation may be,” He said, feeling a migraine brewing behind his eyes, “But your cooperation is necessary. We can’t risk any unknown quantities around you, right now.”

Unknown quantities. How tactful. You laughed despite yourself. Lucifer’s head shot up in response, face a mix of equal parts frustration and concern.

“It’s for your own protection,” He said, sympathetic but no less firm.

To your credit, your compliance was never really in question. Lucifer was certain you very well understood the dangers of being around others in your current state. Though he would never admit such a thing, this lecture was almost as much for himself as it was for you.

Your face was flushed, eyes wide, expression inscrutable. You stared into your lap at your upturned hands, closing and unclosing them.

“Can I… Can I at least go about the house like normal?” You asked.

Good question, Lucifer thought, hoping you hadn’t caught the briefest flash of a frown cross his features.

On one hand, confining you to your room would definitely lower morale; not just with you, but sending a ripple effect throughout the household. Besides, what sort of message would that send to you about your safety in their company?

On the other hand, breakfast had nearly turned into an all-out war.

Lucifer stood and sighed, moving to make his exit, “Just… try to keep your wandering to a minimum. Please.”

You nodded eagerly, thankful for the leniency. Then, you were alone.

You smell different. Something in the way Beel had looked at you made you suddenly acutely aware of how small you were.

The memory sent a cold rush through you. You grabbed a pillow, holding it against yourself for comfort. Even though you hadn’t done anything wrong, you felt exposed. Could you even bring yourself to face them after this morning?

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand beside you. Your finger hesitated over the screen.

The memory of Asmo’s laughter echoed in your skull, “Oh, you poor thing!”

You felt your stomach drop. Today felt like an exercise in humiliation.

The brawl in the dining room replayed in your mind.

You tapped the message notification.

Satan: I’ll take notes for the classes you miss.

Oh, well, that wasn’t so bad, actually. You tapped out a quick “Thank you!” in reply, feeling a little silly for getting yourself so worked up. These were your friends.

How was anyone supposed to know that going off your birth control would change your scent so dramatically? Sure, demons had heightened senses, but something so minor as a hormonal shift? That you were ovulating?

You fell back on your bed and covered your face with your hands. It was a small comfort when you felt like you couldn’t hide.

You could all be mature about this, right?

#obey me smut #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #x reader

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ckret2 · 2 months

Note

Goldie and Sparkly Coin!Mabel meeting would be very funny. Because this Mabel technically would be his big sister

posts that are inscrutable without knowledge of two separate fics/AUs

Mabel finally got that little brother she always wanted

#bill goldilocks cipher #sparkly coin au #fanart #my art #anonymous #ask

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jaythes1mp · 3 months

Text

3939 words, 22942 characters, 232 sentences, 136 paragraphs, 15.7 pages.

Please don’t ask me what this is. I just started writing and didn’t fucking stop.

I’m a Hufflepuff. You may ask why I wrote a Ravenclaw reader then… Well, Simple. I’ve gone feral over Batfam fics with bird terms of endearments and wanted to write about a weak lil nerd who gets called bird.

TW — Dark. Theo’s mean, dick Theo. Yandere-ish. Non consensual touch, but not really bordering anything sexual, just implying that it would happen. & others. I’m not good at the trigger warnings.

GHOSTS

Theodore Nott x Male Reader

As you make your way down the long, deserted corridors of Hogwarts, the shadows stretch and creep in the soft moonlight. The air is thick with tension and anticipation, as if tales and secrets are whispered through the very stones themselves. Suddenly, you accidentally bump into a fellow student.

His voice, a deep, velvety whisper, breaks the silence.

“Are you afraid of ghosts?” Nott, a quiet and solitary figure, had spoken, startling you. He’d taken notice of your aversion to the shortcut many other students so carelessly wonder. Choosing to walk along the longest path lead away from any of the roaming undead creatures.

You find yourself caught off guard as you realize it's none other than Theodore Nott, known for his eerie silence and his dangerous connections. A Death Eater, a member of the dark lord's inner circle, and a man associated with fearsome tales of torture and blood supremacy. Your gaze travels up, taking in his imposing presence.

You run your fingers through your soft hair anxiously, the moonlight illuminating your face, making you look almost otherworldly. You lean back a little, taking in the sight of the notorious Nott. Having grown up hearing about the Nott family's dark legacy, the very presence of the boy in front of you is frightening.

Licking your chapped lips nervously, you struggle to find the words to answer Nott's question.

"…I am.” you finally admit, you know better than to lie to someone whose family is of such high status.

Theodore tilted his head, studying you from behind a mask of unreadable expressions. His eyes gleam in the moonlight, betraying no particular thoughts or feelings.

"Perché i fantasmi? Why?" Theo asked simply, crossing his arms. The Italian words slipping past his lips naturally. He leaned against the stone wall, seemingly at ease. His body was slender, but still stronger than his gaunt appearance suggested.

"What's so frightful about..." he paused, giving a little gesture that encompassed the vast castle around you, "Ghosts?"

You were not sure how to respond.

He continued to study you intently, taking in every detail, as if you were a puzzle to decipher. You could feel his eyes tracing your features, your body language, trying to discern your emotions.

His silence was unnerving.

You swallowed hard, your Adam’s apple bobbing as you become acutely aware of how dry your throat is. Licking your chapped lips for a second before speaking. “...Ghosts are the lingering spirits of the departed. They’re a reminder that death is... inescapable. That the line between life and death is fragile.”

You pause, his gaze unwavering, making you feel slightly uneasy.

“Ghosts are shrouded in mystery. The unanswered questions surrounding their existence make them frightening. Their presence serves as a reminder that there may be more to this world than we can comprehend, and that the boundaries between life and death are thinner and more complex than we realise.” You looked up, meeting his watercolour eyes. He looks almost amused.

A hint of a smile played on Theodore's lips. He was faintly amused by your answer. It was so eloquent and philosophical. Typical of a Ravenclaw to put such emphasis on the mystery and uncertainty surrounding ghosts.

"You speak as if you've studied the subject," he observed, tilting his head slightly. His eyes glinted in the dim light, his expression inscrutable.

You nibble at your bottom lip, your coloured eyes boring into the other boys. “... it’s hard not to.”

Theodore pushed himself off the wall, moving towards you. He was slender, yet there was a certain elegance in his movements. He moved with the grace of a predator, silent and fluid.

He stepped closer to you, his tall stature looming over you. His eyes had darkened, as if contemplating something. He studied your features once more, his gaze flickering over your face, your neck, almost like he inspecting your every blemish, every little detail.

You swallowed again, feeling strangely out of breath. His proximity was overwhelming, his silence making every moment feel like an eternity. It wasn’t until he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper, that you realised he had moved closer still.

“You’re shaking,” he stated, his eyes never leaving your face. You hadn’t noticed, but in the cold air of the corridor, your body was trembling.

You felt the heat rise on your cheeks, realising how vulnerable you looked in front of him. You averted your eyes, trying to gather your composure.

He was so close, you could feel the heat radiating off his body, his scent- a blend of leather, parchment and spices- filling the air around you. “Are you scared?” he questioned, his voice low and quiet. “Of me?”

You dared to glance up at him, your eyes widening as you met his gaze. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, as if he found your fear amusing. Yet, there was something else in his expression- something you couldn't quite place. He tilted his head, studying you intently.

“You seem… interesting.” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. His eyes raked over you once more, as if he was trying to see beneath the surface, to get a glimpse of your thoughts, your fears, your secrets.

You could feel his gaze burning into you, making you feel small and exposed. You found yourself unable to look away, your heart racing in your chest. You knew he was dangerous, a Death Eater, someone not to be trusted.

But there was something about him that drew you in, a magnetic pull that you couldn’t resist. His fluffy hair fell in soft waves over his forehead, and his eyes seemed to have captured the moonlight, making them appear almost liquid silver rather than watercolour green.

He stepped closer still, your bodies nearly touching. You could feel the warmth of his skin just inches from yours.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your exposed skin, so softly it was barley a touch. You felt as if you couldn’t move, like being transfixed by a serpent. Nott’s cold fingers gently brushed a strand of hair off your face.

“Such soft skin…” he murmured, his eyes flickering over your features. He seemed almost mesmerised by you. He slowly moved his fingers over your jaw, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “And you bite your lip so often. It’s… distracting.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your cheek. “You’re so… fragile…” he said, his voice a mere whisper. “Like a perfect porcelain doll.”

His fingers continued their journey, tracing along your neck, causing you to suck in a sharp breath. He paused for a moment, his hand still resting on your skin. Thumb tracing over the Adam’s apple in your throat.

Theodore let out a soft, humorless chuckle as he observed you, his normally reserved demeanor replaced by a mixture of amusement and condescension.

"Look at you..." he began, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "Trying to be all tough, trying to put on a show of bravery. But I can see right through you.”

He hummed, studying your shaking form with a critical eye. Then, his lips twisted into a sly smirk.

"You're just a scared piccolo uccello."

“... Trembling at the slightest touch,” he continued, his thumb slowly tracing up and down your neck. “Your heart’s racing. You’re practically quivering.”

His lips were hovering maddeningly close to your ear now, the whispered words sending a small shiver through you. He leaned in a bit closer, his hand sliding down your neck, towards your collar.

"Do you know what they do to pretty little birds like you in the wild?” He inquired.

His voice was almost a whisper, low and menacing, his fingers lightly tracing the buttons of your shirt. “They catch them, break their wings, and keep them in little cages. Trapped, completely at their mercy.”

He moved his hand further down, stopping just above your hip, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your shirt.

“Would you like that? To be my little pet?” he mused, his breath warm against your skin.

You tried to speak, but your mouth felt dry and your mind was in disarray. Your head was spinning, and your heart was racing so fast you feared it might explode.

His fingers curled around the waistband of your trousers, pulling you closer with a sudden jerk. You stumbled involuntarily, landing against his chest.

“You’d look stunning in a collar,” He murmured, his lips gently brushing against the shell of your ear. You felt his other hand grip your hip, as if to hold you in place. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the hard press of his muscles.

The moment he grabbed your waistband and pulled you close, your mind became a maelstrom of confusion and panic. Your heart raced to an almost concerning pace, and your dry mouth made it impossible to form coherent words. Stumbling against his chest, you felt the heat of his breath against your ear as he murmured his suggestion.

The mere mention of a restriction around your neck, metaphorical or not, sent a shiver down your spine, and the firm grip on your hip left you feeling trapped. You were suddenly all too aware of the proximity of his body, the contour of his muscles pressing against your own.

“I...”

He chuckled quietly at your inability to form a coherent response, enjoying your evident distress. He didn’t give you time to regain your bearings, though. His fingers continued to explore, tracing the hem of your shirt, sliding underneath the loose fabric to gently brush against the skin of your hips.

“Don’t be shy.” he whispered, his voice taking on a patronizing tone. “Use your words, pretty boy.” He was mocking you.

Theo’s touch was both gentle and possessive, his fingers teasing the edges of your shirt, slowly slipping beneath the fabric to touch skin. Trailing over your hard stomach. The subtle mockery in his tone was like a knife to your pride, the taunt causing a mix of embarrassment and frustration to bubble up in your chest.

Clenching your jaw, you forced yourself to speak, the words coming out sharper than you intended.

"Don't call me that."

He paused for a moment, his eyes flickering with what looked like a hint of amusement. He seemed to be enjoying your growing irritation. His touch grew firmer, his hand wrapping around your hip, pulling you even closer.

Your protest seemed to amuse him even further. He chuckled again, his voice dripping with condescension.

“Why not?” he drawled, his breath hot on your ear. “Such a pretty little bird, fluttering its feathers when I’ve only just begun to touch it.”

He slowly tilted your chin up with his other hand, forcing you to look into his eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering.

“It’s a compliment,” he continued, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “To call you pretty. It’s what you are- Pretty. Delicate. Fragile.”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, tracing the shape of it before he spoke again.

“Do you not like being called pretty, my pretty raven?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. Pretty. The word was simultaneously flattering and demeaning, highlighting the vulnerability you were trying so hard to hide. His thumb gently caressing your lip only served to emphasize it.

His touch was infuriatingly gentle, as if he was both mocking you and enjoying your discomfort. You took a deep breath, trying to maintain a sense of dignity, but his words, combined with his actions, were making it increasingly difficult.

“I’m not... fragile,” you mumbled, your voice sounding weaker than you would’ve liked.

His eyes darkened, amused by your weak protest. He took a step closer, his body now pressing against yours, pinning you against the wall. The smirk on his face grew, his voice lowering to a dangerously quiet level.

“Are you sure about that?” he murmured, his hand releasing your chin to slide down your chest, his fingers tracing your collarbone.

“You’re shaking. Heart’s racing. All from a little touch.”

The proximity of his body to yours, the feeling of being trapped between him and the wall, was overwhelming. His hand on your collarbone, tracing the shape as he spoke, only served to highlight your own physical reactions, your involuntary tremors and the fast pace of your heartbeat.

Feeling both humiliated and panicked, you tried to take a step back, but your back was already against the wall. There was nowhere to escape.

He didn’t give you the chance to escape, though. He took a step forward, effectively closing the already minimal space between you. His body was pressed against yours, his height and strength making you feel even more vulnerable.

His nose gently brushed against the side of your neck, as if he were breathing you in. His grip on your hip tightened.

“You’re so on edge, love...” he murmured. “Like a little bird, about to take flight. But there’s nowhere to go, is there?”

Feeling overwhelmed and increasingly frustrated by Nott's condescending tone and possessive touch, you finally manage to find your voice. Your words are sharp, your tone a mixture of indignance and determination.

Gritting your teeth, you practically hiss at him, your voice low and tight with barely suppressed anger.

"Let go."

His smirk widened as you finally gathered the courage to speak up. He leaned in closer, his body pressing more firmly against yours, effectively trapping you.

“Let go? But I’m not done playing with you yet, il mio uccellino.” he cooed, his thumb idly tracing the line of your happy trail. My little bird.

The condescension in his tone was almost patronizing, as if he was amused by your attempt to stand up to him.

He leaned in even closer, his lips almost touching your ear, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“You’re trying so hard to put up a brave face. But I can feel you trembling against me. I can practically hear your heart racing.”

He nipped the sensitive skin of your ear, his grip on your hip becoming almost painfully tight.

“Such bravado... It’s almost endearing, Raven.”

He lets out a soft hum, his dark eyes raking over your form, drinking in every detail. He takes a moment, then grins, a sly, mocking expression that irritates you even more.

He then speaks, his voice low and taunting.

"Come with me to my dorm, little raven. Wouldn’t want any wayward ghosts to snatch you away now, would we?”

Theodore’s soft hum seemed almost mocking, his gaze raking over your form with a sort of arrogant, detached interest. As if he was a cat toying with a small, frightened mouse.

The mention of ghosts and his dorm made you stiffen. You instinctively wanted to protest, but his amused tone and condescending smirk made you hesisitate. You loathed the idea of being lead somewhere private with him, a Death Eater, a dangerous person, yet the fear of being caught alone in the darkened halls was stronger.

He seemed to notice your hesitation, and chuckled softly to himself. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he observed your expression.

"Oh, don't look so afraid, darling," he murmured, his voice a low rasp. "I promise I won't bite. Not tonight, at least."

His hand slid from your hip to your lower back, a subtle, commanding pressure urging you to step forward.

You found yourself moving forward without much thought, the subtle pressure of his hand on your lower back guiding you towards the dungeons. The corridors were dimly lit, the shadows cast by the flickering torches making everything look eerie and ominous.

Nott walked beside you, his pace seemingly leisurely, his hands in his pockets as if this were all entirely casual. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, watching your every move, taking note of every reaction. You were supposed to be smart, little raven.

The journey was quiet and tense. Every sound echoed too loudly through the dark halls, making everything feel even more foreboding. Nott said nothing, his eyes occasionally flicking from your face to the surroundings, keeping a look out for any passing professors or patrolling Prefects.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you reach the entrance into the dungeons. Nott placed his hand on the cold stone wall, and the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room slid silently open.

You came to a halt, your gaze fixated on the open door before you. As you stood there, a sense of unease suddenly hit you like a punch to the gut. What were you doing? Why had you followed so blindly? The realization struck you, a sizzling sensation of revelation coursing through your veins.

Wait, did you actually... want this? A mix of embarrassment and confusion swirled within you, the thought both unexpected and, disturbingly, not entirely undesired.

Nott seemed to notice your hesitation, his sharp gaze watching your expression carefully. He raised an eyebrow as he observed your internal struggle, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Having second thoughts, my little bird?" he teased, his voice a low, velvety murmur. He took a step towards you, closing the space between you. The scent of his cologne enveloped you - musk, expensive fabric, and pine.

"Too late to back out now."

He reached out, gently grasping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes were now a dark, smoldering black, filled with a mixture of curiosity and arrogance.

"You're mine now, il mio uccellino." he murmured, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "And I don’t let go of what's mine."

His fingers trailed over your jawline, leaving a trail of tingles in their wake.

The Slytherin stepped closer, the heat from his body radiating through the thin fabric of your clothes, his presence almost suffocating. He leaned in, the whisper of his breath against your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

"Come on. Don't be shy. I don't bite." he crooned, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "Well, not tonight, anyway. Unless you beg."

There was a predatory edge to his voice, a barely contained impatience hidden beneath his smooth tone. He wanted to get you into the dormitories and away from the corridors as soon as possible.

His hand slid down to your lower back, the pressure firmer now. "Let's keep moving, shall we?" he drawled, urging you forward.

He didn't give you an opportunity to argue or resist. He firmly guided you through the open entrance of the dorm, his grip on your lower back guiding you past the threshold into the dimly lit common room.

It was quiet down here, the only sounds coming from the soft bubbling of the water in the tank by the back wall, and the low chatter of other students lounging in the common area. A couple of fourth years glanced at you with mild curiosity, but quickly looked away when they spotted your escort.

Theo paid them no mind, his focus entirely on you. He gently propelled you towards the winding stone staircase, leading you up to the seventh year dormitories.

The silence between you was thick, the only sound being the soft pad of your footsteps on the cold stone. He was so close behind you that you could feel him against your back.

The climb up the stairs seemed to last an eternity, the silence only broken by your footsteps and the occasional creaking of the old stone walls. All too soon, you reached the top of the stairs and came to a halt.

Theodore stepped around you, brushing past you closely to reach the large oaken door leading into the seventh year boys' dormitories. He leaned against it with one hand, the other gesturing for you to enter.

Your breath hitches. ‘Should I run?’

You stood in front of the imposing door, your heart racing in your chest. A part of you wanted to turn and run, to escape the predicament you've unwittingly entered.

But something held you back. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was foolish curiosity. Or it might’ve been that strange, twisted part of you that secretly wanted this.

Nott watched you quietly, his gaze calculating as he observed your internal struggle. He seemed to see right through your indecision, his smirk growing more confident, more condescending.

"Are you going to just stand there, staring at the door, or are you going to come in?" he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogant amusement.

In a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, and maybe even distract yourself from the confusing realization, you tried to joke, but your voice trembled with desperation, making it clear that your words lacked any real conviction. You managed to stutter out a reply.

"... I'm not sure yet."

The Nott's smirk widened at your pathetic attempt to play coy. He pushed away from the door and stalked towards you, his gait predatory and confident.

He stopped a mere inch from you, towering over you with his greater height. His gaze softened slightly, his head tilting to the side as he studied your expression.

"Oh, my little bird," he murmured, his voice softer now. "You're a terrible liar."

He raised a hand, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers trailing over your skin in a disturbingly intimate gesture.

"Deny it all you want," he whispered, leaning in so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. "But I can see right through you."

He leaned even closer, his body pressing against yours, his words a low, sensual murmur whispered directly into your ear.

"You’re scared." he breathed, the smirk returning to his voice. "Confused. Aroused. And you don't even understand why. That's adorable, really.”

He hums, his pretty emerald eyes darken the longer he looks over your form. His hand running down your chest. “Don’t worry, my little wizard. I’ll take care of you.”

His voice was soft and almost comforting, like a dark, poisonous lullaby that wrapped around you like a suffocating embrace.

He stepped back slightly, just enough to look down at you. His gaze was still just as intense, but there was a softer edge to it now.

"So, will you come in, or will you run away?" he said, his tone still arrogant, but there was an underlying hint of hope in it. As if he actually wanted you to enter, even though he knew he could force you if he so desired.

You couldn't know if it was genuine or just another part of his manipulations, another cruel game. Either way, the choice was yours. Would you enter the dorm and give yourself to this boy with the beautiful viper eyes? Or would you run away, back into the dimly lit corridors filled with the creatures of the unknown wandering the dark hallways?

As you stood there, the silence between you two thick with tension, you wondered if his offer was genuine or just another part of his manipulations, another cruel game. The choice was laid out before you like a treacherous path, each step promising either the allure of a dangerous liaison or the safety of the unknown corridors.

With a pang of anxious uncertainty, you ask yourself if you're willing to give in to the boy with the beautiful viper eyes, knowing that what lies beyond might be more perilous than the ghosts prowling the night.

You had to ask yourself: Would you cross the threshold into the serpent's den, or flee from the enticing jaws of the beast?

The choice was yours, dear reader.

No use of y/n, no in-depth descriptive features.

Please feel free to send in requests.

What would you have chosen? Let me know in the comments or reply with a reblog!

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