#My Lascivious Boss

[absolutebl]

Out of curiosity (and because I just saw you’re going through Pit Babe), what do you consider the most cursed/batshit BLs out there? I doubt very much anything in the world will top an honest to fuck omegaverse show. But, still curious.

10 Most Batshit BLs!

Fun fun fun. I'm going with shows that I enjoyed but were just truly BONKERS. In no particular order. Also remember I have different expectations of the different countries, i.e. Chinese and Taiwanese BLs are just generally more unhinged than say, Korea.

1 Advance Bravely

WHAT IS GOING ON AND WHY SO HOT?

2 My Esports Genius Brother

What is going on and why so cute?

3 The Takumi-Kun series

No one knows what's going on - them, us, production, but it started everything, anyway.

4 My Day The Series

What is going on, why so hot and so cute?

5 Because of You

So much all at once, how many pairs and how many languages? Is it hot? Is it cute? Who knows?

6 HIStory 4: Close to You

Cheesy cute v problematic hot = whiplash.

7 My Lascivious Boss

Okay but what, fine but what, but.... what? Cuuuteeeee

8 Gen Y 1 & 2

There is an interpretive dance love offering of sponsored products to the female queen bee of campus. I am not making a joke, that is an actual scene in this show.

Gen Y the series the original trash watch & Gen Y 2 - The Glorious Trash Watch Reborn

9 KinnPorsche (yes I said it)

Yes but think about this show. Three different storylines and couples, the contrast between harsh, cheesy, camp, cute, and hot. It's ALL OVER THE PLACE.

10 To Sir With Love

DEATH GLITTER

Need I say more?

MOAR?

Laws of Attraction

My Dear Gangster Oppa

My Engineer

Manner of Death - This one was kind of hilarious since I spent most of the show trying to figure out what it wanted to be and if is was actually BL, but to be fair, so did it. Actual title? MurderY 

Oh My Sunshine Night

Secret Crush On You

TharnType - TharnType 2: 7 Years of I Can’t Even - serious trash watch

Why R U?

What Zabb Man

Y- Destiny

Honorable mention to currently airing:

Pit Babe - currently trashing here

The Sign

(source)

#asked and answered #10 Most Bat Shit BLs! #thai bl #taiwanese bl #japanese bl #pinoy bl #vientamese bl #chinese bl #Advance Bravely #My Esports Genius Brother #Takumi-Kun #My Day the series #Because of You #history 4: close to you #My Lascivious Boss #Gen Y #Thai BL #To Sir With Love

[makoodles]

ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups. 

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you. 

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now. 

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly. 

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

 Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway. 

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it. 

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head. 

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock. 

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you. 

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly. 

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling. 

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying. 

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving. 

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented. 

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria. 

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve. 

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife. 

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off. 

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you. 

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again. 

Well. Okay, then. 

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk. 

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go. 

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things. 

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words. 

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

 The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice. 

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused. 

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee. 

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure. 

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch. 

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing. 

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged. 

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs. 

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return. 

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming. 

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else. 

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily – 

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face. 

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him. 

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs. 

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. 

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious. 

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering. 

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy. 

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static. 

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent. 

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry  kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside. 

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is. 

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you. 

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him. 

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in. 

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much. 

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today. 

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach. 

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest. 

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him. 

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies. 

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

#PLEASE don't look at me right now i will be taking NO questions on my state of mind #captain john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #price x reader #john price smut #cod smut #cod fic #141 x reader #daddy issues price

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Top Ten Soulsborkiring Top Ten Lists

I've long enjoyed "ranking videos" for From Software games, like "top ten bosses," or "top ten locations" about the master game studio's Souls Series, Bloodborne, Sekiro, and Elden Ring. I'd make my own video but so many exist already that it's a pretty oversaturated topic, so I've decided to rank my favorite top ten lists themselves.

Here are my favorites:

Top Ten Lovers Who Left Me For Playing Elden Ring Too Much by Jennifer J Thropemeistle

Top Ten Fungi In Caelid by The Soulsborne Mycologist

Top Ten Reasons Blighttown Can Suck My Washing Pole by SpongeBobLactatingGentlyInTheMoonlight3

Top Ten Funny Bloodborne Bloodstain Death Animations by Senator Chuck Schumer (official government account)

Top Ten Soulsborne Worms With No Eyes by LucarianScholar

Top Ten Soulsborne Worms With Eyes by LucarianScholar

Top Ten Times I Died To Malenia, Blade of Miquella Today for 9-13-23 by wherethehellisletmesoloherpleasehelpme

Top Ten Boss Fights Ranked By How Horny They Made My Heterosexual Uncle by Lascivious Smoughrgy

Top Ten Wormlike Creatures In Each Souls Game by LeonardTheSkinnyHorse

Top Ten Poison Swamps (This Is Not A Dark Souls List, Gamers Please Stop Commenting Here) by the Louisiana Department of Wetlands Preservation

#elden ring #from software #gaming #dark souls #top ten #unreality #i would enjoy all of these btw if they existed

[quaintii]

The CEO

A/N: the strip club scene from the movie, "Alice" and my dirty fantasies made me write this. I stood up for 4 hours revising this over and over so if there's mistakes, pls comment 😭 Hella long too 😭 word count is prob 4k?

Contents and warnings: breeding kink, hair pulling, choking, spanking, blackmail, remote-controlled vibrator, workplace setting, very very filthy smut <3

HEADER CREDITS ARE @mmadeinheavenn

Summary: You worked as a secretary to your CEO for a couple of months now and he was very cold to you and everyone else. You have a secret: you work as a stripper in a prestigious strip club.

You work at Alchemax main building, you're a main secretary for Miguel O'Hara, the CEO in charge. You always greet him with a happy energy every morning, though he doesn't bother to return it back. You find him very cold. You try refusing that you didn't want to take a bite out of him or for him to break you because of his tone and stern glare whenever his eyes would meet yours. The tension between you two was thick. But you ignored it. You still kept your composure whatsoever whenever you would glance at him being furious, he would lash out his anger back at you whenever a meeting didn't go through. Deep down, you enjoyed the degradation, rushing hot blood to your cunt, pulsing."Ms. L/N, seriously you have to keep up with the latest specific studies, you can't keep coming in here turning in reports that were beyond due! Are you sure you're staying focused on this job, Ms? I will have to fire you if you dare make me lose another opportunity for growth of this company." He said with an angry sigh. "Sorry, Mr. O'Hara, I've just been busy with personal issues lately and I don't mean to push aside my work, ever! I'll make sure to meet your expectations next time." You say with confidence. "Okay, one last try. Or you're fired. Get out of my office."

He said while keeping his eyes on his computer. You nod and excuse yourself, walking towards the door, he turns his eyes to your body. Eyeing you up and down. He once again sighed angrily. He wanted you badly even since you first walked through that door. He would jerk himself in the middle of the night, wanting to thrust inside your pretty cunt til you were cock-drunk. Wanting to feel your hot walls wrapping around his cock, sucking him in like a vacuum. Begging for more. He couldn't stop thinking of you. On the other hand, you still push through his grumpy side, just for the money. Besides working this job, you have a small side hustle to gain more money. You wouldn't say you're greedy, you're just meeting your own needs. You thought to yourself if you possibly had an exhibitionism kink…probably.

At midnight, you work at a high prestige strip club, teasing men with your lascivious body. You wore almost nude outfits, begging to be ripped off your brown skin. Tonight you were by far exhausted from the calculations from work, and working as a stripper helped you ease down. You would keep your identity hidden with a wig and do your makeup a different way. You placed on your blonde wig in the dressing room, you wore some black and red lingerie that was decorated with soft silky satin finishes. It was completely exposing, besides your nipples - which had nipple covers on them, hearts to be exact. One of your companions on stage came up to you, "Hey girl, guess who we have today?" "What? Those musty middle-aged men again?" You laugh off. "No..we have a vip here. He seems really hot." She giggled. "Penny, you know that VIPs wear masks right? How could one be hot while wearing a masquerade mask? I'm pretty sure you're just bluffing, don't be a tease, babe." You said while sighing. "Whatever you say, just giving a heads up that I'm going to take him tonight." She said with a squeal.

You were waiting in line for your turn to perform, though things changed as your boss said you had a pole stage all to yourself. "You're one of my favorites and I think you'll lure in the VIP, this is very big for this company, so do well." He said and walked off. Only the best could perform on this stage, as a teen you practiced a lot of flexibility and dancing. Who would've known it'd taken you here, at this moment. As you walk past the curtains, you lean by the walls, posing yourself. You walk slowly to the spotlight by the pole and do some spins and a split, opening your legs to your clothed cunt towards the audience.

Lots of woahs echo in your ears, afterall you were the best one here. You tried to remember what the chick from earlier said, you kept trying to find a man with a masquerade mask but you couldn't. Until you faced your eyes towards the low, lighted bar. He was focusing on your body and face. You sneakily changed your position to face him, swaying your hips to the song, seductively going lower and lower. You raise yourself by your legs hanging on the pole, doing some twists. The man takes a sip of some alcohol then signaling you to come towards where he was. You finished off your show and a lot of groans were heard. As you approached the man in the mask, everyone's eyes were on you. You finally see this man's figure and he was towering. You almost stumbled back because he seemed so frightening. He grabbed your wrist harshly and headed towards the vip lounge rooms. To the last row at the very end is where you were taken. "Quítate la ropa," he said with a grating tone. (Take off your clothes.)

You disobeyed him as it did seem too fast for you, so you did a little teasing. You faced your ass upfront to his crotch. Straddling him slowly with your hips. You heard light groans but nothing more than that. You figured out a way for him to get more pleased. You started giving him a lap dance. Moving your ass upfront to his face. Arching your back on the table that you laid on top. You would move your hips to the side, still teasing, but you stopped as soon as you heard a rough voice whispering in your ear, "No me hagas eso muñeca, yo no la haría si era tu. Quiero ver tu coño." (Don't do that to me doll, I wouldn't do that if I were you. I want to see your cunt.) He said while nibbling your ear. Shivers were sent down to your spine, doing so, you removed your panties and spread your legs at him. "Feliz?" (Happy?) You said in a low tone. "No, quiero que volteretas tu coño y culo a mi, corazón." (No, I want you to turn around and face your pussy and ass towards me, love.) He said with a grinning smile.

Those nicknames drove you wet to your core a bit, so you decided to push his limit. "Y que me pasó si no lo hago casó?" (And what will happen if I don't listen?) You said giggling. You suddenly gasp as you keep his bodyweight laying down on yours onto the satin sofa, feeling his crotch, a huge bulge against your ass. "No te va gustar mucho, amor." He rubbed his hips against yourself, you pushing your ass to his hips, hoping to relieve some friction on your cunt. He moved himself and slapped your ass harshly. You yelp out a moan. "¿Quién te dijo que puedes hacer eso? Yo soy quien mando, cariño. Te gusta eso?" (Who said you could do that? I'm the one in charge here, love. You like that?) He said while snickering softly.

You turn your head around and nod slowly. You bite your swollen lip, your cunt now dripping in slicked wetness. The mysterious man then placed a finger, moving them to your clit. You moan in relief. "F-fuck, please fuck me sir, please…" "Look how wet you are for me..you're such a dirty slut." He said while landing another slap on your ass, making you jerk forward and whimper. "Turn around for me." You do as he said, biting your lips, hoping for something exciting. That is until you notice his mask is off, and your blood runs cold. Your face burns up with embarrassment and you covered your cunt with your hands. "Mr.O'Hara, I didn't know it was you, how did you even find me here, I-i." He placed a finger on your lips, quickly shutting you up. "I know everything about you. Here, take this and wear it tomorrow for the presentation. If you don't, I'll have to fire you for moral turpitude. Looking like dirty, fucking, slut at night and working at my office in day like a good girl." He said, whispering into your ears.

His hot breath and voice once again sparked fire down your core. He quickly left you alone in the lounge room, leaving you to your own rapid thoughts. You couldn't stop hyperventilating from what just happened, you can't afford to get fired! Your whole record would be ruined for doing something so indecent. You couldn't hate yourself more than right now. Round the corner, a red box catches your eyes. You proceed to open it and it's a remote controlled vibrator, though the remote, you assumed, he had. You placed the pieces together and realized you had to wear this to the next presentation meeting. You couldn't let your record get ruined, let alone knowing your boss telling others of what you do at night. You had to face it and put up with it.

The next day, you kept staring at the vibrator. You were nervous, sweat droplets spreading across your face. What if it falls off during the presentation? What if someone could hear the vibrations? You kept wondering about so many endless scenarios about the 'What if.' You took a deep sigh and placed it in your cunt. It was cold against your warm pussy. It felt quite uncomfortable. As you walked to Mr. O'Hara's office, you couldn't gather the courage to even knock on his door nor look at his face after last night. But you did so anyway. "Here are the reports for today, Mr. O'Hara. I made sure they're all good for the presentation soon." You said timidly. "Perfect, thank you Ms. L/N, I hope you remember what I told you last night. Let's see how well you do today, if you fail I'll just have to fire you." He said with a cold tone but with a hint of amusement. You audibly gasped and faced him. His eyes already magnetized onto yours, eyeing you up and down.

You felt yourself getting aroused again, his sculpted features drew you in further. Your mind brings back how his crotch felt against your hips, he was rock hard and it felt heavenly. "I-I made s-sure of that, Mr. O'Hara." You kept stumbling over your words, causing you to scream inside. "Great, you can head out now." He said while grinning. Still eyeing you. You excuse yourself and quickly get out of there, you felt like there was no air in your lungs, you placed your palms on your face wondering how bad this could possibly go. You cursed under your breath.

The presentation was starting, Mr. O'Hara was doing the first couple of slides then you had the rest to yourself. Unfortunately, the presentation was 10 slides long. Many prestigious men entered the room, greeting one another. You sit by Mr. O'Hara's chair, his chair being right in the middle in the very back, facing the board. About 20 minutes pass, and it's your turn to present. "Welcome to Alchemax, I would like to provide you guys with an amazing proposal that would benefit both sides of our companies." You said while switching your eyes with the representatives and Miguel. You see something shift in his suit, and you jolt as you feel the vibrations on. You almost stumble on the floor by the unexpected vibrations. "Sorry about that, probably something I ate this morning. Stomach ache!" You say trying to brush off your jolting. You start with your first slide, glaring at Miguel whenever he would turn on and off the vibrating.

Your cunt was dripping wet. You wanted more vibrations even if you were to embarrass yourself right now and risk your job. You tried your best to pay no attention to how Miguel's eyes would light up dark red, giving you an erotic stare. As if he was unclothing you with his eyes. Watching you break all over something small, he wondered how badly you'd break around his cock, using your body like a a slut you are. As you kept speaking, the vibrations kept increasing which caused you to stutter multiple times. "Excuse me miss, is something ok?" Asked a representative. "Oh I'm sure it's just nothing, don't worry." You smile softly. You then glare at Miguel, for embarrassing you during your big project. But deep down, you enjoyed it. You coughed and continued your presentation. The vibrator started fastening more, your clit becoming sensitive as time went by. It felt like the slided wouldn't come to an end, you felt wobbly to your knees.

You tried your best to not fall and keep your professional composure. Small tears streaked down your cheeks, you had hoped they were unnoticed. You felt like coming until it finally stopped. You let out a small growl, staring at Miguel in dissatisfaction. You were finally done with your presentation which felt like ages. The moment you sat down, Miguel increased it to it's highest speed. You jolted, your nerves and blood rushing through your system. You let out a stifled moan, and proceeded to play it out as a cough. Now that you're sitting, the vibrator is hitting your clit even harder. You felt like the pleasure was going to leave you unconscious because it just felt so good. You had half-lidded eyes looking at Miguel, begging for him to stop but he just smirked at you. You bit the inside of your cheeks, drawing out blood, you kept holding in your moans and breathing heavily.

You felt like your eyes were rolling back to your head. You just rested your head on the chair's head support. Your throat felt like it was about to let out a loud moan and you choked on your saliva. You couldn't hold it in anymore, so you hurriedly left the room and ran to the bathroom. Miguel still kept the vibrator on it's highest setting which made you stumble on the way onto the floor the moment you made it to the bathroom. You placed your arms on the sink, holding yourself up as you felt your cunt pulsing and spasming around the device, finally letting out your moans. Your legs were wobbly and you finally came.

Your breathing became unstable-like, you tried your best to regulate it back. You started at yourself in the mirror, how could you do something so foolish and be caught up in this situation? You pulled off the device and flushed it down the toilet. You finally thought it was over and you could keep your job. That is until you open the door, Miguel immediately barging in and grabbing your waist towards his chest. He closed the door behind him. "God you should've seen how you looked squirming, princess. You looked adorable, you're such a good girl y'know? You should be rewarded." "Miguel, please let this be over…" You gave out more moans as he massaged your breasts. "Todavía no, cariño. Te quiero conmigo, quiero usar tu cuerpo y saber tu precioso coño.." (Not yet love, I want to be with you, use your body and taste your pretty pussy.)

He gruffed as he sucked onto your neck. "Mhmmf.. M-miguel, please…" You whimpered out. "Be a good slut for me, do that for me." He grabbed a hold of your throat, lifting towards his face. His eyes lit up with lust. Your brain was starting to fog up. "Si..Miguel..mmhgfm fuck, please fuck me Miguel." You say with a strained voice as his fingers grip your throat tighter. "Tenga cuidado con lo que pides, amor. Porque ya no puedo detenerme más." (Be careful with what you ask for, love. Because I would be able to hold myself back anymore.) You jumped and wrapped you legs around his waist and hips, his arms holding you up as you wrap your hands around his neck.

The both of you kiss hungrily each other, as if your life depended on it. Both of your lips finally left go to breathe. You stare at his lips and eyes with your lust filled, low lidded eyes. "Miguel, put your cock inside of me, p-please.." You whimper and suck on his neck. He leans his head back and he groans which makes your cunt pulse. "Sé una buena chica para mí, cariño. Quiero que me la chupes. Dios, tengo tantas ganas de cogerte ahora mismo. Mira lo que me haces muñeca.." (Be a good girl for me, baby. I want you to blow me. God, I want to fuck you so bad right now. Look what you do to me doll…) You obey and go on your knees. You lower his zipper and his boxers.

His cock springs out, the base is dark brown while his tip is a pinkish brown. It was leaking with pre-cum, begging to be sucked on. You kitten-licked the tip - teasingly by giving it small kisses on the head. Miguel looks down at you, he could barely control himself to the point he wants to throat fuck you til you can't breathe. You then take half of him in your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around his length. He grabs ahold of your head and leans back on a wall, keeping himself standing. "Mierda.. tu boca.." (Fuck.. your mouth.) He cursed under his breath. You hollow your cheeks and you take more of him as your throat relaxes. He reluctantly bucked his hips, causing you to choke. You loved how his cock tasted, how it felt full in your mouth. You started fastening and Miguel lost full control.

He grabbed your hair and bucked his hips harshly. Hid hips spasming."F-fuck your mouth feels like heaven, amor. Fuck you're taking me so well…such a dirty slut." He moaned. You looked up at him with teary eyes, the sound of sucking echoed. You were squirming and pressuring your thighs together. When you moaned, he loved how tight your throat would get. You felt that he was about to come so you hollow your cheeks even more. He looked down at you, and he finally pumped his semen down your throat, it felt hot and bittersweet. You finally detach your mouth from his dick but licking all of him clean.

It caused something in Miguel to completely break. He grabbed you up and removed your skirt and panties. He bent your back, you arched it even further as he slapped your ass harshly, making you jerk forward. He placed you In Front of a tall mirror. "I want you to look how I fuck you..how good I fucking make you feel. No one will ever make you feel this good. Your pussy is fucking mine." He says while biting on your shoulders with his fangs. He removed all of his clothes and removed your top. "Look at your fucking tits, all of me. Mierda..." He drew out blood and sucked it dry. He lines up his dick In Front of your cunt, teasing it. You couldn't wait anymore, you were too desperate for him to pound you without mercy. Making a complete mess of you til you couldn't walk.

He pinched your perked nipples, making you shiver and bite down on your swollen lip. You look at the mirror, he keeps eyeing you, he would never remove his eyes off of your body. He slapped your ass and moved his mouth to your breasts. Sucked them like it was the last time with you. You let out loud moans."M-miguel please, I want your fucking cock inside of me..please I want you inside of me so bad. P-please..f-fuck." You whimper. He smirked devilishly. "Where do you want me, cariño.." He huffed out. "Inside of my fucking pu-." You were interrupted as he slams his cock inside of you, keeping a steady pace, your throat chokes continuously on your moans, it felt so fucking good. All of the air in your lungs left, you felt him touching your insides. Your cunt pulsing and squeezing him while he pulled out and thrusted into you even harder. You placed your hands onto the mirror, gasping and moaning.

Chanting Miguel's name incoherently like a prayer. You wanted him to ruin you, you wanted to be his cum dumpster. "F-fuck mmhfm m-miguel please stop..s'too much. Fuck..aughmmhffm…" You moaned out in gasps. "Look how slutty you look, taking in my cock so good like a good slut. Such a good girl, your pussy keeps sucking me in princessa..f-fuck.." He moans. He grabs your throat, making you face yourself In Front of the mirror. Your mouth was agape, eyes rolled back to your skull, making erotic sounds that caused Miguel's cock to harden even more. Both of your bodies were sweating and heaving, making the room atmosphere thicken. You were so cock-drunk, your brain couldn't form coherent thoughts, let alone words.

The only thing you could think was his dick inside of you, deep. You arched your back even more, allowing him to dig deeper inside of your warm pussy. You felt like you were going to fucking collapse by the amazing pleasure. That was until he pulled out. "F-fuck.. I want everyone to see what a dirty slut you are." He huffed and kissed you hard. "M-miguel, what if someone sees us." You said with a worried tone. "Don't you like that? Don't you like to be seen being fucked by me, all inside your pussy, amor?" You nod and whimper. "Y-yes Miguel.." He opens the bathroom door and heads to his office, gathering all the clothes and placing them on his couch. Fortunately, no one was on the floor. He grabs you by the throat, gripping it harder. He slammed your body onto the desk, causing paperwork to fall but you couldn't care less now. Your face and tits were planted on the cold desk, sending shivers down your spine.

Miguel pulled your hips upward, making you arch. He used his fingers to separate your lips and see your glistening cunt. He inserted his fingers inside your pussy and you moaned. He took them out to taste them and he almost came from it alone. You tasted so sweet, like a forbidden fruit. Your pussy pulsated and clenched around nothing, begging for some attention. "Miguel I want your cock inside of me again, please.." You whimpered. "Be a good girl and wait." He licked your pussy up and down and rubbed your clit. You stretch your neck, feeling so good and moaning that your voice was so strained. He slaps your pussy, making you jolt forward. He then grabs you by the waist and pushed your body against the sky high windows. "I want everyone to see how good I'm fucking you..you like that don't you?" He said while smirking. "Y-yes Miguel please fuck my dirty pussy already. Fuck me til I can't breathe." You groaned.

He slammed into your cunt once again, suddenly making you let out a loud strained moan. You kept cursing and yelling his name. Your moans would only get louder as he rubbed his thumbs up and down on your clit, pressing on it hard. His other hand pinched your nipples while his mouth landed on your neck. Your back arched back to his chest, causing him to reach your soft, squishy walls that you thought were unreachable. You could barely control your body's weight. Miguel grabbed both of your hips and bent your back even more. Your face against the window causes it to fog up. His cock slammed harder inside of you, deeper. His claws deepened on your hips. He slammed up into you at a much faster pace than before, hitting all the places he knew you loved. “Eres mia... Mia y mia solo,” (You're mine, mine and mine only.) Miguel whispered into your ear before kissing the skin below it.

His voice had lost its cold underlining, whining out as his hips stuttered. Miguel's hips rocked still before he let out a soft sigh, his cum painted your walls perfectly. You writhed under his large body, riding your own orgasm as he continued to rub your clit. Coming down to a stop you sighed as your body shook at the intensity. "You're my little cum slut, aren't you? Yeah you like it when I fill your pussy up with my cum don't you?" Miguel slowly pulled out, shoving his fingers into me immediately, making my back arch. He pumped his cum back inside of my pussy. You collapse from overstimulation. You wake up a few hours later on a soft bed. An arm wraps around you. You felt warm and cared for. You look up and see Miguel sleeping. He looked beautiful. You want something to happen between the two of you and hopefully become a couple. You moved closer to him and placed a kiss on his cheek and he suddenly placed one on your forehead.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #smut #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #my husband #my pookie #miguel o’hara imagine #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 miguel #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara one shot #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #Spotify

[katiexpunk]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice | Pairing Neighbor!Joel Miller & Fem!Reader

Summary:  Part 3 of @sydneyinacoma's Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice series. Joel is your new hot neighbor and after a sexy night alone with him on Halloween (where he literally makes you squirt (!!) on his couch, you run into him after a long week at work and you two finally go on a proper date. You two eat burgers; go to a fair, and then he fucks you like it's his last day on earth. Yep <3

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~6.7K Warnings: Pining, flirting, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), Joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks, or don't idk you're not gonna listen to me anyways), creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, Joel spits in readers mouth, fair date, eating, did I already say flirting, bobbing for apples. Listen, these two are just down so bad for each other. There are no descriptions of reader except for clothing & wet, curly hair. Authors Note: I legitimately feel so honored to have been part of this chapter with my Slutty Smutty Sister @sydneyinacoma -- writing this version of Joel has me creaming, and I wish I could scream it from the rooftops how much I want everyone to read this fic. This version of Joel is all her brainchild and I could cry at being part of it. Pls go follow Syd, she's seriously such a gem and probably the best Moot and friend a girl could ask for. ILY, bb. Sydney's Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~6.7K Warnings: Pining, flirting, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), Joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks, or don't idk you're not gonna listen to me anyways), creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, Joel spits in readers mouth, fair date, eating, did I already say flirting, bobbing for apples. Listen, these two are just down so bad for each other. There are no descriptions of reader except for clothing & wet, curly hair. Authors Note: I legitimately feel so honored to have been part of this chapter with my Slutty Smutty Sister @sydneyinacoma -- writing this version of Joel has me creaming, and I wish I could scream it from the rooftops how much I want everyone to read this fic. This version of Joel is all her brainchild and I could cry at being part of it. Pls go follow Syd, she's seriously such a gem and probably the best Moot and friend a girl could ask for. ILY, bb. Sydney's Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

NOV 2005

You can’t stop thinking about that night at Joel’s a week ago. The way he touched you, pleasured you in a way that you've never experienced before. The way he kissed you, fervently yet soft. You could kiss him for hours and never tire. 

Not only are you craving his touch, but you also find yourself wanting to learn more about him. You want to know him. The things you’ve learned about him through Sarah and what you’ve picked up on are tiny crumbs, leaving you starving for more. 

You hope he feels the same. 

You haven’t had a chance to talk to Joel since that night, as you’ve been drowning at work. You started working for this publishing firm in college, first, as an intern, and now that you’ve finished school, you’re an editor. You agreed to take on extra responsibilities due to your coworker being out on maternity leave, which has exponentially increased your workload, on top of your boss being a micromanaging asshole. Joel’s been burning the candle at both ends. He’s working against a tight deadline on a big project for a persnickety client and Sarah’s soccer team is in the playoffs for the district championship; he’s incredibly proud but attending her neverending roster of games has left him a bit preoccupied. He never thought he would end up being a soccer dad, but life has a funny way of keeping him on his toes. 

Much like you, he’s replayed you squirting on his leather couch in his mind over and over, a never-ending lascivious reel that plays in his head as he fucks his cock at night. Joel longs to hear those saccharine sounds you make while you ride his cock, your tits bouncing in tandem with your movements. He’s kicking himself for not getting his hands, or mouth, on your pillowy breasts. The cheekiness of forgoing a bra in your bunny costume revealed a side of you that he wants to unleash. 

He wants to know everything; what keeps you up at night, what makes you double over in laughter, your ticklish spots, which movies make you cry without fail, all of your little quirks. Hell, he even wants to know if you believe in aliens. 

+++

You pull into your driveway after a long, grueling day at work. Your brain is so fried you didn’t even turn the music on for the drive home; a rarity for you since you always have music playing in your car, whether it be the FM radio or one of the various CDs you’ve collected over the years. A true indicator of your current state of being. You can’t wait to veg out on the couch, rid your mind of this shitty week, and huddle into an antisocial ball. 

After a few moments of idly sitting in your car, you peel yourself from the driver’s seat and go to retrieve your work tote from your trunk when you hear a deep voice calling out to you, one you’d recognize anywhere. You turn in the direction of the sound and find Joel. He’s clearly working on a renovation project; a miter saw, lumber and a plethora of other tools are set up in his front yard. There’s another man with him, bearing a slight resemblance to Joel. Brothers, maybe? 

“Hey, neighbor!” Joel immediately regrets his word choice, finding it oddly stiff — considering he’s had his face between your thighs. 

“Hey Joel!” You manage to shout back, despite your energy battery being crucially depleted. 

He waves for you to come over. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you’re unable to resist him. Not when he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, hair tousled, and coaxing you across the street. 

Though you feel drained, being in close proximity to Joel makes your body thrum in nerves. You’re being energized by anxious attraction. 

Joel and the mystery man greet you at the edge of the yard. 

“This is my brother Tommy. Tommy, this is my neighbor.” 

“So, this is the pretty neighbor you were tellin’ me about,” Tommy says, his southern drawl identical to Joel’s. 

Joel glares at Tommy. If looks could kill. 

Tommy holds out his hand, you tell him your name and give him your hand for a brief shake; much like Joel’s does, his palm size is large in comparison to yours and envelops your full hand. You survey the man in front of you; handsome, dark curly hair like Joel, slightly longer and free of the grays his brother sports, deep brown eyes, similar to Joel’s. The Miller genes are super fucking strong. 

“Nice to meet ya, sweetheart,” he says, nodding his head in acknowledgment, his eyes dragging over your figure just a second too long. 

“I’m gonna start packin’ these tools up,” Tommy announces to Joel and then shoots him a wink. It’s obvious he wasn’t aiming for subtlety, clearly wanting to give you and his brother a moment alone. 

Joel shifts his broad frame to face you directly. You wish you didn’t feel so bashful in his presence, but it’s hard to breathe evenly when he is standing so close you can smell him - earthy and a hint of his deodorant wearing off. It should be gross to you, but you want to put his scent in a candle. You’re fucking deranged. 

“Sorry, ‘m all sweaty…” Joel apologizes, looking down at himself, remembering that he probably reeks like a locker room. 

You wave off his apology, giggling at his self-awareness. 

“I wanted to ask you somethin’,'' Joel says, gently wrapping his hand around your arm right above your elbow. Goosebumps erupt on your skin at the touch of his calloused fingers. 

“Okay…” 

“I was wonderin’...” Joel pauses, his fingers now grazing over the soft skin of your arm. 

You gulp in anticipation. “Yes, Joel?” 

“I was wonderin’ if you’d like to go on a date with me,'' he asks, his eyes dropping to his boots for a second before coming back up to meet yours, “a proper one.” 

You’re so giddy at his proposition you think you might burst.

“Well, you know…I’ve gotta check my calendar,” you say, a big grin plastered on your face. You see his face drop, but before he can sulk too much you wink at him and say, “yeah, I’d love to,” you exhale and try to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away how excited you actually are. A date. With Joel Miller. 

“You free tomorrow?” he asks, beaming, revealing the dimpled smile you’re so fond of. 

“Lucky for you, I am,” you say, feeling your skin warm. 

“Pick you up at 7?” he asks, dipping his face closer to yours, his hand now on your waist pulling you into him. 

“Works for me,” you confirm while planting a chaste kiss on his cheek, “see you then, neighbor!” you conclude, being sure to emphasize the neighbor in your words, and before he can convince you to stay, you’re sauntering across the street back to your house.

+++

It’s finally here. Your big date with Joel.

The day went by torturously slow, anticipation pulsing through your entire body. You spent almost two hours getting ready, the majority of the time trying to pick an outfit. You probably changed 30 times, trying to find the outfit that conveyed the perfect balance of sexy, yet subdued. 

You decide on a pair of dark wash flares and a lacy top, both accentuating your figure heavenly. You spritz on a little perfume you save for special occasions. If this ain’t a hell of an occasion. 

Joel, with impeccable timing, rings the doorbell right as you tug your black cowboy boots on. It’s sill relatively warm in Austin, so you decide to forgo a jacket. 

Opening the door, you and Joel take a moment to check the other out, neither of you trying to hide it whatsoever. Joel’s wearing his signature jeans and a green flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing his veiny, strong forearms. You’d hump his arms given the opportunity. 

“Absolutely stunnin’, sweetheart,” he licks his bottom lip while his brown irises roam over your entire body, paying special attention to your waist and tits. You’re mentally patting yourself on the back for your outfit choice. 

“One could say the same for you, cowboy,” you quip back, a smug grin plastered across your face. 

Your smile shoots blood straight to Joel’s cock. 

He swallows as he realizes the night is just beginning. 

+++

Joel takes you to a quaint diner for your date. From the outside, it’s unassuming; an older building in urgent need of a pressure wash, adjacent to a virtually empty shopping center. A true hole-in-the-wall in the middle of downtown Austin. 

“It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but I promise ya, they got the best damn burgers in town,” he assures, seeing the questioning look on your face when he pulls into the parking lot. 

You and Joel slide into a booth in the far corner, Joel insisting that booth seating is part of the experience. You both order burgers, per his recommendation and boy, it does not disappoint. 

Between bites of food, you and Joel learn more about each other. The conversation flows easily, both hanging onto each other’s every word; no awkwardness or feigning interest. You both share parts of your childhoods and you share stories from your college days. Joel recounts the mischief he and Tommy got into when they were younger, earning several belly laughs from you. 

Joel loves the way you laugh; candidly, throwing your head back, your shoulders jerking uncontrollably as you try to catch a breath. 

You’re pleased to learn that both you and Joel have a fondness for 80’s action movies, especially the over-the-top-borderline-cheesy ones, and 70’s artists like Fleetwood Mac and Electric Light Orchestra.

Joel asks about your job as an editor. You tell him the different types of manuscripts you have to read; some you drudge through, others you enjoy. “I love seeing how the story progresses from the first rough draft up until the final copy,” you tell him,” a lot of authors are really full of themselves, so you have to boil down a lot of the flowery language and hubris.” 

In return, he tells you about how he got started as a contractor, hard work rewarded him with promotions until he opened up his own contracting business six years ago. “It’s priceless gettin’ to be your own boss,” he says, “not havin’ to answer to anyone, can be more selective in projects you wanna take on,” he continues, and you swear you’re listening but you’re secretly caught up in the sound of his voice and the way his lips move when he’s talking; hypnotizing you with every word.

Joel opens up about when Sarah came into this world; the happiest day of his life while simultaneously being scared shitless — he was wild and ungovernable, definitely not ready for fatherhood.  

Through the years he’s found his rhythm. He doesn’t talk about her mother and you don’t ask; you’re not looking to dig into that lore on the first date. He tells you what Sarah was like as a baby and the subsequent years. Your heart melts at the adoration and pride that glow in his eyes when he talks about his daughter. 

You both sit in the overused booth, totally absentminded to the world around you. You’re both locked into one another, afraid of missing even the faintest shift in facial expressions. You might as well be the only two people here. 

Taking the final bite of your burger, you tell Joel that you’re inclined to agree that these are the best burgers in town. 

He mumbles something to the effect of “told ya,” before finishing his last bite. 

On the ride home from the diner, you spot an illuminated Ferris wheel, glowing in the distance of the Austin night. 

“Oh, I didn’t know the fair was still in town. I haven’t been in years!” exclaiming a little loudly for a woman your age, “can we…..?” 

Joel can’t say no to you, not when you’re giving him a pleading, pouty look. 

+++ 

Once inside the fairgrounds, you both walk through the selection of vendors, and it doesn’t take long for the funnel cake sign to catch your eye; Joel purchases you one and you continue on your adventure together. 

“Here,” he says, offering you a paper napkin. 

You gently shake your head, shoving another bite of funnel cake into your mouth, “don’t need one.”

He laughs. You look like a stubborn child learning what sugar is for the first time, “you’re gonna get all sticky,” he says, a big grin enveloping his face, your eagerness for the sweetness of the battered dough reminds him of Sarah’s sweet tooth. God, you’re cute – it makes him wish she was with you both tonight. 

Well, that is until he notices it. It’s subtle, but it’s there – a sprinkling of powdered sugar on your cheek and exposed chest.

He knows this is a family event, but he wants to do anything but PG-rated things with you right now.  

He stares at the white dust on your skin until your voice catches his attention again. 

“Maybe I want to be sticky,” you reply, “gives you more to lick off of me later.” 

And fuck, if that doesn’t turn him on. 

The thought of his tongue on you sends a flood of impure thoughts to his brain; much like the ones he had when you first showed up at his door, covered in remnants of flour, all sugar and sweetness. 

He knows now.

You may be sugar, but fuck, if you haven’t got some spice in you, too. 

+++ 

As you stroll, your eyes grow wide when you see it; a yellow wooden sign with the words “bobbing for apples” in Comic Sans engraved into it. 

“Ah! Joel! Bobbing for apples! I haven’t done that since I was a kid – we have to do it!” you say, your voice is a little too eager and a little too high-pitched, but the childlike wonder on your face is all the convincing that Joel needs. He might not admit it, but he’d give you anything you want. You reach out for his hand, and he takes it, letting you lead the way. 

You and Joel make your way up to the station, and a fair worker in an apron and a straw hat shouts to the crowd, “Come one, come all! Test your skills at an apple grab; the winner gets a prize,” his voice is low in octave but loud enough like he’s speaking through a megaphone. 

A line of fair-goers of all ages quickly forms around the barrels filled with water and apples, and you look at Joel with eager eyes as you step up to yours.

The rules of the game were explained by the worker with a chuckle, “Alright, folks, no hands, just your teeth. Lean in, and bob for an apple, and what you catch is yours to keep plus a prize from the booth to the right.” 

“You sure about this, sweetheart? You’re gonna get all wet,” Joel asks, probably just a smidge too concerned about your well-being considering it’s just bobbing for apples. 

“You gonna act like you don’t know that I’ve been wet this entire night?” you say, not waiting  to hear his response as the worker calls out a loud “GO!” 

Giggles and cheers fill the air as you and your fellow participants lean over the barrel. Your face disappears into the water; your competitiveness in overdrive  – edging yourself deeper and deeper into the water; so far that your shirt gets soaked. You don’t care, though, and you gleam from satisfaction as you resurface with a gleaming red apple held triumphantly between your teeth. 

The crowd erupts in applause at your efforts, and Joel stands watching you with his hands on his hips, a smile plastered on his face. As his gaze drops from the apple in your mouth, he notices the wetness of your shirt and shit, you’re positively drenched. 

It takes Joel all of .0002 seconds to notice the silhouette of your nipples peeking out from your shirt, the goosebumps littering your skin, and the tail ends of your hair wet and starting to curl under the weight of the water. 

You drop the apple from your teeth and catch it in your palm. “Well, well…looks like you’re on a date with a prize-winnin’ apple picker. Feeling lucky yet?” you tort, attempting to flirt through the uncomfortable press of the damp fabric on your skin. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen that mouth in action, I already knew you were going to win,” he says, “but you know I’d never thought I’d see the day…” he trails off. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly confused. 

“Never thought I’d see the day that I was jealous of a fuckin’ Red Delicious apple,” he says, humor behind his voice, “s’ashame I wasn’t the one you were bobbin’ for in that barrel.” 

“Listen, if you want to get wet and let me put you in my mouth, I am more than happy to accommodate,” you reply back, your voice flirty and suggestive. 

Joel doesn’t respond, but you see him palm himself through the denim of his jeans at your suggestion, interjecting his thoughts. 

You can’t hide the shivers that take over your body from the chill of the night air and the wetness of your clothing. 

“C’mere, baby, you’re freezin’,” he says, brow furrowed, and arms wide open stretched out to you, beckoning you into his large arms. You take a step forward and step into his brace, letting yourself melt into the warmth of his arms and the aroma of his natural scent. 

You stand there, wet in more ways than one, and let him hold you. Your arms wrap around his thick middle, and he rubs up and down your back with both palms in an attempt to warm you up. He releases you momentarily before saying, “Here, take this.”

You step away from him for a second, giving him space to slip off the flannel he’s wearing, revealing nothing but a white t-shirt underneath; the little tufts of hair peeking out through the collar of his shirt almost send you into a tailspin. 

He holds the flannel open by the collar to face you, encouraging you to put it on. You turn your back to him, allowing him the privilege of holding  it as you slip your arms into the sleeves. The fabric of the shirt is warm from his skin, and the moment you put it on you’re flooded with the smell embedded deep within the fibers; all musk, whiskey, cinnamon, wood, and Joel. 

“Come on, now, you little bobbin’ minx,  let’s go get you your prize,” he says, tilting his head to the prize booth. You grab his hand and let him lead the way this time. 

You and Joel make your way to the prize booth, the smell of kettle corn invades your senses; sure, you were already stuffed with funnel cake and your dinner, but the sweet aroma makes your mouth water. Or maybe it’s just Joel, you’re not quite sure, but you don’t really care. 

In the small structure of the prize booth, the shelves were adorned with a colorful array of stuffed animals of all sizes, trinkets, and games. You carefully assess your prize options while the attendant tries to convince you that of all of the random assortment of prizes, you absolutely need the goldfish. Right. 

You look over the options in front of you for what feels like a good ten minutes before the attendant not so subtly grows tired of your indecision. You sigh. You decide on a small puppy dog with beady plastic brown eyes, and you nod in thanks as he hands it to you, and you and Joel walk away from the booth. 

“Had a tough time decidin’ there, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” Joel asks, not really questioning. 

“Well, to be honest, none of the prizes were really appealing to me,” you respond, playing with the fluffy ears of the stuffed plush in your hands. “I only picked this one because I thought Sarah might like it,” you say. Your consideration for Sarah, and your accepting demeanor to her, warms Joel’s heart. 

“But I can think of one I’d really like to claim,” you say, catching his gaze. You see his jaw clench at your words. 

“Oh yeah? And that would be..?” 

“You,” the word comes out breathy. 

You both stop walking and the crunch of the dirt under his boots and the distant sounds of the fair in the background all but freeze as you stand there, seemingly paused in your own little private moment. 

“Take me home, Joel,” you say, planting your palm on his broad chest and stepping closer to him, your chest nearly flush against his. His hands skate down to your waist, and he closes the gap between your bodies, holding you close enough that you feel the growing bulge between his thighs. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, leaning down, planting a kiss on the top of your head. 

And it’s sweet. 

Just like the funnel cake. 

And just like he thinks you are. 

But you have other plans for him tonight. 

And he has the same for you. 

+++ 

You and Joel make your way out of the fairgrounds and to the lot where Joel parked his truck. 

Still wearing his flannel, the stuffed puppy dog intertwined between your crossed arms, you wait for him to open the passenger side door. You all but eye fuck him as he reaches into the depth of the  front pocket of his jeans and grabs his keys. He unlocks the door, and opens it for you; offering you a hand to help guide you in. 

“Always such a gentleman,” you say, placing your hand in his, accepting his offer, using the strength of his arm to help lift yourself into the bed of the truck. 

Joel rounds around the front of the vehicle, unlocks the driver’s side door, and slides in. He turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life and the radio turns on, “Come a Little Closer” by Dierks Bentley plays over the speakers. 

Deciding to take a note from the lyrics, you don’t bother to buckle yourself into the passenger seat, and instead slide over into the middle seat of the truck, positioning yourself tightly against Joel’s side. You lace your arm through the underside of his and interlock them, your hand curls around his firm bicep. You lean your head into his shoulder, and close your eyes, taking a moment to bask in the solitude of the strong man beneath you. 

He looks down at you for a moment – god, he could get used to this. He dwells on the thought for a moment longer and then begins to drive away. 

You’re clinging to him and you both ride like that in an easy silence, apart from the faint music and the hum of his truck. It has been so long since you felt so content, so at peace with the moment and yourself; not worried about work or life, or anything. It was just you and Joel, and you like it that way. 

Nearly back to your house, and your shared neighborhood, you let your left hand wander on the expanse of his thigh. The time for sweetness is over. The events of the night, your combined obvious want, and the flirtatious taunts catch up with you. 

Joel keeps his eyes on the road, but you don’t miss the way his grip on the steering wheel tightens as your hand makes its way closer to his belt buckle. You begin to toy with the cool metal there, and his large palm comes down to cup yours. 

“We’re almost home,” he says, holding your hand tight against his stiffening cock, not letting you move. “But I want to feel you now,” you whine. 

“I know, baby, I know you wanna get your hands on this cock, and I would like nothing more,” he says, “but you’re gonna have to be patient, we only have a few more minutes until we’re there.” 

“And why do I have to be patient, neighbor?” you ask, pulling your hand away, slightly keyed up. Greedy. Horny. 

“Because I wanna give that needy little pussy the attention she deserves,” he says, “and because once I get started, I know ‘m not gonna be able to stop.”

“And neighbor ain’t gonna be what you’ll be calling me,” he says roughly, “I’ll fuckin’ make sure of that, sweetheart.”

He takes a turn and pulls into your neighborhood. You catch a glimpse of Mrs. Morrison taking out her trash. She glares at you in disapproval as you drive past in Joel’s truck. 

You sometimes wonder what your neighbors might think; a pretty little young thing like you, the youngest daughter of their good friends, a.k.a your parents, hanging out with the older, single-father neighbor across the way. 

But truthfully, you don’t really give a fuck. 

+++ 

Joel pulls up into your driveway, the engine purrs softly before falling silent.  You both pause in silence. 

Joel turns to you, a smirk on his lips “We’re here,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of invite me in behind his voice. 

You glance out the window, your house bathed in the soft glow of your porch light. You turn back to Joel and say “Thank you for tonight, I really had a fun time. But to be honest, I just realized I never got to thank you properly…” 

Joel looks at you and something dark flickers in his gaze. “And what would you need to be thankin’ me for, sweetheart?”  As if he didn’t know. 

“For the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Come in and I’ll return the favor,” you say, conjuring your sultriest voice, knowing he doesn’t need an invitation.  

You step out of the truck, and the night air is cool, a  gentle breeze whispers through your hair;  your features are illuminated by the street lights in your neighborhood, and the warm glow casts an inviting aura around you. Joel appears at your side of the truck and helps you exit. 

The gravel under your feet crunches as you walk toward the front porch; the air is charged with electricity, a livewire, a magnetic pull drawing your bodies together. 

The porch light by your door casts a warm yellow glow on your faces. You pause at the front of the step and reach for your house keys in your purse. Your porch swing sways gently in the breeze, its rhythmic creaking adding to the undertone of the moment. 

You insert the key into the lock, but before you can fully turn the doorknob to open the door, Joel already has his large palm on yours, opening the door,  pushing you through the door frame and into your house, his hands cradling your face before he crashes his plush lips into yours. 

The second you’re both fully in your house, Joel's hands are on the hem of your shirt,  silently begging for you to take it off. You let him work on getting you topless, meanwhile, your hands are hastily working to undo his belt buckle, the excitement of finally being able to touch him and him not being able to stop touching you has you worked up.  Joel presses his thighs together against yours, drawing little moans from you while he nips at your neck. 

As much as he is trying to distract you, he’s no match for your determination. In record-breaking time you have his buckle undone and the zipper of his jeans is down; you gracefully fall to your knees before him, tugging his pants and his boxers down with you to the floor. Joel’s cock releases from the confines of his clothing and slaps against his tummy, leaving a little trail of pre-cum in its wake. You already knew he was big, but having him in full view makes you realize just how big he really is. 

You lick your lips and reach out to grab his thick cock, affectionately kissing the tip of it; you run your tongue through the slit, lapping up the salty pre-cum that drips out before you circle your tongue along the underside of his head. You let your jaw go slack, and you begin to dip down on his length; a gurgling sound escapes your lips as you pull back up again. You do this a few times before letting his hard cock fall from your lips, now puffy and coated in saliva, some of it dribbling past your chin. 

You pull off momentarily and smile up at Joel. He thinks you look far too sweet and innocent for someone who is absolutely taking his cock deep in your throat like a champ. He intertwines his fingers through your hair and groans, before gently urging you back down onto his length.

“Fuck, sweetheart – can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about having that pretty little mouth of yours on my cock,” he says slightly breathless. 

The thought of him thinking about you goes straight to your core and makes you want to mouth fuck him harder. 

You wrap your lips around him again, and he thrusts his hips to glide himself inside of your mouth to the back of your throat. 

He begins to pick up his pace, holding your head steady by your hair as he fucks into your throat, pressing deeper and deeper until spit pools at the corners of your mouth and slight tears form in the creases of your eyes. He presses you down onto him until your lips are wrapped around the base of him and the course hairs that reside there. You’re drowning in the taste of him, hardly able to breathe, but you don’t care; you want him to chase his high, to use your mouth for his own pleasure. He made you come harder than anyone ever has before; this was the least you could do for him. 

“Jesus – look at you, pretty girl, fuck you feel so good wrapped around me,” he grits out, “takin’ it so well, baby.”

His words go straight to your cunt, the ache now insufferable. 

You begin to work him harder with your tongue, struggling for air, and he inches closer to the back of your throat and you begin to gag. Joel pulls out, not wanting to hurt you, and a strand of saliva trails between your lips and his cock. You blink back tears and look up at him, your mascara now a mess on your face, and your eyes glossy. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern. 

You swallow, and reach up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You are okay. More than okay.  “Peachy. I'm relieved I finally got to return the favor,” you hum, standing to rise to meet his face. 

He wraps his hands around your waist, and pulls you tight against the front of his body; you feel the warmth of his tummy, the hardness of his cock, and the strength of his back behind your grip and it makes your legs turn to Jell-O. Fuck, you need him. 

Joel kisses you for a moment, before pulling away and bringing his lips to your ear “Gonna fuck you now, sweet girl.” 

You feel your stomach swoop and your folds tingle; you have thought about this moment for so long and you yearn for the stretch of him; to know what it’s like to be filled to the brim with Joel fucking Miller. 

He kicks off his boots, steps out of the clothing bunched around his ankles, and takes your hand to follow you down the hallway into your bedroom. 

Part of him wants to take his time; to make you feel good, to taste you again, and feel you come and come on his fingers. Part of him wants to shuck down your jeans and put your pretty pussy in his face. 

Joel doesn’t particularly think of himself as a selfish man, but he has waited patiently, and he needs you. Now. 

As much as he wants the taste of you on his lips, the part of him that wants to shove himself into your addictive cunt until you forget your name until you forget every other name except for his is the dominant one right now. 

Once in the bedroom, he crowds you back until the back of your calves meet the edge of your mattress. He grabs both of your hips in a bruising grip and pulls you tight against his chest, his hips grinding into yours, and you lean your face up to kiss him. You think he might kiss you, but instead, he ghosts your lips and leans forward until your back meets the soft fabric of the mattress with an oof, and he’s on top of you. 

He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. His grip on you is firm, yet gentle. You’ve seen his brute strength in action and the fact that he could overpower you sends a shiver to your clit. 

“So beautiful, darlin’ – you know that?” he kisses your nose and trails a slew of them down your cheek, jaw, chin, and neck. Once at the nape of your neck, he nibbles on your earlobe and whispers “You ready for me, sweetheart?” his breath is heavy in your ear. 

You can’t nod fast enough in agreement. 

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he practically purrs the question. 

You want nothing more than to be a good girl for Joel. You nod almost aggressively to make up for the fact that you’re unable to construct a single sentence right now. 

He lets out a satisfied moan and drops his grip on your wrists, and drags his heavy hands down your body to the center of your jeans and undoes the button of your pants, and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of both your jeans and your panties and pulls them down in one fell swoop. 

He dips down to place a delicate kiss to your tummy and lets the weight of his head rest on the softness of you. He inhales deeply, the aroma of your perfume comforts him, and he fights the urge to dip his face lower and bury himself in your pussy. 

You drop both of your hands and grab his head, your fingers carding through his hair, and he groans. 

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl for me,” he says, not really questioning. 

“I am being a good girl,” you respond back, not really sure what prompted his statement. 

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough the first time. When I put you in a position, I want you to stay there, until I say you can move. Got it?” 

And holy fuck, bossy Joel turns you on. 

You only hum in response. 

“Need you to use your words, sweet girl. Answer me, or I’ll make you,” he says, voice low, his head closer to your center now, almost to exactly where you need him but not quite. 

“Ye - ah, yes, fuck I understand,” sending all of your energy to string the words together. 

He hums in acknowledgment and pushes your hands back up overhead, telling you to keep them there, and only to touch him when he says you can. When he releases your hands and sees that your arms stay put, he rasps out a “good girl.”

He then reaches down and notches his tip at your entrance, and drags the weight of his thick cock through your glistening folds.

“Mmmm so fuckin’ wet, this all for me?” 

“All for you, J-oel,” you’re trembling, desperate to feel him deep inside you. 

He pauses momentarily, only the tip of him inside you, and god, it’s such a tease. 

You know it’ll sting, but you want him to just fucking bury every inch of himself inside of you. You don’t care about the pain; you crave the stretch of him. 

“Joel – ah, need more,” you moan, “need all of you.” 

“You sure, sweetheart? I ‘don wanna hurt you,” he says, once again concerned about you. 

“Joel, I want you to fucking wreck me. Need you to move, please.” 

After your plea, he obliges. You feel every inch of him, the way he throbs inside of you, and the tip of his head drags against the spongey spot inside of you. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to move in and out of you, he feels so fucking good, and you’re so perfectly full. 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and gruff, still continuing to saw in and out of you. ‘’Want you to look at me while I fuck you.” 

And his words are like music to your fucking ears. He’s the perfect balance of gentleman and fucking filth. 

He brings a hand down to circle your clit, and with the added sensation you’re not far off from your orgasm. You can feel it growing in your stomach with every circle of his thumb and every thrust of his cock. You open your mouth, your jaw slack, and you begin to moan. 

“Fuck, baby – you shouldn’t open your mouth like that,” he moans. 

“And – fuckkkk, why not?” You respond back, breathless from each of his thrusts. 

“Just a reminder of another hole I need to use,” he responds, and then gruffly says “Open,” while pressing his thumb and index finger into your jaw, holding you in place. 

You do as he says, and he spits into your mouth. Your eyes wide as saucers. It’s hot, dirty, filthy. 

“Taste how perfect we are together, baby” he says, still pounding into you and circling your clit. 

His words send you into fucking oblivion, and you’re gone. Your vision goes white, and despite his order to keep your eyes open, your eyes fall closed and he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Your tight, slick walls pulse and squeeze around him. His hands squeeze your hips, his fingertips bruising your skin as he rocks your limp and shaky body against his cock, chasing his own orgasm. 

Not long after you’ve come, he’s finishing too. He fucks into you at an erratic pace and then shoots his seed deep into your cunt. 

“Fuckkk, baby” – he trails off, letting the final spurts of his cum paint your walls. 

You let out a sigh, and once again drop your hands to his head, intertwining your hands with the hair behind his head. 

You both lay there in your fucked out bliss and then he pulls out of you, taking a dribble of his cum with him, a glob of it landing on your thigh. 

You’ve never felt so satisfied, to be laying there, content and full of Joel Miller. 

He rolls over onto his side and puts his hand on his chest. 

“Shit, baby. You’re perfect,” he says. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of you.” 

You hum in delight and roll over onto his chest, melting into him. 

“You in the mood for some cookies?” you ask, and he grins in response.

He hit the fucking lottery with you. 

END

Tagging some Joel-lovers: @endlessthxxghts @survivingandenduring @darkheartgatita @joelmillersblog @joelsgreys @dins-riduur-anthe @joelmillers-whore @pedroswife69 @hearteyesforjoel

As always, feel free to let me know if do or don’t want to be tagged!xx

#joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedrohub #pedro pascal character #collaboration fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller series

[slutforsilverfoxes]

This song came on my shuffle while I was cleaning so therefore I am not responsible for this heinous crack 🙃 But also, sorry in advance 💀

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!BAU!reader established relationship (+ a feature by two of the BAU hooligans)

__________

“We really couldn’t fly into a closer airport?” you grumble under your breath, forehead pressed against the cool window of the Tahoe as a seemingly endless expanse of cornfield flies by in a blur.

Hotch uses the rearview mirror to glance at your sour face, raising a single eyebrow in challenge. “And where, pray tell, is this closer airport you speak of? Hiding amongst the corn?”

“Hiding amongst the corn?” you mimic in a childish tone, and he grunts in response although the corner of his mouth twitches with mirth.

“It was almost better when you two were keeping things under wraps,” Derek chimes in from the passenger seat. His long legs allowed him to claim shotgun while you and Emily were relegated to the back. Dave, JJ, Garcia, and Spence were in the vehicle behind you, much to Penelope’s chagrin about being thwarted from “napping on my sturdy hunk of Derek,” as she had so eloquently put it.

“To be fair, you chose to ride with us,” Aaron comes to your defense, and you pipe up with a vindicated, “Yeah! Thanks, babe.” You lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek and he frowns at you, pulling a pouty, “What?” from you in return.

“Sit back and put your seatbelt on,” he chides gruffly, and you can hear the unspoken brat that would’ve been sure to follow if you were alone.

“Fine,” you huff in feigned annoyance, settling into your seat and clicking your seatbelt in place.

The car is silent for a few minutes save from the wind whipping past, then you lean towards the center console and ask, “Can we at least listen to music?”

Emily perks up at that, pulling her head from the case file in her lap. “Music would be good.”

“Here, Derek,” you offer, sliding your phone towards him. “It’s unlocked so you can queue songs. But if I see you swiping anywhere else, I swear to god-”

“Chill, Y/N,” he laughs out. “Ain’t no way I’m risking burning my retinas with a nude from our boss man.”

“Morgan,” your boyfriend sighs like an exasperated parent while you tease, “Only cause he’s too hot to look at.”

“Please just put some music on,” Aaron groans after your comment, and you can see the back of his neck flushed red through the gap between the seat and headrest.

“Alright, alright,” Derek finally relents, plugging in your phone and then turning to smile at you when he spots a playlist titled AH🖤. “Now that’s pretty cute,” he admits, and you return his grin with a bashful one of your own.

Then your smile morphs into a horrified gasp when his thumb hovers over the playlist, the world seeming to move in slow motion as his finger makes contact with the screen.

Corpse’s gravelly voice instructing the listener to Choke me like you hate me, but you love me blares through the speakers as you shriek in surprise. Hotch jams his palm into the volume knob, mercifully cutting off the music before the next line can assault everyone’s ears.

The car is plunged into silence once more as your face flushes under the delighted scrutiny of one Derek Morgan. Emily, to her credit, remains unfazed (mostly because she’s the recipient of your lascivious texts about Aaron).

“We’re never talking about this again,” you whisper, mortified, unwilling to meet Aaron’s gaze in the rearview mirror. You’re so paying for this when you get to the hotel tonight.

“On the contrary,” Derek counters in an almost giddy fashion, “I just figured out how we’re going to pass the time until we reach the precinct. So, Y/N, are you the choker or the chokee?”

You collapse on yourself, head in your hands as you wail, “I wanna die,” while your boyfriend quietly mumbles, “I’m resigning when we get back to Quantico.”

—————

A/N: For those of you wondering… yes, this song is on my Hotch playlist 🥵

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner @iyv-ray24 @mrs-ssa-hotch @criminalskies

#this is crack #and im sorry #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #bau!reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #hotch x gn!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #hotch x you #hotch x gender neutral reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #Spotify

[heretherebedork]

So I've never watched a single v-bl. no particular reason, just the fact that there's so much to see everywhere else that I didn't wanna add another country to my list. but every time I come here, I see that little pinned post and think, maybe I should watch one. So, where should I start? What's the best one? help me...

Okay, that's hard! There are a lot of good ones. But to start?

You Are Ma Boy is probably the best one to start with, hands down. It's well-written, well-acted, feels like all the best parts of V-BL and is about a celebrity/barista romance that's just darling! Very domestic, very sweet, cute as you get and has a bit of Ba Vinh, the BL actor from Vietnam who is in... basically everything. This is a full length BL series.

My Lascivious Boss is fantastic. Queer and adorable and just... absolutely great. Very, very gay and includes crossdressing and an established gay couple as well!

Beef, Cupcakes, and Him and Hey, Rival, I Love You are both very different but very enjoyable V-BL movies that I totally recommend. They're both good and sweet and end with lots of joy and love all around.

The Lost Ring(also on Gaga for free if the youtube link doesn't work depending on your location) is my favorite, hands down my favorite, short. It's cute and it's sweet and it tells a good story in a very short time. Absolutely recommend this one.

The Most Peaceful Place is also by O2 productions (they make a lot of V-BL) and it about a failed friendship. A good show and a staring vehicle for Ba Vinh. If you like him, watch more O2 but beware that they've now had two shows with disappointing or depressing endings (Love Bill should only be watched if you want a depressing ending and the Cat BL was disappointing) but most of their stuff is pretty solid.

If you like those, especially the O2 ones, I would also look up Mr. Cinderella but that one can be harder to get your hands on depending on your willingness to pay... but it's good. Really good. And it's got Ba Vinh and one of the actors from The Lost Ring in it.

Anyway, this is my basic recommendations. There are more on the list and I haven't updated it in... a while /oops but honestly these are the best.

If you don't care about budget, you might also want to look at Team RL just in general. They're made several enjoyable but very low budget series. There's one set in a rural village that ends with half of the side couple dying so do not recommend but the rest of their shows tend to be goofy, slightly stupid, gay romps.

#vietnamese bl #bl racs #asked and answered

[gillianthecat]

Workplaces in QL Shows

Step by Step got me thinking about the types of companies that get used as the settings for Office Romance in QL, and then by extension, what kinds of work characters do. I've only included ones where the job or the workplace is somehow part of the story or is a setting (so jobs the characters had as background info don't count). I didn't include censored BL because I feel that setting plays a different (more prominent than usual in BL) role in those types of stories. I didn't count university students doing school projects, but did include teenagers actually working. This is only the list of shows I've seen or know enough about to make as guess, so a lot are missing. Please add on, or make corrections! Titles with an asterisk * are included in multiple categories (leads had different jobs, or one job fits both categories). Titles in (parenthesis) I've only watched a part of, but enough to determine what work they did, titles in [brackets] I haven't seen so I'm going off what I've read.

(updated 1/7/24 with shows some new shows and some old ones I've seen since first posting. still not a comprensive list.)

Marketing/Advertising Office

🇹🇭 GAP

🇹🇭 Step By Step

🇰🇷 The New Employee

🇰🇷 Roommates of Poongduck 304

🇰🇷 All the Liquors *

🇹🇭 [Check Out]

🇹🇭 [Paint with Love] *

Graphic Design Office

🇹🇭 Bed Friend (or is it also marketing?)

🇹🇭 Middleman's Love

🇯🇵 Senpai, This Can't Be Love!

Architecture

🇹🇭 Big Dragon

🇹🇭 Love in the Air *

Game Design

🇹🇭 A Boss and a Babe

🇰🇷 Our Dating Sim

Other/Business Empire/Generic Office setting (or I never figured out what they did)

🇯🇵 Old Fashion Cupcake (i never figured it out)

🇹🇼 We Best Love 2 (some tech thing?)

🇹🇭 To Sir With Love * (business empire)

🇹🇭 Cutie Pie (business empire)

🇯🇵 Cherry Magic (stationary company, iirc)

🇹🇭 Cherry Magic

🇹🇭 Love in the Air * (some sort of business empire?)

🇹🇼 [Be Loved In House: I Do] *

🇰🇷 [Love Mate]

🇰🇷 Naked Dining *

🇯🇵 Doublemints *

🇯🇵 (Ossan's Love) (real estate)

🇭🇰 [Ossan's Love]

Law Office

🇹🇼 Plus and Minus *

🇹🇭 Laws of Attraction *

Restaurant/Coffee Shop/Bar

🇰🇷 Ocean Likes Me *

🇰🇷 Choco Milk Shake

🇰🇷 The Tasty Florida

🇰🇷 (Unintentional Love Story) *

🇰🇷 To My Star * (1 & 2)

🇰🇷 All the Liquors *

🇰🇷 Happy Merry Ending *

🇹🇼 [Be Loved In House: I Do] *

🇹🇼 Plus and Minus *

🇹🇼 [My Tooth Your Love] *

🇹🇼 [DNA Says Love You]

🇹🇭 [Coffee Melody] *

🇹🇭 [Moonlight Chicken]

🇹🇭 [What Zabb Man!]

🇻🇳 [You Are Ma Boy]

🇻🇳 [My Lascivious Boss]

🇹🇭 Laws of Attraction *

🇹🇭 (Bake Me Please)

🇹🇭 [609 Bedtime Story] *

🇹🇼 [VIP Only] *

Other Shop/Service

🇯🇵 Minato Shouji Coin Laundry (laundromat)

🇹🇼 Plus and Minus * (dry cleaner)

🇹🇭 Love in the Air * (mechanic)

🇰🇷 [Oh! Boarding House]

🇹🇭 [My Ride] * (moterbike taxi)

🇰🇷 Naked Dining* (grocery store)

🇹🇭 Pit Babe (race car team)

Artist/Artist's Shop

🇰🇷 (Unintentional Love Story) * (ceramics)

🇹🇼 [Be Loved In House: I Do] * (jewelry/metalworking)

🇯🇵 Utsukushii Kare Eternal* (photographer)

TV/Film/Idol Industry

🇹🇭 War of Y

🇹🇭 [House of Stars]

🇹🇭 [Show Me Love]

🇰🇷 (The Director Who Buys Me Dinner)

🇹🇭 (Vice Versa)

🇹🇭 (Love Stage)

🇯🇵 (Love Stage)

🇰🇷 To My Star * (1 & 2)

🇹🇭 Lovely Writer *

🇰🇷 Individual Circumstances *

🇹🇭 [Paint with Love] *

🇯🇵 I Became the Main Role of a BL

🇯🇵 Utsukushii Kare Eternal *

Music/Idol Industry

🇰🇷 Happy Merry Ending *

🇰🇷 Ocean Likes Me *

🇰🇷 [Wish You]

🇹🇭 [Coffee Melody] *

🇻🇳 [You Are Ma Boy]

🇯🇵 Kabe-Koji-Nekoyashiki-kun Desires to be Recognized *

🇹🇭 [609 Bedtime Story] *

Journalism

🇯🇵 Candy Color Paradox

🇯🇵 My Personal Weatherman *

Publishing Industry/Writers

🇰🇷 Happy Ending Romance

🇰🇷 Individual Circumstances *

🇯🇵 The Novelist/The Pornographer series

🇹🇭 Lovely Writer *

🇰🇷 [First Love, Again]

🇹🇼 [VIP Only] *

Manga/Manwha Artists/Illustrators

🇯🇵 Kabe-Koji-Nekoyashiki-kun Desires to be Recognized *

🇰🇷 Oh! My Assistant

🇯🇵 Jack o' Frost

🇯🇵 My Personal Weatherman *

Medical

🇹🇭 (Dear Doctor I'm Coming for Soul)

🇹🇼 [My Tooth Your Love] *

🇹🇭 [Manner of Death]

🇹🇭 [Physical Therapy]

🇹🇭 (My Ride)*

🇻🇳 [Mr. Cinderella]

🇻🇳 [Want to See You]

🇹🇭 [Triage]

🇹🇭 [Sky In Your Heart] *

Mafia/Criminal Underworld

🇹🇭 KinnPorsche

🇹🇭 [Love Syndrome]

🇹🇭 [Unforgotten Night]

🇹🇭 [Chains of Heart] *

🇹🇭 [3 Will Be Free]

🇹🇭 [Golden Blood]

🇹🇼 [HIStory 3: Trapped]

🇹🇭 Never Let Me Go (debated whether to include these children, but ultimately decided they work. still unclear on whether it's mafia or a legit business)

🇹🇭 To Sir With Love *

🇯🇵 Doublemints *

🇰🇷 Long Time No See

🇹🇭 (My Dear Gangster Oppa)

Sex Work

🇹🇭 [Playboyy]

🇯🇵 The Shortest Distance is Round

Debt Collection

🇹🇭 [Even Sun]

🇰🇷 [You Make Me Dance]

Park Rangers/Teachers (the "Other" category, but that's what's in it so far)

🇹🇭 [1000 Stars]

🇹🇭 [Sky In Your Heart] *

🇻🇳 [TienTai Bromance]

🇹🇭 [Chains of Heart] * (this is based on the MDL synopsis, so I don't know if it's accurate, but I was so tickled to have two shows in the park/forest ranger category I had to include it)

#ql lists #ql settings #adults in bl #office bl #bl lists #currently at 65 different shows. if i counted right #ql workplaces

[lesbianwriter]

Heyy, could you please continue the Hero and Villain teases Civilian?? I'm loving so much

You’re loving reading about Civilian’s misery?! Who would do such a thing…🫣

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

“So, how’d you meet my daughter?” Supervillain asked.

Her fork clinked on her plate and the sound reverberated throughout the room—it was as if a gong had been rung and suddenly every pair of eyes was fixed on Civilian.

Her throat tightened as if an invisible hand was wringing her neck in its merciless grip. Hands shaking, she held onto the chair beneath her and tried to emerge through her fear to at the very least form a response.

“I—I applied to the position as her secretary.” Civilian stammered, her gaze lowered.

Far before Civilian even had an inkling of an idea that her boss was a villain, she hadn’t thought much about Villain’s mother. Villain was always a type of authority figure. She was an image of otherworldly beauty that emanated a dangerous aura, so it was difficult to imagine her as a little baby swaddled in a blanket or a little girl playing with toys. And it was even harder to imagine the supervillain across the table being a mother.

Supervillain folded her hands together on the table. “Yes, I’m aware. And you found out our little secret?” Her tone was saccharine. Dangerously sweet and overbearingly honeyed.

Civilian swallowed a lump on her throat. “Yes.”

“And you aren’t dead. Are you aware how much of a liability that makes you? You’re a little imperfection begging to be—“

“Mom.” Villain cleared her throat. “Everything is handled. Civilian is a good, loyal secretary. While I’ve been taking precautions to ensure that nothing happens, I sincerely doubt that Civilian would ever try anything foolish.”

Her smile wilted at the edges, but Supervillain didn’t comment and only rolled her eyes and cut another piece off of her steak. “Did you make this? It’s good.”

“I did.” Hero said.

“It’s burnt and the texture is too thick.” Supervillain dropped her fork, a fake smile on her face. “Good for someone like you, I suppose.”

Hero sneered.

“Civilian,” Supervillain started again. “What are your intentions with my daughter?” Her eyes remained focused on Hero, and there was an edge to her tone. “What’s the extent of your relationship?”

“I’m only her secretary.” Civilian’s eyes darted from person to person.

The tension in the air was tangible, a bow string pulled taut. She could’ve reached her hand forward and grasped it in her fingers, but the absolute last thing she needed was for two super powered humans to start battling at the dinner table. But truly there wasn’t much she could do.

The two of them were cats.

Civilian was barely a mouse.

And, furthermore, she didn’t know what the extent of her relationship to Villain was anymore—what’s we’re Villain’s intentions? Civilian only intended to get out of this horrible place. Villain though? She didn’t know. Hero…she had a clue as to what Hero wanted; she wanted to see Civilian squirm—she wanted to be the one to make her hurt and wince—and the idea of her getting it made Civilian’s stomach knot.

“You haven’t done anything…hmm…lascivious with her?” Supervillain stared at Hero harder.

“If you have a problem then you should take it out with me and not Civilian.” Hero stood up. “Unless you don’t want to do your own work and you’re going to make somebody else do it.” Her head tilted slightly.

For a moment there was only a thick silence. A silence as thick and deadly as snow. Then, in a split second, everything unraveled. The glass in Supervillain’s hand shattered and the shards went flying against the wall like arrows. Hero barely dodged the onslaught of glass and right as she was about to lunge across the table, Villain slammed her hands down.

“I’ll go get dessert!” Villain announced. She executed a sharp warning look to Hero, and the other, begrudgingly, sat down.

“I’ll help!” Civilian squeaked, standing up with shaky legs and ambling to get out of the room.

It didn’t matter where. Just anywhere but the dining room.

—

—

Villain shut the kitchen door and leaned again the wall, her hands over her face. “Did any glass cut you?”

“No.” Civilian shook her head, hands shaking at her sides.

Superpowers.

She had seen superpowers in person and the only thing she could think about was how easy it’d be for anybody in that room to kill her.

Breathing out, she shook her hands by her sides and tried to blink away tears.

Villain exhaled, removing her hands from her face and walking to the freezer. She set a tub of ice cream on the counter. “Well, my mother hadn’t killed you yet so tonight hasn’t been horrible.”

“Villain?” Civilian asked.

“What?”

“What are your intentions with me?”

Villain turned slowly, an eyebrow raised. “Are you implying something?”

Flushing, Civilian looked down, but she tried to unbury a scrap of resolve. “Hero was talking about…you two, and then your mom was talking about it more and asking about my intentions. She thinks we’re doing what you do with Hero, and I want to know if that’s what you want from me.” Her head spun in circles, a tornado of thoughts tearing apart everything in her mind.

If that’s what Villain wanted…Civilian didn’t know what to do.

She was hardly in a place to say no. Did she really have a choice as long as she was trapped?

“Civilian,” Villain began, opening the lid. “My intention is to keep you alive. If you want anything like that, I wouldn't say no, but I don’t think that’s what you want and I’m not seeking that from you.”

Civilian breathed out. “Okay.”

“We’re okay?”

“I don’t know.” She admitted.

“I enjoy your company.” Villain gently tilted Civilian’s head up, a shaky smile on her face. “Look, I know that I’m bad, and you have every reason to be terrified, but I don’t want this to be harder for you than it already is.”

“So why am I here? At dinner?” Civilian murmured.

“Because my mother will always know if there’s an imperfection.” Villain replied. “If I don’t convince her that I’m not making a mistake then not only are you dead, but Hero’s dead too.”

Her eyes met Civilian’s evenly, and for a rare moment Civilian felt that she was back in a time where the power dynamic between them wasn’t so skewed.

“What about you?” Civilian questioned.

“Doesn’t matter.” Villain shook her head, pushing back loose strands of hair before letting go and turning around. “Here. You can eat alone in here.”

Without another word, she left the room with the bowls.

Civilian slumped against the wall and stared at her dessert.

@doublericenobeans @deathbread1

#civilian x villain #hero x villain #hero x villain x civilian #captivity #captive whumpee #writers block is killing me #lesbian #wlw

[absolutebl]

BLs That Feature a (failed) One Night Stand

Bed Friend

My Lascivious Boss

Moonlight Chicken

Love Mechanics (both)

Between Us

Nation’s Brother 

Big Dragon

Love in the Air

609 Bedtime Story

Unforgotten Night

Check Out 

 Fahlanruk

Unforgotten Night

Hit Bite Love

Be Mine Superstar (side couple)

Tried to list by best at the top (personal preferences, of course). 

There is Taiwanese stuff (mostly short) and Japanese stuff (mostly dark). 

Notice there is no KBL? This is my shocked face.

This post as of April 2023, not responsible of BLs that fit this criteria after that date. But feel free to leave a comment or repost with more additions.

(source)

#in response to a recent ask #one night stand #bls that feature one night stands #new trop #modern af #thai bl #vietnamese bl #Love Mechanics #My Lascivious Boss #Bed Friend #Moonlight Chicken #Between Us #Nation’s Brother

[nasuversekinkmeme]

Weekly Roundup: prompts

Mahoyo

Alice reluctantly enters a political marriage with May Riddell Archelot when funds begin to run low and Riddell tries to prevent getting married off to an unwanted suitor. She and Riddell have to keep up the facade of a romantic relationship to keep up their mutual goals despite their mutual dislike and find those feelings slowly becoming more real.

Kara no Kyoukai

With the knowledge that Mikiya is the Ryougi family accountant now, please some boss/employee role play between Shiki/Mikiya

Tsukihime

Melty Blood

Considering (as far as I'm aware) we never see it in canon, a fic about Sion and Satsuki meeting and forming the Back Alley Alliance would be cool

Fate/Prototype

Alternate Ending for Fragments: Elza adopts Ayaka, Misaya and Aro, all are a family of choice, Manaka can stay in hell.

Fate/Stay Night

Artoria has an insane head game. Lancelot knows. He kinda wishes he didn’t, but he does.

Sexual assault tw, “Considering they’re the result of my being raped by fraud by own sister and we then fucking killed each other, I’m think I’m being remarkably civil.”

Smut, okay. what if like due to a long time being incarnate and maintaining a less active lifestyle, rider medusa has definitely gained some weight in particular, her already voluptuous body has gained some truly lewd proportions in her fat ass and thick thighs. and sakura is very, VERY appreciative of this. rider is somewhat embarrassed but certainly enjoying the attention from sakura. sakura/rider, lots of ass worship and lascivious description of rider's big, round, plump behind

Fate/Zero

I would love to read about genderbent Kariya Matou. I think her motives would be the same, but her interactions with the rest of the cast would be different. Her anger about the treatment of Sakura and resentment towards Zouken/Tokiomi would come from a place of how how Magi treat women in their family. It would also be nice to see Berserker Lancelot break from his madness to treat her nicely. (Worms may or may not be included).

Prisma Illya

Gorgon install shirou during heaven's feel. well it's gonna be impossible for dark sakura to do any kind of damage to him while he's currently over 20 stories tall. and to make things worse for rin , shirou's been getting some intrusive thoughts from gorgon herself ; and said intrusive thoughts can be summed up as "just eat those red idiots for mana" and "why not just crush that brat & run off with artoria?"

Fate/Extra

Gawain is living it up as a swingin’ bachelor…until Dame Ragnell gets summoned. Then he hard switches to “happily married man” and somehow get’s laid MORE. This confuses the hell out of everyone who 1. Doesn’t know them personally, or 2. Never read the story of how they got together, since Ragnell appears ugly as sin (and is at best curt) to anyone she doesn’t completely trust. Loophole; she’s never heard of Barghest, but being “Gawain” she counts and can see past the illusion. Reaction up to u.

Fate/Apocrypha

Smut, Astolfo being the world’s biggest switch and loving every minute of it. One minute they’re being pegged in a ball gag, the next they’re reaming out an ass write their foot on someone’s head.

FGO

so Chloe's whole... thing... is "justified" in-universe as she needs magic to stay stable, so she gets it by doing... that. Ergo, I want to see something where she's summoned in Chaldea and thus hooked up to a stable magic supply, so she doesn't have to do that anymore and gets to actually Process and maybe just Be A Kid instead.

Smut, You know, Mash is horny on main for her queen, nothing special about it. So when they're on the beach and Morgan asks her a little help to put sunscreen on her shoulders, Mash tries. She really really really tries not to think anything dirty but she can't help since she's touching so casually MORGAN'S BARE SKIN AND IT'S SO SOFT AND SMOOTH AND – “Thank you, my knight.” “Oh god please I need you in my pants right now.”

Sitonai is in the Body of Illya as we know, her profile indicating a good relationship with Shirou that is most likely from either the Fate or Heavens Feel route. Archer is a Shirou from a timeline similar to the route where he and Saber bond never developed to the point as the true Fate route, and among all shirous in chaldea he has the best relationship with Illya, given they lived together. All that is to say: Fate Grand Order: Illya Route, i need it pleass

Ishtar doing her best to find a way to cure or suppress Barghest’s curse…for selfish, horny reasons. Barghest is actually right in the overlap point of Ishtar and Rin’s strike zones: adorkable, eager to please, built like a brick supermodel, hung like a bear. It’s just that neither of them are into guro.

Summer Yu Mei Ren and Cu form a deep, entirely platonic bond over shared interests (read: killing things with cursed spears/camping), and Ritsuka has to reassure her that no, having a male friend is not the same thing as cheating on her husband.

Smut, Oberon and Jalter fuck. Everyone calls it the whitest boning anyone's ever seen

Smut, Melusine gets lovingly railed beach side by a group of girls, some have dicks, some don't, all that matters is that Melusine is getting the loving she deserves

Smut, I want to see Medb getting lovingly impregnated by the reader.

Gudako: *sees summer Lancelot's FA* Gudako: *turns to Mash* Gudako: "I'm sorry Mash but I have to fuck your dad"

morgan castoria or oberon get stuck watching a live action 10000000 page slow burn mutual pining fic set in novum chaldea and possibly have to restrain themselves from just going up and telling the two idiots whoever they are that their feelings are fucking mutual moron i can see it with my faerie eyes please just get together so i can live my life without reading your mind as you wax rhapsodic about this bitch's smile and sulk because you think they dont like you

Smut, Gawain/Barghest smut with Gawain fighting for his life to not get eaten for as long as he can while motorboating Baggie’s giant boobs

loli tw, One more inspired by cleaning up old Interludes: in David’s, he confirms he’s “a lure for giants.” Let’s see how this legendary horndog handles being simultaneously pursued by Gorgon, Kingprotea and Bunyan. (He would pick Kingprotea, like a sane person, if he had any choice. Gorgon is involved. He does not have any choice.)

Smut, Guda finally gets used to the fairy eyes Morgan Castoria and Oberon have, proceeds to start using it to telepathically dirty talk

i feel like everyone missed that cnoc/knocknarea and castoria had their fateful first meeting when castoria was 11 years old, i want something about this... i feel its very funny that cnoc basically decided her rival/girlcrush/best friend would be this weird little girl

Smut, unsanitary, Castoria discovering 1) what human periods are and 2) that she has a huge fucking kink for drinking period blood.

Smut, I think that somebody should fuck Goredolf. I don't care who and I don't care how, but it should be done lovingly. The man deserves it, goddammit!

Smut, Gilgamesh fucks Koshyanka up the ass. She then manifests a strap-on that’s also a gun and returns the favor. Somehow, Gil is still topping the second time.

Castoria and Caster Gilgamesh hook up impulsively and click together shockingly well, so they actually start a serious relationship. They keep it secret from everyone primarily because CasGil knows his Archer self would use it as an excuse to harass Saber again, and that would likely domino into disaster. Castoria is sick to the teeth of lying though, and Gil doesn’t like it either; they’re both REALLY good at it, but it still sucks. How will they cope? Will it all end in tears?

Smut, Yakudou trio fucking around engaging in Looney tunes hijinks leading into actual fucking

Shuten reviews various types of alcohol from all over the world.

Nursery Rhyme and Oberon have a discussion about the nature of stories and whether they truly are for the reader or not They don't have to agree, but just… something about the two living stories interacting feels… right. bonus points if, while they cant stand each other they still seem to value each other because of their natures as Living stories.

It's clear that the stress of everyday life is getting to Ritsuka (sleep deprivation, stressed all the time, depressed half the time as well). So some of their closest servants (who is up to the author) barge into Goredolf's room and demand "GIVE MASTER A BREAK!!".

Smut, MORGAN EDGING MASH PROMPT NOW?

After summoning the Fae of the Round and being asked to give an oral summary of the events of LB6, Guda simply responds with "Fuck Aurora". Without thinking, Melusine shouts "I TRIED DAMN IT" before realizing what she said. What happens next is up to the author but something comedic would be very appreciated.

Paracelsus' potion has an accidental side effect - effect is totally up to the author!

Kadoc, Mash, and Yu Meiren hang out, as the three (debatably) surviving members of Team A currently working for Novum Chaldea.

Gudao constantly lies to everyone around Chaldea, lies about how willing he is to work with evil servants, lies about liking the more annoying servants, etc. all to make sure that Chaldea is kept running. When they finally summon Castoria, they take it as an excuse to tell the truth about how they feel because they know there’s no point in lying to her.

Gudako has weird dreams, thats just how it goes. But lately her dreams have become much weirder, she can't remember much of it, but in them she seems to be talking to someone and recounting some sort of story, she can make out some characteristics, such as orange hair and light skin, but sometimes it seems like they have white hair and dark skin, but no matter what she can never remember their face, or their voice or even what they say, it feels like that person didn't exist and the dream itself is an illusion. So one day she asks da vinci to use one of her inventions to look inside her mind and see whats happening

Smut, Completely heterosexual smut involving Mordred and Hyde. ... I never said it was CIS smut, though - Mordred is a trans man and Hyde is a trans woman.

Concept: Morgan and Aesc(Tonelico?) Kick start Mash's new Saberface Harem. Platonic or smutty doesn't matter.

Guda actually became a beast of humanity awhile ago but it's only come up just now

King Hassan receives head Interpret it however you want

it is revealed via faerie eyes that the seemingly all loving endlessly patient master of chaldea CAN hate but its almost entirely focused towards columbus

Gudako, typically the giver of headpats, now gets to be received headpats for the first time.

the newest summer singularity is going to the beach that makes you old

fran 🤝Baobhan Sith having a younger version of your parent get summoned ,and holy fuck are they dorky.

#weekly roundup

[zaceouiswriting]

The first taste of disobedience

Characters: Nolan Holloway x male reader, Theo Raeken, Gabe

Universe: Teen Wolf

Warnings: None

Opening the glass door an immense odor of sweet, coffee engulfed my body, together with the warmth of the inside of the shop. Quickly closed the door behind, so none of the warmth could get out of the shop.

The nice christmasly decorated little coffee shop brought many happy memories back. Even though the staff was completely changed out, it still had the same vibe to it, like five years ago, working in it. Knowing the owner, nothing major would’ve changed since then.

As the worker came into view, that was the moment, in which it was obvious that nothing had changed. All three guys working that day wore Santa hats. The tallest of them, was a rather moody young guy, with olive skin and a handsome face, with a sharp jawline and intimating brown eyes. Even though his mood was not in the Christmas spirit, he still looked good in the costume his boss was making him wear.

On the other hand was the smallest of the three, roundabout one hundred and seventy-five centimeters, close to average height. He was well built, the muscles already bulging out of every centimeter of his costume, which was almost painted on his skin. His hat was slightly pulled back, showing his perfectly styled brown hair. Warm hazelnut brown eyes and a cocky smile on his lips.

In contrast to both of them, stood the third guy working. Obviously anxious about every interaction doesn’t matter how small. Shy, cute with a freckled face, light blue eyes, shimmering like a clear sky.

Neither of them had seen that some new came in to order, too preoccupied with their own conversation.

But as they did, even the moody guys intimidating eyes glowed up. A confident smile appeared on his face.

My feet carried me over to the counter, where all three, except for the timid guy stood and waited. Seeing the tallest and smallest of the three, undressed me with their eyes. I couldn't blame them, if I were in their place I would do the same. Only the third guy, almost hiding in the corner did something else. He looked away from me, which immediately caught my interest.

Ignoring handsome one and handsome two, I strived over to him, standing right in front of him on the other side of the counter, until he finally looked back at me. His cheeks flushed red and even the tip of his ears was bright red.

„Wha- What can I get for you si- sir.“ Calling me “Sir“, was obviously the hardest thing for him to say.

„Could you get me a caramel latte macchiato, just as sweet as you?“

The red flush on his cheeks, darkened in an instant. „I don't think, I am that sweet, sir. Anything else?“, he asked already wanting to die.

„I’m sure you taste just as sweet, maybe even sweeter.“ A dirty smirk was evident, licking your lips lascivious in full view of him and his colleagues, just as your eyes wandered up and down his toned body. 

„Your name… sir?“

„Oh, right,“ for a moment my cocky attitude vanished, to look at him out of big puppy eyes, nobody could ever say “No“ to. „N- U- M- B- E-R.“

„What?“, he inquired confused. „Oh yes, sorry, I forget the question mark.“

At this point, he was flustered over all repairs. His face was so red, that he could’ve gone through as Rudolf’s red nose.

His colleagues stood there stunned, at your move. They most likely have looked at this freckled beauty as an innocent wallflower.

As I walked away, to wait on my coffee at one of the seating places, I could hear his colleagues asking him questions, some of them made you almost laugh out loud. But you could hold it back, just in time. Disguised as a cough, not uncommon in the winter season.

A couple of minutes later, the shy guy, stepped up at the counter again, ready to call out to me, but I was quicker. Stood up and walked up to him. Up until this point, his cheeks were normal again, until we locked eyes once again, where his flushed cheeks flared up again.

„Thank you handsome.“

Just as he wanted to say something back, I suddenly grabbed after his uniform, pulling him a bit over the counter. My mouth was close to his ear, sending a shiver over his delicate skin. With my left hand, I caressed his arm up and down, feeling the goosebumps I was able to give him.

I whispered into his ear, something that made the poor guy gasp in shock. Both other guys just looked curious and even a bit jealous of us two. As I let go of him again, I winked at the other two, grabbed my coffee, and left.

For the entire rest of the day, I haven’t gotten a single message or anything. Even though I understood, it still hurt a bit.

In the evening, just after I left work and came across the cafe from the morning again, I saw someone inside I knew all too well. Opening the door as silently as possible, I was able to sneak behind that person, motioning to the two guys that had seen me to not say anything.

As she was in the midst of a sentence, I embraced my grandmother from behind, which only resulted in a loud squeak from her. But after she saw that it was just me, she slapped my upper arm, chuckling to herself, before pulling me back in a hug. „Stupid boy! I missed you!“

„I missed you too grandma. But don’t worry, we will see each other more often from now on!“, I proudly told her. Her questioning glance was everything I needed to see, but I still waited on the freckled handsome boy from before.

Not long after he came from the back, his apron and Santa hat put away.

„Ohhh, where is your hat? You looked so cute with it!“, I called excitedly out to him. Shocked, he froze in his steps, not even looking into my eyes. Instead of waiting on another reaction from him, I just walked over, grabbed his arm, and pulled him into my mine. The heat from his cheeks was enough to make me smile again. „Come on, a little kiss?“  He was just able to shake his head.

Before anyone could intervene, I grabbed the side of his face, forcing him to look me in the eyes. „Naughty little boy, do I need to punish you?“ Voice lowered, seductively whispering right at him.

„N-No, sir!“ He brought out all the energy he had left. I was already feeling his knees getting wobbly alone at my touch.

As I slowly leaned down, capturing his sinful lips in a short kiss. The moment we separated again, I could feel three pairs of eyes on me.

„What?“, I asked them confused.

„What is happening?“, one of the other guys wanted to know.

„Guys? This is my boyfriend I told you about,“ he shyly told his colleagues or maybe even friends? I had no idea.

„This guy?“ The other one asked astonished.

„Yeah I know, little Nolan is way too good for me. But we can meet another time. Now I have to put my little baby boy, back into his place, before he feels too comfortable disobeying me.“ Without another word, I threw Nolan over my shoulder and began to walk out, just to stop directly in front of the doors, turning slightly around, once again, „I hope its okay, that I will preoccupy your employee for a day or two. I don't think he will be able to walk at least for a few days. Thanks, grandma!“

Leaving the place, with my grandmother and her other two employees disgusted, curious and flabbergasted, was just enough to punish Nolan even further, when he would come wobbling back into work in a few days. But for now, I will have fun, with the looks of all the other people, seeing me carrying him around the city. 

Masterlist

#teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf x male reader #male reader #x male reader #male reader imagine #x male reader imagine #nolan holloway x male reader #Nolan Holloway #Nolan Holloway imagine #theo raeken #Gabe

[the-rodent-gentleman]

The Prince of Wrath

OK, I need to get this off my chest or else I’ll go berserk.

Ever since Asmodeus showed up in episode 7 of Helluva Boss in all his sexy glory, my mind has been bursting with headcanons about the other Princes of Hell (aside from Lucifer), one in particular.

The big, bad head of Wrath himself: Satan.

Perhaps it has to do with how his app we see in that same episode implies he’s big and muscly, or how all the details we have of Wrath’s environment and residents give glimpses into his personality and values?

In any case, big thanks to the person behind this post about their own headcanons about the Big Red D himself. It really got me inspired to do some of my own cuz, oh Lord, do I!

Speaking of the aforementioned post, its ultimate conclusion is that Satan is a warmongering, bloodthirsty god-tyrant who demands maximum savagery from his subjects and revels in the spectacle of violence itself.

Honestly, given all of the context the show’s given us so far, this take makes absolute sense. I can totally see Vivziepop’s Satan being a cross between DC’s Mongul and Bleach’s Kenpachi, championing violence and bloodshed by upholding conflict while constantly on the hunt for worthy opponents himself. Any self-respecting imp would want to worship such a figure.

If I may, though, might I suggest an alternate interpretation?

A very lengthy alternate interpretation?

Appearance

First off, Satan will be jacked.

I think we can all agree on this.

Unless Vivzie pulls a MuscleBob Buffpants by giving us a Satan that’s actually a weakling (an epically hilarious thought), it’s safe to assume the Big Red D is built like a shit brickhouse. 

And thicc. No joke. You’d be amazed at all the real-world art that depicts this guy with cake.

After all, he’s the king of Wrath itself which means he’d have to be sporting God knows how many pounds of raw muscle beneath his clothes as each step of his massive cloven hooves shakes the very land like an earthquake. Like Asmodeus, he would tower over his followers, his height a constant reminder of his power and authority.

As for his attire, given the Wild West/country-style aesthetics of his respective Ring, it’s safe to assume Satan will have a cowboy theme going on too, just like how Asmodeus has his whole slutty showman schtick to match the flashy lascivious clubs in Lust.

Gotta be on brand, ya know? 

That said, being the leader of a such a war-driven group means he’d have to do more than dress like a simple cowboy. His looks would have to scream something that fully encapsulates him as not only a figure of worship and authority but also of chaos.

Now depicting him like a sheriff makes sense initially since that’s a position of power, except sheriffs back then only got jurisdiction over small areas - and the Ring of Wrath is assumedly anything but small. Plus again, chaos.

By that logic, making him a mayor also only works to an extent since this is a higher position, but the problem here is that it implies a certain level of detachment from the action. A big no-no for the ruler of war.

In short, neither job fully captures the feel of someone large and in charge of a land where power is the end all, be all, let alone someone who is the undisputed king of letting loose and wrecking massive shit.

Hence why I suggest a third option: gang leader. 

Think about it. With all the wars and fighting Wrath’s denizens do, it makes sense to envision all of them as part of a widespread band of outlaws, further adding to the contempt towards imps like Moxxie or perhaps even Blitzo who go against the grain. 

Depicting Satan this way would best capture the sense of worship offered to him by the imps, what with the sense of loyalty and all, while also sticking to the authority he has over Wrath. Plus, I can see him riding around the deserts on his own massive steed to survey his subjects to insure nobody’s getting ideas of overthrowing him (not that he wouldn’t welcome any bastards naïve enough to try).

Side note: it’d be sick if the ‘face’ we see in his exercise app turned out to be based on a mask he wears. Would really tie into his theme of putting up a tough front, which I’ll get to in a bit.

Of course, being the embodiment of a sin, Satan would have to be more akin to a gang leader god, one whose sheer strength could level an entire mountain range in seconds while his unmatchable marksmanship is the stuff of legends. A literal force of nature few would dare to question, never mind challenge.

A true undeniable king.

Except it might not be as clear-cut as that.

Backstory

One thing Helluva Boss has been consistent in is its inversion of tropes, or at least mild tweaking. Look at how Asmodeus interacts with Fizzaroli as Moxxie and Millie leave the stage in Episode 7, for example.

If we can expect hidden depths like this to be a trend for the other Sins, there’s no sure telling the kinds of nuance Vivzie and her crew could implement. After all, Hell (and Heaven for that matter) in this universe has more going on beneath the surface than appearances suggest.

And that makes sense. Lucifer, Satan, Asmodeus: all the Seven Sins were somebody else before they fell. The mere fact they’re rulers of Hell now doesn’t negate certain aspects that persisted after their descent.

Then who was Satan once upon a time? What name could he have bore before becoming the Prince of Wrath?

Though the answers differ wildly across sources, one grips my imagination the hardest (mostly due to me having a certain game series on the brain).

Satanael. 

God’s former enforcer and executioner. An angel of justice and fairness and, most importantly, divine retribution. The one who rebelled against a false God (perhaps an angel other than Lucifer hoping to overthrow the true Supreme Being) on behalf of humanity’s freedom.

Only for humanity to disregard said freedom in favor of blissful ignorance and mindless content, leaving the one who championed them not only disillusioned but embittered. Deeply so.

So much in fact that while he never fully lost his sense of justice after falling, he had done a complete full-reverse in his mentality regarding it, going from Right Makes Might to Might Makes Right.

In other words, you can only achieve the justice you seek as long as you have the power to do so. Otherwise, you best as hell either get out of dodge or brace yourself to get trampled.

Given the culture of the Wrath Ring, said ‘power’ is commonly taken to mean ‘physical strength’, although if Moxxie and Blitzo are any indication, imps have been exploring other avenues of strength as well (though perhaps not always with justice in mind necessarily).

Again, fitting with the Wild West theme since a good number of gunslingers in history originally came from law-abiding backgrounds while others tried to go the straight and narrow after leaving behind their criminal lifestyle - to no avail of course.

On the topic of law-abiding, someone that powerful and with experience in law enforcement would be indispensable to Lucifer as the big boss himself would need some way to maintain control over all of Hell, let alone defend it. Perhaps a second-in-command? 

Which would strike me as odd considering someone like Satan would wind up ruling over imps, who rank at the absolute bottom of Hell’s hierarchy alongside hellhounds. On the one hand, you could argue this works just fine for the big guy as he has a perfectly dispensable army at his disposal.

If he couldn’t care less about his imps.

But - and humor me on this - what if he did?

If so, then surely he’d do more to better imps’ social status in Hell (even if only for the sake of his own pride), except that would entail invoking a total rehash of the hierarchy, which would require him to defy not just Lucifer who stands at the very top but the other Princes as well.

And he can’t risk depriving imps of their idol if he were to die in the attempt, let alone worsening their already god-awful reputation. After all, history would simply see a rebellion led by him as a grab for power, nothing more.

Then it hits him: who needs power most?

The weak, the feeble, the downtrodden and frustrated. The ones constantly put down for no reason other than enforcement of the social quo.

Because that’s how change and justice mean something in the first place, by starting from the bottom up. By imps along with any low-level demons who may follow rising up and putting pressure on or even uprooting the higher-ups to enact proper change.

And how do they achieve this? With the proper resources and connections, with the right tools and information. Perhaps even from some secret allies, one which happens to be a certain devil.

Yeah, the big bad Satan himself backing an imp rebellion from behind the scenes.

After all, what’s better than seeing your followers achieve their own justice? (Unless they’re like, say, Striker who’s only in it for his own personal gain. In fact, it’d interesting to discover Satan would find such a motivation disgusting.)

Personality:

As for his actual character, while we’ve already covered most of his general beliefs, there’s still plenty to extrapolate about him. 

Being the Prince of Wrath in conjunction with his possible backstory, it’d be natural to assume he’s masculinity incarnate, boasting an air of swaggering confidence and dominance wherever he goes.

By that same token, he would take immense pride in his physical prowess, hence why he goes great lengths to maintain his chiseled physique, not only in strength but also in stamina, flexibility, and other bodily attributes. 

In short, he’s a gym rat. A very, very big gym rat.

Furthermore, as he’s head of Hell’s military forces, he also takes care in maintaining his combat capabilities, including marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat. This way he’s always ready for a scrap, no matter the scale or opponent.

As a result, while he could come off as arrogant and aloof (and for good reason), Satan is actually very vigilant and dedicated to his job, a job so important to Hell’s stability that he imposes high (albeit somewhat narrow-minded) standards on not only himself but also his imps and to an extent others in terms of battlefield performance. 

To that end, he highly values self-sufficiency as much as he does loyalty and obedience as he can’t be around to baby every single person. He’s a ruler and a commander, not a babysitter. This can also make him very unforgiving to anyone he deems a failure or weakling since, again, he has no time to coddle fools who refuse to grow spines.

Just because he might care about his imps doesn’t mean he won’t show them tough love.

On the other hand, if you are someone who succeeds in meeting his standards, expect nothing short of the utmost respect. For an imp, it’d be like finally getting the approval of a super-strict and highly accomplished father...except now they would have the immense pressure of keeping their self worthy of said approval. Yikes.

If you’re someone who can actually match him in skill and power, however, that’s when things get truly interesting.

While the canon could depict him as a scoundrel who will do anything to win, it’d be interesting if it showed him having a twisted code of honor instead. Going back to my theorized backstory for him, for Satan it’s not enough to merely win. You have to win for the sake of your ideals, prove you have what it takes to see your beliefs through no matter who stands in your way.

Perhaps in a way this could be how he secretly assures to himself that his former angelic self might have been right all along, that standing up for others isn’t weak or foolish.

That said, he could still be a massive dick. For one, he’d be above asking anyone for help because why would he, the Sin directly behind Lucifer in terms of power and authority, ever need someone’s help? He’s the one people rely on, not the other way around!

Same with showing emotion - or rather any emotion that isn’t some degree of rage, hate, joy from combat, or even just casual grumpiness. In fact, if he were to have neuroses similar to what I’ve been listing, he’d likely have a complex about seeming weak or needy, perhaps even resorting to cruel quips if he so much as thinks someone suspects those of him.

At least out in public. Behind closed doors, he could turn out to be an absolute teddy bear who has all sorts of ‘feminine’ hobbies like gardening and knitting that he wouldn’t dare reveal to anyone he isn’t close to. 

Plus, he could be utterly touch-deprived and desperate for even the smallest drop of affection since being the Ruler of Wrath doesn’t seem like the kind of position where you can afford to come off as mushy.

In fact, it’d be interesting if Asmodeus weren’t the only one with a secret little relationship on the side for this very reason.

Relationships:

Speaking of relationships, it’d be both hilarious and highly ironic if Satan, the embodiment of Wrath itself, were the voice of reason among the Seven Sins. 

I mean Lucifer would have to keep someone so powerful close by for more than one reason, and anyone in charge of the military forces for Hell has to be able to keep a cool head. Somebody capable of both sheer strength and complex strategy is far more intimidating than a mere brute, after all.

Granted, we may not know the personalities of the other rulers yet but if Ozzie is any indication, we can expect them to be a colorful bunch, so it’d make sense for at least somebody among them to be the levelheaded one. Honestly, I could easily see such a Satan often having to reign in the antics of Asmodeus - and possibly Leviathan too if the theatre mask app is any indication (dramatic ass sea monster king when, Vivzie?).

Basically this GIF in a nutshell.

Now while I’ve already gone in depth about how Satan might be towards his imps, it’s still worth noting that he did not deign to show up during the Harvest Moon Festival in Episode 5. Perhaps he thinks himself too above such an event or maybe he has too much on his plate to waste the time - maybe both.

In any case, there could be some level of affection Satan holds for his imps but at the end of the day he is still their leader and them his followers.

That said, I feel if he did care about his people, he might in turn have some level of contempt towards Sinners since even they rank higher than imps and hellborn in general on Hell’s hierarchy. 

As for how he could view Heaven and its denizens, the Archangels in particular, well that would be plunging deep into headcanon territory (well deeper) and this post is long enough as is, so I think I’ll wrap things up right here.

Thanks for reading!

#satan #helluva boss satan #hazbin hotel satan #wrath ring #prince of wrath #theory #analysis #No this wasn't me trying to flesh out my version of Satan #what do you mean? #long post

[hariolor]

Bloodshed gives way to more bloodshed. Hatred breeds more hatred. Until all of the violence soaks into the land, carving rivers of blood & no matter how many times it happens, they never learn. Humans are made up of violent, miserable fools. --- LUST THE LASCIVIOUS.

I NO LONGER USE MY UNEDITED ANIME ICONS AT THE MOMENT, SO HERE ARE THE UNEDITED ANIME ICONS OF LUST FOR FREE USE FROM FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST: BROTHERHOOD! CREDIT IS NOT REQUIRED, BUT IS WELCOMED!

MY PERSONAL BLOG : @birb-of-hermes MY OTHER BLOGS : @groazei & @liracondo & @huntiburon MAINS : tba EXCLUSIVES : tba AFFILIATES : tba

WARNING : Lust is a villain and will act how she sees & deems fit. She kills with no hesitation & she lacks empathy while also being powerful enough that she continues to live through the decades in disclosure. However, if lust dislikes / distances herself from someone it is not me, lust is simply a muse that is lethal as she is silent.

NOTICE : Activity on my blogs go down much lower during Tuesdays and Thursdays since those are the days my fiancé has off. Expect radio silence during those days!

DISCLAIMER BENEATH READ MORE ;

UPDATED 04 - 15 - 2024

BASIC.

Be aware that there are extreme triggers such as gore, blood, death idealization, religious themes, blasphemy, sexual themes, and mentions of abuse.

Lust is not kind and can appear callous. That does not mean that the mun feels the same way!

She is strong and the second-oldest homunculus in Father's creation, while she died soon in canon she still played a strong role. Do not undermine her.

ROLEPLAY.

I solely interact and write with my mutuals. I ask you all do not send me anything if we are not mutuals. I will block you.

While Lust’s nature is dark and cruel, there are some topics I refuse to write, and those are: Rape / DubCon / Child Abuse / Child Sexual Abuse / Sexual Abuse.

I will not and never will I write with the n/azis characters as a whole. As a POC, it's horrible to see that and the horrors that came with this inspiration. I will block all n/azi characters on sight.

Long or short role plays are fine. I really am open to either or.

You may continue an ask I have answered if you want, no need to ask me!

I lightly edit my threads, but if you have any trouble reading my reply, do not hesitate to let me know, and I will fix it up.

SHIPPING.

I am selective multiship.

I solely ship with people I know or am comfortable with. Do not force ship.

Lust is demiromantic. It would take time for someone to win her heart, so please have patience. So any bond with them will be hard to build up in some way or another. Just give her time.

I can tell when people follow me solely to ship with Lust and if you continue, I will simply block you.

I do write smut on the dash and discord, but that is solely for close mutuals I am comfortable with.

I only ship and smut with those of legal age.

EXTRA.

While I do not like Hazbin Hotel / Helluva Boss, I will no longer hold it against multimuses that have muses from said series; I simply will not interact with muses from the series and strictly stay to your other fandom muses for my comfort.

I got diagnosed with epilepsy and would highly appreciate it if you can tag anything flashy or straining to the eyes for me. I blacklist the words “epilepsy / epilepsy warning / flashy” so any of these are fine!

DNI if you interact heavily with theworldio / bigveee or any of Finn’s blogs. I do not want to see him on my dash. Failure to follow this specific rule will result in blocking.

OUT OF CHARACTER.

Hello! My name is Jovis, but Jovi or Nana works too. I use they / them pronouns, since I am genderfluid.

I am thirty years old. If this makes you uncomfortable, you are more than welcomed to block me. I want your comfort out of all things

English is not my mother tongue; I am Mexican and can mess up here and there with writing. I don’t mind my role playing partners correcting anything on my behalf and welcome it!

I am considered disabled as I have several mental health and physical health issues. I ask you all have patience with me on slow days and to understand that I mean no harm by going silent at times

Have fun and hope to interact soon!

#♥. out of character. ➤ bird of hermes.

[definegodliness]

Does it ever bother you that writers whose writing ain't that good gets loads of notes here but talented writers like Lorienfae (sorry if I mispelt it) don't get due credit even though they so deserve it?

No, it doesn't bother me. That's just the way it is. It confuses the heck out of me as to why that is the way it is, but I really don't know enough about popular tags, algorithms, and demographic preferences. Let alone catering to them time-zone wise. Social media is a skill, and it is beyond me. The more I get it, the less I want to get it. I prefer poetry.

That being said, I am evidently statistically completely out of touch due to my poetic pet peeves: quotetry, 575 syllabic botch jobs, and diary entry type sentences about how your boss was mean to you today with supposedly aesthetically pleasing line breaks... there are six word (stories, factually) lines... and they all tend to do well, so what do I know? I am a dweeb. I like sonnets and villanelles; fixed versed rhymey-rhyme poetry. Count ten syllables for me, baby. That kind of stuff. I guess, a niche.

Bite-size snack poetry thrives, for whatever reason. And, then, whenever this effortless kind of text posts gets lauded — again, for whatever reason — the poster gets in a 'whatever I write is fantastic'-mode, creating more low effort / high reward bite-size content. It's a vicious cycle.

A celebration of junky-kicked bare-enoughs.

I call it agony.

However, this, albeit confusing, to, at least, me, isn't aggravating, or a cause to feel bothered. Not rousing, unlike my lascivious use of commas. In the end it's just the answer to the question whether you are writing for the notes, or for the art; to hone your skills, or to cultivate an idea of popularity; to seek recognition / critique from your peers, or from the masses. It is writer versus reader. There is no shame in catering to the crowds, if that is your desire.

It's nice to get notes.

[lustfulcat]

Asphyxiation

Dedicated to @the-bloody-sadist, who posted this amazing Yashiro/Doumeki fanart that got my brain WHIRRING  ♥

This is AUish and takes place somewhere in Volume 1.

_____________________

“Boss? You w-want me to…”

“Wrap your hands around my neck and choke me, yes.” Smirking, Yashiro tapped his cigarette into the ashtray with practiced finesse. After a day of running around collecting money, doing actual office work, and attending a very unnecessary meeting with Hirata that included verbal jabs and metaphorical dick swinging, they’d ended up at Yashiro’s apartment for dinner, but Yashiro had a very different meal in mind…something that would spice up the awful sexless day he’d suffered through.

“B-But Boss…” Doumeki’s clear distress was amusing, as usual. It was Doumeki’s job to follow orders and protect Yashiro, but both of those duties were now diametrically opposed.

“I have many kinks, Doumeki, did you think I wouldn’t like asphyxiation?” Yashiro stood, taking a drag off his cigarette as he walked across the room and got into his bodyguard’s space, pushing his face so close that they were practically nose to nose.

“If you don’t want to do it, I can always find someone else.” Smoke billowed across Doumeki’s features, which were lined with confusion and dismay. “I can probably have Ryuuzaki here in fifteen minutes but then you’re going to have to watch.”

“I’ll do it,” Doumeki blurted and Yashiro almost laughed. That was far too easy, like battling around a mouse.

But as the worry left Doumeki’s eyes, replaced with conviction and desire that turned them dark and smoldering, Yashiro felt his mouth go dry.

“Are we doing this now, Boss?”

Yashiro swallowed, forgetting about his cigarette as his cock went full mast.

“Yeah.” Ash fell to the floor along with Yashiro’s coat and tie as he snapped into motion, making his way to the bedroom, sure that Doumeki would follow. “We’re doing it now.”

**********

Naked and erect, Yashiro reclined back on the bed, gesturing at Doumeki.

“Strip.”

Doumeki looked down at himself for a few seconds, almost as if he didn’t remember how to get undressed, and then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

Yashiro didn’t think his mouth could get any drier, or his cock any harder, but as Doumeki showed more and more skin all Yashiro could do was stare. During the last few months of failed blowjobs and touching, Yashiro had felt Doumeki’s muscles under his suit, slept with his head on those strong thighs, but he hadn’t seen his bodyguard naked before. It was a sight to behold, and one he should’ve been taking in from the moment they’d met.

“Boss?” The look on Doumeki’s face told Yashiro that he’d been staring for too long. And that his mouth was open. His teeth clicked as he snapped it shut, and then he tilted his head, giving his bodyguard a lascivious stare.

“Come here.”

With red cheeks and shaking hands, Doumeki gingerly made his way onto the bed. Yashiro thought it was cute; he’d seduced a lot of people but almost all of them were experienced and the few that weren’t had been ready and willing to learn, not hesitant and careful.

Reaching out, Yashiro fluttered his fingers over Doumeki’s flaccid cock. “Not even up for this, huh?”

“I…don’t want to hurt you, Boss.” Doumeki’s eyes were everywhere but on Yashiro, so he had to take the lead. Grabbing at Doumeki’s wrists, Yashiro laid back, forcing Doumeki to hover over him, watching as his tight core and thick legs quivered, even the arms in his grasp trembled.

Placing Doumeki’s large calloused hands on his neck, Yashiro smirked again.

“It doesn’t matter if you hurt me.” He was so turned on; with Doumeki over him, those long fingers curled around his throat, he could feel the difference in their size. “Now, squeeze.”

A few seconds went by. Doumeki looked like he was going to cry but then he seemed to steel himself, and that slightly feral look passed through his gaze again as his hands tightened. Yashiro’s dick leaked in response.

“More,” Yashiro huffed, wondering if Doumeki would get up enough courage to truly choke him. “I can probably still call Ryuuzaki if-”

There was no more air as Doumeki squeezed, a low growl rumbling out of him as he asked, “Like this?” But Yashiro couldn’t answer; suddenly the tide had turned and now he was the one trembling.

“Boss?” How could that one word sound both seductive and concerned? Yashiro had no idea but he wasn’t about to waste this opportunity pondering Doumeki’s tone. Blindly reaching out, he ran a hand up Doumeki’s side, grazing fingertips along the muscles as wheezed, tried to nod, and grabbed his cock. He hoped that Doumeki could read his expression as ‘If you stop, I’ll kill you.’

Thankfully, Doumeki held firm, cutting off Yashiro’s air, and blackness crawled into the edges of Yashiro’s vision as he jerked off, feeling the pressure against his throat, enjoying how Doumeki’s hands lapped over each other, each one almost able to reach completely around. He could feel their strength, the uncoiled ferociousness of the man above him, and enjoyed the way Doumeki’s gaze turned dark, then apprehensive, then dark again. He tried to let out a moan but it was just a garbled sound in his chest as he shook harder, his hand twisting over the head of his dick, pulling as he gasped, his lungs burning, his neck burning, his mind burning, all the pain sending him over the edge just as he started to lose consciousness. Arching in pleasure, he rode the wave, small pinpricks of color exploding in the corners of his sight as wetness spilled over his fingers, dripping onto his stomach.

The world turned cool and light, lifting him back into reality as he realized that Doumeki’s grasp was gone. Air rushed into his lungs. He tried to breathe deeply, coughed, and tried again. Absently, he stroked his neck, wondering if there’d be bruising, if Doumeki had left his mark.

It took him a moment to notice that his bodyguard was staring him down, regret in his eyes.

“Y-You-” Yashiro coughed again, his voice was a husk. “You’re good at that.”

“Boss…are you…are you okay?”

That might be the first time anyone had asked Yashiro if he was okay after sex. Or whatever it was they’d just done. Anyway, it was annoying. He’d managed to wipe away his sour mood and didn’t want it coming back because Doumeki felt guilty. Sparing a quick glance, he double-checked Doumeki’s cock, which hadn’t risen to the occasion. Too bad.

Rolling over, Yashiro reached onto the nightstand for his cigarettes and lit one, though he didn’t take a drag. He didn’t want to have a coughing fit.

“Stop asking me that.” He watched as Doumeki left the bed and started getting dressed, feeling a pang of disappointment once that majestic body wasn’t on display anymore. At some point he’d have to get Doumeki some sexy underwear and have him wear it around the apartment. Or a French maid outfit...it would be even better than the police uniform.

Yashiro’s stomach announced itself with a growl, sidelining all thoughts of dressing up Doumeki and letting Yashiro know that while he’d been looking at a fine slab of beef, he actually hadn’t eaten dinner.

“I’m hungry. Go to the convenience store and get me some pork buns,” Yashiro ordered, his voice still scratchy.

“Yes, Boss.” With a final cursory look, but knowing better than to ask anything, Doumeki left the bedroom. The front door closed a few seconds later and Yashiro got up, walking to the mirror and smiling at his naked reflection.

Long red marks lined his throat, and he knew from experience that they’d blossom into beautiful bruises, dark outlines of Doumeki’s fingers that Yashiro could study and admire. A souvenir of his horny mind and Doumeki’s surprising ability.

For someone who was impotent, Doumeki had a dark side that was fun to poke at. If he ever became a true yakuza: dangerous, dominant, darkly sexual, and with a few scars? Yashiro wouldn’t stand a chance.

#saezuru tori wa habatakanai #yoneda kou #my fanfiction #saezuru fanfic #the-bloody-sadist