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#and that’s just going to have to be the price of admission

danggirlronpa · 7 months

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Do you have any wlw fanfic recommendations? Like, favorite fanfics that really explores the relationships/character, could be angsty, could be fluffy, could be toxic doomed yuri, could be any catagory of fics! Not just limited to couples, could be polycules too. You don't have to answer if you don't want to too btw! I just thought it would be interesting to see what your favorites were & I'm always looking for more wlw fics! <3

Anon, I truly do wish I had some recs to give you. But a funny story about looking for F/F fics,

#i will say the dr wlw zine is worth the price of admission for the soniyoko and fukasaba fics Alone #but actually id love if YOUD recommend fics to ME #my one go to is always toxicpineapple. the dr fic writer of all time #asks #anon #talk to the mod #there are many fanfics that live in my own head. but i just simply dont have the time to parse through the 8 filters it takes #to get to the 2000 actual f/f specific fics #i really am sorry i dont have an actual rec list for you ):

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disco-cola · 8 months

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damn just read about the power trip festival thats happening this weekend... tonight guns n roses and maiden are playing tomorrow judas priest and ac dc and on sunday metallica and tool?! im sobbing and of fucking course it has to be in fucking california again indio i remember a few years back there was this festival called desert trip happening there too which also had me in deep depression bc it had paul mccartney the stones (back when charlie was still alive) the who roger waters neil young and bob dylan as their lineup like it was crazy and this lineup is crazy too why do i live on another continent and am poor like god damn it also why does everything cool always happen in california like yall are so fucking lucky

#as expected the prices are beyond evil tho #of course they are this is organized by the same people who are responsible for coachella #like how many different “vip” packages you wanna offer man #ive said this about desert trip too back then that it feels this is just another opportunity for rich people to enjoy this music #just as it was with desert trip prices start at 599 dollars which for that lineup and 3 days first doesnt sound bad #but its JUST TO GET IN like just admission you cant go close to the stage like you will have to stand so far away with the “cheapest” ticke

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mermaidsirennikita · 2 years

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IAD Hero Power Rankings: Part... V?

Almost forgot that a new sexy babe entered the villa and took over today!!!

Rydstrom Woede, demon (king), Kiss of a Demon King

Pros:

--called Sabine a "good girl" even when she's actually being a bad girl

--is explicitly a dom

--the first time he smiles is after she flips him off

--is into spanking

--takes Sabine to a bar and everyone leaves the bar because she's evil and he's all "awwww baby I don't understand why they don't like you :(" when she's committed, like, war crimes... down ridiculous...

--his big comeback to his enemy is like "lmao well I'm about to make your girl's eyes roll back in her head SOOOOOOO EAT IT CUCK"

--has two elaborate fantasies in this novel: a) suspending Sabine from the ceiling and edging her until he lets her grind against his face B) watching Sabine cuddle their cute baby. The duality of demon king

Cons:

--I mean I guess he did some pretttttyyyyy dubious shit to Sabine, but only after she did them to him

--met a woman and became her friend and talked to her for days and literally didn't remember fucking her once until she reminded him.... I thought it was funny

--that time he went at Sabine's tits for so long that the next day she was all "THEY HURT SO BAD" so I assume he was like a newborn baby or something

--"I don't have any fetishes!!!!" has every fetish known to man

--was so down ridiculous that he went to try and kill himself to save her... this is a pro... but I'm gonna pretend it's a con

--is pretty hard on Cade who was just trying!!! his!!! best!!!!!!!!!! but again this is only mildly a con because his disappointed dad thing is hot

2. Conrad Wroth, vampire, Dark Needs at Night’s Edge

Pros:

–exceedingly good at removing obstacles between him and what he wants

–a virgin and SUPER embarrassed about it in a way that is INCREDIBLY precious (when he finally fucked this woman and went “So I was good?” I almost fucking wept)

–murder puppy only wants death and blood (until he discovers………… other things)

–a natural born dirty talker

–BABY BOY…. BABY BOY…./EVIL

Cons:

–has erectile dysfunction for a significant part of his book, he gets better but I was so sad for him

–I mean, is fully insane and wants to murder his entire family, but nobody’s perfect and Nikolai kinda deserves it

–wears sunglasses indoors

–got aroused while buying underwear for her and had to limp home

–made Bowen MacRrieve sad and that makes me really upset because I love Bowen MacRieve

3. Bowen MacRieve, werewolf, Wicked Deeds on a Winter’s Night

Pros:

–is a werewolf general

–was celibate for 1200 years after his lover got so scared of his wolf form that she gored herself on a tree stump (lmao)

–spent those 1200 years trying to bring her back to life

–great at catching and preparing seafood

–breeding kink (wants to put all the bairns in Mariketa)

–kinda into bondage…?

–gets hard at the thought of Mariketa’s carnage, even when he is the carnage

–update pro: gets sent to a party by himself so that Mariketa can run an errand and just sits there confused and miserable at the bar by himself waiting for her to show up even though he knows people there; I imagine this is much like that SNL skit about a dog park for boyfriends, where the shy boyfriend hides under a picnic table

Cons:

–kind of a fuckboy (will say his dead lover’s name when he comes, ONE TIME, but “Mariketa” and “Mariah” begin similarly so)

–doesn’t like it when Mariketa chant incantations into her mirror because it creeps him out

–breeding kink (casually tries to get her to stop taking birth control)

–makes fun of Mariketa’s vibrator, even if I found that actually hilarious

4. Lachlain MacRieve, werewolf, A Hunger Like No Other

Pros:

–chewed his own leg off to get to Emma, pinned her to the ground in broad daylight, and inhaled her neck like a fucking FREAK

–actually pretty good at being the werewolf king (saves Bowen from his own stupidity multiple times, much daddy, very authoritative)

–saw Emma kill her own dad and basically swooned

–is absolutely down to get his blood sucked… through his penis (I believe he says that’s the only way he’ll accept BJs now…?)

–gets by on missing 150 years of progression purely on intimidation, which I personally find deeply sexy

Cons:

–I mean yes Lachlain is one of the rape-iest IAD heroes even if most of that was werewolf instinct and burning alive for 150 years

–doesn’t know how to use an iPod

–but will max out your credit cards

–a werewolf supremacist (is this a bad thing…?)

–says “Kiss me like you want to live” which I guess I should put as a con because it’s non-consensual but whatever I was dow–

5. Cadeon Woede/“Cade the Kingmaker”, demon, Dark Desires After Dusk

Pros:

–extremely loyal to his brother (which I found cute)

–orders ahead to get pre-packaged food for Holly to accommodate her OCD, while helping her Walk on the Wild Side

–was the first guy to 69 with his heroine in this series

–stalked Holly for like a year (stalking is love)

–gets adorably tongue-tied around her, but not in a lame way

Cons:

–lied to Holly for like… that entire book lmao (even though it was fun)

–is called the Womb Raider for a reason, apparently (a little tooooo potent)

–sort of fucks with Holly’s birth control, in the sense that he made sure she was super fertile, but to be fair Holly did not… actually… take birth control

–threw out Holly’s OCD meds, though I chalk this up to the year the book was published

–just sort of drove around giving Holly head for WEEKS while Rydstrom was getting sexually tortured, so like…. maybe doesn’t have GREAT priorities…. maybe has the best priorities… Rydstrom was fine…

6. Nikolai Wroth, vampire, The Warlord Wants Forever

Pros:

–deeply efficient and good at his job (being a bloodthirsty warlord), which turns his mate on as much as it should literally everyone else

–scars all over

–very family-oriented, which means he’s extreeeeemely daddy, and very much uses that in the bedroom

–will try to make nice with your bitchy sisters for you

–is receptive to therapy, even if the therapist was his beaten and bruised brother whose advice was basically “do better”

Cons:

–did steal Myst’s chain and used it to make her come on command; which, while I liked it, was very much non-consensual

–insecure about Myst’s history as the greatest femme fatale of the last couple millennia (though he gets better and decides to be a sex-positive feminist)

–that time that he turned his little brothers into vampires against their will

–was so down bad that he literally started to waste away when Myst didn’t let him get off for five years

–does not properly heat his manor

7. Sebastian Wroth, vampire, No Rest for the Wicked

Pros:

–basically a virgin when he meets Kaderin

–Gentleman in the Streets Freak in That Random Nightclub Where He SNAPS

–joined the mile high club remarkably fast

–throws out all his principles for her

–Speaks Like Dracula but in a “I vant to suck your clit” way

Cons:

–borderline beta, or as beta as a murderous centuries old vampire warlord can be

–a little tooooo accommodating of Kaderin’s bullshit

–could have been more demanding, to be honest (Bowen and Lachlain would noooot have been as patient as he was, which some would like but I was a little weary of)

#romance novel blogging #immortals after dark #lmao fated mates had a lotta words about kiss of the demon king #and some of them i agree with #some..... i do not agree with................#but that's why we have opinions #as soon as that darinda chick showed up like 'oh yes that's king rydstrom i'd recognize him anywhere #i was like OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO #and the payoff of him being like 'lmao just be glad we didn't fuck back in the day' and her going 'we did'#worth the price of admission #he didn't remember any of the sex before sabine because he looooves sabine and also is into kinky sex!!!!#a man!!!!!!!!

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freedomfireflies · 7 months

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Reckless*

Summary: The third part to Knockout*

The one where Harry secretly gets paid to fight, but you're the one paying the price.

Word Count: 9.2k (...no comment)

Content Warning: 18+, violence, mentions of an abusive ex, mentions of blood, smut

Harry’s fist instantly snaps closed around your hand, subtly but pointedly tugging you back. Seeming to want to put a bit of space between you and the man standing before you.

“Oh, do you…know each other?” you ask slowly, glancing between the two rather curiously.

Jesse offers nothing more than a raise of his eyebrow, redirecting his attention back to Harry as though encouraging him to respond.

Harry merely grits his teeth. “We used to. Long time ago.”

It’s hardly an answer, somehow just as frustratingly vague as you expected, yet you nod, nevertheless. “Ah. I see.”

Jesse’s smile somehow stretches a bit bigger. “Are you working today?”

“Uh, no. Just…came by for the keys,” you answer, shifting your weight from one foot to the other almost nervously. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Thought I’d…maybe stick around a bit? Catch up?”

Harry’s grip gets stronger.

“Besides, today’s pie is apple, yeah?” he asks. “You know it’s my favorite.”

You force a tight-lipped grin and a hum of acknowledgement before the three of you fall silent. Continuing to stand by the door to the diner as the rest of the room continues on with their lunch. Their soft murmurs and clinging cutlery like white noise in the background of the conversation.

You clear your throat. “Okay, well…I’m gonna…I’m gonna tell him goodbye, and—”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” Jesse says, waving you away before returning to the counter. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

The last word has hardly left his mouth when Harry suddenly spins on his heel and drags you back through the door. Pulling you into the parking lot without so much as a goodbye before leading you around the side of the building.

“Harry,” you murmur hesitantly, almost cautious of his rather silent reaction. In the little time you’ve known him, you’ve never known him to be this quiet when he’s upset. Or this well behaved. “What’s wrong, what is it?”

He continues his furious stride until he’s brought you both into the alley. Releasing you in order to run a hand through his hair with a strained, “Fuck.”

You slow to a stop and stare at his tensed back. “Harry?”

A long pause. Deafening and loud enough to lodge your heart in your throat.

Finally, “How do you know him?”

“What?”

“Fucking Jesse, how do you know him?” he repeats, somewhat viciously.

Your head tilts. “We…I mean we’re friends, but we…we used to date. For a while. Couple years ago. Why?”

He turns, and the pinching of his features together makes your stomach twist. “Was it him?”

“…Harry—”

“Was it…him?” His eyes flick to yours. “The one you fucking told me about. The one who treated you like shit, the one who fucking threw things at you. Was it him?”

You’re almost surprised he remembered. After all, the revelation of your last relationship had been quite a while ago. An off-handed comment made one stormy night as you sat together in his favorite booth, talking about the past and exchanging odd traumas.

But he does. He remembers. And he’s looking at you like your answer is going to break his heart.

You suck in a quiet breath and hold it deep within your chest. “Yes.”

Your voice is small. Timid and weak, nearly carried away with the wind. But it reaches him, nevertheless, and his expression guts you.

He steps back. Trying to get away, either from you or your admission. The truth he can no longer stand to be so close to.

“Why?” he whispers, and your lashes flutter. “Why did you…why would you keep him in your fucking life after he…”

You offer him the same answer you’ve offered everyone else. “I don’t know.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and takes another step. Glancing over your face as if searching for more than you have to give. “Cherry…”

“I know.” You can feel the tears already working their way to your waterline. “I know, but he’s…he’s trying to do better. He’s trying to change—”

“Oh, that’s fucking bullshit,” he scoffs, hands shoving into his pockets almost vengefully. “No, that’s bullshit. He’s not…guys like him don’t change. They just get better at hiding it.”

Maybe he’s right. But it stings to hear. “I…yeah. I know. But we’re just…we’re friends. We don’t talk a lot, just when he needs help.”

“So he uses you?”

“No, he…” You hesitate. “I don’t know. I don’t think he means to—”

His vile scoff cuts through the rest of your excuse, and perhaps it’s for the better.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, fingers itching to reach for him. You feel naked without his body against yours. “I should have…I should have warned you. Or told you, I just…I didn’t think—”

“Are you safe?”

You stop. “What?”

“Are you safe?” he repeats, a tad softer. “When he’s around you, do you feel safe? Do you know that you’re safe, and that he won’t…that you can leave? If you need to?”

You consider this for only a moment before nodding once. “Yes. He’s never…it’s never been like that. He’s just…he gets very angry. And sad. And I think…a part of me wants to help, I guess.”

His expression drops ever-so-slightly, as if wounded. “I know, Cher.” He moves closer to you once again, and you feel like you can finally breathe. He places his palm against your cheek and brushes his thumb beneath your eye. Wiping away the first tear. “You always give your kindness to those who don’t deserve it.”

You take hold of his wrist and bite back a sigh. “Everybody deserves kindness.”

“Maybe.” His voice is quiet. Labored and thick. “But maybe you deserve it more.”

There’s something…heavy in the way he speaks. In the way he feels. As though he’s carrying the entire weight of his world – and yours – on his shoulders.

You know there’s more to the story. More to this anger that’s so prominent in his heart and more to his background with Jesse. You want to ask, want to understand.

But if he wanted you to know, he would have offered.

Maybe he thinks he’s sparing you. Maybe he thinks he’s protecting you in the only way he can, and you feel grateful for him. Grateful for this subtle, unspoken act of intimacy and protection that you’ve become so familiar with in the time you’ve known your handsome stranger.

You choose to have faith in him. In what brought you to him.

“I have to go,” he says now, dipping down to brush his forehead to yours. “Cause if I don’t, I’ll fucking kill him.”

You smile to yourself, but a part of you knows he means it. “Okay. Will I see you again?”

His other hand slips around the back of your neck, keeping you close before he exhales a shaky breath and brings his lips to yours. Kissing you hard and with a thousand unspoken promises. “Of course. M’never gonna leave you, sweet girl. Swear it.”

And it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

You kiss him until you can’t breathe, clinging to his hoodie as if begging with him to stay. To keep himself close to you.

And when he eventually pulls away, you nearly crumple to the ground.

“Okay,” he whispers, reaching back to slip his hood on. “Okay, I gotta go. Or I’ll never leave.”

You touch your fingers to your lips and nod once. “I know. Just come back, okay?”

He grins, and it’s wickedly delicious. “Always.”

With that, he turns around, and disappears down the alley. Rounding the corner of the building before disappearing from sight.

Leaving you exactly where he found you, only a few hours ago.

With a heavy heart and weary mind, you make your back into the diner and toward the man still waiting for you.

Jesse has never scared you. Annoyed you, but never scared you. He’s been in your life far longer than you care to admit, ever since you were just kids. And maybe that’s why you keep him around. Because a part of you believes you owe it to the people you used to be.

You loved him. You really did. He was cute, charming, witty. He made you smile, made you laugh. He listened when you talked, said all of the right things. Of course you wanted to believe him when he said he’d do anything to make it work.

His anger had taken him away from you. Had changed who he was. Or perhaps merely highlighted who he’d always been.

He was the one to end things. Claiming he could never offer you the life you deserved. That until he had his temper under control, he couldn’t be with you. You had agreed to remain friends and help him when he lost his way.

He seems to lose his way a lot these days.

And maybe that’s the part that scares you…just a little bit.

“Hey, sugarplum,” he calls once you enter, grinning brighter than he has in weeks. “You all right?”

You nod as you join him near the counter, hands disappearing into your pockets as if to hide. “Mhm. Are you?”

“Absolutely.” He leans over to nudge his elbow against yours. “Feel like it’s been forever.”

“Jess, I saw you last week,” you can’t help but laugh.

“I know, but that was last week,” he argues coyly. “Which is like a lifetime ago.”

And even if there’s a part of you that feels cautious of him, there’s also something so familiar about his company. The sound of his voice, the way he laughs. His effortless ability to remind you of the way things used to be.

Despite how it ended, you can’t help but feel calmed. Your muscles unwinding as you grow a bit more comfortable in his presence.

“Ha, very funny,” you tease, stepping closer as though drawn in by his charm. “Well, if you’re waiting for the apple pie, that’s not until tomorrow.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to come back.”

The conversation lulls as the two of you smirk at each other, and for the first time in days, you don’t feel so on edge.

“Fine,” you agree. “But you can’t come back to the kitchen with me. Not after last time.”

He pretends to pout, but it only makes you smile. “Oh, come on. Everything was going so well up until the flour incident.”

You reach out and shove his shoulder playfully, and he laughs. “All right, enough. Why are you really here?”

“I told you, I wanna catch up. Clearly I’ve missed a lot.”

The mention of Harry is like a sharp needle to your blissful bubble, popping you free of his spell until you come crashing back to earth. “Right. How, um…how again do you guys know each other?”

“Oh, we don’t. Not really,” Jesse explains, shrugging one shoulder up almost casually. “We used to go to the same gym. Spot each other now and then. But we never really knew each other, I guess.”

“Ah.”

“Was kind of surprised to see him with you, though,” he adds. “But good surprised. I told him he should come check out the diner, and I’m glad to see he listened."

Harry’s previous mention of how he found you suddenly clicks, and you nod, eyes drifting toward the floor. “Yeah, he…he seems to like it here.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.” He seems oddly thrilled by this. “And I guess you two are…?”

The implication brings a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you quickly shake your head as you step back. Almost as though guarding yourself from his question. “Oh, no, we’re…we’re just friends. Or we’re…yeah. Friends.”

His brows furrow but he’s smiling. “Are you…sure about that?”

No. “Yeah. We don’t…we don’t really know each other that well, is all. We just…we like to talk.”

“I see.” He studies you for a moment, somewhat curious. “I’m glad he found something here he likes so well.”

The heat in your face begins to burn. “Yeah, he…he really likes the pies.”

Jesse hums, expression mischievous. “Yes. The pies.”

You force a laugh and nudge him again. “Okay, enough. I should…I should probably get back—”

“Wait,” he interrupts, slipping off the stool in order to get closer, “is there…any chance you’d fancy a drive? Thought we could go around the block a few times like we used to. Just…listen to the radio and people watch.”

Truth be told, the offer is compelling. Because you know if you go home, all you’ll do is worry. About Harry, about Jesse. About all the things you wish you could do for them but can’t.

Maybe a distraction is what you need. One day where you aren’t expected to fix everybody else’s problems but your own.

So, you nod. Tentatively but with a small grin that makes Jesse’s entire expression light up.

“Great,” he chuckles before nodding his chin at you. “So…do you want me to drive? Like old times?”

Your answer is to dig back into your pocket for the keys before tossing them over. “Think you already know the answer to that.”

He laughs again and spins the ring around his finger. “Then let’s hit it, sugarplum.”

It’s almost too easy to settle back into your old habits. To follow him to your car, hop inside the passenger seat, and allow him to take you away.

And it’s nice. Comfortable and…safe. Windows down, music loud. The two of you singing along with every bad song that comes on. It really does feel like it used to, and for just one evening, you forget about everything else. And you let yourself just…be.

The two of you drive around the city until the sun goes down. He tells you about his new job at this fancy law firm and you tell him about this new recipe you’re working on for the diner. You talk, and you laugh, and you sing until your stomach hurts.

You forget. And you’re okay with that.

“Okay,” he finally declares not much later after a quick glance at the clock. “I know you have to get back, but I just have one last thing I want to show you.”

Your brow raises. “Oh? What?”

“A surprise.” He begins to grin, almost wickedly, and it makes you smirk. “It’ll just be a quick little detour, and then I’ll have you home. Promise.”

You consider this for only a moment before sighing. “Fine. But just for the record, I hate your surprises.”

He merely winks before taking a left and leading you both out of town.

The further you go, the darker it gets. This part of the city appears to be rather neglected, with very few lights along the street to guide you. The buildings are rundown and abandoned, there’s police tape over half the doors and boards across half the windows.

Sketchy would be putting it mildly.

Yet Jesse appears undeterred, swinging into one of the large, unkempt parking lots where a collection of cars are already gathered.

“I don’t…understand,” you begin slowly, glancing around the dark space in search of answers.

However, instead of answer, he merely puts the car in park, tosses you the keys, and hops out. “You’ll see. Come on.”

Despite your hesitancy, you choose to follow, trailing after him as he begins toward one of the shabby buildings just up ahead.

There’s a strange sort of itch crawling its way up the back of your neck. Blossoming into your cheeks until you feel a twinge of apprehension.

But Jesse walks ahead as though he hasn’t a care in the world. Nonchalant and relaxed, leading you to the door.

Then, he knocks twice, stops, and adds three more.

A beat passes before there’s a sharp, electric buzzing. Immediately followed by the sound of something rather heavy before the door suddenly swings open.

Your breath catches.

The inside of this disheveled building is divine. Luxury drips from floor to ceiling, a rather stark contrast to its exterior. There’s fresh paint on the walls, towers of champagne in each corner of the room, and a crowd of men and women dressed to the nines in their most elegant and expensive outfits.

But there’s something off. They’re yelling, and cursing, and cheering. Raising their glasses while shouting at something happening in the middle of the room.

And that’s when you see him.

Even from this distance, you’d recognize him anywhere. The soft, sweaty curls matted to his forehead. The blood that drips from his mouth and jaw. The tattoos and marks that glisten from his chest – the same tattoos that you saw for the first time only hours ago.

Your stranger. Landing hit after hit to the man standing just opposite him inside the large ring.

You don’t move. You don’t think you can breathe. You can’t think straight or understand…and then Jesse throws his arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s go have a look, yeah?” It’s posed like a question, but he’s already leading you toward the crowd before you can decide on your answer.

Your heart is in your toes as he slips through the collection of onlookers. Pulling you to the front until you have a near perfect view of the violence happening only a few feet away.

A perfect view of him.

You’re not sure how long he’s been at it. Clearly long enough, if the new cuts and fresh bruises are any indication. He doesn’t seem to notice you, instead throwing his arm toward his opponent before ducking down to miss the strike back.

You hear yourself gasp as you recoil away from the forceful blow, nearly hiding yourself beneath Jesse’s arm while he laughs.

“What’s the matter, sugarplum?” he hums. “Thought you’d wanna see what your little boytoy gets up to when he’s not with you.”

You can hear it now. The vindictive sneer hidden beneath his charming chuckle. And that uncomfortable itch begins to burn as you pull yourself back in order to see him. “What?”

Jesse nods toward the boxing ring. “You see, when he’s not with you…he’s quite busy. Beautifully and spectacularly fucking me over.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “What…what are you talking about?”

“Do you know what this is?” He raises a brow. “Do you know what he really does?”

“He…he fights. He gets paid to fight.”

“Right. And who do you think pays him?”

And that’s when it happens. That’s when the final puzzle piece clicks into place, and you understand. You see the whole picture laid out in front of you, and it wears his face.

“You.” It’s a strained, timid whisper that’s buried beneath the loud, vulgar hollering.

Jesse nods. “Exactly. I pay your boyfriend to beat the shit out of anyone dumb enough to get into that ring with him. And all he has to do…is fucking win.”

The cheering grows louder in your ear as he steps closer. Forcing your attention to split between the two men.

“But I have a problem,” he continues. “You see, Harry can win a fight in his goddamn sleep. He never loses. Ever. That’s why I pay him so much fucking money. That’s why I’m his sponsor.”

Your stomach twists.

“So, imagine my surprise when he suddenly started to lose. Night after night. Over and over. Constantly and consistently losing fights he should have been able to win with his fucking eyes closed.”

There’s something trapped in your throat. The room is spinning, and there’s a ringing in your ear that just won’t quit.

“And then I find out…he’s fucking throwing them.” His hand finds your hip and he turns you toward the ring. “Every goddamn night, he throws the fight. Because, for some reason, he seems to think that these fights are up to him. He thinks that he gets to decide who wins and who loses.”

He leans down now, lips hovering near your ear while his voice settles into a rather malicious hiss.

“But the only person that really loses…is me,” he sneers. “Because if he doesn’t win, then I lose a shit ton of money on him. And I don’t really think that’s fair…do you?”

You suck in a quiet breath right as Harry steps back to avoid a massive swing before landing his own blow just beneath the man’s jaw.

“So, I wondered. Wondered why the switch. Why he’d suddenly be willing to lose so much money and allow his ass to get kicked into his throat…for nothing.”

He leans back now, and your lashes flutter.

“And then I found him…with you.” He tsks almost teasingly while his head cocks to the side. “Seems my best fighter has found himself distracted. Pussy-whipped by a pretty face that serves him fucking pie. And he thinks that if he throws the fights…he can save you.”

A set of knuckles connect with Harry’s left cheek, sending him stumbling back while you suck in a sharp inhale and turn away.

“So…I want you to watch,” Jesse tells you, snaking an arm around your waist in order to keep you in your spot. “I want you to fucking see what you’ve done to him.”

Your features twist into a fearful grimace as you drag your eyes back to the ring. Watching as Harry swipes the back of his hand across his mouth to clear the blood before surging forward. He swings and it’s a miss. Arm flying over the other man’s shoulder before he’s shoved toward the rope.

He’s losing. A few more strikes to the face and you’re almost sure he’ll pass out.

And you don’t understand. Can’t comprehend any of this. Why Jesse brought you here, why Harry does this to himself, and why you’re somehow a part of it.

They lied. They both did. Harry looked you in the eye and told you he didn’t know Jesse. Even when he knew about…all of this.

Jesse being involved in some sort of illegal fight club doesn’t surprise you. Perhaps it should, and yet, it might be the least surprising thing you’ve learned so far.

But Jesse being Harry’s sponsor…being the one who pays him to do this to himself, who gambles on Harry’s very life…

Another strike is laid to his jaw, forcing Harry’s head to snap to the side.

And he sees you.

You watch the realization pass over his face in real time. The way his eyes widen and his lips part.

He stumbles back from the blow, catching himself on the ropes before Jesse tightens his hold on your hips…and Harry looks over.

The rage that settles into the lines and details of his features is evident. The way his teeth grit together, the way the veins in his neck strain against his skin, the way his fingers flex by his side.

He must understand why you’re here now and he channels this understanding and rage into his next hit.

He spins to the side, flings his arms around his opponent’s waist, and yanks him down. Throwing him so hard to the floor, you’re almost surprised he doesn’t break his spine right down the middle.

Half of the crowd cheers while the other half yells in disappointment.

But Jesse merely smirks.

And you realize that this is what he wanted. To use you as a tool in his game. A pawn for his pleasure until Harry’s hand was forced.

Harry rears back only to raise his fist into the air. Over and over, he lands his knuckles to the man’s face. Hit after hit after hit until there’s blood everywhere. Dripping from his knuckles, the man’s nose, his mouth.

He doesn’t stop. Even long after he should, and the man has gone limp. He goes and goes and goes until the referee has to physically step into the ring and drag him back.

And the fight is declared over.

They grab Harry’s wrist and sling it into the air, raising his arm in victory while the room hollers their support.

Your heart is racing inside your chest, going far too fast, and you feel a rush of blood to your head. Your knees are shaking, and your hands feel clammy, and you can’t breathe and why won’t that ringing in your ear stop?

“This is what he’s good at,” Jesse murmurs to you now, lips ghosting down the shell of your ear. “This is all he’s good for. And he fucking knows it.”

The room begins to disperse while Harry is led out of the ring and into the shadows on the far side of the building.

Your eyes and your heart go with him.

“So, you’re gonna do what you do best,” Jesse continues. “You’re gonna remind him why he has to fucking win. Because if he throws one more goddamn fight…I’ll fucking kill him myself.”

With that, he releases you, and turns around. Disappearing into the crowd before you can stop him.

You stand there, in the middle of this extravagant room, and you stare at the ring. And the blood stains on the mat. And the shadows that dance across the floor from the chandelier on the ceiling. The collection of empty glasses and empty promises that are scattered about the vast space.

Then, your feet are pulling you toward the door Harry disappeared into. Taking you to him, despite everything else. Because even after all of this, you want to help him. To make sure that he’s okay, and…and fix him. Somehow.

The door leads to a hallway that leads to what you can only assume is a locker room. It’s empty when you arrive, although you aren’t too surprised. The other fighter was taken to the opposite end of the building, and the people who led Harry away don’t seem to be around.

You hesitate for only a moment, attempting to decipher if you truly feel safe being alone with him after everything you’ve seen in the past 24 hours.

But the answer is obvious.

So, with a deep breath, you brave a step inside.

The shower is running. Steam already beginning to dance through the air as you pass by the collection of lockers and benches. Looking for any sign of him. Your stranger who perhaps isn’t so strange anymore.

You see his clothes tossed toward the floor. See a trail of scarlet streaks leading you further into the room and toward the showers just around the corner.

And you don’t hesitate now as you step past the wall in order to see him.

He’s standing beneath the stream of water, one hand braced against the wall as he stares down at the floor. Watching the blood disappear down the drain.

And he’s…beautiful. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him – all of him – and you feel your breath hitch as you step closer. Allowing your eyes to travel along his tall, tensed frame. From his curls to his thighs and everything in between.

“Harry?”

Your voice snaps his head up, and he turns. Instantly pushing off the wall in order to fully face you.

“Cherry, you can’t be here,” he breathes, and it’s almost lost beneath the heavy stream of water. “Can’t be in here, it’s not safe—”

But you’re already moving closer, toeing off your shoes and tossing your jacket aside before stepping inside the showers.

His lashes flutter, the muscles in his stomaching quivering as he leans back. “Cher, I mean it. You can’t…I can’t let you see me like this.”

You step up to him. Ignoring his protests and the water pouring from the ceiling, you step up, you put your arms around his shoulders…and you hold him.

At first, he goes still. Deathly still, almost bracing himself from your touch. Afraid of what it means.

Then, he settles. Understands that you only want to help, and slumps into your embrace while his face buries into your neck.

You reach up and run your palm down his head. Carding your fingers through the wet curls before squeezing the back of his neck. “You’re okay.”

He takes in a sharp inhale, arms snaking around your middle. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says again. And his voice breaks like the cracks of a sidewalk.

You merely hold him tighter. “But I am.”

And there’s so much to say. So much to understand and question, but right now, he just needs you to hold him. To let him know that it’s okay – that he’s okay.

That you’re not going anywhere.

You stand there for what feels like hours. Until your clothes become soaked, and your fingers begin to prune. But you keep your grip on him tight. Offering nothing more than soft murmurs of, “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He’s angry. So very angry, and you can feel it in the way his muscles twitch beneath your hands. Can hear it in the shallow breaths he takes and the clenching of his jaw.

He’s trying to keep himself together. For you. But he’s moments away from slipping, and you can only hope you’ll be able to bring him back.

“Harry?” you whisper, scratching your nails down his bare shoulder.

His head shakes. “No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it.”

“Har—”

“No.” He leans back, lip curled up into a snarl. “No, I can’t…I fucking can’t—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, taking hold of his wrists to keep him close. “Okay, I understand—”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says for the third time. “You aren’t supposed to be here, and I can’t fucking believe he brought you.”

“I know. I know, but I’m okay. It’s okay, I promise—”

“What did he say?” His eyes flick between yours. “What did he say to you?”

You feel your insides twist as you squeeze his hands. Taking a moment to find the right words. “He…he wanted me to see what you really do. And…to tell you that you have to win.”

His brows stitch together. “What else?”

“Nothing,” you lie. “Just…just that.”

And maybe he doesn’t believe you. Maybe he knows there was more to Jesse’s threat, but it doesn’t matter because he’s tugging himself out of your grasp and turning toward the wall before you can argue. Sending his knuckles straight into the tile until it cracks.

You gasp, quickly surging forward to pull on his arm in protest. “Harry—”

Surprisingly, he allows you to yank him away, but he doesn’t look at you. He keeps his venomous glare on the drain, chest heaving with uneven breaths.

But you aren’t deterred. Instead, you guide him back to you, and lift his hands. Studying the torn skin of his knuckles closely with a sigh. “Harry…”

The wounded waver in your voice makes his expression soften, and he allows his shoulders to roll back. Releasing a bit of his rage. “It’s okay. M’okay, Cher—”

“No,” you argue softly. “No, you’re…”

You can’t find the words. Can’t find the right thing to say that explains this anguish in your heart. That lives within your chest.

So, instead, you bring his ruined hands to your lips, and you hold them there. Kissing the stained, battered skin while he sucks in a quiet breath.

And you don’t care. About any of it. About the fights, or the lies, or the threats. You don’t care what he really does or who he really is.

You just want him to be happy. To be safe. No matter what that looks like. No matter what you have to do to make that a reality.

You want to kiss away his scars, kiss away his pain. Take it and make it your own. Carry the weight he’s been trying to carry all by himself.

You don’t want him to be alone. You want to keep him, you want…

He watches you. Keeps his eyes glued to nearly every inch of your face as you do this. And something changes for him. You aren’t sure what.

But he sets his anger free before slipping his fingers from yours in order to take hold of your face.

And he kisses you. Pulls you to him almost desperately before pressing his lips to your own.

It’s soft, and sweet, and so deliciously him. Gentle despite everything else you’ve seen from him today.

He steps forward, subtly pushing you back. Again and again until your back meets the wet, tile wall.

He holds you there almost hesitantly before straightening up and deepening the kiss. Slipping his tongue in beside yours and savoring everything you have to offer.

And you let him take whatever he’d like. Allow him to have all of you as his chest meets yours and he cages you there. Hungry kisses now moving for your neck.

His touch travels to your hips, nails curling into your shirt as though resisting the urge to grab hold. And you smile as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Breath hitching at the way his thigh brushes against yours.

You drop one hand to his chest. Allow the tips of your fingers to dance along the swallows on his collarbone and toward the muscles in his abdomen. Careful to mind his stitching and new cuts.

And he seems to remember now that he’s completely bare to you, his mouth falling still against your wet skin as he steadies himself.

Quickly, you stop yourself from going any further, settling atop his stomach before nosing under his jaw. “You’re so beautiful, Harry.”

He says nothing, lips ghosting across your pulse point before pressing in deep.

“All of you,” you whisper. “You’re beautiful.”

His lashes flutter shut while his arm loops around your back. Face burying in your shoulder as though to hide, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed or enthralled.

Either way, you gingerly ask, “…may I touch you?”

There’s a quick pause before he nods. Only once, and then he returns to leaving an array of kisses to your throat. Nipping at the skin until you smile.

So, you continue your search, moving your hand toward his hips and down until you feel him.

And the moment your palm brushes against his cock, you both gasp. Straightening up almost attentively before settling back into the pleasure.

Your thumb finds his slit and he curses. Hands tightening around the fabric of your shirt, keeping you against the tile as if he’s worried you’ll disappear.

“Shit,” he mumbles, palm moving to your cheek. “Baby, you know you don’t have—”

“Shh.” You wrap your fingers around the tip before smoothing down. “I want to. Please?”

When he says nothing, you stop, and it forces an instant groan. His body seeming to have made the decision for him.

“Yes,” he finally says, nodding again but quicker. “Shit, yes, Cherry. Can do whatever you want. M’yours.”

And it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

You chase after his pleasure as though your life depends on it. And perhaps it does, but you certainly don’t mind. Because his grunts and pants are deliciously addictive. And you could spend the rest of your life touching him if it meant you’d get to hear just one more.

And maybe now you understand why he’s also so determined to do the same for you.

You run your hand up and down his cock, squeezing the tip before moving lower. Palming at his balls before dragging your touch back to the top.

He does his best not to rush you or overwhelm you. Resisting the urge to buck his hips closer in a desperate attempt for more.

Instead, he focuses his attention on you. A role he seems much more comfortable in.

He kisses you everywhere he can. Your lips, your cheeks, your jaw, your nose, your neck. Below your ear, along your collarbone, and down the dip in your shirt.

Then, his fingers slip down to your jeans. Absentmindedly fiddling with the button before he whispers, “Can I touch you, sweet girl? Wanna make you feel good, too.”

And who are you to deny him?

“Always,” you whisper back, releasing him for only a moment so he can wrangle the wet material down your legs.

Once he has, he straightens up, and runs his palm along the inside of your thigh. Indulging in the feel of your skin while you take him back in your hold.

And it’s strangely beautiful, this dance you do. The synchronicity of teasing touches and playful strokes that leave you both breathless.

Anytime you gently tighten your fist around him, he curls his finger inside your walls. And anytime you brush at his slit, he brushes at your clit.

You both share a smile when you realize, and Harry laughs before nuzzling his face back into your neck. Tugging your skin between his teeth to muffle his groan.

“You have no idea how badly I needed this,” he says. And it’s a faint thought, perhaps not meant for your ears. “Fucking need you, baby. Always.”

Your head drops back against the wall. Your body already growing sluggish under the weight of undeniable euphoria he inflicts.

“You always have me,” you tell him. “I’ll do whatever you want—”

“Shit.” He yanks your chest to his, mouth painting warm, wet kisses along your skin. “Don’t say that. Don’t, or I’ll never stop.”

You grin. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”

You go faster. Finding a pace he seems to enjoy and zeroing in. You want him to cum – need him to cum. To offer him that release and that promise of more.

And it works. His tattoos rise and fall under the weight of his frantic gasps for air. He’s tipping over the edge, just needing a final push, and you want to get him there more than anything. Want to see what his face looks like when it’s overcome with pleasure. When he’s releasing into your hand, or your mouth, or your cunt. Want to feel him, know how his body moves when it’s spent.

“Please,” you murmur, almost anxiously as you work him closer. “Please, Har…let me feel you. Wanna feel you cum, please.”

He moves to squeeze the back of your neck before his hand disappears into your hair. Gently but pointedly tugging on your roots. “Baby—”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, you can cum. Can cum for me—”

“Fuck.” He jolts forward, fingers slipping from your cunt. “So good to me, sweet girl. So fucking good to me. Don’t deserve you. Never deserved you—”

“Yes,” you nearly whine. “Of course you do, Har, please—”

He cums with a soft groan that bleeds into your throat. Woven between his kisses and flicks of his tongue to your skin, and it’s everything. The warmth, the feel, the implication. It covers your hand, and wrist, and even parts of your thighs.

And you watch it drip down toward the floor almost regretfully, but you’re mesmerized. Addicted to something you only just discovered, and desperate for more.

But he gives you no time to reminisce, instead moving his mouth to yours in order to show you exactly how much it meant to him.

“Knew you’d be good,” he remarks playfully, nipping at your bottom lip before squeezing your waist. “Fucking knew, yeah?”

You release his cock as gently as you can before smoothing your palms up his chest and into his hair. Tugging on his curls in order to bring him closer. “Just for you.”

He smirks to himself before leaning back to study you. Glancing over your body as though in search of something. And the longer he looks, the angrier he appears to become.

Then, he mumbles, “He fucking touched you.”

Your heart wrenches. “…Har—”

“He touched you,” he says again, bitterly, and almost to himself. “He fucking put his hands on you and he made sure I saw. Wanted me to see, and now…now I can’t see anything else.”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt a panic like this. “Harry, please—”

He crouches down, large hands curling around your thighs and pulling them as far apart as they’ll go. Which, admittedly, isn’t very far because of the jeans still pooled around your ankles. But he doesn’t mind, instead staring at your legs rather thoughtfully.

Finally, he looks up.

“I need to wash him away,” he whispers, and your stomach leaps into your throat.

“What?”

“I need to wash him away,” he repeats softly, moving closer to ghost his lips along your hip. “Need to erase him. Need to clean him off you.”

Your fingers twitch by your side, and you aren’t even sure what to say. Because the look in his eye is unrelenting, and you can see how badly he wants this.

“Okay,” you exhale. “Okay, erase him. Make me yours again.”

And this is all he needs to hear, wasting no more time before smoothing his lips and his hands along your thighs and waist. Repainting every inch of you with his touch. Washing away the metaphorical marks Jesse left when he held you and replacing them with his own.

Even if it’s not inherently sexual, it’s the most erotic and wonderful thing you’ve ever experienced. The way he feasts on your flesh like a man on a mission. Nipping and licking at you just to make you whimper. He’s nowhere near your clit and it doesn’t even matter because he’s so divine.

The heat of his mouth on your cool, wet skin. The way he gingerly kneads at your ass in an attempt to comfort you. Tenderly pulling you closer as though you’re somehow still too far away.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” you hear him sigh, and it makes your insides tighten. “M’so fucking sorry for doing this to you. For bringing you into this.”

Your expression drops while your head shakes. “You didn’t. You didn’t, I asked. I asked to be a part of you, and I don’t regret that.”

But it’s like he can’t hear you over the sound of his shame. Instead kissing you softer as if to apologize. “It’s my fault. Should have told you the moment I saw him. Should have taken you with me. Shouldn’t have left you with him when I fucking knew—”

“Hey.” You reach down and take hold of his hair. Yanking his attention to you. “None of this could ever be your fault. Do you understand?”

He seems to ignore this as well, nudging his nose against your hip with a crestfallen expression that makes you want to scream.

So, you tug harder, forcing his head back and his eyes on yours. “This is who Jesse has always been. You didn’t change that, and you never will. And I know that. I know him. I know his heart and I know what he’d do to hurt me.”

His lips part, as if going to speak, but you merely tighten your grip in an unspoken order to remain silent.

“And I know you,” you continue. “I know that this is who you are. All of this. The fighting and the bets and the torture you put yourself through. And I know that you would never hurt me. That you have always done your best to protect me, even if I didn’t know what I was being protected from.”

His hands begin to drop down your legs and toward the floor, an act of complete submission.

“This is not your fault,” you repeat earnestly. “You are not responsible for Jesse’s intentions, and you’re certainly not reasonable for mine. And I need you to know that. Okay? You have to know that. Because I have never felt safer than I do with you.”

His features remain unchanged, and you wonder if he heard anything that you said at all. If he understood and internalized your instance. If he’ll believe it.

And then—

“I love you.”

You feel your pulse skip inside your chest as you suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“I love you, Cherry.” He says it again without pause, without a moment’s hesitation. Proving that it wasn’t a mistake or a trick of the mind. He really said it. And he meant to. “And m’so fucking sorry it took him for me to realize it.”

You aren’t sure what to do. What to say or…what to think, but he’s already shaking his head and offering you a small smile before you can decide.

“I don’t want you to say it,” he says quickly and quietly. Slipping your hand from his hair in order to press his lips into your palm. “I just want you to know. And I wish I could have done it differently, but…I do, I love you. And I will do everything I can to prove that to you.”

You want to tell him that he already has. Want to tell him a lot of things that maybe you shouldn’t, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

He merely kisses your hand before moving back to your thighs. Looking for your permission to continue.

Breathlessly, you give it to him.

With a soft grin and great care, he extends his tongue and slowly drags it up your clit. He’s not rushing this time. He’s enjoying it. Allowing himself to indulge in your taste and your feel as you slump against the tile and let him.

He leaves a trail of apologies and promises along your pussy. Kissing, sucking, and flicking until you squirm. And he’s so focused, so dedicated to your orgasm. To making you understand how badly he needs you.

And you do understand. More than you’ve ever understood anything else.

“Love to see you, baby,” he murmurs after a moment, now running the tip of his finger between your folds and down. Taunting you with the intrusion yet not giving it to you. “Love to see this pretty pussy take me.”

You whine pitifully before he finally pushes in. Allowing your walls to beckon him closer until he hums.

“Can’t wait to see you take my cock,” he muses, thrusting the digit once or twice before bringing a second into play. “Gonna watch you stretch for me. Gonna just sit and watch this sweet, little hole take me in. Get me nice and warm. Till I’m soaking in you. Fucking drenched—”

“Harry,” you whine, overcome by a rather euphoric rush that makes him smirk. “Harry, please—”

“What, sweet girl? You like the sound of that?” He ignores your cries and flicks his tongue against your clit. “S’okay. I do, too. Think about it more than I should. Think about you and this tasty little cunt till I’m fucking my fist in the shower.”

The lewd image that’s painted in your head makes your toes curl, and you imagine you’d give anything to watch.

“But it’s not nearly as good as when you do it,” he says coyly. “Won’t ever be able to picture anything else but your sweet, little hand wrapped around my cock. Making me cum like a good girl.”

He adds a third finger, and your vision goes hazy.

“And this,” he breathes, fucking into you a bit faster. Until the sound of your arousal bounces between the walls. “Replay this in my head every goddamn day. The way you sound when you take my fingers, take my tongue. S’fucking beautiful, Cher. The best thing I’ve ever heard.”

You believe him.

“Wanna listen to you forever.” He laps at you like he’s dying of thirst. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you. Wanna fucking hold you and never let you go. Never let anything hurt you. You’re the only good thing in my life, sweet girl. Need you to know.”

You aren’t sure if the tears in your eyes are from the pleasure or his admittance, but they fall from your cheeks almost mercilessly. And you can’t even wipe them away because, in some strange sort of way, you enjoy it. This pain and this angst that comes with the man on his knees before you.

“You’re mine, yeah?” he asks next. But the lustful undertone is gone. He’s pleading with you now. Begging you. “Not his, but mine. Always mine.”

Your agreeance comes before you can question it. “Yes…yes, I’m yours. Yours, I promise—”

He groans into your cunt like he’s never been happier. And the reverberation down your thighs and across your clit nearly ruins you. “Say it again. Say it again, baby, please—”

“I’m yours. Just yours, Harry. Not his. Never…never his—”

“Fuck.” He pulls on your thigh in order to bury his mouth into your pussy. And you almost wonder if he’s actively trying to suffocate himself. “Again. Again, Cherry—”

“Yours.” The word drips from your tongue like honey from a honeycomb. “Just yours. Don’t wanna be anybody else’s.”

His entire face is nuzzled between your legs, and it almost kills you. Because he’s so beautiful. You’ve never seen or felt something so ethereal, and you can’t look away. Even when your eyes are desperate to fall shut, you force your attention on him. Watching as he mouths at your clit and drives in his fingers until it hits you.

You nearly collapse onto the floor, but he refuses to let you. Keeping you upright before you can go slipping down the wall and cementing you to his tongue in order to drag you through to the other side.

“Mine,” you vaguely hear him hum, and your heart flutters. “Always mine.”

When he’s sure you’ve caught your breath, he straightens back up, and takes you in his arms. Kissing you and holding you and keeping you safe. Making sure you understand that he wants more than your orgasms. He wants you. Even without the explicit words, you know his true intentions. Know where his heart truly lies, and you settle there beside it.

Moments pass before either of you speak again. Instead listening to the sound of the running water hitting the floor.

And you’re afraid to be the first to break this tranquility. Because you know once you do, you might not find it again. Jesse’s threat still lingers rather prominently in the forefront of your mind. And you’re terrified that every time you look at Harry…you’ll remember.

“Cherry?” he whispers minutes later, and your pulse jumps.

You bury your face in his neck, bracing yourself from whatever he might say next. “Harry.”

He nuzzles his cheek against the crown of your head and sighs. And you can feel the heaviness of the breath leave his body. “I don’t know what to do.”

The vulnerability makes your throat run dry, and you subsequently tighten your arms around his middle. “Don’t have to do anything.”

“Cherry—”

“No, just…we’re okay,” you insist. “It’s okay. You just…you’ll win. You’ll keep fighting and you’ll win, and we’ll be okay. And I won’t have to lose you.”

A beat. “But what if I lose you?”

“You won’t. Never.”

“But he knows, Cher,” he murmurs. “He knows, and he’ll use you to hurt me. He’ll drag you into this as many times as he fucking wants, and he’ll use you. And I can’t let him – I won’t let him.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care what he does, he doesn’t scare me, Har—”

“But he fucking scares me.” His volume rises until it can carry over the shower walls. “All right? He terrifies me. Because now he has the one thing I can’t fucking…”

Your eyelids flutter before you take hold of his hand.

“And he wants to play this stupid fucking game, and I won’t let him,” Harry continues. “I won’t let him use you or threaten you, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay, but you’re the one with all the cards. Right? He’s shown his hand. He’s shown how desperate he is. He can’t do anything to me if he really wants you to listen—”

“You don’t know him like this,” he nearly scoffs. “You don’t know what he’s willing to do—”

“Harry—”

“I can’t…I can’t,” he seethes. “I can’t get him out of my fucking head, and I can’t let him win. I won’t let him win.”

He’s unrelenting. Unwavering in this insistence and you feel as though your insides are being twisted around a knife.

All he has to do is win. All he has to do is let Jesse believe he’s still in charge. And he’ll be okay. You’ll both be okay.

“Harry,” you try again. Softer this time, hoping to reach him. “We’re gonna be fine. Okay? It’s you and me. We’ll be all right. We have to be.”

His expression instantly drops before he dips down and lays his forehead to yours.

He says nothing else. Offers no more ideas or excuses. He simply exists in this belief and the serenity it provides.

Even if he knows it’s not strong enough to stand on.

“Okay,” he finally mumbles. “You and me.”

And it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard. Because for the first time all night, you see the way out. You see a future where he can be who he is, and you can be who you are, and it can still be all right. Where you can be together and be free of any threats and complications and just exist in this little world you’ve created.

A world outside of the diner and the backseat of his car. A world where he offers you more than his orgasms but his secrets, too. His life. And you need that. You need it more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life.

He leads you out of the shower not much later, digging through his things before offering you his hoodie and sweats to wear home.

And there’s something so intimate about wearing his clothes. The way the tattered fabric feels against your skin. The way it smells like his cologne and the shampoo he must use. The way it fits your frame as if it was always meant to, keeping you warm despite the frigid air that greets you when you step outside.

You offer to drive him home, but he refuses. Insisting that it’s better if you don’t know where he lives, at least for right now. And you don’t have it in you to argue.

He makes you promise to lock your door the moment you get inside the car, and to lock your apartment door the moment it’s closed. You vow to do both before dragging him closer for a kiss.

And he gives it to you. He gives you five kisses, in fact. One on the forehead, one on each cheek, one on the nose, and finally…one on your lips.

When he lets you go, you feel empty. Lost. As though a part of you is missing, and it aches the entire way home.

In fact, it aches for the next two days until you can finally see him again. And you busy about your shift, watching the clock like a hawk until midnight finally strikes, and you fly through the kitchen doors. Ready to see him and fill this gap in your chest.

But for the second time this week…booth 505 is empty.

Instantly, the blood drains from your face. All the way down to your toes, and almost feel faint as your shaky legs carry you to his table.

However, the moment you’re close enough, you catch something just out of your peripheral, tucked just beneath the sugar dispenser. Something that most certainly wasn’t there a few minutes ago.

A note.

With furrowed brows, you slip the folded napkin free and bring it closer. Straightening it out until you can make out the haphazard message scrawled across in black ink.

Meet me at the station after your shift.

Don’t tell Owen.

Next Part:

~ Uppercut*

Previous Part:

~ Whiplash*

~ Full Knockout Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @amberbambridge @percysaidnever @prettydelilah @ripesinner @fairytale07 @hannah9921 @mitochondrialeva-blog1 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @buckybarnessimpp @lomlhstyles @be-with-me-so-happily @daphnesutton @ribbonknives @stylesfever @slutforcoffein @rainycowbride @harringtonhundreds @kaybee87 @youcan-nolonger-run @tobesocoldasyou @cherryshouse @char112244 @harryscowgirl @hsbabygirl22-blog @mypolicemanharryyy @snwells @hermionelove @cherryluvhobi @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs

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ghostlywhiskey · 6 months

Note

john “loves to tell people you’re trying for a baby even though it’s embarrassing to you that people know you’re actively letting your husband hit it raw” price

its the way he doesn’t understand why you’re embarrassed either. the way you’ll gently kick him under the table, subtly pinch his side or eyes widening from the shock he’s telling anyone and everyone.

when you’re alone in the car ride home, one hand on the wheel while the other reaches for the back of your neck to squeeze it loving before he turns you to face him; but his eyes are locked on the road in front of him.

he only looks over when he’s stopped at the red light, looking over to meet your gaze.

“embarrassed to have my kid?” he teases, realizing you’ve been quiet since he’s made the comments earlier that day. he knows you aren’t embarrassed, he’s seen how you’ve reacted every time he tells you he’s going to give you a baby.

embarrassed is the last word that comes to mind. insistent is the first word that comes to mind.

“no,” you murmur, a pout forming on your face due to the fact he thinks that, even if it’s just teasing.

“i’d rather keep it quiet until there’s actually something to show.” cheeks warm at the admission, the possibility of having something to show sooner rather than later making your chest tighten. the thought of having a kid with price instantly forming a small smile on your lips.

and before the light turns green again, he’s pulling you closer to him while he moves to close the gap as well. lips grazing yours briefly before you’re the one to press your own firmly against his. now, he’s the one who can’t help forming a smile.

the sound of a car horn causes the two of you to separate as his hand slips away from the back of your neck. two hands firmly grasp the steering wheel and eyes focused back on the road in front of him.

“i’d rather everyone know you’re the one who is gonna make me a father,” he trails off, glancing at you for a brief moment as he finishes, “sooner rather than later.”

the words you thought quietly to yourself moments ago were now spoken out loud by him; sometimes you were convinced he could read your mind.

“sooner rather than later.” you quietly repeated as you turned your head to look out the window, fingers mindlessly toying with the engagement ring that decorated your hand.

#john price #captain john price #john price fluff #john price x reader #nic talks price #gw sfw price

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drowningmist · 1 month

Text

𓇢𓆸 [4:14 AM] GOJO SATOROU

You glared at your phone, infront of you on the mattress which had been ringing for five minutes straight.

12 missed calls from toru☆ , it shows.

Your phone brightened again with a message

"Baby please pick up the phone"

You grabbed your rectangle and switched it off. You were never like this, never ignored the stressful situations, always confronted them but right now you were in a tight spot yourself.

You have been with gojo satoru the gojo satoru for 8 months now and you were happy, happier with him. But never dated before the sudden relationship made changes in your life which you only came to notice now. Now you had a person to remind you to take rest after studying, now there was a person waiting for you to cuddle him, now you saw places never seen before although leaving in this city for almost 2 years. Now you had conversations with your aged people that didn't end with just a small question related to assignments. Maybe, you liked the nows so much, this new change in your life that you side tracked from your goal, what you came her for. This was your dream university for which you worked so damn hard to get in, it took you two attempts to get into this uni , the first time you got sidetracked , had friends , you get swayed by them. The failure gave you a reality check and only you knew how hopelessly and desperately you tried again, completely alone fighting your depressed tired mind that you will make it this time and you did and you swore you would never repeat your mistakes and only focus on being the best student in your firm and get placement, a job , a peaceful solace life. That was your plan but then came gojo satoru.

He was in bussiness branch, you being in robotics and automation. But you both shared a few clubs and that was enough for the gojo satoru to set an eye on you. That was it, man had your whole schedule revised, your cafe order to you favourite place in the library. Initially, you despised him. He had everything you didn't have, got admission cuz he was rich while you rubbed your ass, unsurprisingly popular and surprisingly one of the best bussiness student for straight two years. You often wondered when did he studied and how much, did he even had time for it after his night outs . Maybe it was jealousy you felt but you don't know, your heart don't know what he his eyes did to you in the two years of knowing, from pulling away and pushing his advantages to grabbing his face to gently peck him from making a disgusting face when he was around to greeting him with open arms and snuggling to his chest.

But yesterday's results of your mid semester pulled you back on earth. Yeah , afterall you didn't belonged there with the gojo satoru who had everything you didn't and gained everything you couldn't. Unlike him you had to be consistent you weren't gifted, hardwork was your key. You weren't here to fall in love, you were here to be the best student. And maybe it was your insecurity but you always thought you were just his temporary infatuation, a fling, you thought it wouldn't last he will get bored of your stiff personality and leave you alone. But you were immune to being left alone what you feared was the failure you didn't wanted to repeat the pattern. So, you broke up with him and in the worst way possible on a text. Maybe it was intentional you wanted him to stop chasing you, stop loving you , stop looking at you as the most priced possession.

There was a knock on the door, you remained still but then the few more thuds had you standing on your doorstep.

"I know you are there open up"

" its early sato- gojo, go home". You gulped down your whimpers and spoke sternly.

You heard a dry laugh from the other side

"Gojo, huh?"

Then there was another thud on your door making you jump, this one was the loudest.

"Stop , you will disturb the neighbors! "

"You open the door and I'll stop knocking" he replied curtly

Sighing you open the door mentally readying your break up speech. But you didn't get the chance, just as you opened the door gojo was pulling you to your couch settling you there and then crouching down to your eye level and flashing you his phone screen.

" Explain".

You eyed his phone it was opened to your today's conversation more specifically your message of breaking it off.

You looked at him but immediately looked away.

Was he able to make this type of face before?

" there's nothing to explain, I want to break up with you"

He scoffed

"Why?"

"You are .. you sighed " I don't want to be in a relationship now"

"Should have thought before kissing me"

You glared at him

" I am not able to manage it all. My studies and our relationship "

Gojo cupped your face and sighed

"Oh baby.., you should have said so ,we can just study togeher its a win win, u see? we could plan study dates then ..hmm yeah thats a good change of pace, we can meet in the library and study or we could plan home dates too-

"Gojo" he stopped

"You don't get it.. i-i don't want to be in a relationship! I want to focus on my studies"

"Nobody is stopping you from studying and your way of studying is not healthy at all. it's always good to relax and don't worry about managing stuff I'm a part of your life now just like you are of mine, all I want is for you to be healthy and happy . who will stop you when you are at your limit-

"You are a distraction gojo! You are the problem if it weren't for you then I wouldn't have to go through all this again I don't want to experience that shitty feeling of being a failure!"

''distraction''

his lower lip wobbled as he tried not to sniff even thought there were no tears in his eyes.he was looking at you with flummoxed expression on his face.

you paused at his crack of voice and kept your head low.

''just leave please''

Nobody said anything and gojo got up and left without uttering another word and you remained still tears cascading your eyes which started to fall as you heard the door shut.

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

Text

✰ 𝐏𝐎𝐌𝐏 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “If we weren’t in public right now, I’d have my head between your legs.” - Simon gets bored during a very special medal ceremony. Chest Candy isn't exactly what he's after when there's something much sweeter between your legs.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. This is so self indulgent it’s ridiculous. Anti-Monarchy (sue me), cheeky Simon (my favourite kind), vague dirty talk, oral (f receiving) you see PART OF Simon’s face, vague allusion to p in v sex and cream pie. Inspired by this article I found.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

The Crimson red carpet stretches down the aisle to the medal platform, an uncomfortable reminder of the colour of the blood you had to spill to get here. A sea of uniformed SAS colleagues stands before you, making The King look distant from where he handed a medal to those worthy of the chest candy. The golden lighting is giving you a headache, and this ceremony feels as though it's taking forever. He's just a man-

"If we weren't in public right now, I'd have my head between your legs."

Simon's gruff voice so close to your ear has you jumping out of your skin, wide eyes gazing up at him through your lashes as you try to steady yourself from the shock. Was... Was he dirty talking you in the middle of the ceremonial halls of Buckingham Palace?

"Simon-"

"Never been one for pomp an' pageantry," he speaks over you, keeping his voice low as to avoid a very pointed look from Captain Price. Despite leaning down ever so slightly for his whispers to be heard, his eyes stare straight ahead, moving lips concealed by the worn fabric of his ski mask.

"This isn't pomp, Simon. It's Buckingham Palace," you remind him pointedly, a little hiss of frustration bubbling in your throat. Ghost had the habit of choosing the worst times to pull this bullshit-

"Exactly my point, love."

Admittedly, when you saw The Times article a few months ago, you threw up in your mouth. 'SAS get medals in secret palace ceremony'. While each of you had taken a vow to protect (what was then) Queen and Country, years on the field had twisted the priorities of each of the members of Team 141. You could ask any of them why they serve, and it certainly wasn't for this family.

What you honestly hadn't expected, however, was the team's invitation. The invitation, written on a thick, grained card with an embossed royal seal, detailed the team's bravery in the Gulf of Mexico, redirecting the missile aimed towards inhabited land. Ghost had scoffed at the idea of going to Buckingham Palace, but Price had been adamant that all of 141 would be there.

"You know, he's not even served a day in his life," Simon subtly nods towards the medals resting at The King's breast,"' Least Harry saw action."

Keeping your eyes aimed towards the ceremonial stage, you swallow back a grimace at Simon's truthful observation. Sure, he wasn't wrong, but it took everything in you not to dare Ghost to say it to the monarch's face.

Because you're sure as shit that he would.

"Whatd'ya say?" Simon whispers, his voice dropping a tad lower and dripping with eroticism, "There's an open door at your six, Delta. Make it worth your while."

Before you even check over your shoulder to see if his observation is accurate, you're turning on your heel, whispering to the king's guard patrolling the open double doors that you need the toilet- that you are desperate.

One of those admissions is true.

✰

"What took you so lo-ng?!" You gasp out as Ghost's tongue curls around your sensitive clit.

"Recon, love," he muses, the rumble of his voice against your throbbing cunt making you throw your head back against the wall of the bathroom stall, "Couldn't just follow after you into the women's loos, could I?"

Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimper, pushing your fingers into Simon's buzzcut hair and shoving his face deeper into your cunt. His words had shot straight to your clit when he entered the bathroom, eyelids heavy and voice as rough as glass on gravel.

"Eyes shut, panties down."

When his bare lips and nose pressed to your wet pussy lips, you could have cum right there, threats of a fierce orgasm roughly pushing up against the base of your spine. You wrap your thighs around his head now, wailing out his name as your eyes roll back.

"Shhh," he mumbles against your soaked cunt, but it's so hard to take note of his warnings when they're drowned out by even louder sloppy, messy sucks of your sensitive flesh. He's swallowing your juices down, groans ricocheting off the bathroom walls.

"Fuck, Princess," he's never used that name for you, and you know it's only because of the frankly ridiculous circumstances, but your cunt clenches around his tongue when he shoves it inside of you anyway, "Mhmm, so fuhgin' wet."

He's slurring his words as he plunges his tongue deeper, but he won't shut up. A chorus of "good girl" s and "like that" s and "c'mon" s have you pushing your hips up into his face and grasping at the smooth walls of the bathroom stall.

"Oh my God, Simon!" You sob weakly, tears welling in your eyes as he sinks his fingers into your throbbing cunt. He finds your G-spot instantly, far too acquainted with each curve and crevice of your body—too many reccy missions with his hands down your pants.

"Hah," he pulls back, breathless pants rumbling in his chest. The sound makes your back arch, chasing his lips again with your pelvis, "Gonna swear allegiance to me?"

His corny joke is almost lost on you; eyes rolling back into your skull as you grip at his short hair between your curled fingers. "L-Last I checked, yo-you were on your knees for m-me!"

It doesn't matter that you squeak out the last word of your ballsy sentence; it lands exactly as you intended it to. Simon stalls for a moment.

You don't mean to. You don't! But your eyes snap open at the sudden stalling of the blissful sensation. Simon's amber eyes gaze up at you from his position between your thighs. They frame his face, covering his ears. Your pubic bone smothers his lower visage, covering the bridge of his nose to his chin.

Squeaking, you squeeze your eyes shut. Blonde. Simon's blonde, and a white scar runs down his left eyebrow and eyelid.

"Naughty," you hear him smirk at your startled reaction, a breathy, exhaled chuckle fanning across your wet pussy lips, "Guess I'll have to fuck you so hard that you forget what you just saw."

When you return to the ceremonial hall, the guards on the door keep their eyes uncomfortably fixed on the crimson carpet. You wish you could say that your shaking legs are from nerves when you step onto the ceremonial stage to receive your medal from The King.

The smug gaze of the skull face in the crowd is a reminder of otherwise, his cum leaking into the fabric of your uniform as you bow for the monarch.

Authors Note: Congrats on your coronation, "King" Charles... Would be a shame if Diana made it rain on your big day. ;)

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greatstormcat · 5 months

Note

HC with 141 can be fem or gn reader, the guys coming home after a really bad day/week how would the sex be? Soft slow and sensual or hard rough and mean?

MDNI 18+, rough sex, gn!reader

Price

I’ve already said before that Price lives in a picture book cottage in the English countryside, and this means there’s a lot of empty space outside the house. So when the Captain has a bad day and needs to let it out you’ll get what’s known as The Text. It’s one word: ‘run’, and you have the chance there and then to call red or reply ‘yessir’.

When you hear the car pull into the drive and he shuts that door loudly, that’s your signal to get a move on because he is coming for you and he is going to get you beneath him by any means possible.

You took advantage of a long deployment and did a short course on self defence which left him speechless, and forced him to step up his game when it comes to getting you pinned down.

You are going to get chased down and roughly fucked until your legs won’t hold you up any longer, all that frustration and bad mood dissolving as your soft body gives into him and you cry with pleasure. Heavy panting, growls and a rash from his beard are a certainty.

Soap

Johnny needs to switch off his brain after a bad day, to stop himself chewing over the same stress over and over.

He manages to tread a fine line between sweet and rough by making it his goal to see how many orgasms you can have before you tap out. Fixating on you and nothing else.

The sheets are soaked with sweat and your juices into the small hours of the morning as he grinds his cock into you over and over, paying close attention to you and only you.

He will use anything he needs to, happy to bring in any toys that will keep giving him the edge to get just one more out of you.

He gets so drunk on you, you have to tap out or call red otherwise you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Gaz

Kyle is coming back with his bad mood painted across his face, snapping and snarling. It’s pretty obvious he needs to get that frustration out somewhere, but he wouldn’t dare you use like an emotional dumping ground.

It doesn’t take much coaxing to get him to let go though, and soon enough he is fucking you into the nearest flat surface like his life depends on it.

You’ll have bruises tomorrow, carpet burn even, but while your getting pounded into oblivion on his stupidly thick cock it’s all worth it.

When you hear his words of degradation shift and turn into honeyed praises for taking him so well, you know you’ve succeeded in getting him past his bad day

Rounds two and three are always softer, longer and sweeter because he needs to make it up to you in the best possible way.

Ghost

Could go either way depending on his mood…..

Simon might come back and turn into a human weighted blanket, flumping himself on top of you, face buried into the crook of your neck seeking comfort. This is when you’ll end up riding him for what feels like hours, he watches you taking your pleasure and loses himself in the haze of giving you want you need the most. Hearing you cry out your orgasm tells him he has done a good job, so fuck all those people that pissed him if earlier.

Simon finds his release in giving you pleasure until you can’t hold yourself upright, and then he just flips you over so he can sweetly keep fucking himself into you.

But if his mood is too bad, if it’s Ghost that comes home, never taking off his mask or kit, things go differently. Ghost fucks hard, he wants to hear yelps and squeals not soft moans, not right away anyway.

Ghost is going to leave marks, beautiful artwork, all over your skin and drag admissions of his ownership from your parched throat. He needs to pour his frustration out into a willing and understanding vessel

Ghost always fades away when he is spent though, and Simon surfaces to take care of you. Sweet kisses and gentle touches to help soothe you and bring you down from your high.

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ghouljams · 9 months

Note

Yes- hi- hello, tis I, the moth that will ram into your window :3

Anyway

My brainrot for Fae!Price is so hhhhhgggnnnn and I've backed myself into a corner by crafting the idea of Witch Darling trying to fluster Price in return for all the times he's done so to her. Like- they're just doing their daily thing and Price pulls out a cigar but Witch just snaps her fingers and lights it for him and he's like "Why'd you do that?" And Witch immediately follows up nonchalantly "Pretty boys shouldn't have to light their own cigars."

And Price is fucking floored

Like- he's had experience with people flirting with him, especially debtors trying to get a better deal when talking to him, but when it's coming from Witch?

GOD DAYUM

Okay back to lurking for me, take care of yourself and drink water if you haven't already. I will find a way I to your house and bring you water if you don't <3

Hi, hi, hello! I am taking care of myself! Had a good birthday and didn't write anything which was very weird but very nice to have a break. I return with Witch and Price because I desperately miss writing for them.

I've had this idea of Witch showing up at the 141's usual bar and causing trouble and this is the perfect ask for it. Here's Witch being well... far too pretty for her own good, and Price being a terribly weak man for her. Witch's dress is based on one from 1964's "What a Way To Go" which has some of the most spectacular textile artistry I've ever seen.

Price's knuckles drag up your back as you lean against the bar to order a drink. You're not used to this many eyes on you, but it's worth it for the single pair of cool blues that study you like they've never seen you before. His fingers hook in the double line of pearls that trail down your spine to your skirt, thumb counting over every one before his fingers reach the sleek silk of your dress.

"Can I buy you a drink?" You ask him, Price's eyes follow his hand where it hovers over your bare skin. More than you think he's ever seen of you. You like throwing him off, it's rather fun seeing him at a loss for words.

"Fuck sweetheart, buy the whole bar for all I care," he presses his hand against you, spreads his fingers wide against the small of your back. Each one a threatening display of his adoration. "What're you doing here?" He can't ignore the stares anymore than you can. A witch in a fae bar, your back exposed, vulnerabilities on display, you can feel the hunger that rolls through the room. You're not as easy a target as they'd all like to think.

"Good looking guys like you shouldn't buy their own drinks, so here I am."

"Here you are," Price breathes, you like the heat in his eyes. It's hard to match him, you aren't exactly flirty. Not by nature at least, and you don't have his easy self assurance. You're confident in yourself, but not quite in the same interpersonal sense. Still, if anything was going to set you up for success it would be Price. His eyes, his touch, there's something to having his attention so fully focused on you. A room full of people and yet you're the only two in it that can touch each other.

You signal the bartender for two of whatever Price drinks, watching him pull a cigar from his pocket in your periphery. You snap your fingers to conjure a flame and hold your hand out to him. The little red flame flickering on your pointer finger dances happily as he takes your hand and holds it to his cigar. You try not to be too flustered when he moves his cigar to extinguish your flame on his tongue. The slick muscle curling around your finger, making a heat coil in your stomach. He settles your hand on his shoulder, forces you to turn on your stool to watch him press his lips to the inside of your arm.

"You almost make me wanna wear a suit," he sounds, hm, it's an admission, but not one that lines up with his actual words. Not a lie, never a lie, a rephrasing of a truth. He almost makes you want to ask.

"You'd look good in a suit," is all you can think to say.

"You look good in white," he responds, the hand on your back tugs you off your seat. You do your best to avoid stepping on his toes as he pulls you to stand, turns your back against the bar, and boxes you in. A physical barrier between you and the open room, Price's strong arms rest on either side of you, his fingers tapping the bar as you stare up at him. You're supposed to be making him flustered. You really have to up your game.

You slide your hand from his shoulder to his chest, feeling the firm muscle there, the slight give of his skin and the tension your touch brings to him. There's a tightness in his jaw when you look up at him, a flinty edge to his eyes as he watches the bartender.

"What're you thinking about pretty boy?" You ask. He blinks, surprised, and looks at you. His eyes trace over you, gaze sliding like magma over your form. You try to keep your breaths even, try not to be affected by him. When he looks at you like that you can't help wanting more of him.

Your fingers slide down his chest to hook in his belt loops, and Price draws a shuddering breath. He cannot talk to you like this. Whatever has gotten into you is bad for his health. Whatever has gotten onto you as well. He takes a long drag of his cigar, tries to keep his eyes off the cling of silk against your chest. Made much more difficult when his smoke takes it upon itself to fall over you, slide down the soft curves of your body so he can feel the shape of you.

What's he thinking about? You, always you. In every position, you.

The bartender sets two whiskey glasses between his hands, behind you. Their eyes rest too long on your exposed shoulders. Price gives them a warning growl, enjoys the way it rips from his throat, the way your fingers tug ever so slightly in response. You tip your head back to see what he's growling at and- God you are just- a tease, that's what you are. The way your neck stretches for him, the way your lips part, your back arches. He tips your head forward again, keeps your pretty little self contained and off the bar.

"Are both of these for me?" He rasps, God he hopes so, could use all the liquor he can get.

"One's mine." Are you keeping your voice low like that because you want to drive him mad? It's working.

"You even like whiskey?" He's never seen you drink, but he would bet you're preferential to something sweeter.

"I can drink it, if that's what you're asking," you twist to grab your glass, and quickly tip its contents into his. Price takes another long drag of his cigar watching you raise the glass to your lips and take a sip. You lower it with a sigh, your lipstick staining the edge. You hold the glass out to him, or up for him, as he exhales.

Oh you are sweet the way you breathe in his smoke.

Price takes the glass from your fingers and keeps his eyes on yours as he takes a drink. He savors the way you watch him, how focused you are even with your eyes lidded. He hands the glass back, and watches you swallow a pull of the amber liquor as he smokes. When you lower the cup from your lips he tips your head back with a gentle finger under your chin, leaning down to hover his mouth over yours and breathe. He feels you pull his smoke into your lungs, feels where it escapes your lips to curl over your cheeks, your jaw, soft magic to make your head spin. His favorite kind.

"You're awfully forward tonight little Witch," he hums, feeling you tilt your head, just barely brush his lips with your own.

"Trying to give you a taste of your own medicine," your honesty always hits him between the ribs, Price smiles, "is it working?"

"Perfectly," he feels your tongue flick against his lip, catching a last hint of whiskey, and his hand wraps around your neck. God what you do to him. "The things I would do for you," he breathes, you're testing his resolve. Lucky he hasn't spun you around and pressed you against this bar. It wouldn't be the first time someone had gotten what they deserved in here.

"Don't you mean to me?" You smile, he can feel the curve of your smile, so tantalizingly close.

"No," he takes a half step closer, feels you press yourself top to toe against him, "I mean on my knees, with my tongue, with my fingers, with my cock, with whatever you asked for. For. You."

You shudder against him so nicely. A valiant effort, he thinks, but how could you ever think you could beat him at his own game?

#cod x reader #x reader #1fae1 #john price x reader #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price x oc #captain price cod #captain price #john price x oc #oc: witch #x oc #cod x oc #Witch has a fairly conservative style except when she wants to show off #and then all bets are off #i think about this dress every goddamn day #and i know Price will be thinking about it forever too #Witch you are so lucky this man has the self control of a saint

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celtic-crossbow · 3 months

Text

My War is Over

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warning: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH; angst angst angst; no happy ending

Summary: Daryl wasn’t willing to let you go.

A/N: Needed to vent some emotions. Writing is therapeutic when I’m struggling.

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Daryl was tired.

Though he could always use more sleep, his exhaustion stretched beyond that. His soul was tired. He’d been fighting, surviving for years, never really living. He had told himself so many times that if given even the smallest chance of a quiet life, he’d take it. After Rick, the need had become almost too painful to ignore. He had disappeared for six years. Six fucking years of isolation, away from everyone he loved.

Away from you.

You had been so patient with him. You had kept the little house in Alexandria clean and organized his things as if he would come back any day. You’d visit him frequently, tracking him down if he’d moved his camp. Even in isolation, he could say you were the only constant thing he could hold onto.

He was thankful, now more than ever, that he had come back. That he had walked straight into that house and kissed the breath right out of your lungs. That he’d taken you to his bed. That he’d answered in kind when you’d said you loved him.

He’d loved you openly, in front of the entire community, for a few beautiful months. He’d held your hand, hugged you to his side, kissed those perfect lips. He hadn’t cared who was watching. For the first time in his miserable life, he’d found something to live for.

Now, he held your cold, pale hand in his. He brushed your tangled hair away from your face. That beautiful face, splattered with blood. He ached to see those mesmerizing eyes of yours, shining with love that was only for him. He’d never understand why you chose him, of all people. He was grateful. He’d had a chance to fall in love, an experience he’d never dreamed he’d have.

He could hear Carol and Michonne screaming for him, running toward him with such fear in their cries. He could also hear the sounds behind him that should terrify him. Still, all he could focus on was you. Your pale skin, the warmth long gone. How long had he been sitting beside you while the battle raged around him?

Cold, slimy fingers wrapped around the side of his neck, Carol’s screams full of such devastation that he felt a flutter of guilt but it passed quickly. This was for him.

Because he was tired.

And you were gone.

He’d made sure you wouldn’t turn. He couldn’t imagine you like that. Carol would ensure the same for him. Of that much, he was certain.

He had fought long enough.

When rotten teeth first scraped against the junction of his neck and shoulder, he could only wonder if maybe there really was a heaven. If so, you would certainly be there, your gentle heart and never-ending kindness would ensure it. Maybe he would be allowed in, too. He’d done some terrible things, but he’d given so much for so many. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to pay the price of admission.

He closed his eyes and let it happen, focusing on a memory of your face, the sunset behind you painting the most beautiful picture. And even if he couldn’t promise it, he whispered as he smiled through a physical pain that would never be as intense as the agony in his heart.

“M’right behind ya, sunshine.”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon angst #daryl angst #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #daryl twd #daryl dixon walking dead #Spotify

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sethvzekiel · 9 months

Text

what could have been | 141 x cold!reader

a passing admission proceeds to completely take over his mind

141 x cold! reader. callsign azrael. gn! reader. mild angst + pining. multiple POV, no established relationship. flashback central, marked in red + italics.

part 1/same AU as this

Long hc/short fic. 3.6k words.

It was banter — really, just mindless chatter to fill the silence on the way back home. Something to wear off the adrenaline from the previous battle. It spilled from lips like loose threads, mindless ramblings about past experiences and feelings and army stories.

Stories like “LT, what do ye mean I wasn’t first place? That was a solid run I just did, solid!” and “When you were our age, Captain, they didn’t have telly,” between snickers and friendly insults.

You were the contractor, not one of them: a position you were keen on protecting as you kept to the far corner of the army plane, typing up your own report for Laswell. The chatter droned on in the back of your mind as you spared only the barest sliver of attention for emergencies. It was only when someone mentioned your name that you looked up from your laptop.

Gaz tilted his head at you, a spark of mischief in his eyes. He’d been getting bold lately, fully confident that he was your favorite comrade. Gaz did always have a sharp tongue, even for Price.

“Have you ever been in love?”

You scoffed, fully ready to get back to your report.

“What are we, schoolgirls at a sleepover? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Someone closed your laptop. Soap.

“No, no, answer his question!”

“Scotsman. Get your hand off something that’s five times your salary, or I’ll remove it myself.”

You were only half kidding; the laptop was six times his salary. Merc money was a lovely thing.

Soap quickly retreated, muttering something about being on the wrong career path and “five times my fuckin’ salary, get off yer arse,” but nudged you nevertheless.

It felt as if the conversation was finally going to move on when another spoke.

“Answer the question, Azrael.”

This was a joke. You didn’t hide your disdain as you glared at Price.

“Really, Captain?”

Price took a long drag of his cigar.

“Answer it and I’ll tell Kate you’re on good behavior. She’ll be over the moon to hear you’re getting some social interaction.”

Unfortunately, he wasn’t lying. Laswell did not hide her hopes of getting you true comrades, not just contracted acquaintances, when she introduced you to the 141 — a hope you’d gone out of your way to quash for a long time. If a false reassurance from Price would get her mind off that ridiculous idea and focus on getting you more kill contracts…

Well, not a bad trade-off for pretending to be friends for one plane ride.

You let out a sigh from deep within your soul, opened your laptop again, and pulled up the report. Almost mindlessly, you spoke whatever came to your mind at that very moment, not knowing how badly it would change the 141.

“Sure.”

God, you could feel the whole plane lean in with anticipation.

“Never had the time to fall in love, but…”

You mentally shrugged. This was fine to admit, right?

“... I was briefly interested in one of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

You popped on your headphones, leaving the boys to dwell with that answer.

The plane couldn’t have gone any faster.

◈ GAZ

Interested? Like, interested-interested?

There was no getting you out of those headphones—he’d tried before, didn’t end well. The entire task force was stunned silent for a minute, each one picking apart your casual admission and grappling with the idea of Oh God, is it me?

It was Soap who broke first, exploding into a shocked yell that boomed throughout the tiny plane. That shook Gaz out of his stunned silence, but he still blinked rapidly as he tried to comprehend what you’d just said.

Interested. In one of them.

There was a one in four chance that it was him. Five, if Laswell counted, but he was certain that you saw her more as a mentor and confidant than a romantic prospect. Besides, she wasn’t even in the plane. It was between him, Soap, LT, and the Captain, and this was a battle royale he was keen on winning.

Gaz wasn’t blind. He was the first to notice the changing opinions of his teammates on you. Bearing the combined advantage of brains and emotional awareness, things the 141 usually lacked one or the other of, he picked up on Price’s constant attention towards you that increasingly felt less like a professional checkup. He knew about Ghost’s rivalry with you that brought a tinge of tenderness to his gruff exterior as he complimented your skill. And who could miss Soap locking onto you like a missile from day one?

But it had to be him, right? He was the only one you spoke to of your own accord, the one whose name you called when arranging for shared night shifts. The one who’s actually been to your room (he happily ignored the fact that he was just there to fetch a report for Laswell). The one who, at a drunken night out where you’d actually gotten tipsy for once, you’d stuck to like glue, no matter how rowdy the pub got.

Gaz was your first defender in the 141. When even Price was wary of your cold nature and mercenary background, Gaz was always up at arms, ready to express the simple truth that you were just a professional, and Price could look at Ghost for an example, couldn’t he? Always jumping the gun, fighting back even Soap’s teases at your expense simply because you weren’t present to defend your attitude and the unfairness of their assumptions felt real to Gaz. They didn’t see the you he saw. They just had to.

You were soft around him. Safe. And Gaz felt the same way, too. As much as you’d listen to his ramblings of whatever’s going on in his life, he looked forward to your own stories, hanging off of every rough-toned word as you shared your wisdom from past fights and your assessment of his skills, which he’d known was your way of caring for him. Making sure that he’d live long to fight good.

“In another world,” he’d said one night as you watched the last hours of your watch tick away. “Would you be back on the field again? If you had a choice to walk away from all this, live a normal life?”

Back then, your moonlit expression was intense, but sorrowful as you considered your answer. Gaz thought that you were only being sincere in answering him when you’d gazed deep into his eyes, but now, he couldn’t help but wonder if you meant something else when you replied:

“I don’t know. Where would you be?”

“Dunno either. Always wanted to protect people. Make some real change. Don’t think I’d handle being an artist or bloody stockbroker all my life.”

He was so fucking stupid. Why didn’t he actually listen to what you’d said when he was too busy imagining living some alternate life, when you were right in front of him and so close?

You smelled nice.

“Then I’ll follow you back to the fight, Kyle.”

“Aw mate, I’ll look forward to it, yeah?”

The memory, the regrets, and the what-could’ve-been’s swirled in Gaz’s mind and stung at his eyes.

He wanted to look at you again, but he wasn’t going to risk anyone seeing his face right now with how he’s feeling.

He was a bloody moron, and he lost his chance.

◈ SOAP

“Yer taking the piss!”

Laughter was always Johnny’s first response. Little Johnny-boy giggling nervously as his mother demanded to know where he’d been after playing outside until dark. Freshly-recruited MacTavish snickering as he far surpassed the other recruits in exercises, again, to their dismay. Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish cackling with delight and adrenaline as he fired off the C4, lighting up the battlefield with plumes of orange fire.

Laughter was also a defense mechanism: difficult personalities, hard questions, bad days. Heal it or shrug it off, Soap was never one to make things more complicated than they should be.

This laughter… he wasn’t sure if it was one of joy or nerves.

You were interested. Were, he tried to remind himself, but his mind kept on latching onto the ‘interested’ part. One of them—which could’ve been him.

He was delusional now, flailing around and being the jokester when it was all just an act to hide his inner turmoil. Fuck, did you know that he had it bad for you? It was his fault for not bothering to hide it and trailing after you, but he thought that you already shrugged it off as a joke. Did… did you take him seriously, after all?

Or worse, what if it wasn’t him?

His glance went to Gaz, remembering how he’d fallen asleep on the truck that one time and accidentally leaned on your shoulder, how you stiffened, then slowly settled down, even adjusting your shoulder for the entire two-hour drive. How, no matter the situation or your mood, you always called upon Gaz with a decidedly softer tone than the one you used on him.

Surely, he wasn’t that attached to you. You were comrades, a passing fancy wouldn’t hurt anything.

He’d never seen LT smile, ever. Part of it’s the mask, but it was clear in his voice and the lack of crinkling around his eyes that smiling wasn’t his thing. But then Ghost and you had that sniper competition, dragged Soap in to referee, and when you hit dead-center for all moving targets, Soap wrenched his gaze away to catch a shine of something in Ghost’s eyes as he watched you.

Friends and professionals. That was all you were, right?

“Good health makes good men, MacTavish,” you said sharply as he sat up on his bed. Soap was forced into the medbay after a particularly grueling op. Long, sleepless nights, absolute hellfire, and blood loss all culminated in him passing out from shock mid-battle. His memories of the exact moment he collapsed were hazy, but he knew that he heard someone call his name in a choked scream.

Was it Gaz who screamed then? He was always the worrywart. Soap scratched his head, wincing as pain flared up his side at the simple motion. He shot you a shining, albeit weak, grin.

“Don’t lose yer head over me, was just the one time.”

Your glare narrowed.

“One time is all it takes, soldier.”

Fuck, you were calling him ‘soldier’ now? You were pissed. Soap raised his hands in surrender.

“I give, I give. I’ll take my meds a day and all that shite. No trouble from me.”

For a moment, he was expecting more scolding, admonishments of his recklessness or a possible lack of skill. A “stop dragging the rest of us down with you,” considering your pride in your own battle prowess. But he got no such thing.

You sighed, looking a thousand nights older as you did, and he caught the marks of sleepless nights under your eyes. The roughness of your hands as you held his good shoulder. The miniscule caress of your thumb that he assumed (back then) was purely accidental.

“Make good on that, Johnny,” you whispered, gaze drifting off elsewhere. “You have to.”

Your voice was hoarse—why? When you left and the medic had taken your place, refreshing Soap’s bandages, he asked about how long he was out.

“Three days, sergeant,” the medic replied. “And your scary friend insisted on staying here for all of it. Tended to you like one of our own staff.”

“Psh, LT? Knew he was soft.”

“No, no, not the lieutenant. Your PMC friend.”

Without even thinking about it, Johnny laughed.

◈ GHOST

He definitely wasn’t paying attention to the mindless gossip, and anyone who’d say otherwise will have months of latrine duty awaiting them. Gaz calling your name piqued his attention, but only barely, and brought a tickle of amusement when he asked you such a ridiculous question.

He was much less amused at your answer.

It was sarcastic, he tried to reason. Spouting off bullshit to keep the boys off your trail and get back to work as soon as possible. That’s what you’re always like, and that’s what he liked about you.

He also liked your shots. The pride you took in your expertise. The devotion to your warcraft. How you always took his challenges as if your name was on the line. How you’d smirk if you won, or promise comeuppance if you lost.

He liked your loyalty to Laswell — and envied it. You obeyed him and Price, yes, but he would never forget the brief gleam of admiration when the boys asked you about Laswell over lunch. He liked and envied your closeness with Gaz: a sign that you might be a true ally of the 141 after all, but a closeness that he wondered if you could extend to anyone else. He respected your ferocious protectiveness of Soap when he’d (stupidly) collapsed mid-battle, but watching you tend to Soap for nights on end wrenched something awful from within his chest.

You were a shade more casual with Price. According to the captain, you had some snark to you when not in work mode: a privilege Price had gotten purely because you were both friends of Laswell. You bonded with Price like you were fellow leaders, people down similar paths instead of mere colleagues, and when planning missions, you and Price made up a tactical machine to be reckoned with.

It was whenever he’d deliver late night reports to Price’s office, that he’d listen before knocking on the door. Muffled conversation—most of it Price’s, but every so often, there was a quick chuckle that wasn’t his, or a quiet snark followed by Price’s gravelly laughter. The office would be thick with cigar smoke when Ghost was allowed in, but what was harder to swallow was the cigar hanging from your lips that you’d returned to Price, and he’d popped it between his teeth without question.

Ghost was in deep. He’d never admit it to anyone, not even to himself, but he was. That chilling, anxiety-inducing truth nudged at the back of his head as he silently watched Soap cackle and holler throughout the plane while you intentionally ignored them, eyes trained on your report like your life depended on it.

You and the laptop. A familiar sight when he’d pass by the rec room on late nights, where you’d be tapping away at the laptop with stacks of coffee cups and energy bars littered across the table.

“Bloody hell, that can’t wait until tomorrow?” He’d asked, exasperated, by the fifth night.

You took a moment more to work before responding.

“The mob won’t wait for tomorrow. This mission needs to go down tonight.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

He didn’t know why he stayed there with you, sharing the couch as he made tea for two and set a cup beside you without a word. He could have actually tucked in for the night, gotten some well-deserved sleep lest he be grouchier than ever for the next day’s training drills. Or popped open a book if he felt like it. Anything more productive than sit beside you all night as you silently blazed through reports and phone calls, arranging operations that he had no business in caring about.

You were exhausted, but you were determined and alert as you ferried reports on the trafficking ring takedown. The calm, effortless strength in your voice as you spoke—sometimes strongly—with operatives much higher up the chain than you, because you knew what you were doing and were going to see this op to the end. A flicker of silent gratitude as Ghost refilled your tea again and tidied up your makeshift workspace.

A call by the first sliver of sunrise made you sag into the couch with relief.

“Mission accomplished?” Ghost asked.

You slid your tired gaze to him, and this close to you, he caught your tiny, sleepy grin.

“G’job, LT,” you murmured, voice thick with lethargy. “Mmh… needta phone Kate…”

“I’ll do it.”

“Not your op.”

“Don’t think Laswell’d understand a word of what you’re saying right now. C’mon, let’s get you some rest.”

He beckoned for you to stand up, only to hear a soft, muffled snore. You… were sleeping, knocked-out dead, with a hint of your grin remaining, probably dreaming about a job well done. Disheveled, snoring, and surrounded in loose notes and coffee stains, you were far from the cold professional that you normally made yourself to be.

The rec room was no place for sleeping. Soap would be here any minute, booming and hollering as him and Gaz would raid the fridge, again. You needed to be anywhere else.

And if Ghost was going to carry you in his arms all the way back to your room and go through the trouble of arranging for your sudden day-off, then he was going to do it silently, and pretend it never happened when you approached him the next day.

◈ PRICE

That… was a surprise.

While Price was the most privy to your story as your commanding officer and, more importantly, Laswell’s friend, much of your life was still a mystery to him. Laswell only gave him a few pointers: “They’ve had a long life, John,” and “Trust is a double-edged sword for them.”

He could guess when you entered Laswell’s life. It was some years ago, when she was busier than ever, to the point that he’d considered staging an intervention alongside her wife when Laswell refused with fire in her eyes. She was fighting for something, he could tell, but he didn’t know what exactly until she told him about you.

Somewhere in the gaps between what little he knew about you, Price hoped you had some normalcy to your life. Enough memories on hand to look back fondly upon, to carry you through the darker days. Yet he had a feeling that you had little of such memories to yourself. Perhaps, that was why he decided to share with you some of his own.

Foolishness in his youth. Summers from his wilder days. Dreams he’d had and lost, but never mourned—the kinds of men he’d wanted to become before making peace with himself. You understood, somehow: you were an old soul, no matter your age, a wealth of experiences and wisdom in you with just as many unanswered questions.

You can be safe with me, his soul all but screamed in your nightly chats. The doubt and fear and sorrow layered on your shoulders like dust was easy for him to see when he could feel the same thing. You weren’t delicate, not by a long shot. You were one of the strongest people he knew, but there was nothing Price could do to stifle the yearning in his chest to hold you, let you rest in his shadow and believe for once that everything was going to be alright.

“Do you have any interest in living long, sir?” You muttered as Price brought out his first cigar of the night. He wouldn’t be smoking this early in the night, but he had to deal with higher-ups and red tape all day just for some damn clearance. You were the only person he’d actually looked forward to speaking with that day.

“Smoking won’t kill me, Azrael—” You scoffed, then. “—it’s the bloody Pentagon that will.”

“And the UN. And the UK.”

“If the boys don’t get to me first. Where’s my lighter?”

“Here you go.” You didn’t have his lighter, but you had your own up and ready.

“Picked up the habit, did you?”

“No. You’ve lost your lighter enough times that I bought one myself.”

He offered you a gruff thanks and sank into his chair, watching the smoke swirl up to the amber light. You leaned back on his desk, your body barely brushing his—something that he was used to by then that he was second-guessing now.

It was beautiful and terrible, how close his hand was to yours.

Stupid stories made you laugh, but not foolish ones. Your concern for the boys was evident even in simple retellings of the past; a fact that burned in his heart when he noticed. So he told you about how Gaz tried to fix a leaky shower only to explode the entire camp’s plumbing system, he clung to your brief chuckle like a lifeline. The mirth lighting up your face was going to be his second addiction.

“Want to try, soldier?” He asked as he held out his cigar, not for the first time.

“Just this once. If it’s ass, you’re not getting another light out of me.”

He was going to offer you a new one, but you’d taken the one he’d been smoking and casually placed it between your lips, as if the very sight hadn’t made the blood roar in Price’s ears. You frowned at the taste—he laughed, ignored the flush of heat across his body.

A knock on the door: Simon, turning in his papers. He froze when he saw you and Price, and though obscured by his mask, Price knew the lieutenant well enough to recognize the hesitation in his steps.

Why did he do it?—Price wondered now as he recalled that night, how you’d returned the cigar and he, without thinking, popped it right back to his mouth in front of Simon. And why did he feel proud?

But Price had to hold himself in check. As captain, he had boundaries that he mustn’t cross. The team’s well-being was his top priority, that was always the truth of it, and as he watched the boys dwell in the fallout of your shocking admission, he had no place in making this rivalry worse, no matter how he felt about you.

#cod x reader #task force 141 x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader

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miniwheat77 · 10 months

Text

Out of the Blue. (Captain Price X Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, unprotected p in v sex, friends to lovers, (sorry if I missed any.)

Summary: You and Captain Price are good friends and have sex out of the blue.

Kinda short

You and Captain Price were really good friends, best friends even. You had made friends with him through a few of your other friends and when they didn’t stick around, the both of you always did. Your friendship with him was always platonic. Going to ball games, watching them on tv. Having dinner together. Sometimes you’d go out drinking together. John had never even thought about you in another way other than friends. Of course everyone else thought it was weird that you were such good friends with the age gap you had, but he didn’t care. You seemed to have the same interests and taste in music. He always said you seemed really mature for being in your 20’s which you liked. All in all, he was a good friend and a good person. He took care of you when you needed it, and you were always there for him when he needed it.

When he came home from a bad mission where something had gone wrong, you comforted him. Kept him company, got him anything he needed. Anytime he fell, you were right there to catch him. The other way around as well. You were really good together. He talked about you a lot and got teased for it, of course everyone on base that he talked to always made fun of him about you but he always shrugged them off. Reassuring them that you were just friends, nothing more.

Right?

You don’t know what had gotten into you. Maybe it was just desperation. Maybe you’ve been deprived for too long. But as you scroll through your photos, seeing how handsome John really was. You couldn’t help but feel that familiar ache between your legs. You didn’t understand why you felt this way all of a sudden. You kept scrolling through them, all of the photos you’d taken together, a few of the trips you’d gone on. It was always platonic so what was this?

You sat up, thought about it for a moment. Sure, it could ruin your friendship. Or maybe it could be the start of something new. Something fun.

You drew your phone out and sent him a text.

Want to come over?

Darling, it’s passed midnight. Everything okay?

I’m alright. Just bored.

He laughs at his phone. This was out of the ordinary for you.

Okay. Give me 10.

Excitement flooded through you, he could totally reject you. He could walk away from you, be revolted by your advances. You’re quick to get ready. Just in case.

When he shows up, you’re casually watching tv. You’d left the door unlocked for him and he walks right in as usual.

“Hey.” He smiles. “Hi.” You breathe. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion at your breathlessness. “Is everything okay? You seem off.” You eye him up and down. He’s wearing a tight fitting t-shirt and sweatpants. The adidas you’d talked him into buying looked good on his feet.

You laugh. Looking down. You stand up, throwing the tv remote down. “I can’t lie.. I’ve been..” you swallow hard. You giggle, cheeks feeling warm at the admission. He moves closer to you. “What is it?” He asks. “I want you..” you look up at him, his eyes widening for a second. “Have you been drinking?” He cups your chin, moving your face side to side and watching your eyes. “No, I haven’t been drinking.” You mumble, grasping his hand. You push it down lower, until it’s at your lower stomach. “I want you, John.” You whimper. “Y/N.. I- where is this coming from?” He breathes. He can feel himself growing harder in his sweatpants at your desperation. “M’just horny John, and I want you.” You whimper. He breathes, body feeling warm. “I could go out and find some random person that I don’t trust at all. And I’ll go unsatisfied..” you trail off. “But I figured since I trust you-“

He cups your sex with his hand and you melt right into his touch. Giving up on the sentence you’d just started.

His hands are on you, his best friend who he’s never had these kind of feelings for before.

A moan leaves your lips when he glides his fingertips over your opening. “You really are a horny girl aren’t you?” He breathes. His body feels like it’s on fire. You whimper out. “Lay down on the couch, I’ll take care of you.” He breathes. You nod your head and he pushes you back. “How long has it been hm?” He asks. “Years.” You breathe. He nods. “Me too.” He sighs. He moves himself on top of you, pressing his lips to yours. You moan into him, the way he tastes is addicting.

You open your legs wider and he grinds himself into you. Drawing gentle moans from your lips. You’re wearing shorts but they’re loose enough for him to pull them to the side, and that’s exactly what he does. He pushes his sweatpants down to his mid thigh, you take in a deep breath as he lines himself up with your aching hole. He holds your hands above your head with his other hand and you wait impatiently, whining at the way the tip of his cock feels. He nudges into your entrance and in one thrust, slides right into you. You’re soaking wet and it makes it easier for him to slide right in.

The sighs you both let out are your bodies relaxing completely. He’s big, very big. He grasps your wrist with his hand that’s now free, pinning them down harder as he starts to rut his hips into you. “Oh- fuck.” He breathes, resting his forehead against your chest. “You feel fucking amazing.” He pants. You can smell the scent of his shampoo. A mix of vanilla and tobacco. His hair tickles your chest gently.

You can barely keep it together beneath him. Crying out his name and lifting your hips to meet his.

He’s good, he seems to know exactly what your body wants.

He’s grinding his hips into you, cock pressed right up against your spongy spot. “Ah- John!” You cry. “You okay? Do you want me to stop?” He breathes. You don’t understand why he’s asking that until you feel wetness on your cheeks. “No- please don’t.” You sob. “Why are you upset?” He breathes. “Not upset.. It feels s-so good-“ you tilt your head back. He draws his hips back further, starting to thrust harder into you. “Poor girl.. been deprived for so long.” He breathes. His laugh is taunting. “Haven’t been touched like this before have you? Nobody knows what to do with a girl like you.” He smirks. You look up at him, eyes watery. “I’m going to cum too soon.” You whimper. He smirks. “Here.” He breathes, “we can switch darling.”

“Can I ride you?” You ask. He nods his head. He sits up awkwardly, unsure of how to move. “You okay?” You ask as you slide back down onto him. He nods his head. “Yeah just.. never done this before.” He breathes. You tilt your head, looking at him in confusion. “M’always on top.” He breathes. You smile. “You’ve been missing out.” You breath. You adjust yourself, lifting yourself up and sliding back down onto him, his eyes widening has you smirking. You keep moving your hips against him and he breathes out. “Oh fuck.“ he breathes, clutching the top of the couch hard. His knuckles turning white with his grip. He grits his teeth, hissing out as he reaches for your hips, helping guide you down onto him. His lower stomach is clenching up, and he’s not doing good. He’s getting painfully close to reaching his peak and he doesn’t want to feel pathetic.

“Ah-“ he laughs. “You gotta stop darling.” He breathes. You shake your head. “Yeah- I’ll cum if you don’t.” He pushes his hips forward, moving you slightly. “That’s okay.” You whimper. Resting your hands on his shoulder. “Y/N- I don’t have anything on.” He pants. “Cum inside me.” You whimper. “You’re a bad girl.” He breathes. The muscles in his neck are tensed up, he’s gritting his teeth. He should stop you, push you off of him and cum on your stomach.

But he doesn’t. He starts to fuck you back, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you. “Cum with me.” He’s rough, thrusting right up into your spongy spot. It’s hard to keep moving. His pants are getting louder, more unsteady. Every time your hips meet his moans are getting louder. “Oh- I’m gonna cum!” He gasps, gripping your ass and clutching you hard. He sends you right into your orgasm, you clutch his shirt and cry out. He holds you close up against him, his eyes rolling back into his head as he cums.

He closes his eyes, panting out. You keep still on him, his cock still buried inside of you.

You’re finally coming to the realization of what just happened, your cheeks are burning.

“Suppose we should probably talk about this now ah?” He smiles.

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut

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sturniolojpg · 7 months

Text

— boyfriend! matt sturniolo

pairing: matt sturniolo × reader

warnings: sfw & nsfw!! i put a divider for ya

notes: first time doing a headcannon i normally write oneshots so sorry if its like?? all over the place?? not proof read

♥︎. when he needs someone to talk to, you’re there & vise versa. being so close with his brothers he’s learnt the importance of communicating and it’s become a super important thing to him. he’d rather admit he’s wrong or have you admit you’re wrong than go to bed upset with each other. he hates leaving fights unresolved.

♥︎. he holds your hand in public all the time. he’s gotta be touching some part of you. whether its locking pinkies or standing right up on each other. he just loves you tewww much to be not touching you when its an option! if nobody’s around he’ll throw in an ass grab here and there but never if people are there, he’s not a fan of that kind of pda

♥︎. passenger princess ALWAYS. which annoys you at times because you do like driving but if he’s with you, he wants to take over. he likes doing stuff for you and you let him bc look at his face!!!

♥︎. you constantly catch him starring at your face. when i say this man is OBSESSED with you, i mean it. you’re his favorite person ever. most important too (according to him after a late night conversation).

“mmm before your brothers?” you teased him after the admission. obviously, you were joking. that wasn’t something you excepted or cared about. what followed was the opposite of what you thought. “that’s right princess, you're before them. never tell them that i said that."

“fucking liar,” you chuckled. he joined in the laughter, placing a soft kiss on your nose.

♥︎. quality time is his favorite. he loves to be with you, doesn’t matter if you’re doing something or not. all he cares about is that he’s with you!

he hates baking because he’s bad at it but you love it and can actually make something edible so he bakes with you all the time.

you’re also pretty good with nail art so instead of going to a professional he lets you do his, extra time to just sit and stare at your pretty face!

when he’s playing video games you’ll spend that time reading your books (a hobby he can’t quite grasp but you love it so he loves it for you) - or you’ll join him if it’s a game you know how to play. you both just like being around the other.

♥︎. dating a public figure has its faults and the biggest one for you was a portion of his fans hating you. it felt like he wasn’t allowed to fully be your boyfriend because of some weird parasocial relationship others had with him. (me fr bc thats my man idc!!!😅) he comforts you with this 24/7 though & shows you in more ways than one that he is fully yours and you’re fully his.

♥︎. your laugh is the best medicine for him. he could anxious, sad, mad, etc, and with just the mere sound of your laughter he’ll be okay again. it’s his favorite song in the soundtrack of his life. he’d listen to it all day everyday. he tries to get you to laugh 24/7 & it works because you’re down bad, you think everything he does is hilarious, intentionally or not.

♥︎. you do little try on hauls for him when you go thrifting and always give him a runway show. he loves it, you’re the most adorable girl in the world in his eyes. he loves how comfortable you are with him and that you feel okay doing things considered to be “childish” with him.

♥︎. dirty jokes never go over his head and you love it. it could be the most niche thing in the world and they’ll always land with his slutty minded ass.

♥︎. he’s a silent jealously type, if a guys flirting with you he’ll stay quiet and just get more possessive via pda. he’s confrontational when he needs to be but doesn’t want to cause a scene over what he knows deep down is nothing. he knows it’s a price to pay when you’re with a FINEEEE ass bitch.

♥︎. when you’re back home though? the man is not hesitate to start an argument with you but it ends just as fast as it started, you both can’t be mad at each other for longer than 10 minutes. he’ll also give you make up kisses allll over your face.

HORNY BELOWWW, i’m not your parent but rwc

♥︎. or makeup sex. makeup sex is always an option. it’s actually your favorite way for him to apologize & his, you. you love the mans body! god forbid! it’s like all thoughts just leave your brain when you see him naked, he could get away with anything because you’re forever a ditzy girl around him unclothed.

♥︎. bro LIVES for when you ride him. he loves titties so being able to fuck you AND have your tits bounce in his face? closest thing to heaven.

♥︎. car sex 80% of the time. you both love the thrill of possibly getting caught but still maintaining a sense of privacy. plus it’s the only time you can be as loud as you want to. (he feels a lil bad afterwards though and makes sure to clean all the seats before his brothers get in)

♥︎. he’s a sucker for you in lingerie. he buys you some online all the time to surprise you. he loves when you give him a try on haul. it typically ends with him fucking you raw!! 🤗

♥︎. he hates when you get insecure. like HATES. he thinks you’re the most perfect person to exist and will not hesitate to overstim you so you can see just how much he practically worships you.

♥︎. speaking of overstim…. one night he’d gone so far that you squirted for the first time. since then he’d do absolutely anything to get you to do it. he finds it so hot and it’s such an ego boost that you did it for the first time with him. his new favorite thing about sex became when you soak his face.

♥︎. this!! man!! loves!! giving!! head!! your pleasure is his pleasure. he does it so well and makes you feel too good, you couldn’t possibly tell him no when he asks to eat you out at the most irregular times. he knows his way around your body and its the best thing in the world for both of you.

♥︎. morning sex is just…. like a staple of your relationship. it could be soft or rough, depends on how you both feel and just how far into it y’all get. it happens almost every morning. he’s always down for it and you’re always horny! (how could you not be when you sleep next to him?!)

♥︎. he is SO good with subtly turning you on. he knows exactly what you like and exactly what he’s doing when he does certain movements and gestures with his hands. he’ll post certain photos well aware of how insane you get with certain poses. he’s arguably more of a whore than you are and that’s saying… a lot. 😛😛

♥︎. turning him on is pretty easy, especially because of how much he loves everything about you. the sheer sight of you gives him a boner. you in a tight dress that hugs all the right curves?? practically nutting in his pants

#matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo headcanon #matt sturniolo oneshot #matt sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader

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