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slytherinslut0 · 6 months

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Nine--Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Masturbation, PIV, Switch!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, (slight daddy kink. Like very slight.), Spitting, Unprotected Sex, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Cuddling, ANGST ANGST! ALSO: FLUFF! (WHO AM I???? AM I OKAY???)

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

The following weeks slipped away like sand through fingers--one, then another, and then another--until the imminent end of the term loomed large, only just a little ways off in the distance. Graduation was within reach, a tantalizing yet bittersweet prospect.

The journey to this point had been a relentless climb, fueled by your unwavering determination. The culmination of hard work brought a poignant mix of accomplishment and trepidation. The future held its mysteries, and you were poised on the edge, anxious about its impact on the present.

Because in the land of the present, you and Mattheo were as well as ever. You'd managed to maintain your intimate secrecy, with Emily and Theo as the exclusive keepers of your shared secret. Within the last few weeks, they had evolved into an indispensable support system, adept at aiding your discreet escapades and providing cover when facing friends. Theo, a master of diversion, orchestrated opportunities for you to slip into Mattheo's dorm unnoticed, while Emily reciprocated the favour.

Looking back over the past months, a bittersweet resonance reverberated through your thoughts, acknowledging the imminent conclusion of your tutoring and mentorship with Mattheo. Curiously, the lines between mentor and mentee had blurred, giving rise to the notion that, in an almost poetic turn, he had undoubtedly become a guiding force for you, instead. The intricate dance of mentorship had taken an unexpected yet meaningful twist, leading to the most beautiful and memorable outcome you could have ever fucking asked for.

And in the crisp embrace of a warm spring evening, the sun gracefully dipped below the horizon, yielding its space to the emerging twinkle of stars overhead. Amid this celestial transition, you found yourself immersed in the task of crafting a report for Dumbledore, which was due the following week. This document sought to encapsulate your entire journey as Mattheo's mentor and your insights into his progress.

Yet, as your quill traced its path across the parchment, reminiscing about the last few months, an unmistakable ache kindled within your chest, as if hollowing your lungs from the inside out. In that poignant moment, the yearning to see a specific curly haired boy eclipsed all else, a sentiment that transcended the mere act of putting pen to paper. In an impulsive surge, your quill found itself abandoned on the desk as you swiftly slipped into your shoes. A brief word to Emily, notifying her of your absence for the night, preceded your motivated exit through the door.

After a determined journey through the solitude of the castle, you reached the imposing door of the Slytherin common room and urgently rapped your knuckles against its rough surface. After a brief moment of silence, the door creaked open, revealing Draco Malfoy peering down at you with his trademark disheveled blonde hair. His sly smirk assessed you from head to toe, an expression reminiscent of a devil reveling in mischief.

Before you could utter a word, he casually remarked, "He's in his dorm," signaling the direction with a subtle tilt of his head. "Little late for a mentorship meeting, don't you think?"

"Past your bedtime, is it?" You teased, gleaming with a smirk of your own. "Apologizes if I interrupted your beauty sleep, princess."

Draco's silver eyes sparkled with a blend of amusement and feigned offense. "Do you think all of this just happens naturally, little bird? It's hard work, being me," he quipped with a sly grin, willingly engaging in the banter. "But if you're here for a late-night rendezvous, who am I to stand in the way of true love?"

A huff escaped you as you tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to conceal your amusement. Without speaking, you pressed forward, gracefully brushing past him in the direction of the dorms. Upon reaching the entrance to the dormitory hall, you cast a glance over your shoulder, eyes twinkling with emotion as they locked onto his silver gaze from across the room.

You shot him a cheeky smile. "You'd be a fool to even try."

The retort lingered in the air as you continued your journey, leaving a trail of playful tension in your wake, fully aware of the fact that what you just did might not have been your most brilliant move yet. But moving forward without hesitation, you briskly made your way to Mattheo's dorm.

The anticipation propelled you forward, and with a swift motion, you tried the doorknob. Finding it unlocked, you let yourself in without bothering to knock. As you squinted, easing the door shut behind you, your jaw fell open as the dimly lit room revealed Mattheo reclining on his bed, bathed in the soft glow that echoed the reflections of the black lake, still fully clothed--except for his cock, which was fully erect, fist wrapped around the girth as he pumped himself, soft moans leaving his throat.

Almost immediately, lava had begun to flow out from your centre and filter through your veins. Steadying yourself, you stepped forward, admittedly slightly caught off guard by the sheer rawness of the scene before you. His eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed and lips parted, his breathing ragged and heavy as he lost himself in the pleasure coursing through his body. Your breath hitched, cunt clenching in want, and you drew nearer, slowly feeling all of the ounces of your sanity leave your body, quickly being replaced by a possessed, powerful need.

"Matty..." you whispered, cautious not to startle him.

His eyes shot open, surprised by your sudden presence, stalling his movements for a moment as he exhaled a shaky breath. When you smiled at him, your possessed eyes glimpsing his cock throbbing within his fist, the shock in his gaze quickly faded, replaced by a look of pure, hungered lust.

"Raven..." he murmured, his head falling back as he slowly resumed his ministrations. "Here to finish me off, sweetheart?"

A shiver coursed through your body as his words hung in the air, the palpable intensity of his desire washing over you like a powerful wave. Compelled by an irresistible force, you moved closer to him, drawn like a moth to a flame, surrendering to the raw power of his need. Without a second thought, your fingers sought the hem of your sweater, swiftly peeling it up and off your body. The room filled with the hushed rustle of fabric as you kicked off your shoes and deftly maneuvered the zipper on your pants.

"I'll do more than finish you off, Matty..." you cooed, meeting his dark eyes as he watched you undress before him, his thumb swirling the bead of precum over the tip of his cock, his fingers tightening around the girth. "Were you thinking about me?"

"Mmm," he moaned, his hand slowly picking up its pace, leisurely moving up and down his shaft. "Always thinking about you, baby..."

Quakes of desire rattled your bones, and you moved closer still, now at the foot of his bed, focus switching between the black holes of his eyes and his thick, throbbing cock. As you let your pants slip from your waist and down your thighs, finding purchase on the floor at your feet, you wasted no time before crawling onto the bed next to him, bringing yourself to his side.

"Tell me," you murmured, trailing your fingers up the length of his strong thigh. "Tell me what you were thinking about, Matty..."

Mattheo shuddered under your touch, hissing in pleasure as he increased the pace of his strokes, his body writhing and twitching against his dark green sheets. You choked back a mewl, your pussy screaming in need for him as you watched the veins in his hand tense and contract, his eyes squeezed shut as his head fell back, jaw tensing.

"Your beautiful face...your perfect body..." he growled out, his voice hoarse with primal need, his throat torn with lust. "Your tight, wet little pussy, wrapped around my cock...fuck-"

A surge of intensity coursed through you, the clenching sensation echoing the burning passion that seemed to set the very walls of Mattheo's dorm room ablaze.

"Mm...you're in deep, aren't you, Matty..." you teased, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip, a playful smirk barely concealed. The words slipped from your lips like a whispered incantation, and you couldn't help but revel in the way his eyes fluttered open with a potent mix of lust and hunger. "Salazar himself couldn't rescue you from this, could he?"

"Six feet, baby..." Mattheo's words carried a reverent undertone, akin to a fervent prayer. "Can you blame me? Fucking look at you..."

"Six feet, huh?..." you purred, allowing your fingers to trail sensuously down his thigh. The ache between your legs intensified, a symphony of longing and passion propelling you into a frenzy of heat. "...not deep enough, I'm afraid."

Leaning over him, your lips hovered just above his, and a mischievous smirk danced on his lips. Shallow gasps escaped his throat as he slowed the pace on his cock yet again, as though he was edging himself, desperate to hang on, desperate to not cum on the fucking spot.

"Filthy girl..." he breathed, snuffing a groan deep in his throat. "Say the words and I'll go as deep as you fucking want, princess..."

"Not tonight, Matty," you smirked, softly pressing your lips to his, teasingly dragging your teeth along his bottom lip. "Let me take care of you for a change..."

The anticipation in the room was intoxicating, making you want to give in to every carnal urge you both had been holding back until now, the restraint between your bodies barely tethered.

"Let you take care of me?" he repeated, the challenge clear in his voice, his eyes locked onto yours as you reached over to stroke him, your hand gentle but insistent. He gasped in pleasure as you worked him, his dick throbbing, pulsing in your palm. "You think you can handle all of this?"

"All this time and you still underestimate me," you purred, clucking your tongue in feign disappointment. You swirled your thumb around the tip, painting more precum down his shaft. "Don't worry about me, Matty...just lay back and be a good boy for me."

"Shit..." he groaned, whimpering your name, thrusting up gently into your fist. "Call me that again."

"Good boy...so, so good..." you gripped him tighter, pushing the skin to the head, twisting your wrist. "You're so hard for me, so big..." a smirk pulled at your lips. "I bet you want to slide this pretty cock deep into my pussy, don't you?"

His eyes squeezed shut, a fervent nod accompanied by the grasp of his hands on the sheets beneath him as a guttural groan escaped. Enveloped in a pleasure-induced haze, he succumbed to the unyielding hunger that demanded satisfaction.

"Is that what you want?" you whispered, your voice tinged with a husky urgency, leaning in to brush his mouth. The words slipped past your lips, each syllable feeling foreign, as if your own voice carried the weight of unfamiliarity to your ears. "Do you want me to ride you hard, to feel my tight little pussy squeezing your cock?"

"Fucking hell..." he growled between kisses, his hard cock pulsating within your fist, he was close, you could tell. "...I've officially corrupted you, haven't I?"

"Damn right you have...you gave me permission to let loose, didn't you?..." you murmured, your lips falling toward his jawline, placing a trail of wet kisses along the ridge, slowing your motions on his dick. "Turned me into your filthy little whore...meant for taking your cock and swallowing your cum..."

"Oh my fuck-" he cried out in exasperation, his hands shooting to your wrists, pulling your fingers off his cock and directing you overtop of him, guiding you until you were straddling his waist. "Princess, you keep talking like that I'm going to fucking-"

Without giving him a chance to finish, you ripped your hands from his hold and brought them to his face, pulling his mouth to yours as you thrust your fingers through his messy curls. You rolled your cunt against his needy length, rocking your hips until the head of his cock met your clit--and you moaned into his mouth, his fervent fingers digging into your flesh with enough strength to make you wince, his pelvis jerking up against yours.

You slowly lifted one hand from his hair and moved it toward your underwear, shifting them to the side to reveal your wet heat. You let out a small gasp as your fingers slipped easily through your slick folds, collecting your wetness and teasing your pulsing entrance. As you continued to pleasure yourself, you broke the kiss and quickly brought your fingers up to your mouth, sensually sucking your own juices off of them as you held Mattheo's stare. His jaw tensed, eyes darkening with an intensity that held yours captive. Your gaze remained locked as you sensually swirled your tongue around your fingers, savoring every drop of desire before delicately pulling them free.

"My fucking Gods, Raven..." his body was tense with pleasure as he stared at you, his eyes ignited in a flame so hot you felt your skin sizzling. "You are so fucking hot...." he gripped your head, pulling you down closer to him, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "let me taste you, baby."

His hands moved over your body, exploring every inch of your curves as he kissed you deeply, his tongue seeking out yours with a desperate hunger. Moaning, you braced against his chest, rocking your pelvis, grinding down against his cock, and he held you tighter, meeting you stroke for stroke, swallowing your kiss like he needed it to breathe, tasting your juices off your tongue.

His hands found your chest, tugging down your bra to expose your nipples, and when the pad of his finger grazed the hardening, sensitive bud--you squeaked, breaking the kiss.

"Fuck...is that good, Matty?" You mewled, slicking your wetness along the length of his cock, feeling him pulse beneath you as he swirled his thumb over your nipple. "Or do you need another taste?"

"So fucking good, princess," he muttered, his eyes darkening with a primal hunger. "You already know I'll always need more."

A sly smirk crossed your face as you slowly traced your fingers down to your heat, sliding them back along your slit and collecting your slick juices yet again. Your eyes never left Mattheo's as you brought your fingers back up and sensually slipped them into your mouth, letting out a soft moan as you sucked them clean. With a sultry gaze, you leaned in close to him, grasping his jaw firmly.

"Open up for me, then, daddy," you whispered in his ear, your voice dripping with lust and desire. "Please..."

The sound of your own words sent shivers of excitement down your spine, and you could feel the heat building between your thighs as you teased him. Never in a million years would you have expected to say those words, and judging by Mattheo's reaction to them, neither did he. His eyes widened slightly, but he quickly composed himself, his jaw tensing with restraint as he fought off every single urge to flip you over and fuck you until you couldn't walk.

"Salazar save me..." he purred, slipping a hand into your hair, grip tightening. "As you wish."

As he parted his lips, sticking out his tongue, you leaned in closer, and with a seductive smile, you gathered your saliva and spat it into his mouth. The moment your spit connected with his tongue, you felt a surge of excitement course through your body, heightening the intensity of the moment. You weren't sure what the fuck had come over you tonight, but you were helpless to fucking stop it.

Mattheo's eyes flashed with desire as he swallowed your saliva, his tongue working to catch every last drop. It was completely, unquestionably clear that he was turned on beyond belief by your newfound confidence and boldness--unable to resist letting out a low growl of arousal in response. You grinned, pressing your lips to his in a soft, fleeting kiss.

"You're a fucking filthy little slut..." he growled, smirking as you giggled at his reaction, unable to control yourself. "So...so fucking filthy."

"Mhm," you mused through a smile, grazing your lips over his. "But I'm your filthy little slut."

A mischievous twinkle ignited in your eye as you leaned in, initiating a deep and passionate kiss. Your tongue danced with his, exploring the recesses of his mouth with fervor. The heat and passion intensified, a soft moan escaping your lips, signaling your body's eager response to his touch. His hands, once cradling your head, now roamed up and down your back, tracing every curve and inch with an exploratory hunger.

"Raven," he murmured, his voice a rasped, almost desperate plea. "As much as I'm loving this foreplay...you're driving me to the fucking edge of insanity here..."

"You always were teetering on the edge, Matty," you teased, a wicked gleam in your eyes. "I'm just here to push you over."

Smirking against his mouth, you brought a hand down, directing his cock to your throbbing entrance before finally, finally sinking down onto his thick shaft, gasping as you felt him fill you up completely. A deep, animalistic groan escaped Mattheo's lips as he felt you, tight and wet, enveloping him fully.

"Mmm, you're so fucking big, Matty..." you moaned, your voice filled with unbridled passion. "So fucking deep."

You savoured the feeling of being stretched to your limit, taking a moment to let yourself adjust to how deep and big he was before you slowly began to shift your hips, slowly began to ride him.

Mattheo's lips parted, chest reaching for air as he let you adjust, pulsing inside of you. "Mhm...all for you, my girl...fuck-all yours..."

Your movements were slow and tantalizing, your hips rolling gently as you rocked back and forth on top of him, stretching yourself open with his cock. You could feel him grow harder inside you with each passing moment, the sound of his low moans driving you wild with lust. Looking down at him, you could see the desire in his eyes, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he thrust up to meet your movements.

"Fuck-" you gasped as he rutted up into you, his movements turning more aggressive by the second. "All mine-all fucking mine..."

Mattheo's strength overwhelmed you--he slammed you from below, fucking up into you, forcing gasps and squeals from your lungs. Bliss blazed through your blood as the force of his thrusts throttled you, body quaking, breasts bouncing. His face was screwed in a twist of lust and effort, lip furled, strangled growls escaping his chest--he pumped hard, fast, pinching you in his hands as his own pleasure built.

"Fuck," he growled, "that's right--do you like that?"

"Yes...Gods-yes..." the words were as unfiltered as you were. "I love it..."

"Good--good girl." His stare devoured you while you rode him. "So beautiful..so perfect..." a hand glided up your side, cupping one of your tits. "And all mine..." he grunted, punished you with a particularly hard thrust-you yelped. "Say it."

"Yours-" you howled, a sharp gasp fleeing your chest as his rough hand pulled back and smacked your ass, his strokes deep and powerful. You could feel his hips slamming against your body, the force sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. "All yours, Matty!"

He growled, seething, teeth barred in a snarl as he smacked your ass again, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure shooting through your body. You cried out, arching your back as he urged you on with each smack.

"Don't hold back, baby," Mattheo growled, his voice filled with raw desire. "I want to hear you scream my fucking name...let them know who you fucking belong to."

With those words, he pumped into you harder and faster, his body slamming against yours so hard that the bed began to shake, headboard slamming against the wall with every thrust. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

"Fuck! Mattheo!" You moaned, your voice breaking with pleasure. "Please! Don't stop Matty-fuck-"

"Fuck," he growled again. "You're so fucking tight..." his pace switched, and he rammed your cunt with brutal, deep strokes, striking your cervix with white streaks of pain. "You take my cock so fucking well baby...so fucking perfect..."

"Matty-" you gasped, quaking, clit screaming for attention. "Please-"

"Fuck-" he hissed. "My filthy fucking slut wants to cum, doesn't she?"

Without waiting a singular moment for your response, Mattheo groaned, shifting you off of him until you found yourself on your back against the soft expanse of his sheets. Like a starved animal, he wasted no time at all before he climbed back over you, peeling your legs wide, both hands gripping your thighs and pushing them back against your chest before he split you back open, cock cleaving your cunt in one deep, harsh thrust. In pleasure, you sobbed.

"Mhm...such a good girl..." he cooed, eyes dark and hungry as he shifted a hand to your head, cradling the back of your neck as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours. "My perfect girl...my fucking perfect little cumslut..."

Whinging, you gasped, lost in the depth of his eyes as he fucked you harder, deeper, his hand leaving your leg and snaking down between your thighs, harshly rolling over your clit. You cried out, clenching and convulsing against him as he fucked you into the mattress, his eyes never once leaving yours, each stroke bringing new, desperate breath to your lungs as you felt him building your orgasm block by block, thrust by thrust.

"Is that what you are-shit-" Mattheo groaned, deep and low as his hand shifted to grip your jaw, pinching your cheeks together. He slicked your clit while he fucked you, the sensations warm and wet and spinning you to the height of euphoria. "Say it."

"Yes-fuck-" you practically screamed, unable to break your eyes from his, the eye contact alone nearly pushing you over the edge of bliss. "I'm yours! I'm your fucking cumslut-"

"Cum-fuck-cum for me," he ordered through barred teeth, "cum on this fucking cock..."

Like his perfectly trained pet, you obeyed, falling over the edge of ecstasy, pleasure coursing through every inch of your body as you cried out his name. Mattheo groaned, breath sputtering in his lungs, lids squeezed shut as he continued to pound into you relentlessly, his own climax fast approaching. With one final thrust, he let out a low growl and came inside you, filling you with the warmth of his release, his forehead resting against yours, your pulses pounding in pace until he had regained enough composure to push up and pull out.

As he reclined back on his bed, Mattheo drew you into an intimate embrace, enfolding you securely against his chest. Beneath your ear, his heart throbbed with a rapid tempo, and his breath, hot and laboured, danced against your skin. In a shared moment of quietude, words became superfluous. Both of you lay there, intertwined, finding solace in the cocoon of each other's arms.

In the aftermath of your intimate embrace, Mattheo's voice sliced through the tranquil stillness with genuine curiosity.

"Why did you come here tonight?" His words hung in the air, laden with a desire for understanding. "Not that I'm complaining, I'm just-"

Your smirk adorned your lips as you shifted, peering up at him. "I just missed you."

He blinked, a faint flush tinging his cheeks. His hold on you tightened, one hand delicately weaving through your hair.

"You missed me, huh?" Amusement danced in his tone, a smirk crawling across his perfect plush lips. "Poor little bird. Helpless without me."

A scoff escaped you, but the grin betrayed your playful facade. "On second thought, I take it back-"

"Nope," he interjected, his fingers gently arranging your hair behind your ear. "Too late for that, princess."

You huffed, eyelids fluttering as you reveled in the warmth of his body, nestled in his secure embrace. "Perhaps you're right...but let's not forget that you were the one jerking off while thinking-"

"Touché," he responded, his nails digging into your scalp, a playful attempt to silence you. "It's just...you know the boys will have questions tomorrow...there's no fucking way they didn't hear us."

You captured your lip between your teeth, a moment of contemplation enveloping you as your fingers traced aimless patterns over Mattheo's chest. The room held a quiet intimacy, interrupted only by the gentle caress of your touch.

"Good," you finally responded, your voice dipped in a low timbre. "I don't really care anymore, Matty...I just...I just want to be with you."

"I know..." he cooed, his fingers tenderly weaving through your hair, fingertips massaging your scalp. "Just a couple more weeks...then we don't have to hide anymore."

His words carried both a promise and an underlying uncertainty that resonated with you. Graduation loomed on the horizon, a gateway to a future fraught with unknowns. As he spoke, a pang of apprehension gripped you. The freedom from secrecy seemed tantalizing, yet the uncertainties beyond graduation loomed like a shadow in your thoughts.

"I started writing your mentorship report for Dumbledore tonight," you softly admitted, the words carrying a whisper-like weight. The pending admission feeling like pulling teeth from your gums. "That's why I came...it, um...it made me anxious...worried."

"Worried?" he repeated, his head nuzzling against yours. "Why?"

A fragile silence lingered before you whispered, "I just don't know what's going to happen to us after this... I mean, if I get a job here and-"

"Shh, Raven..." he murmured, pulling you impossibly closer. "Doesn't matter where you are, where I am... we'll make it work."

Your heart fluttered, a mix of uncertainty and hope intertwining. "Will we?"

"We will," he assured, pulling the sheets up and over you both as if creating a cocoon of reassurance, "nothing could ever keep me from you..."

You shifted once more, your gaze rising to meet his, a newfound warmth enveloping your entire being, surpassing the comforting embrace of any blanket or the flickering glow of a fire. Your eyes locked onto him, taking in the sight before you--his lids rested gently closed, long lashes casting delicate shadows on his flushed cheeks, while his fingers continued their soothing journey through your hair.

It was a tableau of serenity, a moment where you witnessed Mattheo in a state of unparalleled contentment and relaxation, radiating a happiness you had never seen him wear so vividly.

"How can you be so sure?" you murmured, almost afraid to disrupt the tranquility that surrounded him.

"Because we've weathered it all already, and just look at us..." he responded, his smile radiating, even without opening his eyes. "Besides, where else could I go? Who else could I love but you?"

A gentle chuckle, laced with both disbelief and affection, escaped your lips. You couldn't fucking believe that this was your life, you couldn't believe that this was the same man from a few months ago.

"Are you feeling okay?..." you teased, the playful incredulity in your voice echoing the rare and serene side of him that unfolded before you. "Who are you, and what have you done with Mattheo Riddle?"

"What can I say, Raven," he murmured, the softness of his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability. "You've changed me."

You scoffed, suppressing a full-blown giggle. "I didn't change anything; you did that all yourself."

"Save the modesty, princess," he husked, a subtle edge of desire in his voice. "You could change the fucking world with your hands behind your back."

"My Gods, Mattheo..." you breathed, your entire body tingling. "If you wanted me to get on my knees for you all you had to do was ask."

With a tender smile, Mattheo shifted you onto your side, drawing you closer. He settled behind you, his face nuzzling into the curve of your neck. One arm slid gently beneath your head, cradling it, while the other wrapped around your waist in a comforting embrace. You melted into him, pushing back against his body as tight as you could.

"This will do, Raven," he murmured, his warm breath caressing your neck. "But if you keep pushing your ass against me like that, we're going to have a problem."

"Mm," you smirked, relishing the tightening grip of his hand on your waist. "Not a problem that we can't fix."

He huffed, choosing to remain silent, but you could feel his grin against your skin. A brief pause hung in the air, the room submerged in a serene stillness. Beyond the window, the black lake flickered in the moonlit night, its waves reflecting the shimmering light like liquid silver.

Breaking the quietude, Mattheo's voice, a soft murmur, rekindled the conversation. "You know," he said, his words carrying a wistful note, "the only time I ever slept well was when you were in my arms."

"Why?" you inquired, your voice a gentle prompt, as curiosity laced the quiet exchange. "Do you usually have trouble sleeping?"

"Usually," he sighed, a blend of fondness and vulnerability threading through his words. "Yet another part of me you seemed to effortlessly fix."

A brief pause enveloped you both, the stillness broken only by the rhythmic cadence of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against your back. As you felt him slowly surrender to the embrace of sleep, his grip on you loosening, a smile of contentment graced your lips.

"Sleep," you whispered, your voice a gentle reassurance, barely audible in the quiet room. "I'll fend off the bad dreams if they dare to approach."

“My fierce little protector.” He huffed, his voice a deep, raspy drawl. "I'm so fucking in love with you."

Your heart warmed, melting at his words. "And I'm fucking so in love with you."

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celestie0 · 26 days

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does anyone wanna be on taglist for this gojo x reader fic? 🧚‍♀️✨

edit: first chapter is out!!

HI BABES after much deliberation i am starting a new gojo fic series :””) I PROMISE I WILL STILL BE ON THAT KICKOFF GRIND but ugh i just had too many ideas and i just neeeeeeed to start this series rn

it's based on this concept idea i had (changed a few things though. also, if you commented on this post, i'm alr gonna tag you haha so dw ab commenting under this one too)

here’s a bit of info about it:

ᰔ title. TO BE DECIDED STILL

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader

ᰔ genres. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, lots of jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, suburban shenanigans; btw gojo in this fic is in his early 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation with him is worth any amount of money.

some side quests. your ex bf is a cop and is determined to prove your marriage is a sham because he's jealous, it appears gojo's love life history is not as simple as it may seem either, also there will be lots of secondary angst because of reader's mom's sickness :'') i will really be delving into a lot of the struggles of having a sick family member (in this fic, alzheimer's & cancer)

here is a little teaser.

and here's another lil teaser i posted yesterday

BUT ANYWAYS yeah please comment below if you'd like to be on the taglist!! tysm for your support :'') the first chapter will likely be posted tomorrow (4/19) if not saturday (4/20 eyyyy)

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wip · 2 months

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For a long time now, it's been impossible to see comments or reblogs with comment/tags on posts over a certain age when using the mobile app or blog view. Today I was looking at a post from 2015 that I knew had at least one reblog comment and lots of tags, but all the reblogs were under "other". I found the comment (but couldn't see any tags) by going to the [blog name].tumblr.com/post/[###] link and scrolling through all the notes in one list, but it's impossible anywhere else.

I know this probably has to do with the many changes Tumblr has gone through in that time, but it's still really inconvenient to have disappearing notes on the platform where part of the charm is that posts can survive for, at this point, almost a decade and a half.

Is it even possible to fix this, and of so, is it something you would consider?

Answer: Hey there, @maplerosekisses!

It is possible to fix this, and we would like to fix it, but it’s a daunting problem at Tumblr’s scale. Buckle up for storytime.

Long, long ago, Tumblr was created, and in the beginning, there weren’t even notes on posts. There weren’t even reblogs or likes. In fact, we were one of the first platforms to introduce the heart icon and the concept of “likes”! We created the reblog! Back in those days, each of these actions were tracked separately. Likes were tracked in one database table and reblogs weren’t tracked at all as notes. When we introduced replies, those had yet another way of being tracked in our database. Totally separate entities on the platform for years.

Eventually, we wanted to consolidate these into one number—so we had to count each of those different places. That’s horribly inefficient, and as Tumblr grew in size and popularity, this became a bottleneck that hurt the whole platform. So one of the things we did was to invent a new denormalized database table called “notes,” to track all of these different things in one place so we could easily count them. We still have that table, and it’s still the fallback whenever we need to count the notes on a post.

But this itself is ancient history. Since then, the product has changed even more, and we removed replies and re-added them later, back in 2015 or so—and made some changes in that process to help further improve efficiency. These improvements allowed us to include media in the notes view, and be able to split out replies versus reblogs-with-comment versus likes (kind of going back to the way it was originally.) Even then, we didn’t yet support showing tag usage in the notes—that would come even later.

In the process of making all of these changes for efficiency and functionality, we had to ask ourselves, as you point out: should we try to backfill these new database tables with all of the data from before? For a long while, we were using both systems to power the notes view, so we could display as much information from “before” as we could. Eventually, we didn’t need to do that anymore, because the number of people scrolling back to that “before” time became infinitesimally small. And that's the situation we’re in today.

Because if we wanted to backfill the data, we would need to process literally tens of billions of posts and notes from before 2015, at a conservative estimate. Let’s say it’s 10,000,000,000, for the sake of argument: if we started an automated process to go through them at ~100 per second (which would be relatively safe at our scale, so Tumblr doesn’t break as we’re digging up these old rows in the database), it would take over three years of continuous operation to complete that task.

In situations like this, we have to ask ourselves if that’s worth it. So far, the answer we’ve determined is no. But we may find a more efficient way to do it, there’s undoubtedly a way, and when we do, we will re-evaluate the decision again. We hope that makes sense—trying to make changes to Tumblr can be really, really hard.

But thank you for your question. We appreciate them and hope that goes some way to answering your query. Keep 'em coming, y'all.

#feature #notes #posting #reblogs

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euphoricfilter · 5 months

Text

if we were to live among the stars:

pairing: carpenter! yoongi x bunny hybrid! reader

genre: fluff || non-idol au || hybrid au || established relationship

summary: a story of the compulsory new christmas bauble

word count: 1.6k

tags/warnings: tooth rotting fluff, they’re kinda just in love it’s sickening, christmas!!!!

notes: this is connected to this universe, however can be read as a standalone <3

navigation where you can find my other work!!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

there were a few times a year the shop got slightly out of hand. christmas being one of those times.

yoongi would like to hope that with every year that passes, he’d be slightly more prepared for the influx of people that take an interest in his craft. but alas, another year comes around and he’s close to losing his mind with how much work needs to get done before he can rest until new year.

the both of you have slowly worked out a system. christmas is the one time of year yoongi never feels guilty recruiting you as his little helper. and on brand, he likes to indulge in a new costume for you to wear each year around the shop. the elf had been his favorite; naturally so because it was fitting for the occasion.

so many years of christmas costumes tucked away in the storage room. last year he’d convinced you to be a reindeer, not without complaint from you, the little antler headband knocking against your poor little bunny ears. which he pet in apology that night until your fallen asleep on his lap and he’d had to carry you to bed.

this year, it was you who had convinced him to match with you.

you’d wanted to be Ms Claus, which of course meant yoongi would dress as Santa. the beard had come off less than an hour of him working, frustrated huff passing his lips before it’d been dropped onto the slowly growing pile of wood on the floor.

although christmas was simultaneously yoongi’s least favorite holiday (simply because it meant so much more work, and less attention directed at you), he couldn’t help the most gentle smile that would grace his lips when he’d glance over at you every so often. your tongue dipping past soft lips as you concentrate painting each of the small ornaments for him.

always utterly determined to strive for perfection, because the work you produced was a reflection on yoongi’s shop, and you wanted everyone to know he was simply the best at his craft. that christmas wasn’t the only time of year they should bother pottering through the door, or checking what he had on the online store.

“almost done for today, my love” he murmurs, back of his hand wiping the sweat from under the fluff of his santa hat.

you pause, paintbrush hovering over the small wooden christmas tree as you glance up at the clock.

“but it’s only 3” you turn to look at him, eyes flickering over his face.

he hums, “we’re almost done with orders…” yoongi pauses, tongue wetting his bottom lip, “and we haven’t done any of our own christmas shopping yet”

you blink, nodding “yes”

“i sense a but” he narrows his eyes at you

“but… your work is important” you tell him, gently placing the paintbrush on the wooden pallet he’d made you.

“our work” he corrects, “and i know that but… we haven’t gotten each other anything yet. plus, we still need to get out compulsory new baubles for the tree”

you shake your head at him, “i told you i don’t need anything this year”

“but that’s doesn’t mean i don’t want to treat you” he argues

“save your money for something better”

he drops the chisel on the table, clank of it ringing in your ears.

“my love” he takes a step closer to you, crouching down beside your bed of blankets and pillows, “there is no ‘better’ than you”

you sigh, “i thought you were saving up for a new shop” it comes out barely above a whisper.

he falls back so he’s sitting, fingers slipping between your own.

“it can wait”

“but you’ve been talking about it for months”

“and?” his fingers squeeze yours

“and… don’t spend money on me because then you can save up quicker” you shake your head, “i’m more than happy just spending time with you, you know that”

he hums, tugging you forward. his eyebrows crease when your knee almost tips the paint water over your blanket, quick to help you step over it until you’re sat in his lap.

“i know, baby” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “i’m having second thoughts on the new shop”

you pause for a moment, “pardon?”

your eyes are wide as you look up at him, “but yoongi—“

he groans, head tipping back so he can avoid your eyes, “i know, i know. i’ve yapped on about it for months”

“then what changed?”

“you”

you blink at him, “me?”

“yeah, you” it isn’t accusatory, never would be and you doubt it ever will. because yoongi would never be able to bring himself to blame you for anything.

“why me?”

“look at us” he gestures between the both of you, “we’re happy. and we worked so hard for this place, it’s home”

“we can make home in another place” you murmur, “don’t give up your dream because of me”

“it’s just—“ he starts, eyes flickering across your face as he tried to find the right words, “i’ve had enough for that place i was looking at for months… i was going to call the guy who’s selling it but i couldn’t bring myself to do it”

“why?” you whisper, perhaps scared you’d ruin the mellow vulnerability if you spoke too loud.

“because this is us” he motions around the shop, “it would crush me to move us and then hate it, for me to walk into a new shop every single day and the warm feeling in my heart to never be there again” he tells you, “because you wouldn’t be able to nap on the window ledge, and we wouldn’t be able to walk down the street for coffee and your ice cream. years of you building up this—“ he points to your pile of blankets, pillows scattered how you like them, “would all be gone and it wouldn’t be the same”

“if you’re sure” you nod, “but if you change your mind—“

“i won’t” he stops you, “i know this is everything i need”

“and what if you need a bigger space?”

he groans, “i’ll throw away a table, i don’t know, it doesn’t matter. as long as it’s us and this shop then it doesn’t matter i’m happy”

“okay” you swallow, “i didn’t really want to leave anyways”

“why didn’t you tell me?” his fingers skim along the base of your bunny ears.

“because i’m not here to hold you back” you say, “i told you, where ever you go, i’ll be right behind you. because i trust you more than you’ll ever know”

“what if you were unhappy?” he runs a hand over his face.

“a piece of me will always be happy as long as we’re together. wether we stay here forever, or live among the stars with no one but us; i would be happy”

a smile quirks onto your lips as tears glaze over his eyes, the raw sort of love, all consuming, crazed, the kind of love that fills you up and threatens to spill out of every pore, so much contained within one fragile human body squeezing at yoongi’s heart as he looks at you.

his hands wander, over your shoulders and up to hold your cheeks, “okay”

“okay” you parrot, leaning into his touch.

“merry christmas” he leans forward, stealing the words from your tongue as he kisses you, ever so gentle and sweet.

“merry christmas” you whisper against his lips, quick to press a quick kiss before pulling away a little, “i might have already gotten our compulsory new bauble”

“without me?” his smile drops, eye brows furrowing

“we can get another one… but think of it as an early christmas gift”

you slip out of his lap, slinking over to your bag hung up by the door, fingers slipping past the zipper. yoongi can hear the paper bag crinkle between your fingers as you hold it behind your back, quick to sit beside him.

he turns his body to face you, knees knocking against yours.

you look down at the paper bag in your hands, mild hesitance painting your posture, sure to have so many thoughts running through your mind as you hand it over to him, not daring meet his eyes as he holds it.

“i like everything you get me” he reminds you at your clear nervous display.

“i know… but it still scares me” you admit

he lets the paper bag fall into his lap as he tugs your hands to hold his, “i love you”

your head tilts up to look at him, “i love you too but i don’t see—“

he stops you, finger pressed to your lips “i love you which means anything you’re willing to give to me will mean the world”

you frown, “open it then” you murmur

his hands slip from between yours, delicate as they unfold the paper bag.

a laugh bubbles up his throat at the sight of it, pure joy simmering beneath his skin as he holds it up in front of his face: a little wooden heart, a photo of the two of you sat prettily in the cut out.

he doesn’t remember when the photo was taken, but he remembers what you’d told him seconds before the shutter had captured that singular moment in time, locked in stasis forever.

“let’s love each other in every life, okay?”

because he remembers telling you that is the only way he planned to live, big smile on his face as you kiss his cheek.

“i love it” he whispers, eyes glued to the ornament like it were the most precious thing he had ever had the chance to hold, “i love you”

you smile, “i love you… merry christmas yoongi”

he lowers the bauble, “merry christmas, my pretty little love”

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aziraphales-library · 2 months

Note

Heya ! I'm looking for some fics that are set post season 2. Not fixits exactly, not that I would mind fixits. But I'm looking for long canon compliant fics. Also, is there a tag for such fics ?

We have #good omens s2 and #canon compliant tags. On ao3 you'll want to use the tags "Post-Season/Series 02" and "Canon Compliant", which is what I did to find you these...

scherzo in f-sharp minor, for orchestra by astrhae (M)

It was a truth universally acknowledged that an angel in possession of no memory must be in want of a wife. No, that was the wrong book. The wrong line. Aziraphale frowned. “What,” the gentleman before him asked, “and I mean what, are you doing here?” ----------------- Or, two years after things fall apart, Aziraphale shows up at Crowley's doorstep without his memories. The easy part is getting it back, the hard part is getting them back together.

Until the Bitter End by sentientsky (T)

After learning the truth about Heaven's plans and fruitlessly trying to fix a corrupt system (and maybe also having his memory messed with a little bit in the process), Aziraphale slips back to Earth in search of Crowley.

i will make it better, if only for us by davethefish (T)

With Aziraphale in Heaven, everything that Crowley loved has left the earth. He doesn't know what to do, so he starts small. Maybe someday he'll love the earth as much as he loved Aziraphale. It's time for him to remember why he chose to stay in the first place.

Black Holes and Revelations by ArtisticRising (E)

Crowley takes a leap of faith… into the heart of a black hole. It’s the last card Crowley has to play. He can’t do this without Aziraphale… and he’s betting that Aziraphale can’t do this without him. Act I (Black Holes) ends around Chapter 6 (10 if you want the smut babes). You could leave the story off there. Up til chapter 6 you have a whole story that’s pretty much G rated. From there my thirst comes out like a sexy little demon in tight jeans and a vaguely downwards saunter. Act II (Revelations) is an attempt at season 3. Treat it as a separate work that builds off Act I. Lots of plot twists ahead/theories/speculations that I won’t spoil for you :)

The Ineffability of Gray by kitfornow (NR)

Fifteen years have passed since Aziraphale returned to Heaven, and still sometimes Crowley feels shell shocked and embarrassed and grief-stricken. And mostly, he still feels numb. Fifteen years isn’t really so long, in the grand scheme of things, and yet these have somehow been the longest years of his existence. He can almost feel time crawling by, laughing at him. But slowly, so slowly, Crowley began to try again. To try harder. To find a piece of himself that Aziraphale had not touched. To find a piece of himself that does not need changing. On his good days, he can open up. His friends come over to the flat, once in a while, and Maggie brings new records and Muriel brings burnt cookies that no-one complains about because they're so proud of them. They'll exchange stories and simply enjoy each other's company for a few hours. And sometimes, he feels almost alright. Until Crowley turns around and Aziraphale is there, standing in front of him, trying to stop the world from ending all over again.

hurry back, please bring it back home to me by Percyjacksonfan3 (T)

“Why should I?” The demon interrupts cuttingly. “You’ve made it perfectly clear where your priorities lie and anything I say won’t make a bit of difference.” “That’s not true at all.” Aziraphale replies after a long hurt moment. “And you know it. Besides, you’re being stubborn. You’ll help me eventually.” Rage flashes over Crowley’s face. “You think so, do you?” Aziraphale juts his chin up stubbornly, ignoring the unpleasant feelings Crowley’s expression stirs in him. “Yes.” Aziraphale needs Crowley's help in saving humanity from the Second Coming and despite what happened between them he's determined to get it. After all, it's not only that he needs Crowley, but his plan also includes their car. As for the other matters between the two of them... well there's no reason those can't be sorted out along the way as well, is there? Or, a possible take on Series 3 that includes the Bentley, a resurrected Jesus Christ set on bringing about the End of Days, and an angel and a demon who are stupidly in love with each other but are both suffering from a lack of experience on how to actually deal with said emotions. Emphasis on the stupidly.

- Mod D

#good omens #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #canon compliant #long fic #mod d

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runawaymarbles · 2 years

Note

Hii!

I don’t understand what’s going on with AO3 and the election? I’ve been using it for about a year so this is all new to me! Is Tiffany getting elected actually bad?

I hate censorship, so seeing posts about them censoring stuff is concerning but idk how much truth to it there is 😳

I just want to be informed, and understand!

Hi! Welcome to AO3:)

since I'm not sure how much you know already, the background (background as interpreted by me: I am not speaking on behalf of the OTW) is: Ao3 is run by the Organization for Transformative Works (OTW), the nonprofit that also runs Fanlore and publishes Transformative Works & Cultures. Anyone who has donated $10 to the OTW in the last year, and chooses "yes I want to be a member" at checkout is an OTW member. (This is not the same as having an ao3 account.) Every year, there is an election to fill either 2 or 3 seats on the Board of Directors. OTW Members (i.e. people who donated between 7/1/21 and 6/30/22, in this case) get to vote on this.

Most of the time, this election is only really followed by people on fail_fandomanon. Sometimes, it isn't.

Things the Board of Directors does: writes posts to send out to the general public when Things Are Happening (the recent csam attacks, the requests for more antiracism measures.) Writes posts to send to volunteers when Things Are Happening (see prev.) Keeps track of what all the committees are doing and how it ties in with whatever the strategic plan says they should be doing. Deals with the IRS/US laws. Approves large funding requests. Deals with emails that someone else has deemed outside their own wheelhouse. Herds cats. Proposes priorities. Points at something shiny, pats the org on the flank, and says "walk that way, walk that way!! Come on buddy, you can do it!!". etc etc etc.

Things the Board of Directors doesn't do: unilaterally determine ao3 content policy. Let us use the word "porn" on ao3 drive merch. Make decisions that are going greatly affect other volunteers' work without input and some level of agreement from said volunteers.

Anyway. This year, one of the five candidates for the three open board seats is Tiffany G. (More information about all the candidates and their platforms is at https://elections.transformativeworks.org)

Tiffany is a tag wrangler from an unspecified country that is, from context, assumed to be China. The candidate Q&A can be read here. Her answers were a little bit confusing, but she said she wanted to update the ToS policies on 'pedophilic and illegal content' because, quote, "people think we host child porn content and such things... It might... be helpful to clarify that to the public." Further down she said:

a) I support 100% “maximum inclusiveness of content”, yet there is always a boundary to everything. Since OTW is already an influential org, we need to protect our image and hold a better image to the public. I want the public to think of us as an inclusive and socially responsible community. So in general, we have to do something to change. Things like making the rating system more specific and obvious to users will be what I want to do. b) Not really restricting the content being posted. I hope it is like more warnings and ratings for posting work so people know what to expect. And all of these are not surprising to people who do not wish to see this.

I took this to mean "she wants to clarify to outsiders that ao3 does not host csam, is not only for erotica, and update the ratings and warnings system." I don't think that those things are necessary or should be a focus of the org, which is part of why I didn't vote for her.

Other people took it to mean "Tiffany is against pornographic or underage works and wants them to be banned." Some people took this, combined with her nationality, to the conclusion of "Tiffany is a secret plant of the Chinese Communist Party who wants to join the board, get all the ao3 user data, and then have the users from mainland China arrested" (despite the fact that this is not information the board would have access to, if for no other reason than ao3 is blocked in China so anyone trying to view the site from mainland china has to use a VPN anyway.) Some people are upset that the OTW elections committee "allowed" her to run in the first place, because they think that not letting anyone with opinions the current board or elections committee didn't like is an absolutely great precedent to set.

There are a bunch of comments on tw.org, and some in fail_fandomanon, that give more context to her comments in terms of Chinese fandom (though most posters still disagree with her position.)

This got... longer than planned. But to the question "Is tiffany getting elected actually bad" - If my interpretation of her statements are correct, I think it would be annoying, because she does not have the experience I think that being on the Board requires, and focuses on priorities I disagree with. Which isn't to say she'd never have a valuable perspective or ideas about something, but there are four other candidates that I think are much better suited to it at this point in time. If the people who think she is an antishipper bent on censorship are correct, she could probably make life very annoying for the rest of the board-- but considering the rest of them are not pro-censorship, I can't see how she'd have much influence in that direction in the org as a whole.

If the people who think she's doing espionage on behalf of the CCP are correct, then... look, I can't even finish that sentence because I find the idea of the CCP deciding that a) they need to get ao3 user data and b) the way to do that is to run a clearly unqualified candidate in a public board election absurd.

the tl;dr of this tl;dr is that there's a lot of fearmongering going around, and a lot of accusations and hate (and racism. let’s be real a lot of this is racism) directed her way. I don't know her, so I don't know what her "real" opinions are, but regardless of who wins the board election, ao3 is not going to be censored any time soon.

if for no other reason than if the Abuse team was told on top of all their other work, they now had to assess and remove fics reported for being "problematic", they would say "we'd prefer not to" and then proceed to not do it.

It's awesome that people are realizing the board elections and OTW membership are a thing now, though. We kept talking about how to encourage membership, and "running a very dramatic and wanky election" did not occur to us. In retrospect, I don't know why.

#otw #again not speaking for the org #otw elections #the current wank #op #asks #anons #answers

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brucesterling · 4 months

Text

*How, why, does this poor, yet heroically determined, woman somehow keep posting on Tumblr

*even though the Tumblr system nagwares her -- every single time! -- to do extra, unpaid work, hand-labelling those posters with trackable tags

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awkward-tension-art · 1 month

Text

Heart-share

Captain Rex x Reader

Warnings; Reader insert, reader technically isn’t human but human enough, mind-sharing, literally sharing emotions, brief mentions of destruction in the beginning to set up backstory, smut, emotions, brief mentions of biting, technically more build up to sex rather than sex but I’m tagging it as smut anyway, Rex is a sweety, Rex gets a little emotional, he cries slightly, can be read any time before order 66, brief mention of Anakin and Padme

Reader is technically not female because they’re an alien species, but has female-ish biology (I kept that part vague), pronouns are gender neutral though!

Minors get the fuck out of here, you aren’t welcome!

You were a rare species in the Republic. One deeply tied to emotion, expression and the moon. Your skin was littered with sparkling light that resembled the stars in the sky. Your eyes had a soft glow to them.

Your home had been destroyed, and in the chaos, loss and grief, The Force had awoken inside of you like a storm. It was a desperate attempt to save your village.

It failed. Because without training, what could you have done?

Your kind had scattered after the destruction of your planet. Population was low, there was no home for your people.

That was years ago. In that time you had been taken in by the Jedi Order. Recognized as a padawan then a Jedi knight.

In those years you had found a new family with the Order. You found happiness. A home.

And love.

Captain Rex. Serious. Stern. Yet so kind, hardworking and determined.

Handsome too. All the clones were handsome, but something about Rex…

Love was forbidden. No attachment. It made no sense to you. Love was sacred. To disregard your emotions and feelings was to disregard your culture.

However, you were given a good lashing by the council for your questioning of such a rule. And Rex wouldn’t risk his position. He’d be decommissioned if it was known he had romantic feelings for you.

So you didn’t act on your feelings. Neither did the clone captain for the longest time. You had settled for lingering touches and sidelong glances.

But when you stumbled in on Padme and Anakin….

Well, you’d keep their secret if they kept yours.

Rex’s lips were on yours. He had just returned from a long battle in the outer ridges of the Republic. In a not so subtle way, he had immediately gone to your private quarters, leaving before any of his other clone brothers had stepped off the ship. His helmet was placed on your desk, and his hands were on you.

“Rex,” you giggled as he peppered kisses all over your face, “Rex, I missed you too,” your arms were draped over his shoulders.

“Hm.” His rough voice was soft, “Need this. Need you, mesh’la.”

You let him do as he pleased with no argument, the captain was often affectionate whenever he returned. He had your heart in the palm of your hand. You had his.

Your thoughts drifted, thinking of home. Thinking of the many shows of adoration in your culture. Would he enjoy learning and experiencing such a thing?

There was something you wanted to do with the clone captain. But it was permanent. A deeply intimate process that the most devoted of couples would perform.

It couldn’t be forced. All parties had to be willing, and whoever you chose for it would be the only one to share it with you.

It was a sharing of emotions. A connection of the minds. A binding of the nervous system, so one’s internal feelings became physical. And the result afterward, no matter where either of you were, you could sense each other’s emotional state.

“Rex.”

He paused at your words and pulled back, “Oh! Did I do something wrong?” His warm eyes had concern in them.

“No, I just…” your hands held his, “I want to do something, but…” what could you say? How could you fully explain this to him?

“Mesh’la,” his hand cupped your cheek, “What is it?”

You swallowed, he was picking up on your nervousness, “it’s called reeshi,” it felt strange speaking your language, it’s been so long since you’ve spoken your mother tongue, “The closest way I can translate it is heart-sharing.”

Rex remained silent, looking at you in interest as you explained the process. It only took skin to skin contact, and it would allow for him to feel what you feel. And you him. The effect would be a link to each other's emotions. So even at a distance, you would know how the other was feeling.

There was a single downside, if Rex would die, your mind would shatter, and you couldn’t heart-share with anyone else. He would be your literal one and only.

You’ve seen the result of such a thing years ago. They were a husk. Unable to feel anything anymore. They barely had any functionality. It was like speaking to a hollow shell of a being. As if a crucial part of their mind was missing and broken.

“You’re telling me, if I fell in battle,” he furrowed his brow, grip tightening on your hips, “You…would just break?”

“I suppose that’s one way to say it…Yes.” Your hand trailed down his chest, “but…I…I want to….” You murmured, looking deep into his beautiful eyes. Your lips were so close to him, “With you…”

Rex kissed you sweetly before he pulled back, “I…I can’t risk it. Not for you.” Tangled in his concern and worry was fear. You recognized it easily.

He feared harming you. Feared dying and leaving you with a permanent scar.

Oh…he’s so sweet…

Outside this room, he was captain Rex. Leader to hundreds of clones. A battle hardened warrior. But with you? He was your love. Your kar’ta.

“Rex…”

“I’m a clone. Someone who was made to fight and die in battle. For the republic.” He damn near growled, “If you and I…did this…”

“I want it to be with you.” Your fingers interlocked with his, “It’s worth it.” You murmured, “you’re worth it. clone or not. Republic or not…you’re worth everything to me.”

He kissed you again. One strong arm held the small of your back. The other was holding your face still. By the time you two separated, your breath had been taken.

“You…” Rex whispered, “are incredible.” He pulled you closer to kiss you again and again, “hell, I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You responded softly, kissing him again. Your lips only left his when your back was on your bed and he caged you between his arms.

He swallowed, looking down at you. You must seem so small when he’s over you like this.

“You said heart-sharing requires skin to skin contact?” The captain asked, keeping his eyes on you.

You nodded and he removed his left glove with his teeth.

Oh stars, this man is attractive. He knew how to get you hot and bothered. Between the kisses and touches, his armor and your clothes were stripped, leaving you both bare.

His fingers interlocked with yours. Your gaze met his and you spoke, “I want to make sure you want this too.”

Rex nodded, “yea…yea I do. But…are you sure? I’m just-“

“You’re more than just a clone.” Your words were honest. Resolute. Your tone indicated that you weren’t going to argue.

The captain let out a short, breathy laugh, “Alright mesh’la…as long as you’re ok…keep going.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Your focus was on the man over you. You thought of him and only him, opening up a bridge between you two.

Your minds connected, tying together like a soft ribbon. In a way, you formed your souls together, becoming a single entity melded together by love.

All at once, it felt like cold water splashed over you before giving way to warmth. Rex’s mind was receptive to yours. Connecting together like a puzzle. His breath hitched, and he fell onto his forearm, keeping you under him.

Your eyes opened. You could feel his thoughts. His emotions. Physically, you could feel his skin. His scars. His heartbeat. He was all you knew at the moment. Your free hand was at the back of his neck, holding him close.

Only him.

He trembled, nervous system feeling you.

You. You. You.

Rex’s entire purpose was you.

Even when he buried his face in your shoulder, you could feel him. Rex was overwhelmed. Overcome with everything. He was open and bare for your mind. You were peering into his existence, seeing every dark corner inside of him.

This was a vulnerability he didn't think was possible.

Tied to it all was pleasure. Deep, piercing pleasure.

“M-mesh’la…” the captain’s throat was tight, struggling to process just what he was feeling. His words slurred ever so slightly, “Kar'taylir darasuum. Aalar bid jate…riduur…” Rex’s brain fizzled out, forgetting Galactic Basic.

This deep…affection. This never ending love. It flooded his system, drowned him. His lungs were filled with your existence. His heart was racing with your passion.

“Rex…” you whispered his name so sweetly, “Are you ok?” You were aware that this process could be overwhelming for anyone outside of your race. Truthfully, you didn’t expect this to be so…intense for him. You felt his heightened emotional state. Everything was so sensitive for him, and it gave way to physical pleasure. He was struggling to fully understand it.

His grip on your hand tightened and he nodded, “Gedet'ye…elek…” Rex swallowed, shaking himself out of his daze. The reeshi clearly took him off guard. A rare moment where he was unsteady.

Along with his emotional state, you were connected to his physical reactions. You could feel his desire. His need. You could feel his want for your body. You bent your knee and used your calf to push him closer. He could feel exactly the same in you. A desperate attraction.

Rex shuddered, coming back to himself, “You’re going to kill me, mesh’la…” His voice was husky, “Can I…” He squeezed your hand again.

You raised your head and kissed him, sparks shot through the both of you, “I am yours, Rex.”

He lined up his cock and pushed into you.

Stars, this was intense. Your head was spinning, your heart was racing. His kisses on your neck felt like fire. Every touch was amplified because of reeshi.

Rex was trembling again. His nerves were alight with pleasure, both yours and his. He silenced himself by burying his face into your neck.

Your ankles crossed, pulling him even closer to you.

You were lost within each other as he rolled his hips over and over again. Your body was moving with the push and pull of rising pleasure. Like a wave, moving from your curled toes to your head.

The connection between you two remained steadfast. Your fingers remained interlocked with his, allowing the pleasure to be exponential.

Rex wasn’t his usual quiet self. He was more vocal, letting out soft heavenly moans. He kept his face on your shoulder, using your skin to muffle the sounds he made.

He was feeling good, you knew it. Your free hand trailed down his back, causing both him and you to shiver. The pads of your fingers traced over scars. The ones you’ve felt many times before. The same scars you kissed, letting the captain know how you loved each one.

The same feeling ghosted over your back. Every peck, every move, every emotion and feeling was a mirror between you both.

The pleasure was building. Your center became tight like a coil.

Rex was no better off. He was primed to break and fall to complete bliss. The pace of his thrusts was fast and sloppy. His coordination failed, entirely overwhelmed with the pleasure and ecstasy he was feeling, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” he breathed into your ear, “...Ni aalar bid jate…gar cuyir kandosii'la…elek…elek….”

His words caused you to go over the edge. Your head tilted back and you moaned his name. Bliss went through your system, doubling your lover's own pleasure. He was thrown into an orgasm, sending powerful shockwaves through you.

There was a burning on your shoulder as you felt Rex cum. He held you tightly, muffling his moans and keens into your skin. He held you tightly, muscles flexing, mind and body exploding with pure, unfiltered, hot euphoria.

Your breathing was heavy as the both of you came down from your compounded highs. Eyes closed, heart racing, you let yourself feel the warmth in the afterglow. It felt…sweeter…more heavenly.

Now, you two could feel each and every feeling after such intimacy.

“...Gar cuyir ner oyay…Gar cuyir ner narser…” Rex mumbled lowly, placing soft and tender kisses to your skin, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Mesh’la…Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum…” The clone captain was in a daze. His mind had broken under the pleasure and he needed a moment to recharge. But…seeing the man you loved so incoherent with bliss…

Well, you’d remember this scene for a long time.

He pulled back, moving to look over you. He was about to kiss you, before his warm brown eyes flicked to your shoulder, “o-oh…”

“Hm..?” One eye cracked open in curiosity. He was embarrassed, you could feel it in your chest. With a glance, you recognized a rather deep bite mark.

Oh.

Oh!

“Sorry, mesh’la.” Rex mumbled, not meeting your eye, “I...I guess everything got too intense.”

“S’ok…” Your smile was small, genuine and tired, “Just means you felt good.” You squeezed his hand and leaned up to kiss his lips tenderly. You wanted to stay like this with him forever. You wanted to forget the war outside. You wanted to forget the jedi code.

But stars, you were suddenly so exhausted.

Reeshi was tiring for you. It was a steady drain of your energy, and you had to stop.

But you really didn’t want to.

The captain felt your exhaustion, “Mesh’la?” With his free hand, he cupped your cheek, “Are you ok?”

You nodded, “Yea…” your head turned to look at your clasped hands, “Reeshi is…tiring…” It made sense, the two of you were connected mentally, emotionally and physically, and you were acting as the bridge.

“Oh…” he whispered. You felt his sadness. He seemed to enjoy being tied to you in such an intimate way, “Then…stop, if you need. I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

With another nod, you closed your eyes. Severing the connection was easier than establishing it. However, neither you nor Rex’s mind wanted to disconnect. You untangled the silken ribbon that tied the both of you together.

In the end you were left with an empty feeling in your heart.

A tear fell onto your chest and your riduur buried his face back into your neck. You could still feel his sadness at the back of your mind, but it wasn’t as strong. He could feel your own, even if you couldn’t cry tears of water at the loss of heart-sharing.

Instead of being tangled together in a web of affection and love, your emotions were connected by a thread. Small, seemingly fragile, but still connected.

That thought alone gave you comfort. The two of you were still connected in a way that others wouldn’t understand.

“Sorry…” he mumbled, “I didn’t think this would hit me so hard…it feels like I’ve lost a part of myself.”

Your smile was soft, “me too,” you admitted, “But…instead, you have a part of me. And I have a part of you.”

Rex shifted, laying on his side to hold you close, “i rather like that thought.” His warm lips pecked your forehead, “I love you, mesh’la.”

“I love you too, kar’ta.” you whispered back.

#captain rex x reader #star wars the clone wars #star wars tcw #tcw x reader #star wars x reader #captain rex #star wars smut #commander rex #reader insert #tw: smut #my writing

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brokenpieces-72 · 5 days

Text

Risk

Navigation

Kyle came to pick you up. By now the two of you were buddies, with him treating you like a younger sibling. There are plenty of memes exchanged between the two of you, and you’ve tagged along with him on more than one occasion. He knows a lot about cars, and you’ve helped him work on a couple vehicles. Turns out he works at a small mechanic shop. Never overcharges people, or pulls fake expenses. Has a tendency to undercharge but sometimes gets something of equal value.

You get in the passenger seat and putting your bag in the backseat. You notice a few small things in the back. Kyle starts driving and you stretch in the seat.

“Seat belt.” He says and you put it on.

“Peach wine?” You ask. Kyle gives a half smile keeping his eyes on the road.

“She insisted on giving a whole case.” Kyle says. One of his customers was an older lady who made wine on the side. She couldn’t always cover the costs of her old run down vehicle getting repaired so Kyle settled for a bottle of her wine to cover the rest. “Gonna let Price try some and serve it at the pub.”

“Speaking of drinks, do the guys like ice tea with popping boba?” You ask.

“Don’t think so.”

“Woo!” You cheer. More for you! You sit back in your seat, watching out the window. The drive is a longer one than necessary. After some time, you notice a few landmarks out of place. You suspect someone is following you two, and Kyle is trying to get them to leave you both alone.

“Had a visitor.” You say, wanting to fill the quiet drive. “Milena Romanova.”

“The hell did she want?” Kyle says, checking his mirrors.

“Gave me an invitation to a gathering. Offered to show some of my work at open houses. Graves was there too but he got there before Milena.”

“He broke in?” Kyle asks. Graves sounded like a toxic ex.

“No, he has my spare key. He was there before I got there, I talked to Milena and then found out he was around.” You exclaim. It’s quiet in the car for a bit. The purring engine fills the silence as he mutters something checking behind him.

“I told him about the raid.” You say. If anyone would take it calmly, it was Kyle. The car feels even quieter, though. Telling Graves hadn’t been decided yet. Kyle is fidgeting a little with the wheel, staring forward. “I’m sor-“

“Don’t say sorry to me.” He says, and you can hear more in his voice. You've heard a similar tone when someone brought the wrong tires after they were late for their tire change. There’s a pause as he straightens in the seat and speeds up a little, making it through a yellow light before making a turn and then another. There’s a pause while you check the side mirror to see if anyone is still following. After a few minutes, you don’t recognize any of the vehicles that were behind you before the light.

“Price has issues with the police since Graves and what happened with Makarov. If he can avoid them he does, but right now, we need all the help we can get, and if Graves can give us the legal system we should be taking it.” Kyle says. He has a look of determination in his eyes. One you haven’t seen in him much, except for when you’d seen him go out with Price for “work” or defend someone in a fight. He glances at you while waiting at a red light.

“Graves tell you what to do?” He asks. You nod. Kyle nods as if he already knows the instructions himself. There’s another pause waiting for the light to turn green. He looks at you directly.

“Did you actually record the conversation?” Kyle asks.

“Yep.” You say smiling. “I don’t think she’s seen the work I did of her.”

Kyle is laughing as he steps on the gas, the light green now. “You should go to that gathering just to see the look on her face.”

“She’ll likely simmer down by then. Not sure if I want to go if Makarov is there.”

“He’s supposed to be there?” Kyle asks.

“Probably. I mean Milena came to my apartment and when she saw me, she tried to make the excuse that my unit was up for sale. I assume Makarov gave her my address. She even stood there waiting for me. Could've put it in my mailbox or slid it under the door. Clearly, they want me to know they can find me.”

“You don’t want to see him?” Kyle inquires, though the answer is fairly obvious. He doesn't blame you.

“I... I don't think I'm ready to face him yet. Not alone, with a crowd of people." You answer.

Kyle pulls into a parking spot not far from the safe house apartment. He carries the wine, while you haul your bag. You both walk in and find Laswell chatting with Price. You haven’t seen Laswell since meeting John Price for the first time. After putting your bag in your bedroom you come back out and make some tea. Kyle has the small crate on the kitchen counter and is getting a couple of glasses for Price and Laswell to try. You take your seat at the bar and notice a similar envelope to your own invitation.

“You got invited?” You wonder aloud. Laswell looks at you and then where you’re looking.

“You got one?” She asks. You hold it up and John’s expression changes with the lift of an eyebrow. Laswell’s eyes go to her laptop, where you see some stuff but you’re not sure what exactly it is. You don’t want to inquire either.

Kyle hands both Price and Laswell a glass of the wine. You look at Kyle and then look between the two others while they try the wine. Do you tell them about Graves? Kyle folds his arms, looks at the floor, and then back at you. He gives you a slight shrug as an answer. You can, but that “you can” is gonna be loaded.

“Graves told me to leave an anonymous tip about the raid.” You blurt out. Kyle looks away while Price and Laswell look at you. The two of them are old enough to be your parents but damn do they feel like it this moment. You look between trying to figure out whose face to settle on. You pick Laswell but she just shakes her head and returns to her laptop. Thanks, Laswell, now you’re stuck facing the giant bear that is Price. You look at him and his face says something but you don't know what it is. It’s like reading a book highlighted with a black sharpie.

“I can call him off, tell him not to.” You say, wanting to back out of the whole thing.

“Tell who?” Johnny asks coming out of the hall. When did he get here?

“Tell Graves not to be at the raid.” You blurt out again. Johnny was reaching for the fridge until he stopped and gave you the same expression as John. Seriously how did they do that? That is impressively coordinated. You try looking to Kyle, hoping he'll weigh in. Nope. Kyle is not even making eye contact with you just looking at the ground. There is tension and you hate it.

“I’ll tell him not to.” You say breaking eye contact with them and staring down at the counter top.

“Send the tip.” John says, biting back some annoyance. “At the very least Graves can keep the damage down and focus on Makarov’s men.”

You didn’t realize you were holding breath until Price finished talking. Johnny goes back to the fridge, letting the tension die out.

“This is home made?” Price asks Kyle who finally looks up from the floor as if he were never trying to hide from the conversation.

“Yeah.” Kyle says. You eye Soap while the two continue talking and he’s distracted. You both know the risks that could come, and the differing amount of trust you both have in Graves. Time would tell.

“If you’re going to that gathering, you probably shouldn’t go in ripped jeans and a hoodie.” Laswell comments the next day. She’d come back to the hideout fairly early. Thinking about it, you can’t recall her leaving, since you went to bed early. You woke up, got dressed and came out to find her remaking the pot of coffee.

“Not sure I want to go.” You reply checking to see what in the fridge was still edible. You find some left over chicken, but the stray could have that after feeding her kits. You find a protein bar, and settle, sitting up on the counter.

“Because of Makarov?” She asks. You shrug, but she’s right. You never met the man face to face but if he was enough to make everyone treat him like the plague you were hardly eager to shake his hand.

“Makarov is a smart man, he won’t do anything to you when you’re there.” She says.

“You don’t know that.” You counter, rubbing your arm. Laswell notices you tugging on your sleeve. She lets the coffee brew while standing in front of you. Laswell holds out her hand and you already know what she wants. You offer your wrist and pull the sleeve back showing the fairly nasty bruise. It is healing but hasn’t by much.

Kate looks up at you while you’re focused on the bruise. You’d been in gun fights before. Someone grabbing your wrist and squeezing until you bruised was an experience you had no interest in repeating. At least not like that. Nolan had found you again and grabbed at you. He tried dragging you to a car but your quick thinking to bite his wrist got him off. It left you with the taste of his blood in your mouth and an impression on your skin. You’d kept it to yourself though.

“What happened?” Kate asks. Her voice is calm, likely not the first time this has happened. She isn't demanding an answer. You tell her and she listens. No scolding or shaming you for not saying anything or not doing something more. You almost wish she would because at times you feel like a kid in this group. You expect her to say you did your best and it’s not your fault. Kate doesn’t though. Instead, she tugs the sleeve back down.

“Good work. You may not be able to get him arrested but he won’t forget the bite anytime soon.” She says. You smile, feeling a little proud of yourself.

“If you can do this, then I think you can handle Makarov. Especially since I’ll be there as with officer Alex.” Kate says.

“You think I should go?” You ask.

“You don’t have to, but if you want… it would give you a chance to see some very humorous reactions to your work,” Kate says taking a sip of newly poured coffee.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @tai-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666

#cod au #john soap mactavish #task force 141 x reader #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #gangster au #cod gangster au #gn reader #gender neutral reader #call of duty modern warfare #little bit of tension before the good shit #and by that i mean angst #tf 141 x reader

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starlitmark · 3 months

Text

Summary: Somehow, he managed to get ahold of the rants you drafted in your emails to him… now he’s determined to eat your words (read: fuck you stupid). Pairing: Hyunjae x fem!reader Tropes: academic rivals au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, yn described as shorter than him Smut Warnings: arguing as foreplay, dirty talk, rough sex, wall sex, unprotected sex, degradation, god kink (not really, but Hyunjae is being cocky) Word Count: 1,572 Note: Thank you to @anyamaris for beta reading this! Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye February Filth Masterlist Before You Interact

Listen to ♡ Criminal by Taemin

“Fuck you,” you grit.

“Ask nicely, and maybe I will.” Hyunjae smirks at you.

“That’s not what I–” You cut yourself off with an exasperated sigh.

Hyunjae keeps that irritatingly hot smirk on his face. Yet again, he somehow scored barely higher than you on this exam. It shouldn’t matter anymore. You’re literally in university. The only reason grades should truly matter against another student’s grade is if you’re fighting for that Valedictorian place. In your case, you’ve been back and forth with Hyunjae for that position for the entirety of your educational life. No matter what you do, you always end up just slightly below him academically. It doesn’t help that he’s fucking gorgeous, either. Each time you see him, he enrages you, but some small piece of yourself also admires his appearance (even though you hate that you do it).

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” He chuckles, walking backward toward the door.

“So you finally admit you think I’m cute.” You try to bite back.

He just scoffs and jerks his chin at you before backing out of the room. Knowing you got the last word of that exchange, a bit of pride swells in your chest. For some reason, your mind chooses to fixate on the fact that he called you cute. You hate him in every sense of the word, but still, your mind fixates there rather than the fact that you want to punch that annoyingly hot smirk off his face.

There’s only one way that you can get all of your frustration regarding Hyunjae out of your system. Some of your friends call you an absolute dork for doing this, but it’s cathartic for you. The moment you get home, you pull up to your desk and pull up your email. This is what you do. You rant, chew him out in an email draft, and never send them. You can say whatever you want without repercussions for your actions. After all, you’re the only one seeing it.

You angrily type out an email; you’re not entirely processing what you’re typing. You press a few buttons to save it away in your drafts with the other ranting emails. With a huff, you push away from your desk and tidy your apartment. You and your roommates divided the chores by day, and it just so happened to be your day. You’re feeling a lot lighter about everything that happened earlier, dancing around the living room as you clean. Then a knock sounds on your front door. Clearly, it’s not one of your roommates, given that they’re knocking and not just walking in.

Your eyebrows furrow together as you shuffle your way over to the door. You’re not expecting any guests; any deliveries you get go to the mail room, not your front door. You open the door and are met with the last person you want to see. Hyunjae is right outside your door waiting while tapping away on his phone.

“Why the fuck are you at my door?” You bite.

“Did you mean those things?”

Your stomach drops through your ass, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Are you serious?” Hyunjae scoffs, “You sent me a two-page email.”

Oh fuck.

In your anger, you must’ve accidentally sent the email rather than drafted it. While you don’t remember much of the rant you accidentally sent, you do remember mentioning some rather… impulsive thoughts you had. There was definitely something about wanting to get fucking him out of your system rather than letting these unwanted feelings stew inside you. You step aside and gesture for him to step inside. Usually, you would want anything else but for him to enter your space. If you were in his position, you’d want an explanation.

“Just tell me, did you mean what you wrote in that email?” He asks cautiously.

You just stare at him for a few moments, “Well…”

“Well, what?” He interrupts.

“Let me speak, damn it! You’re so fucking annoying–”

Hyunjae raises an eyebrow, “Annoying enough that you want to ‘kiss that smirk off my face,’ hmm?”

You feel your face grow hot at his comment. He steps closer to you, just barely invading your space. He raises a hand to your chin and tilts it so you’re looking right at him. You don’t have it in you to stop him anymore. His eyes search yours in a calculated way. He’s checking to ensure you’re not uncomfortable and trying to find the fastest way to break you.

“Answer me.” He threatens lowly.

“I– I want–”

“Hmm? What is it? Maybe this is why I’m always beating you; you can’t articulate yourself.” He taunts.

“Want you to fuck me.” You finally admit.

Hyunjae drops his hand to your wrist, holding it, and tugs you against his body. He has your arm pinned behind your back. Before you can think or react, his lips are pressed against yours in a harsh, heated kiss. You feel your knees buckle at the intensity. Had he not been holding your waist, you would’ve been on the floor.

“Where’s your room?” He asks, voice husky with need.

Your face is hardly separated from his as you respond, “This way.”

He lets you move your hand from behind you and lead him to your room. You hardly get the door shut before he has you pinned to your wall. Hyunjae lifts you by your waist and puts his arms under your knees. He grinds against you. You thank whatever intuition told you to wear loose, tiny lounge shorts and a cropped tank top to clean. The feeling of him grinding against you with just the barrier of your thin shorts and his pants is already enough to make you desperate.

“Y-you could’ve just fucked me in the living room.” You say, trying to sound irritated with him.

Hyunjae chuckles at your comment, “You’d fucking like that, wouldn’t you? Let someone come home to see you being used like a common whore in your own home?”

He reaches for his pants and finally releases himself. He hooks his finger on the seat of your shorts a moment later and tugs them to the side. If you thought the feeling of him grinding against you a few moments ago was going to send you spiraling, feeling his bare cock against your soaked folds is even more drool-worthy. He pushes into you in one movement, making you let out a broken, breathy moan.

“Damn, you needed this, didn’t you? All that arguing gets you hot and bothered, huh? I bet you fuck yourself on your fingers after we argue every time. If that damn book you sent me testifies for anything, you’ve been fucking desperate for me for a while now.”

“J-Jae!” You moan, throwing your head back against the wall.

He fucks you so hard you can’t form any intelligent thought. He keeps spewing filthy statements at you. Your brain simply doesn’t comprehend anything he says. All you know is that you’re fucking loving it. You feel that familiar heat grows strong in your lower belly. You clench around him, which only drives him to fuck you harder.

“Hyunjae– I- fuck! Jae– cum– gonna–!”

You know you don’t make any sense, but you’re sure that was also his goal.

“You wanna cum? How cute.” He teases, “You cum when I tell you to.”

“Please, please, please! Jae, please!”

Hyunjae marks up your neck with bites and hickeys, completely ignoring your pleas. His thrusts are aggressive and fast. Each time he pushes back into you, your ass bounces off the wall. Surely, there’s going to be a bruise on your tailbone later, but you can’t find it in you to care. You cling to him, hoping he’ll let you cum soon. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving small crescent shapes there.

“Cum.” He practically growls.

That’s all the permission you need. You let your orgasm burn through you. It feels like you may have ascended or seen God.

“Oh my god! Fuck, oh god!”

“That right, I’m your god.”

His cocky comments typically make your body fill with rage. Now, though, it only makes you want him more. His thrusts grow faster still, and he pulls out and cums against your belly. A few little spurts land on your shirt, but you couldn’t care less. You’re completely sated, and all you can think about is how badly you want more of him. Hyunjae carefully places you on your bed, tucking himself back in his pants before wiping his cum off your belly.

“You okay?” He asks, genuinely concerned.

“Y-yeah… not that it should really matter to you.” You pout without realizing it.

He sits beside your lounging form, “I just fucked you really rough. I would need to be a real asshole to leave you alone after.”

“We hate each other.”

Hyunjae lifts your lower legs and places them in his lap. He gently massages your leg. The gesture is sweet, almost as if he really did want to take care of you. His gaze is gentle, borderline sweet. You shift under his gaze, unsure what to make of it.

“Sweetheart, let’s be honest.” He starts, “The line between love and hate is so fine, especially for us. It’s almost nonexistent.”

“Hyunjae?” You question, unsure how to react still.

He squeezes your calf before speaking again, “We don’t hate each other, do we?”

“Maybe we don’t.”

Networks: @deoboyznet @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight

#hyunjae smut #deoboyznet #cultofdionysusnet #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #the boyz fanfic #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #hyunjae fanfic #hyunjae x reader

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rascal-xo · 10 months

Note

Ooh!

What if you did one with a reader who is all sunshine and rainbows usually and just the most positive person, until her S.O gets hurt/taken captive (I’m thinking Ghost or Soap with this one)

Once they’re gone, she turns into an absolute beast trying to get her person back. (And it’s lowkey scary and hot?)

Flipping The Switch - Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Summary: Ghost has gone off the grid after Grave’s betrayal and that leaves you to track him down.

Warnings: Violence, language, weapons, injuries, angst, fluff

Tags: @pukbadger @fiveshelmet @myguiltypleasures21 @madamemelaninn @emmaadlerrichtofen1 @swissy23 @thatchickwiththecamera @glitterypirateduck @glitteryeggalmondherring @allaboutirem0

A/N: Ty for the request, I hope you enjoy!

As you stand alone in the aftermath of Grave’s betrayal to the 141, worry gnaws at your heart like a relentless predator. Thoughts of Soap and Ghost flood your mind, the fear of losing them both unbearable.

When not even Ghost is responding to comms, the thought that anything could’ve happened to him begins to creep into your mind. Imagining a life without the man that gives you your own sends shivers down your spine.

When you finally get back up on your feet, you only have one thing on your mind…

As you approach the taken HQ in Las Alma’s, adrenaline courses through your veins. The building looms before you, ominous and foreboding. You’re alone this time, your team split up in unknown places.

With carefully honed skills, you stealthily maneuver past guards and surveillance systems, each step bringing you closer to your goal.

The echoes of your footsteps resonate in the dimly lit corridors as you move deeper into the enemy territory. Anger fuels your determination to find Simon

You round a corner, you catch a glimpse of a familiar insignia on a soldier’s uniform, and your heart races.

They are the same soldiers who once fought alongside you, but now they serve a different master. Suppressing the urge to strike, you slip by them, trying not to alert any unwanted attention.

The sound of voices leads you to a control room, where you spot the towering figure of Graves. His once-trusted face now bears the mark of betrayal, and your anger reaches its peak.

You finally come out of the shadows making yourself seen. Taking a step forward, you raise your sidearm at him.

The two Shadow soldiers raise their weapons at you but stop in their movements when Graves lifts a hand. “Excuse us, gentleman.” He says, motioning them away.

“It was about time you found your way here, Sergeant.” He smirks, setting down his gun. You lower your sidearm, but keeping it handy. “We could use your wisdom.”

“I’m not here to play nice with you, Graves.” You answer, finally taking a better look around the control room. The large window at the control panel overlooks the a pier with heavy standing machinery. Missiles.

You know if he’s smart enough he won’t kill you. You finally walk over to the controls, hovering your fingers along the buttons. “You had a good thing going Commander. You’ve forgotten what you’re fighting for.”

Graves steps closer, and you take a step back, maintaining your distance. “You wouldn’t understand,” he replies dismissively. “The world is changin, and I’m simply aligning myself with the winning side.”

“You’re not fooling anyone,” you retort, unable to fathom how the man you once respected could become so twisted. “Shepard bought you out.”

His smile widens, revealing a cold and calculating demeanor. “And yet, you’re standing here, alone,” he taunts. “Your precious team is scattered, and your beloved Simon is… well, let’s just say he’s not in any position to help you.”

His words hit you like a physical blow, but you refuse to let consume you.

“You think you have the power right in your hands commander but the only thing you have is the nerve.” you declare, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within.

Graves laughs, the sound echoing in the room. “You’re a patriot fighting for her country. That’s what I always liked about you, Y/N That you’re not afraid to do it.”

“You’re a dog with a bone Graves.” You retort, your voice low and menacing. “And i’m gonna make sure you know what it’s like to have that taken from you.”

His eyebrows drop and you barge out of the room, he watches you walk out with a slanted expression.

As you leave the control room, you make your way through the labyrinth of corridors, determination burning in your veins. Your mind is set on finding Alejandro and putting an end to Graves’ sinister plans.

After what seems like an eternity, you finally reach a heavily guarded cell block. Your heart races as you spot Alejandro inside, weakened but alive. With swift and precise movements, you manage to disable the guards and free him from his restraints.

“Sergeant, you made it.” Alejandro says, his voice filled with gratitude and relief. You give him a reassuring smile, helping him to his feet.

“I have a plan but I need your help.” You explain, clocking back your gun.

He nods his head, “Hacemos esto juntos, camarada.” (We do this together.)

With a knowing smile, you leave the cell behind and make your exit long enough for the guard to stay unconscious.

As you both sneak through the HQ, avoiding patrols and surveillance, you fill Alejandro in on everything that has happened since he was captured.

The weight of the situation is heavy on both of your shoulders, but you know you must stay vigilant.

Eventually, you make it to one of the Vaqueros’s safe houses with a map of the facility. With Alejandro and Rudy’s knowledge and your expertise, you devise a plan to navigate through the complex stabilize the guidance systems now that you’ve seen them first hand.

Time is of the essence, so you move with swift precision.

Suddenly, there’s a faint sound coming from the back entry door. Your reflexes kick in, and without hesitation, you throw one of Ghost’s knives towards the source of the movement.

But as the knife makes its way through the air and into the door frame with a thud, you realize it’s not an enemy. The door swings open, and there stands Soap, both looking surprised but unharmed.

“Steamin bloody jesus!” Soap calls out, holding up his hands in a mock surrender at the near miss.

“Christ Soap.” You let out a breath you don’t know you were holding, feeling relieved beyond words. “Comms are still out i haven’t been able to reach-“

You stop mid sentence as the air suddenly leaves your lungs. Simon suddenly appears through the door behind Johnny pulling the knife out of the doorframe. “I believe this belongs to me.”

Without a second thought, you rush towards him, closing the distance between you in an instant.

As Simon steps out from behind Johnny, you throw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. You can feel his warmth through the fabric of his balaclava, and it only makes the moment feel more intimate.

“Son of a bitch, I thought I lost you.” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. You hear Johnny and Alejandro gasp in shock behind you two, only now finding out about your clandestine affair.

Simon’s arms wrap around you, holding you close. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m right here,” he says softly, his words muffled by the balaclava.

You lean back slightly, wanting to see his face, to look into his eyes and reassure yourself that he’s real. But the balaclava remains in place, concealing his features.

Unable to hold back any longer, you lean in and press your lips against the fabric of the balaclava. It’s not the same as a direct kiss, and you feel him relax under you.

“How did you guys find us?”

l “I’ll explain everything later, but right now, we need to focus on the mission.” He says. turning to face everyone now.

You nod, understanding the urgency of the situation. You pull away slightly but keep your hands on his shoulders, cherishing the closeness between you.

“We have a plan, and with you guys here, we have more bodies. I know we can make it work,” you say with determination, meeting eyes with alejandro.

“Los Vaqueros and 141 come together on this one.” Rudy says, putting down the blueprint to the HQ.

“What’s the plan?” Soap speaks up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We’re killing Commander Graves.”

A/N: Ahhh what did y’all think???

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leighsartworks216 · 6 months

Text

I Come With Knives Pt8

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Finished writing this at midnight. I am so sleepy, which definitely influenced this chapter. Not proofread. We love trying to develop a "slow burn" relationship as an aro ace individual ✌️

Warnings: paranoia, predator-prey/hunting mention

Word Count: 1,373

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The Underdark had everybody on edge, but none so much as you and Astarion. You were restless. The darkness consumed you, pressing in on you until it devoured your thoughts, heightening your fears. Shadows out of the corners of your eyes made you jump. Your heart wouldn’t settle at all. When you’d choose to set up camp and sleep for the night (though it was impossible to know when day had actually passed), Astarion could hear your heart racing at every little thing. Even the bioluminescence of the place didn’t help; there was never enough light to feel safe.

The lack of food for Astarion down here also had not escaped your notice. While Gale could scrounge up enough food from the supplies you’d brought along, there was nary a morsel for the spawn. So, you’d very quickly come to an agreement.

You’d set up your bedroll in his tent, close to his, though with perhaps a foot between. He’d light one of the candles and you’d talk quietly within the warm glow, until he could hear your heart slow to a reasonable pace. Once the first signs of exhaustion began to creep in, you offered him your wrist. He never drank as much as the first time, and your heart didn’t leap into your throat when he’d bite down. He was almost grateful you were becoming comfortable with it; he’d hate to act as a constant reminder of your master - more than he already was. You’d fall into a somewhat restful sleep, and Astarion would take watch for half the night or read, before meditating.

It was comfortable. A system that greatly benefitted both of you. Each night you’d talk about the day’s events or about fragments of your old lives. You always tried to avoid talking of your servitude, but Astarion began opening up more about his. With each new tidbit of information, the more determined you became to kill Cazador. It was endearing. You feared your own master so much, but you swore to the ends of the earth you would bring his down, without an ounce of hesitation. He wished you’d understand he felt the same way about Kir Parthene.

Tonight, however, you couldn’t get comfortable. You felt unsafe no matter how long you stared into the flickering candlelight. Days of darkness were beginning to get to you. You imagined shapes in the shadows that disappeared when you blinked. You kept getting turned around and disoriented, retreating into your head so often you’d forget where you were entirely. It got so bad that someone else had to step up and lead the way while you walked in the middle of the group, surrounded by everyone else so you didn’t think someone would attack you from behind. Even then, you kept glancing over your shoulder.

Astarion had already eaten. Your wrist was safely bandaged, and your head lingered on the edge of hazy. You were already laying down, blankets tucked snugly around your neck, and yet all you could do was watch the wax slowly melt. Even closing your eyes scared you too much.

Astarion sighed when he looked up from his book an hour later and you still had not fallen asleep. “Darling, you’re safe here. You need to sleep.”

Your eyes dragged from the wick to his face. He could tell you were exhausted. Your body fought to give in; your eyes looked seconds away from shutting for good, but you forced them to stay open. You were actively sabotaging yourself, and you couldn’t stop it. “I can’t,” you croaked.

“What are you scared of?”

A distant look takes over, dulling the shine in your eyes. You frown at the canvas of the tent over his shoulder. “She would,” you swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to keep talking, “hunt me down, in the dark. Have the servants blow out every candle until it was pitch black. She’d tell me to run. I-I couldn’t see anything, I just had to remember where everything was. I’d run into walls and- and she’d count down and start chasing me. I couldn’t see her. All I’d hear is her footsteps, or her laugh.” You shuddered and curled further into yourself, pulling the blanket even tighter around your neck. “Being down here, all I can think of is that place. I don’t even think - I’m just following the layout of the rooms in my head. And I just think she’s there, waiting for me to be caught off guard so she can win her little game.”

He slips a scrap of silk between the pages of his book and sets it aside. “You’re safe,” he reassures you, carefully reaching out to touch your shoulder. You relax slightly at the contact. “We’ll protect you. I’ll protect you. She’ll never lay another finger on you again.”

You finally meet his eyes again. He can see the telltale sign of tears building in the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back. “Thank you,” you hoarsely whisper.

“Now sleep, love. You can’t keep stumbling around the dark in this state.”

He pulls his hand away, but your hand shoots out from your blanket to grab it. It’s not a tight hold, just enough to keep him in place, if the suddenness didn’t already keep him there. “Don’t…” You fight to find the words you want. Spots form at the edge of your vision, your mind mere moments away from collapsing under the mental stress, no longer overthinking about what lingers in the dark. “Don’t stop, please.”

He frowns, turning his hand over in your loose grip to hold your hand. “Don’t stop what?”

“Touching me.” Your eyes watch as your fingers curl loosely back around his own. All the while, your eyelids struggle to stay open. They flutter, until they finally shut.

Your fingers begin slipping through it, but he holds on a bit tighter to stop them. He’d held your hand before, when he drank too much from your wrist that your fingers became cold, even if it did nothing to warm them back up. But this felt different. Whereas before it felt like a simple courtesy, not expected but done anyway, this was a request.

He sighed softly as he studied your sleeping form. He could hear your heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm, your breaths evening out; see the way your body completely relaxed, your hold on the blanket loosening until it slid from your neck down to your shoulder.

He fought with his thoughts for a minute. It wouldn’t be too difficult to go back to reading, he’d read with one hand before. But the story no longer seemed interesting. He no longer had the desire to know what happened next. Anything else he could think of doing - embroidery, sharpening his daggers, repairing any tears in his clothes - all required two hands. A stab of emotion shot through his chest at the thought of letting go.

Another minute later, and he resigned himself to his fate. He scooted closer and lid down, until you were face to face. Slowly, as to not disturb you, he let go of your hand, gently tucking yours back under the blanket by your chest. A slight crease formed in your brow that only eased when he draped his arm over your waist. You let out a long, slow breath, leaning forward to chase after his comfort. He indulged you, pushing himself even further into your space, until your forehead rested against his shoulder.

It was awkward, of course. He had no idea what he was doing, but you seemed to enjoy it, even in your sleep. Soon enough his arm wrapped more purposefully around your waist. His other cushioned his head like a pillow. At some point in the night, you’d reached out of the safety of your blanket and grabbed onto the loose fabric of his shirt. He’d carefully tucked the blanket back around your neck, hiding the scar there. He’d lingered for a few moments, studying it with a frown, but you’d pull him out of his disdain with a quiet, tired sound, and he’d finish covering it up and hold you close again.

Very quickly, this, too, was added to your nightly routine.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueen_cosplay @yarn_yogi @tototini @teardropcup @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive @thistrashisreadytobash

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the-silent-fellowship · 3 months

Text

Judge & Lawyer

System Roles

[PT: Judge & Lawyer | System Roles]

“Judges are headmates that act as a judge in the system. If one's system has rules and a headmate breaks one of them, a lawyer will be able appointed to them to determine whether or not the headmate is actually at fault or not. A lawyer may also negotiate with the judge to reach a suitable punishment. However, if the system does not have a lawyer, this decision becomes the judge's sole responsibility.” - Pluralpeida(link)

“Lawyer refers to a headmate that can defend or go against an accused member with evidence given to the judge. This can help the judge make decisions. If a judge is not present in a system, a lawyer may take over their duties along with the usual.” - Pluralpeida(link)

[Judge ID: none yet]

[Lawyer ID: none yet]

[Tagging] @radiomogai, @pluralitywords, @pluralterms, & @system-term-archive

#✨⚫️✨ : post #silent fellowship #the silent fellowship #sys #plural system #Judge #system Judge #Lawyer #system Lawyer #system #plural #system term #plural term #system coining #plural coining #gif #flashing gif

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pastelitey · 29 days

Text

Solidaritek: Rain Check

Rainy days are perfect for staying inside and catching up on some much needed housework, at least in Jimmy’s book. So despite the gloomy weather, things are looking sunny side-up for them—that is, until Tango winds up sick, and is officially down and out for the count. But Jimmy can still clean, run errands and take care of his sick boyfriend all at the same time, right? Right? word count: 3753 paring: Jimmy/Tango tags: Sickfic, Domestic Fluff, Rainy Days, Sleepy Cuddles [ao3 link]

Jimmy, ever the optimist, has lots of plans for the weekend. The gloomy forecast has done nothing to damper his mood, seeing as most of his plans actively involve staying indoors. Despite having officially moved in with Tango nearly two months ago, the apartment is still a mess with all of their things that have yet to be organized. And it doesn’t help that they’ve seriously neglected chores because of their respectively busy schedules, so there is some much needed housekeeping Jimmy is decidedly finally cracking down on.

Suffice it to say, Jimmy’s got a lot on his plate for this weekend, and he’s not going to let anything stop him from getting some work done.

That is until Tango gets sick out of nowhere and the equivalent of twenty toolboxes’ worth of wrenches are thrown into Jimmy’s plans.

Jimmy swears that he’s never seen anyone get as sick so spontaneously as Tango manages to. Sure, he’s used to the occasional allergy spell or stomach bug knocking him or a friend out for a day or two, but when Tango gets sick—even if it’s the mildest little cough—it always ends up spiraling into him having to be on bedrest for a week. Maybe the guy’s just got an awful immune system, but Jimmy’s not sure that even Tango knows why he gets sick so easily.

With the shift in seasons approaching as March slowly droned by, they were both preparing for Tango to come down with something eventually. Knowing Jimmy’s luck, he should have expected that it would happen just as he was planning on actually being productive.

Saturday morning goes a little like this: waking up to both his alarm going off and the sound of rain falling outside the window. He shuts it off as quickly as possible in lieu of not waking Tango, who is currently swaddled under pretty much every single blanket that they own. Jimmy wipes the sleep from his eyes as he warily watches the blob on the other side of the bed, and though the blankets do shift a little, it appears as if Jimmy was successful in not waking his sleeping boyfriend.

He slips out of bed and stretches out his aching joints before shuffling over to the window to peek through the blinds. The fluffy clouds hide the rising sun from view and the rain patters gently and rhythmically on the concrete a few floors below, kicking up a mist that shrouds the view. It’s pretty peaceful watching the rain from the window, but he’s acutely aware of how he very much would like to not get caught outside in this weather if he can help it.

After he’s shucked off his pajamas in favor of some more appropriate clothes for the day, he finally sets about getting some stuff done. Even if Tango’s unable to help, Jimmy’s still determined to be productive around the apartment as best he can.

He begins by taking out the trash by Tango’s bedside and replacing the liner, making sure to work as quietly as possible. He replaces the trash liner in the kitchen as well and leaves the bags by the front door for later disposal. The kitchen itself definitely needs some TLC, so before he can start on breakfast he works on tidying up. He wipes down the countertops and puts all the left out boxes and jars back in their respective homes, and even does a little bit of organizing in the cupboards and fridge while he’s at it. Jimmy cringes when he sees all the dishes he’s let pile up in the sink and wonders how they haven’t started smelling yet. So he loads the dishwasher next and puts away what clean dishes have been left out, and by the time he’s done with that it’s only been thirty minutes since his alarm went off, which feels like a success, if you ask him.

After cleaning off the table and sweeping the tile Jimmy decides it’s sufficiently clean enough for him to shift his focus to the matter of breakfast without feeling guilty. After surveying the meager contents of the fridge—all the while mentally adding grocery shopping to his ever-growing to-do list—he begins scrounging together the ingredients for omelets. As much as Tango loves pancakes, Jimmy just made some for him last night, and he can only have so many of the fluffy cakes before it starts getting repetitive.

As he’s letting the stovetop warm up while mixing together all the ingredients, the bedroom door creaks open—which quickly adds oil the door hinges to his list. Craning his neck, he gets a good look at Tango, swaddled up in blankets and looking for all the world like a bear reluctant to come out of hibernation, as the man waddles into the kitchen. He’d never say it aloud as it would surely only agitate him further, but Jimmy does find it kinda cute when Tango’s nose and cheeks are red like they are now.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Jimmy asks, ensuring to keep his tone down. He pours the first round of eggs into the skillet, one eye on the stovetop and the other on his sleep-hazy boyfriend.

Tango shakes his head, agitating his sleep-mussed hair even further. “Nah,” he says groggily, his words rough around the edges thanks to the sickness. Jimmy gives him a little sympathetic smile before turning back to the task at hand.

Wandering up behind him, Tango wraps his arms around Jimmy’s midsection and leans up against him. Jimmy huffs affectionately as Tango nuzzles into him, slowing his movements reflexively. “Have you taken your temperature this morning?” he asks while he carefully folds the omelet in the skillet.

“Don’ wanna,” comes Tango’s muffled reply. Jimmy rolls his eyes, leaning awkwardly in Tango’s grip to grab a plate to put the omelet on.

“Might wanna get on that.” He presents Tango with the omelet, who eyes it hungrily. The arms slip away from Jimmy’s sides to support the plate and Tango toddles off to the island, the length of the blanket suspended around his shoulders flapping the whole way. Once Tango is successfully situated at the newly cleaned island, Jimmy begins to work on his own omelet.

“Will you pass me the hot sauce?” Tango asks after Jimmy’s poured his eggs into the skillet, making grabby motions towards the countertop that the condiments are situated on.

Jimmy narrows his gaze incredulously at Tango. “The spice isn’t good for your throat, Tango.”

Tango grumbles in response, making puppy-dog eyes at Jimmy. “But I want to actually taste it, Jim!”

“Not today, sorry.” He steps over to the island and slides the salt and pepper shakers closer to Tango with a grin. Tango makes a big show of sighing loftily before accepting the salt and pepper shakers, much to his own chagrin.

While the majority of his to-do list for the day involves tidying up, the very first item on the agenda is to take care of Tango, because who doesn’t appreciate being looked after while they’re sick?

When Jimmy’s omelet is done he slides it across the island to the other stool and then makes a beeline for the bathroom, where he rummages around in the drawers for the thermometer. He emerges triumphant and sets the thermometer down in front of the perturbed Tango, before planting an affectionate kiss on top of the man’s head.

“We need to work on keeping your fever down,” Jimmy says as he sits beside Tango, equipping his utensils to dig into his own breakfast. “Which means a lot more fluids and a lot less blankets.”

Tango huffs out a little whine as he removes the protective covering of the thermometer. “But it’s so cold…”

Before Tango can protest, Jimmy reaches over and plants his palm over Tango’s forehead. Tango makes a noise of discordance, but does not try to evade Jimmy’s touch. He’s not as warm as he was yesterday when the sickness began to ramp up, but the unnatural warmth is still definitely there.

“Still warm.” He pats the thermometer a couple times encouragingly, meeting Tango’s unimpressed look with a zany smile.

When breakfast is had and Tango’s temperature has finally been taken—lower from yesterday, but still higher than Jimmy would prefer—Jimmy is able to get back to tidying up the apartment. The dishes are minimal from breakfast, and Tango even volunteers to put the silverware away. He instructs Tango to drink some water before he runs the trash down the hall to the chute, and when he returns Tango has situated himself on the couch.

“We should watch a movie,” Tango says, remote in hand as he scrubs through the available channels.

“You can turn one on.” Jimmy cringes as he steps across the threshold into the living room, just now noticing how dirty the coffee table is and how he can’t seem to escape doing the dishes this morning. He uses one arm to scoop up the left-out cups and the other to pull one of Tango’s blankets off of him, much to the man’s protest.

It’s a juggle of sorting through their yet-to-be organized boxes of things and checking up on Tango—who is more than content to lay on the couch watching his favorite 80s movies, repeating his favorite lines that he has memorized by heart, all the while poking little jabs at Jimmy when he can. It’s endearing in a way that Jimmy doesn’t shy away from.

By the time Jimmy feels like he’s done enough to be able to vacuum, Tango has paused his movie so he doesn’t miss anything important; the irony of ‘missing something’ in a movie he’s seen countless times does not go unmissed by Jimmy.

As he works his way around the living room, attempting to be both quick and thorough at the same time, he makes sure to voice his apologies to Tango. “Sorry,” he says when he vacuums right behind the couch, leaning over it and using one arm to move Tango’s wrist upwards so that he can kiss his palm. “Sorry,” he says right before pecking Tango on the forehead as he shuffles between the couch and the coffee table. “Sorry,” he says when he finally turns the vacuum off, stepping over and leaning down to press a kiss against the corner of Tango’s mouth.

But before he can, Tango makes a noise of protest and gently pushes him on his chest. “I’m going to get you sick,” he half-laughs out, but the smile on his face gives him away.

“Hm,” Jimmy says contemplatively, unable to deny himself the pleasure of mirroring Tango’s own smile, “Don’t really care.” He settles for a kiss against Tango’s cheek instead, which thankfully comes with less protest from his boyfriend.

“Well you’re gonna care when you end up on the other side of this couch sick with me.” Tango looks up at Jimmy with this indescribable sparkle in his eyes, one that makes Jimmy feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

Jimmy stands up tall and pretends to flex, getting a kick out of the way Tango rolls his eyes. “I’ve got a strong immune system!” He says, even as Tango’s wacking him in the side with one of the throw pillows, the both of them giggling the whole way.

Ten or so minutes later Tango’s phone rings, alerting them that his prescription is ready. So Jimmy’s plans for the day are once more offset as he realizes he is going to have to go out in the rain after all, which still hasn’t let up from this morning.

Shucking on his rain coat and the pair of sneakers he’s least attached to, Jimmy decides to brave the downpour. The raindrops are heavy and cold, so he zips up his coat as tight as possible. The pharmacy is at the corner store just a few blocks down, so there’s no use driving. Considering his luck, he’s not surprised that he has to wait at every single crosswalk, but he’s still dry-ish when he finally makes it into the corner store.

He quickly gets sidetracked, though, when he passes down the canned foods aisle and gets an idea.

“Gem!” he greets when his friend’s face appears on his phone screen, only the top portion of her face visible from this angle. “Quick, what’s the best type of soup for someone who’s ill?”

“Hello to you, too, Jimmy,” says Gem with a little tired laugh. “Are you ill? You don’t look ill.” She squints into the camera lens, which only makes her look sillier given the way her phone screen reflects in the lenses of her glasses.

Jimmy lets out a small laugh, squatting down to survey all his options. “No, not me, Tango.”

Gem backs away from her phone screen, wincing. “Yeesh. Good luck with that.”

“I’m working on it. Now, soup?”

“Ah, yes!” Almost immediately her expression sours. “Wait, why are you asking me this? Pearl is the soup expert!” Before Jimmy can stop her, Gem tilts her head over what looks to be the top of her couch, and shouts, “Pearl! Can you come here?”

Seconds later Pearl appears in frame, the screen now divided between the both of them. “What’s up, Jimmy?” Pearl says in greeting as she spots him on the other side of the facetime call.

“He needs soup advice,” Gem explains to her roommate, all the while adjusting the positioning of the glasses on her face.

The gasp that erupts from Pearl is nothing short of overjoyed. “You need soup advice? I got soup advice! So much soup advice!”

What was supposed to be a quick facetime turns into a soup hunt extravaganza as the three of them work out which soup has the best flavor to medicinal value ratio, while still keeping in mind cost and size of the soup can. They end up settling for a creamy chicken noodle soup, which is probably what Jimmy would have gone with from the get-go, but he doesn’t mind using the excuse to talk to his friends on a gloomy day when bad weather and long-neglected chores keeps them apart.

Gem and Pearl accompany him to the pharmacy counter and wait with him while he gets Tango’s meds, and they say their goodbyes when Jimmy’s suiting up to brave the rain once more. Luckily the weather has let up a little bit to the point of a drizzle, but that doesn’t stop the cars on the street from whizzing by and attempting to drench him with dirty street water.

When he finally makes it back to the apartment with the prescriptions and soup in hand, the movie has ended and Tango is snoring softly on the couch. He stirs as Jimmy moves around the apartment, so when Jimmy walks over with the prescription in hand the man is awake enough to register that the pills are for him.

“Here you go!” Jimmy says, waving the prescription bag in front of him. Tango takes it from him and begins rummaging through it as Jimmy stands at the ready with a glass of ice water. “Drink up! Or, would swallow up work better in this context?”

Tango barks out a startled laugh before clapping his hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. Jimmy feels his face warm as he realizes the dirty connotations in his own words, but it seems like Tango’s getting a kick out of it, at the very least.

“Please never say that again,” Tango laughs out, sitting up so he can take the glass of water from Jimmy. He plops down beside Tango on the couch and uses the opportunity to remove his sneakers while Tango takes his meds.

“I got some soup while I was out,” Jimmy says after a moment. “I was thinking, I could draw you a bath and warm up some soup for lunch while you’re at it.” He gently nudges his shoulder against Tango’s, craving any semblance of closeness to him despite his illness.

Leaning into Jimmy, Tango buries his head in the crook of Jimmy’s neck. He gives a small dreamy sigh that Jimmy’s pretty certain is overdramatized as he slips his hand into Jimmy’s. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You deserve all this and more, Jimmy thinks. If I could snap my fingers and make you better I would, but for now I will settle for fighting your fever and making you tea.

He gets the bath going and sets out clean clothes for Tango in the meantime, and performs a quick tidy of their closet, which really only involves throwing the clothes from on the floor into the hamper. There is a half-filled basket of clean clothes from the other day that Tango has yet to fold, so he gets that done speedily and then begins heating up the soup for lunch. They’ve got a loaf of bread that is on the edge of its expiration date that he butters and adds some garlic salt to to compliment their soup, which is about when Tango finishes with his bath and emerges from the bathroom. His hair is damp and sticks to his face, but he looks a little more lively than before.

Tango hums along to the music Jimmy turned on for background noise while he cooked, and he begins gathering bowls and utensils for their lunch. Jimmy can’t help but watch from the sidelines as Tango pads around the kitchen gracefully, even as he turns away every so often to cough or sneeze into his elbow. But the sickness never really deters Jimmy, who has, in truth, always been captivated by Tango.

Wordlessly the two of them work in tandem to prepare their lunch, a well oiled machine that they’ve perfected after so many afternoons and nights spent in one another’s company. It’s at moments like these that Jimmy questions why he was ever worried about asking Tango to move in with him, when the truth of the matter is that they go perfectly together.

When their meal is ready, Tango compliments Jimmy’s choice of soup and they sit down to enjoy it. Jimmy tells Tango all about his adventure to the corner store and how Pearl and Gem assisted in his soup quest, and Tango eagerly listens the whole way. Jimmy’s noticed that when Tango is very focused on him or something he’s saying, he makes a certain facial expression, one that Jimmy just so happens to find very cute. Unfortunately for him, he’s not allowed to kiss Tango until he’s perfectly healthy to prevent Jimmy from getting sick as well, so he settles for simply relishing in the way Tango looks at him.

Halfway through their meal when conversation has lulled, Tango gently kicks Jimmy’s ankle underneath the table to get his attention and grins mischievously at him. “So I was thinking…” He begins, looking positively pleased with himself.

Jimmy raises his eyebrows playfully as he lifts a spoonful of soup to his mouth. “Mm. Dangerous.”

“Shut up!” Tango squawks, kicking Jimmy’s ankle more forcefully this time. Jimmy laughs, both at himself and Tango’s overdramatic reactions, which in turn gets Tango giggling too. He gains his composure after a few seconds and continues, “Okay, hear me out. You take a break from cleaning and running errands and just generally being amazing and watch a movie with me.” He grins at Jimmy with that insanely bright smile of his, the one that makes Jimmy want to just melt into him.

But the temptation of relaxing alongside his boyfriend brings with it an immense amount of guilt at not getting around to everything he wanted to today—there’s still groceries to be bought and door hinges to be oiled and plants to be watered and probably countless other things he hasn’t noticed that need his attention.

He worries at his bottom lip, setting down his utensils to be able to focus more. “I dunno, Tango. It feels like there’s still so much to be done.”

Tango rolls his eyes and leans back into his chair. “Oh, come on. You deserve some rest too!” He makes a big show of looking around the apartment and waving his arms around. “And, plus, you’ve already done so much! What’s the harm in a little movie-watch-ification?”

He does make a good point, Jimmy realizes: he’s gotten a lot done already, and it’s only noon. It couldn’t hurt to unwind for an hour or two, right?

Really, it was a losing battle for Jimmy from the very beginning, because A) Tango’s ideas are nine out of ten times good ones, and B) Jimmy’s always had a hard time saying no to Tango, especially when he smiles so radiantly at him.

So, with a big show of huffing and shaking his head, Jimmy effectively throws in the towel. “Fine,” he says, which immediately makes Tango’s eyes light up, “but only one movie!”

“Can I pick the movie?” Tango asks, standing up from his seat while collecting his dirty dishes. When Jimmy nods, Tango whoops as he makes a beeline for the sink, already going off about all the classics that Jimmy has embarrassingly never seen before their relationship.

Tango is in charge of setting up the movie as Jimmy washes up—for what is now the fourth time he’s washed the dishes this morning—so when he makes it to the living room with two water glasses in hand, the movie is ready and Tango is eager waiting for him with arms outstretched. Jimmy lowers himself onto the couch beside Tango and they slot into place as Tango starts up the movie. He manages to sneak in a quick kiss against Tango’s cheek as the opening credits begin to roll and then he’s finally able to settle, lulled by the sense of safety and security that comes with being close to Tango. Even though he feels like there’s still much to be done, he reminds himself that he’s done enough for now and should be allowed to enjoy some time with his sick boyfriend during their time off.

And even if Jimmy himself winds up sick at the end of it all from not being careful around Tango illness, he won’t regret having been there for his boyfriend when he needed him; Tango will be there to take care of him in return, Jimmy is sure.

They’re perfect for each other, in that way.

#trafficshipping #solidaritek #team rancher #rancher duo #fanfic #fic #my writing #mine #really proud of this one! hope you like <3

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 3 months

Text

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 11)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 5.2 K

Warnings: Minors DNI - No major warnings this chapter. smoking, swearing, British slang, relationship drama and personal angst. Also, some emotional manipulation from Price because he's like that

Summary:

They've kissed, what the hell do they do now?

Rory and Price deal with the giant elephant in the room and it does not go smoothly

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

(starting the tag list late with this fic sorry)

taglist: @carlosoliveiraa @cassietrn @finding-comfort-in-rain @justasmolbard @cloudofbutterflies92 @amalkavian @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @marivenah @v01dthefae @clicheantagonist @statichvm @josephseedismyfather @la-grosse-patate @peachiicherries @strangefable @nightbloodbix @theelderhazelnut

The steam curled out from around the door, misty vapor pouring across the floor and floating up through the opened window into the frosty night. Stepping out of the bathroom, the cool air hit her and goosebumps speckled her still damp skin. Her hair dripped, trails of water rolling down her chest and past the edge of the towel wrapped around her, the bruises on her face and neck steadily growing more visible with all the blood removed. Price’s gaze fell on her, lifting from the tablet he’d been trying to focus his attention on. His eyes lingered just a little too long, only to quickly rush back down to the screen in his lap as her stare – marred by sore, red rings under her eyes – fell upon him.

Rory held the towel around her and moved to the foot of her bed to take a seat, sinking into the mattress as heavy as a rock. Beads of water trailed down her shoulders and back as she slipped her panties up her legs and under the terry cloth wrapped around her. Looking back at him from over her heavily bruised shoulder, she shook her head as she lifted her hips. “You know, you don’t have to look at me like I’m entirely fragile.”

“I’m not.” His voice was deep, made heavier by the nearly oppressive weight that hung in the room.

“Is that so?”

Sighing, she moved to the side of the bed and pulled back the covers, climbing in under them and tossing the damp towel to the foot of her bed. Rolling over so her back was turned to him, the sheets clung to her still damp skin as she looked out the window at the hint of the city skyline and the twinkling lights that cut through the darkness. She tried to shut her eyes, to keep her breathing slow and steady, even as her throat continued to sting and scratch, but it did little good. The adrenaline might have drained from her system, but that sense of fear still remained. What had happened, even with the shower washing away the last reminders of it, wouldn’t leave her. The taste of blood, the metallic tang, remained in her mouth no matter how many times she brushed her teeth – though that may have been her own bleeding gums at this point. The feeling of hands around her throat, the sensation of choking, fighting for her last gasps haunted each and every rasping breath she still took. The vision of dark eyes staring into hers with no remorse, belonging to a man who had taken lives before and had never let it hinder his mind, if he even had a conscience to begin with. She had never felt so weak, so powerless in all her life. She had always overcome everything that crossed her path. Every loss, every obstacle she managed to power through. A determined woman who stopped at nothing in her career, doing the things others wouldn’t to get the job done. Yet tonight she almost died. Too confident in her own abilities.

The neon light from the sign outside the window flashed through the thin skin of her eyelids and it made her stomach twist. Squeezing her eyes shut tighter, the phosphenes danced in a bath of red. Her fingers gripping at the cool material of the pillowcase her head rested upon. Somewhere, right now, Zorokov was in a hospital bed getting treatment. Patched up, left with a physical scar as a reminder of what happened when he tried to kill a special forces soldier with his bare hands. She, on the other hand, would have to live with the near-death experience in silence. The bruises would fade, her throat would stop aching, but the memories would live on forever. Trapped inside to swirl within the walls of her skull until the moment of her last breath. God, she wished she went with a better choice of words.

Her breath shook as she swallowed back the wave of anger that simmered through her. It was as if she was going through the stages of grief all within the confines of her safehouse bed. The turmoil of having to deal with people’s reactions to what she had been through crawled into the back of her head, knowing there would be yet more therapy for her after the Captain’s mission report was complete. Pity. Remorse . A look people gave that she hadn’t been able to escape since she was fourteen years old at her mother’s funeral. Told over and over again how she had everyone’s condolences. Forced to recall how everyone would look at her as two stereotypes in one: the sad, little rich girl and the broken soldier. Add on top of all that the swell of embarrassment that infected her, dreading the coming conversation the next morning, having to face the fact she had made a move on Price like nothing at all had happened that night. Hell, maybe it was just the stress. She certainly hadn’t been acting like herself since the start of this mission. What was it about him that made her stop thinking clearly and act so impulsively?

A bundle of raw nerves, exposed, stinging with the slightest touches of air. Pulling the covers up tighter over her shoulder, keeping the night air off her, she tried to bury herself under the blankets, staving off the darkness that wanted to settle upon her – what little good it did. The shivering didn’t seem to want to stop, a trembling that had moved past just her hand and arm and now shook her entire body. Suffering in self-imposed isolation. No one wanted to know the things that hurt her inside, not when she could carry on, slap a smile on her face and pretend she was alright while burying herself in work. That was the Rory Sinclair way and it had gotten her this far. Why fix what wasn’t broken? Or maybe she was just too broken to fix.

Price couldn’t help but watch her. Laying across from him, only feet away. That protective instinct kicking in like she was his to look after. He had fallen for the ‘Lamb’ and was suddenly treating himself like the sheepdog who needed to keep her safe from the wolves – despite how she belonged right along with them. Every part of him begged to wrap around her, to shield her, and remind her she wasn’t alone. But his mind, the logical and sound part of him, the part that controlled every muscle in his body, restricted him to his own bed, refusing to allow his emotions to override its authority. He was a captain, goddammit, he couldn’t just give in to his desire like that. Didn’t change the fact that it was a special kind of torture having to stand by and watch her shoulders lift and fall with each breath, every little shift of her head against the pillow as she tried to settle squeezing at his gut. Trying to sleep off what had happened like it was a bad hangover, closing off from what had actually happened to her. She didn’t have to act like it was nothing, that she was perfectly fine. He would understand if she needed the release. He had seen soldiers go through horrible things, left changed by it, waking up in cold sweats either reminded of a friend they lost in a battle or one of the many things they had been forced to do in the line of duty – innocent lives they couldn’t protect, those they had to let fall by the wayside to save others. It was never an easy thing to move past and he was aware she had already carried a burden on her shoulders and in her head.

He needed her to trust him, to rely on him, to know that he would never let any harm befall her like this again. It was only right. This was his mission to lead, it would be a failing to let her fall prey to the viciousness of the world. Someone soft like her needed to be guarded, lest she be broken entirely.

Placing the tablet on the table beside him, he slowly pulled away from his bed. His brain rapidly fired at him every reason why he should stop, turn around and just go to sleep. How the mission was more important. How she would pull through. Redirecting his thoughts to the moral dilemma of it all as her superior officer. How getting close to her was wrong, how it was dangerous, how it could be the downfall of his entire career – but none of that much mattered to him now, not as he drew nearer to her bed. There was a small portion of the double she was resting in left available, the cold shoulder of the mattress, an empty spot begging to be filled by his warm body. Biting his lip, he ran through a list of pros and cons of his next move and then made the snap judgement to lay on the bed beside her.

She tensed as he got close, going as rigid as she had when he had first found her. Rory was as stiff as a board as his arm wrapped over her, pulling her into him as his broad body curled around her. Finally, allowing herself to settle against the curve of him, a quiet sigh was breathed out into the room. “Thought you said we’d leave this for the morning?”

He knew he was sending her every mixed signal, confusing the poor woman when she was still coming to terms with what had happened, but he couldn’t help himself. The sound of her strained breathing in his ear, the gasps and groans over the comms, they replayed over and over again in his head like a haunting song. He hadn’t realized just how much it had affected him all the same. He had dealt with fear and stress, listened to the wails of people in pain, those last gasps of someone’s dying breaths, but hearing her fighting for life cut through deeper than any of those sounds ever could.

“Maybe I’m not quite ready to do that.”

Tugging her arm free of the blankets, her hand trailed down the length of his forearm until she met his hand, lacing his fingers with hers. Her touch was so light it was barely there at all as her fingertips grazed over him. He had forgotten just how smooth and slender she was, how soft her skin felt. Looking down at their entwined hands, he noticed how his seemed to swallow the entirety of hers as he held it tight, fitting together perfectly. Rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, feeling all the little tendons that she used to precisely control her weapons, he lowered his head and pressed his nose into her hair, nuzzling against her, choking back a soft groan. Being beside her was no longer enough for him, he needed more. He craved her.

Turning over in bed to face him, her eyes rolled slowly up to stare at him, deep and dark in the night, doe-like as she looked up at him through her lashes. Her hand trailing back up his arm, then over his shoulder, and cradling his face in her palm. So gentle, maybe more than a man like him deserved, certainly more than he expected from a woman who clawed herself to safety. He couldn’t help but lean into her touch, his forehead pressed to hers. “I know we shouldn’t,” he spoke in a quiet husky whisper. “We could both lose everythin’, but –”

Rory’s fingertips drifted through the whiskers on his jaw, until her thumb rested over his lips. Silencing him. She pressed her head to his chest, under his chin, and she didn’t move, simply resting there. “That's just the guilt talking.” Her voice was still hoarse, raspy and low.

Brow furrowing, the lines in his face grew as deep as the pit in his stomach. It wasn't that, he was sure of it. Positive. It was her . He wanted her. His hand came to the back of her neck, giving it a tender squeeze. Protective . “I wish I'd been there to make that bastard pay. Hearin’ that fear in your voice…I wanted to tear him limb from limb,'' he growled.

She sighed. “Didn't think I could defend myself, huh?”

Price exhaled slow and deep, his breath fanning through her chestnut hair. He would never admit that. She didn’t deserve to be questioned like that; her skills disregarded. She was a soldier; a veteran like him. But there was still that nagging part of him that just wanted to keep her safe at all costs. “You’re under my command. ’S my job to keep you alive.”

Shaking her head, she huffed out a laugh. “Do you also cuddle up to everyone under your command?”

He lifted his brow and looked down at her, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “That one seems to be reserved solely for you, love.”

Her eyes widened. Dark, puffy circles gave her raccoon eyes as she looked up at him. “ Love ? That’s not exactly professional.”

“No, ’s not.”

With an exasperated sigh, she ran a hand down her face and muttered under her breath, “This is such a fucking mess.”

She was right. It was. They had gotten attached. Rules were bending. He had already broken protocol by taking command of an SRR operator and letting her march herself into the middle of a lion’s den. He had made this all personal after promising he wouldn’t let their past compromise the work. It should have been easy to just cut himself off, to not get tied up in whatever he was feeling – he did it with everything else – but he couldn’t justify doing it with her.

“I know this isn’t perfect. ’S hardly some fuckin’ Hollywood romance, but the thought of losin’ you …couldn’t live with it.”

Rory went quiet for too long, silence cast over the room like being in the eye of a storm and he had no shelter to hide in. Left out in the open, vulnerable to attack. His heartbeat started to pick up.

“If I hadn’t already dealt with him, you would have killed Zorokov.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, as if she already knew the answer.

His jaw clenched, flexing all the little tendons in his neck, his nose scrunching as he pursed his lips slightly. Christ, this was the last thing he needed . A low growl emanated from deep in his chest and up to his throat. “I would’ve done it ‘cause he fuckin’ deserved it.”

“Because he hurt me?”

He sighed again, brushing his fingers through the soft, slowly drying hair that had begun to form tousled waves. “Yeah, Rory, ‘cause he hurt you.”

A gentle smile pulled at the corners of her lips, the first time he’d properly seen her smile in hours and his whole heart seemed to melt at the sight. She was goddamn beautiful .

“You know that goes beyond what a CO is supposed to feel for one of his soldiers, yeah?” She looked up at him, pulling the blanket tighter to her chest. “That if the brass heard that they’d strip you of everything?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, his eyes lifting to look at the ceiling. “I know.”

“I’m not worth it, John. I can promise you that.”

He curled his fingers under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his. “Why don’t you leave that up to the Captain to decide, eh?” He pulled her in closer to him, letting her head rest against his chest once more as he leaned down and pressed his chin to the top of her head.

This was better. This was how it was supposed to be. Nothing could hurt her now, not with him around…

… This was all moving faster than he could control …

He was making a decision for himself that could have long lasting and dire effects. And yet, it was the mere thought of her pain earlier that night that made him feel entirely justified in doing this. She could have died. It was a very probable outcome that might have been a reality if she hadn’t fought for her life. Hearing that rasp in her voice only made the sounds of her choked noises replay in his head once more. She needed him. He needed her . Damn the consequences.

Sometime in the middle of the night, after resting up against the almost too calmly beating heart of Price, listening to his god-awful loud snoring, her eyes had finally shut. Falling asleep, giving into what her body needed desperately. Rest.

Peace.

Wrapped in his arms – the arms of her Captain, her superior – she had somehow found a safe haven after all she had been through. The nightmares still came, she still kicked out in her sleep, tossing and turning under the covers, the cold sweat dampening her skin and the sheets, but then strong arms would circle around her, pulling her towards him again while half asleep. Body heat reminded her that it was all over, that she wasn’t alone, and in this state, she gave in, stopped fighting – submitted.

It was hauntingly quiet, in the room and outside. like waking up in a fog, the noise was blanketed. Even the thoughts in her head had paused their neurotic rotations. Outside the window, the dark of night had passed and the lights of the windows had all gone out. It was just dim and gray, lifeless. Her hopelessness from the night before seemingly permeated the very world around her, seeping out into the sky and the ground, turning the coming dawn barren.

Each little movement of hers caused Price’s mustache to twitch and she found herself simply watching him as she lay pressed against his rigid form of muscle. Waking up in the same bed as the man who gave her orders, who was responsible for the success of the mission she had been selected for, who had left her alone in that bathroom stall after they had agreed to a one-time thing and parted ways was an odd sensation. Yet here she was, spooned up against him as if they had been lovers for years. Strangely intimate, yet wildly awkward. A walk of shame would likely have been easier on her heart and on her head. This was radically out of her comfort zone.

She pulled away as he continued to sleep, trying her best to free herself of the big bear hug of Captain John Price, and the near sweltering heat she felt as guilt and nerves all started to twist at her for what she had done. There wasn’t even sex involved this time. It was more innocent than that and yet the weight of her actions was more vividly clear. This was more dangerous. This was vulnerability. This was feelings and emotions and trust, and it was something she wasn’t so sure she was ready to give or even offer someone. Least of all, someone whose entire life might be upheaved along with hers if they gave into whatever it was that was happening between them.

Slipping out from the blankets, she crossed the room to where her black duffel still sat waiting for her, checking for her pack of cigarettes. Tossing clothes aside, rummaging in as deep as the bottom, but she couldn’t find them. “Goddammit,” she rasped under her breath, combing her fingers through her hair as she tried to retrace her steps. Hardly a simple task when she’d been borderline catatonic as she was brought into the room last night. Sitting on the foot of her bed, pressing the butts of her palms to her eyes. She could barely remember much of anything at all, time slipping from her in that blank space between the attack and winding up with her mouth on Price’s. “Fuck,” she whispered.

Price’s snoring came to a stuttering stop and his eyes slowly opened, smacking his lips after having his mouth hanging open for half the night. “Rory?” Her hands were quick to slip from her face and she turned to find him staring at her groggy, his fingers running through his bedhead. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Can’t find my fags.”

“They're on the nightstand. Brought ‘em in and put ‘em down for you.”

She sighed. “Thank you.”

His hand patted at the nightstand and grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lighter, tossing them towards her at the end of the bed. “Sleep alright, sweetheart?”

“Eventually.” She swiped up the cigarettes and the lighter and placed one between her lips, lighting its tip as she inhaled sharply. The cold air brushed against her flesh, a shiver coursed down her back, and she realized that the only thing covering her were her panties as she sat on the towel she had tossed there last night. Swallowing thickly, she turned once more to catch Price’s eyes on her figure, but he no longer seemed embarrassed being caught by her. “I suppose I should put some clothes on, eh?”

“You don’t have to on my account.”

Rory laughed and the smoke sputtered out of her mouth, coughing a few times to clear her lungs.

“What? I’m serious.” His grin grew and every line on his face came to life with the same warmth his eyes had.

“Of course you are,” she said, giving him a sideways glance and a smirk.

“It's not like I haven’t seen you –”

“I’m aware.” Her tone was short, cutting him off before he could dig the grave any deeper for himself.

The silence reappeared in the room, and Price’s heavy swallow seemed to fill the entire space. She was sure he was trying to find the next thing to say that wouldn’t be some bullshit sympathetic platitudes he already knew she wouldn’t want to hear, the same way he wouldn’t.

“Still sore?” he asked, head tipping to the side.

“Yeah…” She took a long drag of her cigarette as she hunched her shoulders, elbows resting on her knees. Surprised by the shock of warm, rough hands rubbing at the bare skin of her back. She stiffened and stood up like a shot, staring back at the Captain, her arm covering her topless chest. “Dammit, John!”

Stepping away from him, her feet dragging through the carpet, he looked back at her with a little smirk, his hands lifted in surrender. “I didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Her eyes flared with anger, not from the actual move itself but from being caught off guard.

“I just wanted to help, Rory.”

Bringing the cigarette to her lips again, she let it rest there as she rubbed at her brow once more. “We – we can’t be doing this.”

“Need I remind you, you’re the one who kissed me.” His head tipped forward, steely eyes peering out from under his brow at her.

She pulled the cigarette from her lips and wisps of smoke trailed over her full lower pout. “Yes, I bloody know I did that.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” She answered instantly, the frustration disappearing from her tone as she looked down at the floor.

“So then what’s the problem?”

“You’re my superior, John! The morals and ethics are –” She looked up at him and his brow was lifted. Okay, fair. Breaking the standards of morals and ethics seemed to hardly be a problem for either of them, and yet this one was a rule she couldn’t seem to break. Not because it was wrong, but because it was him. The idea of giving him a reason to regret all this was a giant obstacle her mind refused to leap over. She had dealt with more than enough people up and leaving her in life, she couldn’t get close just for it to happen once more.

“Are what?”

“I am your subordinate, John. We promised each other we could be professional. We have to keep that promise. We have a mission to complete, the mission comes first.”

“Sure. But what about after?” He sat forward, resting his forearm on his thigh.

“I go back to desk duty with the SRR and you fight the threats.”

“No.”

“No?” Her eyes widened, surprised by his overly brusque denial of the situation. “Care to clarify that, Captain?”

“It doesn’t just end like that, darlin’. Not after what happened.”

“John…” Her voice was quiet, almost pleading for him to see sense.

He grabbed one of his cigars from the bedside table, clipped it, and flicked back the lid of his lighter. The chime of metal filling the quiet he left lingering as he lit the end. That burning orange glow at the tip as bright and clear as his intentions towards her now. He placed the lighter back on the table, his palm resting on it for a moment before turning to face her once more, barely restrained anger held in his clenched jaw. Anger she knew wasn’t really directed at her. “I let you march your pretty arse into danger and for what? Used you like bait, like a bloody tool, and it nearly cost you your life. You deserve better than that. The dress, the makeup, shouldn’t have wasted that on a bastard like Zorokov. Could’ve been you and me… still could.”

Rory huffed out a laugh. “The dress. Andrew…” She had been right about the way he was looking at her, the way he had been acting. “You were jealous, weren't you?”

Smoke drifted from his mouth in a thick cloud. “Of course I was bloody jealous, Rory. Look at you, can you really blame me? I've been with my fair share of women, but Jesus, none of them can hold a match to you, my girl.”

“ Your girl?” Her other arm crossed over her chest; the cigarette held between her fingers burning away.

“Listen, I've been trying my damnedest to keep my composure here. You think I went into this expecting to have this happen with my subordinate? 'S rule number one and I'm here breaking it for you.” He sighed. “I had to listen to you in my fuckin’ ear, Rory. It was a goddamn nightmare.”

He stepped closer to her, his height towering over her and she felt miniscule in that moment. She had always stood her ground, remained confident, nothing and no one seemed to intimidate her. His body heat radiated off of him like a furnace and she wanted that safety of being in his arms, but she couldn’t bear the feeling of being weak. She wasn’t gentle, she wasn’t needy, she wasn’t the lamb… she wasn’t .

“And so what, you want to have that be the foundation for a relationship? The fact that I nearly died and you had to pull me out of there? That’s the foot you want to start on? It’s like I said last night, John. This is a dangerous game to be playing and I am not worth the trouble. I’m not worth your career.”

“And why’s that, eh?” He leaned forward, his brows lifting causing his forehead to crease.

“I’m a fucking mess, that’s why. I’ve got nightmares, anxiety attacks, tremors, flashbacks. I’m in no place to start anything with anyone. And certainly not with someone who’s life could be upended because of me.”

“I don’t care.” He shrugged and gave a slight thrust of his pelvis as he crossed his arms over his chest. Obstinate, pigheaded right to the bitter end, refusing to back down from anything. This was Captain John Price type behavior through and through.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t care’?”

“You think all that’s gonna keep me away from you?”

“Well it should.”

“Why?” He lowered his head, looking up at her through his brow. Constantly challenging her.

“Trust me, after several nights of no sleep from me waking up with nightmares, you’ll understand.”

His eyes narrowed for a brief moment, the crow's feet by his eyes creasing. “Someone else left you ‘cause o’that?”

Rory grimaced and bit down on her molars. Her eyes fell to the floor as she turned her head away from him. She didn’t have to say anything, her body language gave it all away.

Price’s face darkened at her reaction, the look of a man planning on hunting down and teaching whoever it was that did that to her a lesson. “Christ, don’t tell me someone actually did that?”

“Of course someone fucking did that, John. Most people who see that side of me either think of me like I’m holding on by a goddamn thread and if it's not that, it's the whole horde of other shit in my head.” She rubbed at her brow and slipped the cigarette back between her lips. “People don’t want to fall in love with someone like me. It’s too hard to do,” she mumbled.

“Well, lucky for you I’m a bit of a stubborn bastard. I’m willin’ to put in the hard work. I can be goddamn relentless when need be.”

Rory scoffed, “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

He gave her a little crooked grin and stepped forward cutting all the space between them, cupping her face in his large hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks softly. “I’m only gonna tell you this once, darlin’.” Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t care about how much trouble you might be, you hear me? I have to have you, Rory. I need you to be mine, yeah? Simple as.”

It was her turn to ask the question. “Why?”

“Because if there’s anyone who’s going to understand what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, 's me. I wanna protect you. I wanna make sure somethin’ like this never happens again. I can’t even take the thought of you bein’ with someone else ‘sides me.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

He nodded his head slightly. “Well, I’m patient. Persistent. I can wait as long as I have to.”

“Fucking hell,” she said with a quiet chuckle, “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not after what I saw last night.”

She pulled away, the ash from her cigarette falling to the floor as it hung from her hand. Flexing her shoulders, Rory stood up taller, trying to regain some semblance of the strength she knew she had. “I’m not someone that needs to be guarded. I’m not some bloody damsel in distress. I don’t need you chaining yourself to me because you feel guilty or like this is your fault. That’s not what I want.”

“Well what do you want?”

There was a list she could give him, one that was a million miles long. But all she really wanted right now was to be looked at like a soldier, to be trusted. She didn’t need to rely on him, didn’t need to lean on him like some bending tree in a tempest.

“I just want to work.”

Taking a last drag from her cigarette, she moved towards the window and tossed the smoking butt out of it before grabbing the sweater from her bag and heading into the bathroom to start her morning routine, shutting the door behind her.

#call of duty #fan fiction #captain john price #oc: rory sinclair #ship: you are the sword to my shield #john price x oc #fic: all along the watchtower #chapter 11 #skelly writes

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