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mariana-oconnor · 1 year

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Types of AO3 Summary

Option 1 - The Excerpt:

The quickest, the easiest! Find a section of your fic that contains the main premise of said fic and also showcases your writing. Copy paste that into the summary box. BOOM! Done.

Best used for any fic, unless it's so short the excerpt would be the whole fic.

Option 2 - The No Frills:

Just a description of the fic. No need for drama. No need to complicate matters. Keep it simple, keep it safe.

Example: "A short character exploration of Blorbo's thoughts after Daisy leaves."

Best used for short fics, poems and fics where the style/format is more important than the plot. Or fics that tie directly into a scene/episode from canon or another fanfic.

Option 3 - The Hook:

Draw the reader's interest by giving them a set up with no conclusion. Introduce the main character(s), introduce the status quo, describe an inciting incident, leave a question in the reader's mind.

Example: "Blorbo is a barista at a coffee shop, struggling to pay their bills, but after handsome rockstar Obrolb walks into their coffee shop they find that they have to decide whether a chance at love is worth the cost of fame."

Best used for mid to long fic where there's a strong premise and follow through. Especially good for AUs. Can be expanded for more complex plots or used multiple times in one summary for multiple characters or subplots.

Option 4 - The Sitcom One-Liner:

"The one in which [over simplified description of one of the main plotlines]" This is essentially 'boil your plot down to the very simplest statement you can, oversimplify if possible. The more bizarre or unhelpful the better.

Example: "The one in which Blorbo learns to like cake".

Best used for fics with at least a little humour in them.

Option 5 - The Rule of Three:

Three is a magic number. Find three key moments in your fic and just list them. That's it. Often ends with 'not necessarily in that order' if used for comic effect. If it's an AU, establish that quickly (i.e. 'Star NHL player Blorbo…').

Example: "Blorbo makes a friend, falls in love, and almost burns to death, not necessarily in that order."

Best used for anything, really. Three is a magic number. The human brain loves things that come in threes.

Option 6 - The Trope Lure:

Why bother describing the plot? We all know AO3 readers are here for the tropes. Similar to The Sitcom One-Liner just using tropes instead of plot. Often followed by the phrase 'that nobody asked for'.

Example: "The Space western / A/B/O / Mail Order Bride fic that nobody asked for."

Often tacked on to the end of The Hook or The Excerpt as a tl;dr.

Best used for fic that plays its tropes straight with no shame or second guessing.

Option 7 - The Pre-emptive Strike:

(Not recommended) You just wrote this fic, the self doubt is consuming you. You feel the need to apologise profusely for your existence for no apparently reason. You feel cringe, you think the fic is cringe, you want everyone to know that you think the fic is cringe in case they don't like it and judge you for it.

Example: "So I fell in love with this pairing and had to write this. It's weird and terrible. Lol! I suck at summaries! Sorry!"

Best used for no fics ever. I cannot stress this enough.

(Seriously, I am begging you, don't do this. If you're planning to use this option, rethink it and do one of the others. I guarantee you more people will want to read your fic.)

Sometimes added on to any other summary as a strange disclaimer. (srsly. don't.)

Option 8 - The Unapology:

Embrace the mayhem, embrace the deep dark depths of your soul. The opposite of The Pre-emptive Strike. A combination of The No Frills and The Trope Lure that truly gives no fucks.

You have committed crimes and you are proud of them. You know what your USP is and you're going to make sure your target market finds you. Look upon my works, ye readers, and despair!

Example: "There aren't enough tentacle fics in this pairing, so I had to write one myself!"

Best used for fics with controversial/polarising tropes with all relevant details already clearly stated in the tags.

Option 9 - The Interrogation:

What if you wrote a summary entirely in questions? What if your readers had to read the fic to discover the answers? Who knows what will happen if you do this?

Example: "What happens when Blorbo McBlorbo gets his wish and Daisy doesn't make it to the plane on time? What happens when Obrolb finds out? How will this change Daisy and Blorbo's friendship?"

Best used for... I honestly don't know. This style of summary does not vibe with me. Mystery fic maybe? Sorry guys.

Option 10 - The Multipack:

Got a bunch of shorter fics in one work? No way of summarising them all without a wall of text larger than the Great Wall of China? This one is similar to The No Frills in that you're not describing the plots themselves and similar to The Trope Lure in that often broader genres and tropes are mentioned. What links those fics? Are they all in the same fandom? The same pairing? The same challenge? Just slap that right in the summary. A chapter list with 1-2 word trope/pairing summaries can be included or not.

Example: "A collection of Blorbo/Daisy/Obrolb fics based on Tumblr prompts. Chapter 1: Regency AU Chapter 2: Werewolves vs vampires Chapter 3: Ghost!Daisy Chapter 4: Space pirates!"

Best used for (obviously) works that are compilations of fic.

Option ? - The Void:

I said The Excerpt was the quickest and easiest summary to do. I lied, well... I didn't exactly lie. What is quicker and easier than not having a summary at all? After all, that's what the tags are for.

Example:

Best used for... nothing? Write a summary, guys. Please?

#AO3 #fandom #on writing #clearing out my drafts #long post #Qd #This list is intended for entertainment purposes only #I just came across a lot of fic summaries that followed similar rules #so I decided to post this about it #I'm sure other options are available #If you've ever used number 7 that's not bad of you #But my advice would be to not do that

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waterghostype · 14 days

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volume cw (i tried lowering it but jic. also loud swearing)

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shittybundaskenyer · 4 months

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stranded enemy soldiers during the first contact war au has me in a chokehold. rest is on ao3 because it's a bit spicy :))

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darth-sonny · 2 years

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i've read one too many fics about leo not making it back from the prison dimension

#i highly recommend the fic Until You're Resting Here by marigoldtragedy on ao3 #it's just.........so good #also if yall thought my last disaster twins post was angsty then i introduce you to this one!!!#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #save rottmnt #disaster twins #leonardo hamato #donatello hamato #sonny draws #my art #angst #moon knight au

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doodlewizardry · 10 months

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Have you ever wanted to find your old Ao3 comments? Easily keep track of which (and how many) fics you've commented on? Rediscover a fic that you left a time capsule of a gushing essay on?

Well, you can! And it's simple! (* Note: it only works for comments written after you turn this on.)

Go to your Preferences:

There's a checkbox labelled "Turn off copies of your own comments". This is selected by default. If you deselect it (and save your preferences) then you receive an email for every comment you leave.

But I don't want to get my inbox flooded by Ao3!

Understandable! Luckily, most email clients allow you to set up rules for incoming mail depending on their sender and contents. For instance (using Gmail), I've made it so that these emails skip the inbox, are marked as read, and moved to a label I call my "Comment Collection".

The result? A complete, organised and fully-searchable repository of any comments you leave from this point onwards! Search by fic name, author, date, that one sentence you vividly remember leaving!

I've set up other rules, too, like starring emails that are replies to my comments - I'm always excited to receive them!

I love this system, and I think it's motivated me to leave more comments. I hope that others find it useful too. Happy commenting!

Original preferences trick from this Reddit thread. Tagging @justleaveacommentfest, which motivated me to write this post!

#archive of our own #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #reference #comment comment comment guys! short or long! it's fun for you AND the authors!#i only set this up like three months ago and it's already paying off #for my older reading history i only have the comments that authors have replied to #also i wrote out this post like three times pressed CTRL-Z or something and nuked the entire thing. whoops that's why you use drafts #just leave a comment fest #// tikposting

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edgarallanpoestan · 5 months

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the nature of crimeboys is that one of them will write serious lore on ao3 and the other will write yaoi on wattpad. and i can try to guess which is which, but i will never be sure until i see for myself

#bee buzzes #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #people keep acting like this just shows thw difference between them #guys look me in the eyes and tell you u would be shocked if wilbur suddenly posted gay rpf on wattpad #i wouldnt.#tell me u would be shocked if tommy used ao3 to produce serious lore #i wouldnt #THEY ARE THE FUCKING SAME #tommys chaos does not negate wilburs and this is a hill i will die on

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feyhunter78 · 11 months

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Pink Pastels

Description: Single dad Miguel who replaced himself in a new universe meets his daughter's favorite teacher, you, who just happens to have a shitty boyfriend and doesn't yet know how much the O'Hara family wants you to stick around

Pt 2

I cracked y'all, and I blame TikTok

“Ms. Y/N, watch me, watch me!” Gabi calls, waving her arms in the air to catch your attention.

“I’m watching, go ahead.” You encourage her, smiling brightly when she does a successful cartwheel, her hair spilling from the loose braid one of her classmates had done for her during quiet reading.

You know teachers aren’t supposed to have favorite students, you tell each and every one of your students that you don’t have favorites, that you adore all of them equally. But Gabriella O’Hara holds a special place in your heart.

“Did you see, did you see?” She asks excitedly, running up to you, dark curls tumbling wildly around her shoulders.

You kneel down, and brush the hair back from her face, still smiling brightly. “I did, that was amazing, who taught you that?”

“My dad, he helped me practice.” She says, giving you a toothy grin, one front tooth missing from where she’d knocked it out eating an apple yesterday.

A tear-filled lunch that had been until you reminded her that now the Tooth Fairy would come visit her. The idea of a sparkly fairy leaving her money in exchange for her tooth dried her tears quickly, and soon enough she was proudly showing off her lost tooth (safely contained in a Ziploc bag) to anyone who would listen.

“Well, it seems like your dad is a very good teacher, then.” You say, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze before her friends dragged her back onto the playground.

You stood back up and rejoined the other first grade teachers.

“She’s adorable.” Janey says, nodding at Gabi who was playing tag with a few other girls.

Janey taught in the classroom next to yours. You started teaching at the same time, but she’d been hired at Steve Rodgers Elementary a year before you. Janey was the first friend you made when you got hired, and you soon became close friends inside and outside school.

“She’s so well-behaved, too; I wish I knew who her mom was, so I could thank her.” You say, a slight grimace on your face, when you watched two boys from your class begin to shove each other.

You called out to them, and they stopped, giving you guilty looks before running towards the swing sets.

“There’s no mom, she walked out on Gabi and her father after she was born.” Melissa says, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched her kids.

Melissa was a senior teacher at Rodgers Elementary. A tough love works the best teacher with the confidence of a god, and a nose for gossip like you couldn’t believe.

“Oh, that’s so sad.” You say, your heart hurting for the sweet little girl who always wanted to sit next to you during story time. Gabi had told you about her dad many times, but never mentioned her mom, you just assumed she was away for work often, or that they didn’t have many things in common.

You looked at Gabi, watching as she helped one of her friends tie their shoes. Sitting beside them and patiently demonstrating on her own sneakers. How could anyone walk away from her?

“It is, but her dad…he’s hot, I’ve seen him in the pickup line, he’s like a male model or something.” Melissa says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You gave her an incredulous look. “Melissa! That’s a parent you’re talking about.”

She shrugs. “Hey, I’m married, I’m not gonna do anything, but one of you could.”

Janey turns her head to hide her laughter, and you smack her arm. “Janey, hitting on a child’s parent is wildly inappropriate, besides I have Todd.”

Melissa snorts, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Todd was not a popular man around the school, especially after what he pulled on your birthday.

The bell rings signaling the end of recess and your kids begin to line up, ending your conversation as the three of you are pulled in different directions.

There’s a knock at your door, and you look up from grading papers, to see Janey. “Hey y/n, Gabi’s father is here to see you?”

You shoot her a look of confusion and begin to tidy up your desk, then stand, smoothing out the wrinkles in your baby pink dress. “Oh, yeah, sure, let him in.”

Janey disappears, and the space is filled by a giant of a man. He towers over the desks, making them look even tinier than they already were. His shoulders are massive, his biceps you swear are bigger than your thighs, though you could be exaggerating, but you’re honestly not sure, and when he fixes those dark brown eyes on you, and suddenly the floor beneath you feels unsteady.

“Mr. O’Hara, how can I help you?” You manage to get out, motioning for him to take a seat in front of his desk.

“I’ll stand.” He says curtly. His voice is deep, settling in your bones, the faint whisper of an accent, and confidence behind his words makes you nervous for a moment, then you recognize the feeling, not nerves…something else, something much more inappropriate.

“Oh—okay, is there something you need, is Gabi okay?” You ask, realizing she isn’t in the classroom with him.

“She’s fine, just sitting outside with her book.” He explains, his eyes piercing straight through you.

“Margaret and Margarita, right? Your daughter an exceptional reader, in both English and Spanish, you should be very proud.” You say, giving him a smile, hoping the compliment will soften his expression and make it seem like he didn’t want to murder you.

Melissa was right, Mr. O’Hara was gorgeous. With a strong jawline, high cheekbones, a mess of thick dark hair, and perfectly formed lips, all tapering down to the body of an Adonis, clothed in a white button up that stretched across his broad chest, and black slacks that clung to his muscled legs like it was their job and rent was due next week. But his expression was flat, his eyes cold, his stance rigid.

“Why did you lie to my daughter?” He asks flatly, looking down at you, as if you were a bug on his windshield.

You blink up at him in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be.”

An indignant expression flashed across your face before you could stop it, and you saw Mr. O’Hara’s lip twitch. “I’m not apologizing, I’m asking for clarification.”

“You told Gabi that the Tooth Fairy was going to visit her, I wasn’t going to do the Tooth Fairy , she doesn’t need false hope.” He snaps, leaning forward slightly, towering over you.

The hair on your arms stands up, but you brush it off as a stab of guilt goes through you. He was a single dad, maybe he couldn’t afford such frivolous traditions. “Mr. O’Hara, if this is a financial issue, I am so sorry. I should’ve tried to comfort her another way, my sincerest apologizes.”

“This isn’t a financial issu—comfort her?” He stops midsentence, his brows furrowing.

“She was upset because she lost her teeth, it’s her first one, a ton of kids get a little scared, but the promise of a reward usually clears those tears right up.” You tell him, holding your hands up in a pacifying way as you talk.

His eyes dart down to your hands, then back to your eyes, lingering for a moment on your lips. “I didn’t—Gabi didn’t tell me she was scared.”

“She was probably a little embarrassed. She talks all the time about how brave you are and how she wants to be just like you when she grows up.”

His expression softens.

“I actually—”you turn to rifle through your desk until you find Gabi’s latest assignment—“have something for you.”

He takes the paper from you, and you can’t help but notice how his hands dwarf yours, his tanned skin is scattered with small scars, and his calloused fingertips brush against yours. “What is this?”

“I had the kids draw a picture of their hero and then write a few sentences about why that person is their hero. I think she was one of a few who didn’t draw Spiderman.” You laugh softly.

He cradles the paper and a soft smile spreads across his face as he reads her writing under his breath. “Porque mi papá lucha contra los monstruos en mi armario.”

“I had to look that one up, my Spanish is terrible.” You admit sheepishly, watching as he reads her words over and over again.

“Thank you, for this, and for comforting Gabi.” He says, folding the paper carefully and sliding it in his pocket.

“Of course, I love Gabi, she’s such a pleasure to have in class.”

He looks at you, really looks at you, and you’re struck by how similar he and Gabi are. They have the same nose, the same almost curls that frame their faces, and when he tilts his head ever so slightly to the side you almost burst out laughing. You can’t count how many times you’ve seen Gabi do that exact same thing.

“You know Gabi talks a lot about you, how pretty you are, she was right.” His voice is low, smooth, and sends a jolt through you. Then he takes his leave, with you standing there stunned, wondering what the hell just happened to you.

Eternal Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir

#meg's writing #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #As almost always ao3 saw it first and the second chapter is already posted there!!!!#If you don't want to wait for it to be posted here!#not a request just a thought i had #Miguel’s pastels #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara scenarios

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anto-pops · 10 months

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Beseech Me - Ominis Gaunt x Female! Reader

Summary: Ominis works too much, and your neediness results in you adamantly refusing to go to bed without him. He comes up with a torturous compromise.

Alternatively summarized as Ominis tormenting you while he works until you can't take it anymore. Hot and frantic on-the-desk antics ensue.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, rough sex on a desk, Dominis if you squint

Full fic can be found here on Ao3 as per usual !

“Please, Ominis,” you whined breathlessly, pinching your eyes shut as you fought the urge to writhe in his lap. “Please move– please.”

The man in question only chuckled under his breath, gliding his fingertips lightly up your spine as he maintained his charmed hold on his dictation quill. He made no move to heed your request, instead opting to keep working as if he weren’t buried balls deep inside of your tight heat. When you had asked him to take a break to spend time with you earlier, this was the absolute last thing you had anticipated. The only reason you’d agreed to entertain his idea was because you had convinced yourself that his restraint wouldn’t last– that he would cave and take you on top of the desk in the way you were desperate for him to– but evidently his self-control was unbreakable.

You’d never been proven so wrong in your life. He was clearly deriving some sort of sick, twisted pleasure from toying with you in this manner, and it seemed like the more you begged, the slower his quill moved across the parchment. At this rate, you were certain you would be forced to sit on his cock until dawn.

“You’re hardly in any position to be telling me what to do,” his warm breath ghosted over your neck, the barely there feeling of his lips against your skin making your head spin with arousal. “You were the one who couldn’t wait until I finished my work. Besides, I think this is a perfectly reasonable compromise.”

Swallowing thickly, you dug your nails into his clothed shoulders in a bid to keep yourself still. The urge to rock down into his lap was insatiable, but you already knew that doing so would set you back irritatingly further.

“Don’t move, or you won’t get anything from me,” were Ominis’ exact words. You didn’t doubt for a second that he would follow through on that promise if you let your impatience get the best of you.

You wet your lips and cracked your eyes open to stare at the wall over his shoulder, trying and failing to ignore the pulsing of his shaft within your walls. “It’s just– you’re always working. There’s always more for you to get done, and I get lonely. Please take a break– please fuck me, Ominis, I’m begging you.”

The blond’s fingers skirted down your back once more before moving to squeeze at the curve of your waist, as though he were about to relent. He didn’t, though, and instead opted to press a hot, chaste kiss to your pulse. “I do so like it when you beg…” he mused thoughtfully, dragging his free hand away from the desk to grip the other side of your waist. You couldn’t see his dictation quill, but you heard the scratching of its tip against the parchment slow down some, and your heart skipped a beat as you contemplated whether or not he was finally giving in. “You make it incredibly difficult to focus on important matters, you know that?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the sudden feeling of Ominis’ teeth sinking into your neck stole the words from your throat. He bit fervently against your flesh, sucking a proprietary mark into your skin with a throaty hum, and your shaky moan reverberated off the walls and caused your lover’s cock to twitch enthusiastically inside of you.

Ominis would be lying if he said teasing you this way was easy. On the contrary, when you had walked into his office to ask him to come to bed earlier, he naturally wanted to agree immediately and forgo finishing his report for the Ministry entirely. Denying you the first time was a necessary evil, but then you had come up behind him to wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he’d been made aware of the silk bathrobe you wore with presumably little underneath. That revelation had shattered the majority of his restraint, and he knew then and there that he wouldn’t be able to pay attention to a lick of his work after that.

You’d been all too eager to take him up on his offer of warming his cock, but little did you know he’d made the suggestion more for himself than for you. Beyond the euphoric sensation of being sheathed in your clenching heat, Ominis relished in working you over the edge with little to no effort– and Merlin, had he succeeded. Your labored breathing in his ear for the past half hour was like the finest of music, and your breasts pressing against his clothed chest was as intoxicating as Firewhiskey.

In truth, he hadn’t gotten much work done for the duration of time you’d been sitting in his lap; he didn’t need sight to know there was a series of meaningless scribbles in the corners of his report, put there entirely to play up his charade. Everything about you was that distracting, and he huffed out a sigh as his baser urges finally won out against his responsibilities.

Ominis laved his tongue over the freshly bruised bit of skin, leaving crescent shaped marks on your hips as he held you tighter to ever-so-slightly grind up into you. The feeling had you gasping into the crook of his neck as your forehead fell against his shoulder, clinging to the fabric of his shirt as you allowed the blond to maneuver you however he pleased.

It took every ounce of willpower in Ominis’ body to keep his voice low and controlled when he murmured, “I suppose you have been well behaved… a little needy, but that’s nothing new.” He pushed your hips back before steadily pulling them forward again, and his eyelids fluttered shut at the sheer bliss the friction offered him. “I’ll fuck you, but you have to wait to come until I say so. Understood?”

The mere thought of having to wait a second longer for him to move had you nodding brainlessly into the crook of his shoulder, and you ardently wound your arms around his neck to hold him closer as you cautiously rocked against him. At this point, you were willing to promise him anything if it meant getting what you wanted.

One of his hands left your waist to wind through your hair, and when he tightened his fingers around the strands to pull you away from him, you couldn’t stop the surprised yelp that tumbled from your parted lips. “Use your words, darling, or I’ll leave you waiting for another hour. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you gasped breathlessly, forced to address the ceiling since Ominis’ hand in your hair had your head tilted back. “I understand, I won’t come until you tell me to. Please, Ominis, I promise–”

“That’ll do,” he cut you off quickly, releasing his hold against your scalp to grip your hips once more. His lithely muscled arms held you flush to him as he stood straight, and the legs of his chair scraped loudly against the floorboards as he kicked it away to give himself more space. In one swift motion, Ominis deposited you on top of the desk and firmly pushed you down so you were draped on your back across the oak surface, his cock still inside you. His clever fingers set to undo the buttons of his shirt as the hand against your sternum trailed lower to tease around your wet folds, and a keening sound resonated from deep in your chest as he grazed his thumb over your sensitive clit.

Much like his shallow grinding earlier, it wasn’t enough. Your voice was airy when you asked, “C-Can I touch myself?”

His hand stilled momentarily before retreating, and he nodded down at you with a coy smirk on his face. “You’re a good girl for asking, so yes. Remember your promise though.”

Your hand flew off the table to rub tight circles against the hyper-sensitive nub, and the relief that washed over you then was tantamount to perfection. It was the stimulation you’d been after since straddling Ominis earlier, and your eyes jumped up to watch as the blond shrugged his shirt off his shoulders and dropped the attire unceremoniously to the floor. His eyes closed momentarily when the attention you bestowed upon yourself caused your walls to tighten around his cock, and a shameless moan ripped from his throat at the same time he leaned forward to brace his arms on either side of you.

“Fuck– you’re greedy for it, aren’t you?”

The clipped edge to Ominis’ voice betrayed just how much he wanted this too, and your breathy laugh filtered up to him as you teased, “Am I to believe you’re not?”

Those milky blue eyes of his narrowed as he processed your remark, and your mouth dried up when his expression shifted into something far more domineering than before. He lifted one of his hands to run the appendage up your stomach, then your chest, before eventually settling against your throat, and your eyes widened when he squeezed gently to convey his feelings on the snide comment.

“Are you sassing me right now? Bold words from the woman who beseeched me to take her on the desk. Just for that,” he started to say, reaching between the two of you to grasp the hand you’d been using on yourself, “no more of this. You’re mine to play with now, darling.”

In a flash, Ominis pinned your hand against the rough wood above your head, holding you firmly in place by the throat with the other. You whimpered pitifully, opening your mouth to stutter out a string of apologies before he forbade you from coming entirely, but a hurried thrust of his hips interrupted your efforts. The force in the action had your shoulder blades scraping deliciously against the desk, and you moaned wantonly as Ominis worked to set a brutal pace.

He spread his legs to accommodate his low hanging trousers before pounding himself roughly into your tight cunt. “Calling me greedy when you’re the one under me getting fucked senseless,” he growled with a gruff tone, squeezing around your windpipe to pull you harder onto his cock as he plunged in and out of you without mercy. “You couldn’t wait– didn’t want to wait. You’re as demanding and needy as they come.”

His head tipped back and sent strands of his blond hair across his forehead as he bucked desperately into your overwhelmingly slick walls, and after being sheathed in your tight heat for so long without moving, he felt himself growing closer to his release as you clenched tellingly around him. Ominis abandoned his hold on your throat as he bent over you, raking his nails down your chest to pinch one of your nipples into a stiff peak, and your back arched off the desk for all of two seconds before the imposing man jerked your head to the side by your hair to sink his teeth into your shoulder.

“O-Ominis, fuck–” you cried out abruptly, the combined feeling of his bite and the slap of his hips against your ass enough to make you see stars. The fire that ignited in your blood had you flushing from head to toe as you frantically sought more stimulation from him, but the whispers of your earlier promise haunted the far reaches of your mind like a ghost. You bit your lip and writhed brainlessly underneath him, fighting your looming orgasm with every ounce of restraint you could muster up. It was easier said than done; between Ominis’ frantic pace, his possessive hold on your hair, and the guttural, animalistic sounds he was making, you wanted nothing more than to finally fall over the edge into white bliss.

Ominis knew it too, but he wasn’t about to give you what you wanted without a little more effort on your part.

Releasing your hair to loop his arm under your rounded spine, Ominis mouthed wetly down the column of your throat before breathing his request against your sweat-slick skin, “Tell me what you want, love. Say the words.”

“I-I want to come– please let me come, Ominis, please.” Your breathless noises grew louder as Ominis licked a broad stripe along your collarbone before kissing and sucking another love-bite right below your clavicle. When he suddenly hauled your waist against him and slammed his cock up into you, your eyes crossed as you gasped for air and let your head fall back against the desk. The blond buried the cacophony of sounds falling from his lips against your skin, groaning at the way you arched hard and tightened perfectly around his throbbing member, and your thighs trembled bonelessly on either side of him.

All you could do was let Ominis hold you, giving yourself over to him completely as he fucked incoherent pleas from your swollen lips and chased his own pleasure. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you fought your climax, and when your lover turned his head to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his pace quickened immeasurably further. His thick cock nailed you perfectly, each thrust he gave you pulling out almost entirely before he stuffed you full again, and the hand he didn’t have pinned to the desk flew up to grip his bicep as your body quaked with pleasure.

It was too much to bear– you needed to come– almost as much as you needed to breathe. The overstimulating sensations were driving you insane, and when Ominis moaned long and loud next to your ear, you almost caved without permission.

Almost.

Ominis knew you were close. He could feel you fighting your finish as you writhed and angled your hips to meet his, and he could hear your cries of his name growing louder and louder until your voice was cracking on the end of your pleas of, “Please let me come, please Ominis– can I come?” He grazed his teeth up your throat towards your ear, and his fingers dug into the bones of your wrist as his grip turned irontight. The arm he had coiled around your waist followed suit, and after a few more hurried thrusts into you, Ominis acceded to your begging.

“Come for me, darling,” he moaned directly beside your ear. “Be a good girl and come for me, let me feel you.”

You didn’t even give him the chance to repeat himself.

Arching clean off the desk, your breathing stopped entirely as you tensed in Ominis’ arms, and a strangled gasp caught in his throat when your sopping wet heat clamped down on his cock to seemingly suck him in deeper. His hand on your wrist fell away in an instant to slip between your flush bodies, and those nimble fingers sought out your clit with a practiced ease that sent your composure careening into oblivion.

The added stimulation was damn near unbearable, but you had no way to escape his unrelenting hands as he held you through your climax. Your voice was a raspy, sinful melody in his ears, and Ominis knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “Merlin, you feel so good, love. So perfect for me– I’m close–”

“D-Don’t stop,” you stammered in between gasps, your nails clawing into the wood of the desk in a bid to find purchase. “Gods, don’t stop Ominis, cum inside– please, please–”

He was all too happy to oblige you. With a throaty groan, Ominis lowered you so you were laying across the desk once again, then slipped his hands under the bent crooks of your knees to push your legs against your chest. Still hyper-sensitive from your ebbing finish, the new angle allowed you to feel more of your lover’s cock inside of you as he began thrusting into you harder and faster. The blond’s head tipped back as he shamelessly moaned your name into the open air, and before long the sound was drowned out by the slapping of his hips against your ass as he pounded into you.

With your thighs nearly pressed together, Ominis felt impossibly thicker as his manhood reached deeper. Everytime he pulled back, the blunt head of his cock rubbed past your sweet spot perfectly, and your toes curled as you gasped and moaned, your senses completely overwhelmed by the overstimulation. Ominis’ grip on your legs turned bruising as his pace grew rougher, steadily losing the fight to maintain his rhythm– especially when your hands flew from the desk to brainlessly claw at his forearms.

“Fuck, darling– fuck,” he grit through his clenched teeth, and with one final thrust into your pulsing core, Ominis came with a husky cry of your name. His hands slid to the front of your legs to pull you back against his hips to better grind against your rear, milking every thick bit of cum from his twitching cock. Hot spurts of his seed painted your insides and brought you higher than before, and your nails dragged down his arms as you keened breathlessly beneath him, wriggling back into his shallow grinding the best you could.

The two of you stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, but realistically could only have been a handful of minutes. You blearily blinked up at Ominis when he released your thighs to brace his arms against the desk, his chest rising and falling as he sucked down deep, shaky breaths, and you brazenly wound your trembling legs around his waist to keep him exactly where he was. The wet sound of his load squelching out around his cock had him groaning unabashedly— not-so-secretly in love with the sordid noises your cunt made when it was filled to the brim with his cum— and your eyelids fluttered shut as streaks of the white fluid dripped down your ass onto the desk.

When he lifted his head to gaze down in your direction, your stomach flipped at the lustful glimmer in his hazy eyes, and his hands skirted across the oak surface beneath you in search of your face. You angled your head to the side to meet him halfway, and he followed his arm as he bent down to capture your lips in a hungry kiss that said more than words ever could. He still elected to speak, however, amusement lacing his tone as his fingers traced the outline of your jaw.

“I suppose you’re feeling rather pleased with yourself right about now,” he murmured softly against your lips, gently rocking his hips against yours and smearing his sticky seed across your rear. Thus far he had made no move to pull out, but you weren’t about to start complaining. Your current arrangement was beyond preferable to the torturous waiting game you’d been playing with him earlier.

You tried and failed to fight the smirk that stretched across your face, and you chuckled coyly under your breath. “What makes you say that?”

Ominis’ eyes darkened when he pulled away, and his hands trailed higher up the desk to wind in your unruly hair once again as he gathered the strands in his fists. Your eyes widened and your breath halted as he inhaled deeply– as though he were committing your scent to memory– before he nudged his nose against yours and grinned wickedly. “Because now I have every intention of stretching this ‘break’ well into the morning,” he vowed, and the revelation had your heart soaring while your stomach simultaneously flipped on itself. “How many more times can I fill you before it gets to be too much… let’s find out, shall we?”

Swallowing around the lump in your throat, your hands splayed against his pale sternum as you cautiously asked, “Shouldn’t you sleep? You have work in the morning…”

“To hell with sleep,” Ominis tutted disapprovingly at you, tightening his hold against your scalp. “You started this after all. I’ll make sure you’re the farthest thing from lonely tonight, darling.”

If the way his cock seemed to revive inside of you was any indication, you knew with the utmost certainty that he definitely wasn’t lying. You didn’t know whether to be excited or afraid as you realized exactly what it was you’d inadvertently signed yourself up for.

Merlin’s balls— you were in for it now.

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x female! reader #ominis gaunt smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt oneshot #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #dominis #I keep saying 'if you squint' but nah this is fr dominis there's no way around it #my writing #finally posting this to commemorate the resolved DDoS attack on my beloved Ao3 #I did not in fact touch grass while the site was down I just produced more content for it LMAOOO

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sprout-fics · 9 months

Text

Adjustment

(Price x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 4k Tags: Dom/Sub, Dom Price, Sub Reader, BDSM, Non-sexual dominance, Impact play, Spanking, Masochism, Pain kink, Safe Sane Consensual, Crying during play, Aftercare, Cuddling, Soft Price Warnings: Please mind the tags A/N: The Price Spanking Fic nobody asked for

When Price calls you to his office this evening, you know exactly why.

It’s been a week since your last mission, the one you were in charge of, the one that went wrong. Faulty intel, no one’s fault except your informant, one who’s reward for his neglect had been a bullet to his face. It was nothing less than a bloody fucking miracle you and your team had gotten out alive, though not unscathed. Two of your squad were still in medical a week later, in good spirits but still injured. On your watch.

The mission rattled you more than you expected it to. It’s not your first time leading a team into less than perfect circumstances, but it is the first time it went this rotten. Your nerves are frayed, pent up, unable to uncoil from the stress of the whole situation. Thankfully you’d not been raked over the coals by your CO, but you almost wish you had been, as if the reprimands and stern lashing would provide some sort of needed outlet to your strained, taut emotions.

As it stands, you hadn’t gotten that much, had instead been trying to find ways to deal despite that. The result had you chewing the heads off recruits, snapping at your teammates, tackling the obstacles course, pacing the perimeter of base in a desperate attempt to cool off. Even so, it wasn’t working, and you know that, know you need to find a better method of taming the roiling sensation of uneasiness inside you. Yet your chosen method, the thing that helped, felt simultaneously desperately needed and horrifically indulgent, a guilty pleasure that was more guilt than anything else.

So you buckled down, brushed people off when they checked on you, gritted your teeth with murmurs of “I’m fine.” and didn’t stay around to listen to them object.

It had only been when Soap had gently approached you in the mess hall, in that soft but stubborn way of his when he knew something was wrong that you snapped. The hurt that had flashed across the sergeant’s face when you practically snarled at him was evident, angered and pained. Yet Soap limped away with his tail between his legs, likely knowing there wasn’t much he could help with, and very likely went straight to Price’s office to report on your viperous demeanor.

It had taken less than an hour for you to get the message from Price.

My office. 9pm.

Which is where you stood now, at 8:59, looking at the seconds on your watch tick down until your fated arrival, just to be spiteful.

You knock less than sixty seconds later, and the voice on the other side almost immediately beckons you inside.

He’s sitting at his desk, idly glancing over paperwork, a glass of whiskey half drained on his desk. Condensation collects on it, drips down onto the coaster he’s meticulously placed so it doesn’t stain the wood. Your eyes fall on it, standing at a lazy parade rest, avoiding the stare he levels at you from under the brim of his hat.

“Lock the door.”

The tenor of his voice is less gruff and more commanding, demanding deference, offering a vague warning should you not obey.

Ah. So it’s going to be one of those evenings. You think to yourself, reaching behind you and clicking the lock shut with a noise that speaks of imminent consequences. There’s a low, apprehensive murmur of excitement tracing under your skin, one that trails up your spine in a shiver you swallow down, don’t allow him to see.

It’s infrequent, this thing you have with the captain. A relationship, a still blossoming one, yes- but also something darker, a little more depraved, something to indulge in your mutual urges with each other. It’s always a little present, some days more than others. Around the rest of your comrades he’s no different to you, but when their backs are turned it’s his hand on your nape, giving the smallest amount of delicious pressure that speaks of dominance, possession.

“Come here.”

You pad over, feeling a familiar, low stirring sensation in your gut at the tone of your captain. Firm, unquestionable, a touch severe but only in a way that was meant to be listened.

You come to rest just short of his knees, as he shifts in his chair to face you. Your hands still rest behind you, held in a taut grip he can’t see. When he speaks, you struggle to meet his eyes, struggle to keep your face placid, unreadable.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“No.” You respond almost instantly, a rapid response that you internally wince at because you know he can see straight through it.

“Hm.” He offers in return, and you only grimace harder.

“Have I done anything to deserve that?” Price asks, temperate, even, and the utter control in it sometimes scares you only because you know exactly what lies beneath.

“No, Sir.”

That, at least, is the truth. You have been avoiding him, and Price can see that plain as day. Yet the reason lies not with him but with yourself, your stubbornness to soldier on, to refuse help, to buckle down in the worst of ways until the issue naturally works its way out of your system. Unfortunately for you, Price’s keen eyes pick upon even the smallest subtleties in you. It’s an insight he’s developed from years of service, one you haven’t yet found yourself, often leaving the man before you a series of mysteries. You’ll unravel them with time, you think, trust him to deliver the unknowns piece by piece until there’s either nothing left.

“Care to explain what happened with Soap earlier?” He goes on, and you stiffen noticeably, shoulders rising and back straightening, a little ashamed but also guilty at what transpired earlier. The words of it clog your throat, try and force their way upwards.

You could tell him, confess to him why you’re acting the way you are, ask him for what you need. Yet there’s a little poisonous spite bubbling inside you, one that wants him to force it out of you, wants to push against him rebelliously if only to reap the consequences.

You look him in the eyes, stubbornly refusing to break your gaze.

“No Sir.”

It’s more than a little perfunctory, a little biting, but it feels good to see the way Price’s eyes narrow at your tone. There’s a hunger behind them, pupils dark and focused, like he’s staring at something he wants to take apart.

“I think someone needs an adjustment.” Price declares, voice a low growl that’s still within the realm of warning, not yet dipping to the point of no return. It’s just enough, scratches something in your hindbrain that asks for more. More.

You watch as the captain scoots his chair back from where he sits, legs spread wide. For a moment you think he wants you between them, until one large, calloused palm pats against his thigh.

“Over my knee, darling.”

This is familiar to you, and you’ve spent more than one evening, more than one afternoon in the same place that he instructs you. Now, however, you hesitate, stubbornness crossing your expression, biting down on an objection that you’re fine. You don’t need this. Yet you know Price would see right through that too, and you’re not about to safeword out of a release if you can get one. Not if it’s him.

“Don’t make me ask twice.” He warns, eyes unblinking, and even though you still want to object you at last gingerly drape yourself across his knees, ass upwards.

Price is quick to scoot down your pants, revealing the tender skin of your bottom to his gaze. You jolt at his hand that smoothes across the flesh appreciatively.

“You’re not going to count.” He tells you softly, firmly. “You can use your colors if you need them, but otherwise we’ll be done when I say we’re done. Understood?”

You don’t answer, biting your lip, still fighting it. Price’s hand stills, and then grips against your ass, voice now a clear warning, frustration growing at your clear lack of communication.

“Understood, Sergeant?” He prompts again, and this time you nod, focus down on the floor with a small and breathy “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.”

With that, Price’s hand comes down. Hard.

Pain blooms against your skin and you yelp, quick to cover your mouth lest the surrounding offices hear you. It’s late, most of the base is in bed, and the chances of someone finding you are slim. Even so, you know better than to risk it.

Price soothes a hand against the skin, offering no murmurs or hums to ease the pain. Instead, you feel his hand pull away, and you suck in a breath, ready for the next slap.

It’s only once you’ve released, dared to glance at him that Price’s hand comes down on the opposite cheek. You jolt forward, a little cry of surprise escaping you once more.

Price is slow, methodical. There’s a precision to him that’s fine tuned with experience, an unrelenting focus to his task at hand that has your gut clenching with a distant flicker of need. Each impact of his hand leaves a stinging, needed deliverance that gives a more than welcome distraction to the festering frustration inside of you.

Price gives you a few breaths between each slap, just enough to collect yourself before his palm comes down in a devastating collision. It doesn’t take long for your ass to warm under his touch, a little raw, making you bite back a hiss as he takes moments to idly stroke it with a tender touch that’s an unnerving contrast to the impacts he offers.

You lay rigid, balancing tightly, muscles coiled and resistant. You’re still fighting it, can’t let go just yet, doggedly refusing to allow yourself to release the tension in your form. It presses down on the small of your back with the bracing touch of Price’s arm, lays thick in your shoulders as you teeth your lip bloody and try not to make any noise.

It’s not enough. You’re still wound far too tight, shoulders scrunched, body rigid, and as Price’s hand comes down once more in a smack that feels thunderous, you can’t help but flinch.

“Mm. That’s not good enough, love.” He rumbles after the next few impacts, with you stubbornly biting your lip to prevent any sounds from escaping. A hand kneads the stinging flesh of your ass and you groan a little at the pain, but don’t raise your voice, don’t move from your position over his lap.

You feel Price pause, adjust, and soon one of your wrists is hauled behind your back, then the other, as you’re forced to sag your entire weight against him. It releases some of the tension in your form, but it only manifests itself in a squirming resistance that has Price huff a little displeased sound down at you.

Price’s hand settles on your nape as you squirm, and the simple act of scruffing you has goosebumps rising across your flesh, body seizing with a sharp intake of air. You tremble, skin electrifying under his touch. Every synapse feels too bright, too hot, and when his thumb presses against the underside of your jaw you give him a full body shudder that vibrates into his hand. Yet all Price offers you in return is a single, growling demand that pulls at something deep, primal inside your ribcage.

“Settle.”

Just like that, you feel yourself loosen abruptly, going completely still, muscles sagging as if Price just snapped the strings holding you aloft. Your body goes lax, limp, head dropping forward in surrender, and Price hums a rumbling, approving noise that makes you keen.

“Very good.”

With that, he resumes.

The spanks come quicker now, with devastating accuracy, rapid fire and heavy. It takes a few impacts for you to stop holding your breath, let your eyes open and unfocus on the floor in front of you. There’s a warm, velvety haze beginning to fog over your senses now. It cottons your thoughts, muffles the world around you, allows that previous resistance inside you to slowly begin to ease.

The pain feels good.

Little moans start spilling past your lips, and you slowly stop trying to silence them. The sting of Price’s hand settles low in your belly, licks a tender flame into your core. A murmur of arousal resides there, fueled by the profound act of surrender. The utter, encompassing trust that resides between you and him in this regard is a tonic unlike any other. It lets you fall completely into yourself, submitting to where he wants to lead you, knowing he’ll ground you, keep you safe, give you not exactly what you want, but what you need.

Price can sense the way you’re unwinding, can feel the noises from you now, a little louder, more breathless, lips parting with shuddering gasps. He pauses after a particularly harsh smack, allowing the knuckles of his hand to rest against the top of your ass. Not moving, just resting. Not finished yet.

“You wanted this but didn’t know how to ask, isn’t that right, love?” He asks, and it takes you a moment, but you nod. Hell, you’re not sure why you didn’t ask for this sooner. You know he’d give it if you asked while you’re wound up like this, would find a way to unravel you at the seams and let the cotton, soft, sinking feeling envelop you and offer you a much needed respite.

“Color?” He prods gently, and you’re already so warmly out of it for a moment that you have to remember how to answer him.

“Green.”

Price grunts, satisfied, and his knuckles trace over the raw, swollen skin of your flesh before his hand turns over again.

He doesn’t ask if you’re ready, and this time you don’t bother to tense before his hand comes down. It’s less this time, the impacts not enough to shatter you the way they did before, but the pain is still enough to make you droop forward, release an exhale that loosens your shoulders all the way down. You’re already feeling it, can already feel the stress being sapped away along with your resistance, but you know Price won’t be satisfied until the thing that was holding it in the first place snaps inside you, makes you surrender completely.

“Doing well. Just a little more.” He urges, and you whimper.

You don’t know if you can take more. You’re already kind of floaty, it already scratches that needed itch under your skin, but you know there’s so much more you can offer him.

At last it comes loose, a sob startles from your throat at it being so much, and it seems to open the floodgates. You inhale a long, shuddering breath as Price pauses, and when it releases it’s as an unsteady, whimpering sigh that dissolves into another sob. Price kneads your ass and the pain forces another cry from your throat until you shudder with it, and begin to cry in earnest.

“That’s it. Very good. Let it go.” He urges, voice soothing, tender, firm in the way you need him to be so he can hold up the sagging, collapsed form of you.

The crying is cathartic, a week of pent up emotion and stress at last simmering to the surface and leaking down your face in hot, wet tears. It’s not at the sting of pain, not at any type of unwillingness or shame. Instead it’s like unplugging a drain, allowing the tepid surface of stress inside you to circle downwards, allowing the utter vulnerability of being like this to sink away the thing that had been holding you back from your own emancipation. Every single remaining ounce of tension in your body sags away, and you droop over Price’s lap with your head tucked forward, chest rattling with thick, sobbing cries.

Fuck, it feels good.

The complete and utter release of the tension in your form has your breath collapse from your lungs, sends hot, fat tears rolling down your face in an all too needed exoneration of the troubled tightness that was held in your form. Even as your chest shutters there’s a strange, serene calm that washes over you at the act of finally, finally letting go.

It isn’t over, because Price delivers several more harsh, stinging slaps, as if to shake the rest of it loose from you, until he at last relents. He braces an arm over the small of your back, murmuring a small “Steady.” as you shudder. Face tipped forward, the trails of tears on your face drip down from your chin onto the floor. A hand gently strokes the stinging, swollen flesh of your ass, and despite the smarting it’s grounding, keeping you leveled from the tempting descent of rumination that lies in the back of your mind.

“You did well.” Price tells you at last, when your cries have begun to ease, and it stutters a little whine from you, the praise a balm to your slightly overwhelmed senses. He waits until you settle a bit more before shifting, and soon you find yourself tucked in his lap, head braced against his chest. You stay there, sniffling, moving to rub at your face, but Price keeps your hand on your lap where it is, a thumb grazing over your knuckles. His voice is low as he offers soft little hushes and murmurs into you, words of praise and reassurance that allow the tears to ebb and make your eyes flutter shut.

You sink, allow yourself to go limp in his arms, with him balancing you and supporting your weight so you can stay in the moment of letting go. One arm braces you, the other holding you fast against his chest where you drink in his musky, heavy scent. Tobacco, gun powder, just a hint of cologne he tries to use to cover the scent of his cigars. It clouds over your senses, sends you down into that blissful state of fuzzy, ambiguous relaxation you’ve craved so desperately since the mission. It’s complete bliss, being able to just be here, in his arms, fresh off a much needed bout of crying and feeling the world fade away so it’s just you, him, and the offerings of smoky praise he breathes into your ear. You float, entirely and blessedly unaware, trusting him to keep you in his arms, to keep you safe, to allow you space for this much needed reprieve.

You don’t know how long you stay down like that. Eventually your hiccups fade into stuttering little breaths, and soon you synchronize your inhales and exhales with the long, steady rise and fall of the captain’s chest. Fatigue wears down on your form, and soon your cottoned, muffled senses give way to a sleepy, comfy kind of softness that has you exhale a long, final sigh against him.

“Back with me?” He asks at last, and you aren’t sure if it’s been mere minutes or hours, too droopy and exhausted to tell. You nod, still a little too hazy to find words, giving him a non-committal, lethargic grumble that has a huff of laughter blowing against your skin.

“Take your time, darling.” He tells you, and you nod once more, let your eyes flutter shut and head loll against his chest just a little longer.

Eventually you feel the world begin to seep back into your senses, and you shift on his lap, hissing at the scrape of your bare ass against his cargo pants.

“Easy.” He tells you, voice dipping with a hint of that sternness again, and you force yourself to still from your wriggling.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Price’s voice finally inquires, and you hesitate, afraid it will all come rushing back the moment you say it all aloud. Yet you remind yourself that you’re safe here, in his arms, that even if you did feel tension and panic rise up again in your chest that Price will ease you back down again.

So it comes spilling loose with an unsteady sigh. The frantic realizations of the mission when it turned sour, the terror as you watched your team members come under fire, hauling them to safety and narrowly avoiding injury yourself. Needing to be strong for them, keeping your mounting horror clamped down as you frantically radioed for ex-fil. Waiting for the chopper as you felt warm blood gush over your palms, rasped reassurances to them, held their hands with red-stained gloves as they were hauled out of the battlefield. Getting back to base and asking yourself what you did, what happened, how you didn’t anticipate this, trying desperately to tell yourself that at least you made it all back alive.

The tears don’t come back. You’re far too spent for that, instead imbuing yourself in the sensation of Price stroking your arm steadily as you ramble, emptying your chest of worries. You don’t know how long it takes, but Price remains silent, steady, a lighthouse in the fog as you surrender to him. Eventually the heavy pauses between your words grow longer, until there’s only silence that remains between you both.

“None of that was your fault, love.” He reminds you at last.

“I know.” You provide after a moment. “I just…” A clinging thickness lingers in your throat, and you swallow it, unfocused eyes lazily resting on the broad planes on his chest.

“I was scared.”

Price sighs, and it isn’t unkind or pitying. It feels more like a release of himself too, allowing you to nuzzle into the emptiness the air leaves behind in his chest. “I know love. But you did well, got your team out, got those lads home alive.”

You nod, and if he had said that an hour earlier you think you would have fought him on it. Now, the words feel like pure, cathartic relief that soothes cooly through your veins.

Silence once again falls over you both as Price allows you to come back to yourself. It’s only once you shift, look up at him that his face turns down towards you, eyebrows raised.

“Solid?”

You nod, a little firmer now, but relaxed, open. “Solid.” You confirm, and oh. You missed that too, the rare, tender smile he gives you. It’s different than the usual wry, amused nature of him, reserved only for moments like this, where the world of gunshots and explosions, of broken bones and helicopters fades into the quiet solitude of just you both.

You relish it as long as you can before it fades, and Price tilts his head down at you to stare under his brows with a stern, admonishing, unblinking stare.

“You’ll come to me before you decide to start biting other people’s heads off. Understood?” He professes rather than inquires, and you wither a little, remorseful, knowing better than to break eye contact with him as you nod, adding an obligatory “Yes, Sir.” for good measure.

“Good girl.” He rumbles, and it has you shiver a little, never immune to the way those words send your blood coursing a little higher in your veins. “Took it well. Always do.”

“Thank you Sir.” You breathe, happy and content, pleased at the act of pleasing him.

“Do you need to…?” You turn to ask, shifting a little on his lap to feel the half-hard bulge in his trousers. Price only chuckles, shakes his head.

“We can worry about that later, love.” He promises, and that makes your eyes widen, sit a little straighter where you sit on him, eager and interested in the offer. Price notices instantly, levels you with a knowing amusement that has his lips curl. “That is, if you want to.” and you duck your head a little, a little abashed at being so very easy to read, but nod.

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” You ask quietly.

“Manners.” Price reprimands fondly

“Please?”

He grumbles, feigning begrudging exasperation at the request, and it only has you grin at him, the first smile in what feels like a very, very long time.

“Of course darling.”

#Price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x you #reader insert #x reader #oneshot #cod mw2 #cod mw2022 #mw2 #mwii #call of duty #my writing #my fic #Tossing this out onto tumblr before I regret it #two fics in one day way to go sproutie #jk they were on ao3 first I'm just now cross posting them here

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