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steveslevis · 6 hours

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i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian's sister!reader - part 2 of 3

summary: Rhysand sends you on the mission to Windhaven alone, and things do not go as planned.

warnings: mentions of violence/blood, poison, mentions of previous assault and past trauma, Azriel being oblivious and upset again

word count: 5.5k

Windhaven, the place you once called home.

Now the place you avoided at all costs, the place where you lived through your worst nightmares and recollected them every single night while trying to sleep in the hell hole of a cabin you were going to be staying in for the night.

You tried your hardest to forget about the night that would haunt you for the rest of eternity, tried to will it from your memory, tried to put up an obsidian wall around it to lock it in.

But there was no forgetting what happened to you, not now, not ever. There was no trusting a male fully ever again, all thanks to the Illyrian customs.

Cillian was the first and last male you ever trusted. He gained your trust, made you fall in love with him, then ripped you to shreds, mentally and physically. The only male you ever trusted was the same one who lured you into that wretched cabin alone and held you down with a knife.

I love you, he had whispered in your ear all those years ago while pinning you to the floor, your wings spread as the knife pressed against one of the central tendons, I just have to do this so everyone knows you’re mine. So you can be a normal Illyrian female.

He was mere centimeters from clipping your wings when Rhysand heard your silent cries, busting into the cabin, making the wicked male scramble away in fear of what might happen to him.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep at all during your stay in the camp, but it was probably better that way. That way you could stay on guard all night, that way you could watch your own back. You had to prove to Rhysand and the rest of the Inner Circle that you could be treated like a grown female, that you were willing to do anything for the Night court.

There wasn’t much time when you arrived at the cabin, you had to set your bag inside and leave almost immediately, heading towards Lord Devlon’s hall for dinner.

As much as Devlon hated your brother, he had nothing but respect for you. That might be partially due to the threats you’d set into his mind a few hundred years ago, or the fact that you’d beat him during training multiple times, but the reason didn’t matter. It was more beneficial for you to be the one to show your face in Windhaven this time around and you knew that, regardless of how much it made your stomach turn. It was important that someone from the Inner Circle came to Windhaven every once in a while under the guise of making sure the camp was still in order, so this was the perfect opportunity to gain important insight as well.

So you sat at the long table for dinner, chatting with those around you in the most civil tone that you could. You couldn’t bear to eat in all honesty, just the thought of having to stay in the cursed cabin for even eight hours for sleep was enough to make you lose all appetite. So, you opted for pushing around some potatoes and meat on your plate all while chugging down four glasses of faerie wine throughout the two hours you were there.

You coincidentally sat to the right of Cormac during the meal, who had Balvard sitting on the left of him, making it almost too easy for you to infiltrate their minds and figure out their foolish plan. The two of them were under the impression that they would be able to take out Devlon with a faebane dagger and control the camps with ease. It made you scoff to yourself when you discovered that neither of them had a backup plan, as if that was going to work out so smoothly for them.

The remainder of dinner after finding out the information you needed consisted of you bantering with some of the Illyrians you had grown up next to, ones who had turned into great warriors through training at Windhaven. The sun had been set for hours by the time you made your way back to the cabin, setting up some wards as you stepped over the threshold.

Exhaustion hit you almost immediately upon changing into your sleep clothes, eyelids heavy as you relaxed onto your side in the large bed next to the fire you’d just lit. You’d assumed you would be wired at this point, you’d planned on not sleeping at all due to the fear instilled deep in your bones.

You cuddled into the blankets, the familiar scent of your old home giving you an eerily comforted feeling passing through your gut. Solace filled you once you threw up a final shield around the small cabin, setting you at ease to know nobody could come in unless you let them in.

Before you knew it, you were fast asleep on the bed.

You awoke a few hours later, disturbed by the noise of the front door swinging open. Your body felt paralyzed in the moment, lethargy taking you over as you slowly turned your head towards the noise. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion as you watched the two males stalk through the door, unable to react in any way as your eyes trailed up to see Cormac and Balvard stepping over the threshold. The smirks on their faces told you everything you needed to know about what was about to happen.

You wracked your brain for how this could’ve happened, how you were immobilized by these two lowly, evil men in front of you, how you fell into their trap so easily, and how the hell you were completely unable to use any power or energy in this moment.

Faebane.

How could you be so foolish? You should’ve known better than to drink the wine so freely at a table of men you barely knew, especially after infiltrating Cormac and Balvard’s minds and discovering they wanted to use the same fucking poison on Devlon.

“Stupid female.” Balvard spat at you as Cormac inched closer to you, hand reaching out for your ankle. “You really thought you could come here, infiltrate our fucking minds to find out our plans, and just get away with it?”

You couldn’t speak, it was like someone was pressing down on your throat as you tried to breathe, there had been some gloriella in your wine, too, you were sure of it. Your body was pulled from the bed and flipped over in one swift tug, you were thrown onto the floor in an instant.

Images of Cillian flashed through your mind as your helpless form was pushed onto the floor, images of his wicked grin that matched the ones both of the males in front of you were wearing currently.

A silent tear slid down your cheek as Balvard spoke, but you couldn’t hear his words. He was still rambling on about how stupid of a female you were, and how you deserved nothing but pain after what you were planning to do to them, but you tried your hardest to drown them out.

There was nothing you could do at this point, as Balvard held your legs down, as Cormac pinned your wings with one large hand while the other pulled a sizable knife from its sheath. There was nothing you could do but close your eyes and hope that it would be over soon.

You had never felt this helpless before, not even when Cillian had pinned you down. At least then you were able to fight back, at least then you had a shred of dignity and pride left, at least then you hadn’t been so foolish as to let someone fucking poison you.

You cursed yourself internally as you squeezed your eyes shut, pain rippling through your body at the first slash of the knife against your wing. The first cut was against the base of your right wing, a long slash that would take months to heal, if it ever did.

A prayer to the Gods repeated itself in your mind as you felt the blood trickle from your wing and onto your back. Your heart ached as the silent tears flowed, wandering to the furthest corners of your mind as you tried to think of anything aside from the pain that was being inflicted upon you. It took everything in you to realize that you had a sliver of power still running through your veins, just enough to call out to your daemati brother, Rhys.

As you shot a quick thought down the bridge of Rhysand’s mind, you were met with a welcoming talon of power. You could feel his concern as you pushed one-worded thoughts to him to get his attention.

Everything alright, sister? He questioned through your mind, urging you to let him see what you’d experienced in the last twelve hours with a kind caress of his power in your mind.

You only had enough power to cry out silently to him, Send help, please. Your mind was closed to him as quickly as it had opened, everything went dark on your end as your energy ran out and you were blinded with even more pain, throwing you quickly into unconsciousness.

The next thing you remembered was waking up to the sound of wailing and begging from behind you, the two men who had you pinned down minutes before were thrown against the wall as their High Lord took pleasure in tearing them to shreds in a slow and painful death. The cries came to a sudden halt moments later, Rhys growing tired of their begging as he decided to shatter their minds and put you out of your misery as quickly as possible.

“R–Rhys–” you sob once their cries stopped, unable to do anything aside from lift a weak finger to point towards the man in the doorframe.

The High Lord’s gaze turns from one of pure rage to one of a worried friend once his violet eyes flick toward where you lay in the middle of the cabin. He takes in the sight in front of him slowly, your pained expression and tear-stained cheeks There’s blood pooled around your midsection, drenching your sleep shirt as you pant in pain on the dusty wooden floor. One of your wings looks fractured in multiple spots, while the other one is mangled from the beginnings of a mutilation.

The sight made Rhysand shudder with anger, fists tight at his sides as he slipped into your mind in order to understand the extent of the situation you found yourself in. You let him in without resistance, unable to hold any kind of mental shield up anymore.

They were going to clip your wings, take away the one thing you had to remind you of your mother, take away the one thing you held so dearly, take away your ability to fly. They were going to make you into the ideal complicit Illyrian female before wiping your memory of the entire night, which he assumed from the extremely prohibited memory tonic rolling on the floor next to you.

Rhys was glad he’d shattered the two traitors inside and out once your memories were collected, realizing how ruthless they had been with you moments before he stormed in.

“D–Don’t tell Cassian.” you plead, eyes focused on Rhys as he took another step into the cabin.

Your pleas took Rhys back to that fateful night all those years ago, the night he found you in this same room, sobbing in the middle of the room after being defiled by another Illyrian male who he nearly ripped to ribbons in the same exact spot where Cormac and Balvard laid in the corner, the male who fled from Windhaven the next morning, likely from threats from Rhysand himself.

Four hundred and fifty years ago was when he vowed to protect you like his own sister. You had begged him that night not to tell Cassian about what he’d seen, the vulnerable state the situation had left you in. The two of you had even made a bargain that night, that he would never be able to reveal the truth about what happened, so long as you remained loyal to him and his family, which he knew you would do regardless.

Four hundred and fifty years ago he promised to be the one to look out for you and make sure you were protected in situations you knew your brother’s unadulterated rage couldn’t handle.

And now, four hundred and fifty years after that fateful day, he’d failed you.

Rhys gave you a sympathetic look, opening his mouth to speak in response to your request, but was interrupted by your brother pushing through the doorway past him. Cassian nearly tripped over his own two feet at the sight of you, stomach churning when he saw your mangled wings slumped on the wood over your limp body.

“Don’t look, Cass.” you beg your brother as he stares at you with wide eyes, knowing the sight will spin him into a fit of rage. In your dazed state, you could see him beginning to seethe at the possibilities of what could’ve happened to you, his breaths quickening at the thought.

Before Cassian can reply, Rhys slips into his mind. She needs her brother right now, not the Lord of Bloodshed ready to avenge her. Let’s get her back to the house before you make any rash decisions, we can come back and rip whoever else deserves it to shreds once she’s safe.

Cassian chokes on a breath as Rhysand tries to reassure him that you’ll be alright. It takes everything in him to compose himself, but he does it for you, his twin, his fiery sister who he’d take an ash arrow to the heart for.

“I can’t—can’t feel—“ you choke out, squirming and groaning in pain as Cassian picks you up from the floor. “My w—wings. I can’t feel them. Did they—they take them away?”

Your pained words strike Cassian like a dagger to the heart, tears welling up as he thinks about how much pain you had to be in.

“No, I promise. They didn’t take them away. They’re–they’re still there, Y/N. It—It’ll be okay,” your brother says in a stern tone as he chokes back his own tears, eyes wide as he watches you struggle in his arms while walking through the cabin’s front door. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

It sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself that it would all be okay as he shot into the sky with you curled up in his arms.

You were in and out of consciousness the entirety of the flight back to the House of Wind, babbling nonsense as Cassian tried to keep you stable in his arms.

The entire Inner Circle was already at the house when Cassian landed, an air of worry carrying through the group as they saw the state of you, more specifically the state of your wings.

Rhysand immediately called for Madja upon seeing the extent of your injuries, and ordered Cassian to take you to your room and to keep you awake until she arrived.

Cassian was up the stairs in a flash, Feyre and Mor on his heels as he rushed to your room, with Azriel quietly following behind them. He laid you on your side, your bloodied wings spread across the bed as you curled up near the edge of the large bed. Your eyes landed on Feyre as he stepped away, a dazed smile spreading across your lips as you reached out a hand for her.

The High Lady gives you a small smile in return, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, which were filled with worry. She grabs your hand, squeezing it gently as she begins to tell you something that you really can’t comprehend over the ringing in your ears.

After a while of her speaking to you and you babbling nonsense in return, you try to sit up abruptly. Both Cassian and Feyre are on you in an instant, pushing you gently back onto your side, quickly telling you that you need to lay down and stay there.

“What is it?” Feyre asks quickly, gripping your hand as you easily give up and fall onto the bed, “Is something wrong, do you need something?”

“Az…” you whimper, fighting the urge to fall asleep right then and there, “W—Where’s Azriel?”

The shadowsinger had been outside the door keeping watch, but his shadows had been listening in on the conversation within as well. The shadows curled around his ear, whispering your name to him, telling him that you requested him, so he silently strode in when he heard. Your tired eyes lit up at the sight of him in the doorway, hand slipping from Feyre’s to weakly beckon him over to you.

Something about seeing you in this state tugged on his heart, tugged on it so much it felt like it was going to rip from his chest. He couldn’t deny your request for him to come closer, not when you looked so desperate and in so much pain, not when his absence in Windhaven was part of the reason you were in this situation in the first place.

He made a mental note to ask Rhys who did this to you as he made his way over to the chair Feyre left for him to sit in, wanting nothing more than to show them what Truth Teller could do.

Azriel’s hand fell next to you on the bed and you immediately rested your own atop his, grinning widely as what felt like delusion set into your bones. Shadows twined around your fingers while the others skittered across your wings as if to soothe them.

“They may—may not be able to save my wings, Az.” you choked out, a bitter giggle coming out as you spoke.

“I’m sure Madja will be able to heal you right up, Y/N. You’ll be better in no time.” Azriel assured you, but he wasn’t sure that was entirely true. “She’ll be here any minute.”

“I—I don’t even care. I just—just need my mate.” you say abruptly while shaking your head, voice barely above a whisper now as you stare at the male, glassy eyes meeting his sharp yet confused gaze.

“Mate?” he replies with a furrowed brow, lips drawing into a frown at your words. He was wondering if you even knew what you were saying at this point, if you were just saying whatever came to your disoriented mind.

“Mate.” you say a little louder this time and the whole room is silent as you reach out for Azriel, your shaky and blood-crusted hand coming up to stroke his cheek. “My mate.”

Your eyes fluttered close with those words, a smile on your lips as you’re overtaken by sleep in the moment. Your hand falls from Azriel’s cheek and onto his lap, and that’s when he feels it. That’s when he feels the shadows of his mind clearing, bringing that band of golden thread to the forefront. A band of golden thread that was tying his soul to yours.

Before Azriel could process the situation unfolding in front of him, Cassian was pulling him from the chair so Feyre could tend to you once more. The High Lady tried to wake you, but nothing worked. Thankfully, Rhysand and Madja rushed into the room mere minutes after you became unconscious, immediately going to work on getting you back to consciousness and ready to be healed.

Cassian tugged at Azriel’s shoulders as the whirlwind began, trying to drag him into the hallway. The shadowsinger resisted, standing behind Feyre as he watched you closely. You awoke immediately when Madja began to tend to your bloodied wings, the sensitive membrane torn to shreds. A cry escaped your lips as she gently worked on them, as Feyre tried her best to keep you in one spot while Madja worked her magic.

Azriel watched with wide eyes, rage rippling through his body as he watched you writhe in pain. He wanted nothing more than to take away your pain, to make sure nobody ever hurt you again, to keep you safe with him forever.

Your brother continued to try to move Azriel from the room, knowing it wouldn’t end well if he continued to watch you writhe in pain as Madja made quick work of healing you. He continued to resist, shoving Cassian multiple times before Rhysand breached his mind, stopping him in his tracks.

I’ll make sure she’s okay. He spoke to Azriel in his mind, staring him down as he squeezed your hand, beginning to take away your pain. She’s safe with me and I’ll take away whatever pain I can, but we need you to leave before you do anything stupid. The bond is too new and who knows what you’ll do if you continue to see her like this.

Azriel straightened against Cassian’s grip, nodding at Rhys as he silently assured him that you would be okay. Eventually, he let your brother guide him into the hallway, noting the glamour Rhysand had added to the bedroom to drown out your cries as Cassian closed the door.

It isn’t until he steps into the hallway that he’s finally able to fully comprehend what just happened. That’s when guilt and fear and pain wash over his body, stinging his chest all at once, right down the bond.

“This–It’s my fault.” he says, falling back against the wall opposite to your bedroom in the hall, his legs unable to hold him up anymore. “I–I could’ve fucking stopped this, I should’ve been there, I should’ve known that this would happen–”

“Woah, Az.” Cassian interjects, reaching for Azriel’s shoulders once again. “You and I both know how stubborn she is. She would’ve refused to go if you were going, and you know it. She thought she had to prove herself to Rhys, just like she always does.”

“I should’ve just–Fuck!” Azriel yelled, shoving his hands into his hair to tug on it roughly out of frustration, “I should’ve fucking sent my shadows, I could’ve seen their plan, I–”

“Azriel.” Cassian interrupted once again, grabbing the shadowsinger to get his attention. “Would you shut up for one second? She would’ve torn those shadows–and you–to shreds if you did that. She’s still under the impression that you fucking hate her, Az.”

Azriel let out a shuddering breath at the thought, a whirlwind of emotions taking over. His mind was racing as he thought of you in the next room, how his shadows couldn’t even infiltrate Rhysand’s glamour to see if you were alright. None of it made sense, you deserved more than him, you should be with someone who actually could keep you safe.

“How long have you known?” Azriel pressed, stern gaze on Cassian as he finally let go of his shoulders.

“Az–”

“How. Fucking. Long.” he insisted, blue siphons flaring with power at his wrists as he reached for your brother.

Cassian sighs, shoulders sagging in defeat as he looks to the helpless man in front of him. “Two–Two years.” he’s quiet as he speaks, voice wavering in fear of what anger the fresh mating bond could bring out of his brother.

“You’ve known for two fucking years?” Azriel seethes, gripping Cassian’s leathers tighter as he growls, “how fucking dare you–”

“I couldn’t tell you and you know it, Az.” Cassian says, releasing himself from Azriel’s grip.

“You’re my brother–”

“And she’s my twin, my real fucking blood sister. I couldn’t betray her like that.” he interjected, shaking his head at the shadowsinger. “She would’ve torn me to shreds, then came for you next. You should know that nobody should interfere with a mating bond, you had to find out from her.”

Azriel took a deep and shaky breath at his words, knowing that Cassian was right in every sense of the word to not tell him for all this time. Eventually he nods at Cassian, deciding that words probably aren’t his strong suit at this moment, he didn’t want to say or do anything he’d regret later.

“C’mon, we should go somewhere else to get your mind–”

“No.” Azriel snarled, shaking his head firmly as his shadows swirled at his shoulders, siphons flaring with that ultramarine power once again. “I need to stay here, to see that she’s safe.”

There was something damn near animalistic in Azriel’s eyes as Cassian gazed at him. In that moment, he knew there would be no getting through to the shadowsinger, not when his mate was on the brink of death on the other side of the door.

Cassian nodded slowly at him, watching carefully as Azriel finally let go of his shoulders. The shadowsinger’s own shoulders sagged and he leaned to rest on the wall behind him, while trying to calm himself. He needed to be in that room, needed to see you, needed to hold you, but he knew there was no use in trying. Not even his shadows could slip under the door to check on you, Rhysand had glamoured the whole room to high hell in order to keep him out and to keep your healing as uninterrupted as possible.

He knew it would take hours, maybe even days before that door opened again, but he didn’t care. He’d stay right there waiting for that lock to click and that glamour to fall just so he could see you again.

And so wait he did.

He waited one hour, which turned into two, which turned into four, which turned into eight.

The wait was so long that Cassian eventually pulled two chairs out of his bedroom so they could sit, and the House nearly forced them to eat some stew that was placed upon the empty chair Azriel refused to occupy.

He only paced, mind racing with thoughts of you, of how he couldn’t feel you any time he tried to tug on the bond. He wasn’t sure how the mating bond worked, how much a glamour could mask it or how your unconsciousness would affect it. Every time he tugged on that golden strand in his chest, he felt nothing on the other end, just resistance that he could only assume was from the inability to fully reach you.

Each unsuccessful tug only drove him closer to insanity, closer to clawing down the door between the two of you to see if Rhysand was truly the reason he wasn’t able to reach you or not.

Just as Azriel was on the verge of another outrage, after waiting for nearly ten godsdamned hours, your bedroom door’s lock clicked. Both Cassian and Azriel’s attention whirled to the door, only to see Feyre standing at the door frame. The door was barely cracked, just enough to see her face, hiding the commotion behind her, hiding the sight of you behind her.

The moment the door opened, a wave of nausea flowed through Azriel’s stomach, the smell of you, the smell of your blood reaching his nose immediately.

The High Lady held out a hand as Azriel took a step towards the door, ready to push her over to finally see his mate.

“She’s waking up now,” Feyre interjects, giving the shadowsinger a stern look that tells him to behave, “she might be really confused right now, she’s been in and out of consciousness for a while so who knows what she really remembers. Be gentle with her, she may not remember what she said before you left.”

Azriel stands up straighter at the High Lady’s words, nodding sternly at her command as Cassian stands at his side finally. Both take a moment to compose themselves while she pulls the door open, revealing the room behind her at last.

The room is in much less of a disarray than they’d expected, likely thanks to a simple snap of Rhysand’s fingers. The only blood to be seen in the room is on your wings, which is currently being wiped away by Madja as you stir slowly.

It takes everything in Azriel not to run up to your side right then, to push Mor from the chair next to you, to take your head into his hands and kiss you and never let you go. But he holds back, waiting for you to finally wake from your sleep.

Your eyes flutter open a few moments later, a wave of confusion washing over you as you do. The last thing you really remember is being picked up by Cassian, off the floor of that Gods forsaken cabin. You really don’t remember how or when you made it back to the House of Wind, or what actually happened to you. At this point, judging by the shooting pain in your back, you weren’t sure if you wanted to remember what happened to you.

Your brother’s name was the first thing to fall from your lips, your weak hand reaching out for him with a watery smile. Tears filled your eyes as he took a step toward you.

“You’re a stubborn little shit, you know that?” Cassian said with a bittersweet smile, eyes flickering between your bruised face and your tattered wings.

“Gotta keep you on your toes all the time,” you rasp out, a small laugh from you finally filling the tense air.

Cassian sat next to you, talking to you lowly as he tried to keep things light, tried to keep your spirits up after he caught a glance of how mangled your wings were, how ruined they might be.

You barely noticed the shadowsinger standing behind him until a shadow skittered across your stomach, trailing to your bandaged wings to survey the damage. It wasn’t until then that you stopped to look at him, to see how stoic he looked while staring at you. His face paled, his jaw clenched as he stood silently at the foot of the bed.

“Are you here to mock me, shadowsinger?” your voice interrupted his thoughts, finally making him look up to meet your eyes.

Azriel’s brow furrowed at your words and Cassian tensed at your side. He only shook his head, an apologetic look crossing his face as he opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by you.

“If you’re here to tell me how I should’ve just sucked it up and gone with you, how I’m only a weak female and I can’t handle missions like this, I don’t want to hear it.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Realization struck Azriel in an instant, you didn’t remember anything about what you’d said to him. He tried to tug on the bond, a sympathetic look in his eyes as his heart lurched for you, but felt nothing.

The pain tonics, they mess with the bond. She cannot feel you, brother, Rhysand said to him wordlessly, watching quietly from the other side of the room, she does not know that you’re reaching out to her, she doesn’t know that you know.

Azriel felt like he was going to vomit, he couldn’t handle it anymore. He couldn’t go another minute without you knowing that he knew. But he knew better, he knew better than to throw this on you while healing from something so severe. So he looked at you once more with a calm and stoic expression, into your fiery eyes, knowing you were putting on a show of hatred just for him.

“I wasn’t going to mock you, Y/N.” Azriel said matter-of-factly, shaking his head at the thought, “I was only going to tell you that I hope you feel better soon, and that I am sorry, for everything.”

Your stern gaze wavers for a moment, confusion crossing your once stern face at his last words. Before you could retort, he was rushing out the door, leaving one shadow behind to keep watch over you.

He thought you needed space, that you needed this time away from him to heal fully before he threw his heart at you, before he confessed how in love he’d been with you for so damn long.

So he left. Left the House of Wind immediately, deciding that you were better off without him for now.

But he missed the tear that slipped from your eye once he fled the room. He missed the way you were tugging against the bond as well, the golden strand too clouded by the tonics and poisons running through your veins to reach either side.

He missed the way you let out a small sob at his absence, fully recoiling into yourself as you thought that the only male you wanted couldn’t stand to be with you for more than two seconds.

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#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel angst #azriel x you

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queenshelby · 17 hours

Text

Uncle Tommy (Part Three)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Niece Reader

Warning: Smut, Incest, Taboo Relations, DDLG, Dub-Con

And yes, this was a request! Please comment and engage!

For a few more nights, your uncle and you fell into a rhythm. Thomas would come to your room, under the guise of checking on you, or having a late-night conversation. He never pushed for anything beyond what had already transpired, but the tension in the room was always palpable.

Each night, his touches became bolder and each night, you surrendered yourself to him more and more willingly. It was wrong, you knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t resist the temptation that he presented.

You were young and innocent, freshly eighteen and full of unbridled desire. Thomas, on the other hand, was a man well into his forties with piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you.

After you relaxed more and more in his presence, he eventually asked you whether you would let him take your virginity. You hesitated at first, unsure if you were ready to take such a big step with someone like him. He was your uncle after all, and the moral implications weighed heavily on your mind.

Eventually though, you agreed and it was two nights later that Thomas took you to a hotel . The suite was lavish, the floor bathed in soft golden light that spilled from an elaborate chandelier overhead. The king-sized bed stood stately in the center of the room, dressed in plush, silver linens.

"It's aright Love. Don't be scared," he told you as you entered the room , arms trembling and heart pounding in your chest.

"But I am, Uncle Tommy. I am worried that it is going to hurt," you confessed, biting your lip nervously.

Thomas smiled reassuringly at you and took a step closer. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close, his fingers tracing patterns on your lower back. "It might sting a little at first, Love," he admitted softly. "But I promise it will feel good, too."

You swallowed hard and nodded your head, even as your heart continued to race a mile a minute.

"Good girl. Now why don't undress yourself and lie down for me, eh" Thomas said as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart beating wildly in your chest, before you started to slowly remove your clothes. Each article of clothing felt like a barrier between you and Thomas, protecting you from the vulnerability of being fully exposed. But soon enough, you were standing in front of him in nothing but your bra and panties, feeling both nervous and excited at the same time.

"That's it, Love," Thomas said, his piercing blue eyes never leaving yours.

"You're so beautiful, standing there in front of me like that."

You blushed, feeling suddenly shy under his gaze. But there was no denying the heat that had bloomed in your core at his words and the way he was looking at you.

"Thank you, Uncle Tommy," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

You couldn't believe you were actually doing this, standing half-naked in front of your own uncle, about to let him take your virginity. It was wrong, but it felt so right. Your body was trembling with anticipation as you reached behind your back to unclasp your bra.

Thomas watched you with a hungry expression as you slowly removed the last piece of clothing that covered your body. His gaze raked over your bare breasts, lingering on your hardened nipples before traveling down towards your panties.

"Now, let me take care of these," Thomas said softly as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly pulled them down your legs.

You stepped out of them, feeling incredibly vulnerable but also incredibly turned on as you stood completely naked in front of him.

Thomas's gaze seared into you as he took in every inch of your body. His eyes were filled with desire and something else, something that made your heart race even faster.

"Lie down, Love," Thomas said, his voice thick with lust as he motioned towards the bed.

You did as you were told, lying down on the soft, silky sheets and feeling exposed and vulnerable under his gaze. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you couldn't believe what was about to happen.

Thomas approached the bed slowly, shedding his own clothes as he did so. He was beautiful, all hard lines and toned muscles. His cock stood proudly, thick and veiny.

"Now I am going to give your little treasure box a few kisses first to get you nice and wet for my cock, eh?" Thomas said, as he spread your legs apart and knelt between them.

You nodded, unable to find your voice as you watched him lean down and press his lips against your pussy. His tongue snaked out and licked at your wetness, sending a shiver down your spine. You moaned, hips bucking involuntarily as you felt his tongue delve into your folds.

Thomas alternated between licking and sucking at your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

"Do you like Uncle Tommy kissing you down there, Sweetheart?" Thomas asked, his voice low and husky as he continued to lick and nibble at your slick folds.

"Oh God, yes," you moaned, your hands reaching down to tangle themselves in his hair.

Thomas took this as a sign to continue, his tongue snaking deeper into your passage with each passing second. It felt incredible, like nothing you had ever experienced before. Your hips bucked against him as you chased the release that was building deep within you but before you could get there, Tommy pulled back.

"Now Love," he said gruffly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's time for me to claim your precious little cherry," he told you as he positioned himself in between your legs.

You whimpered as you felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance. Thomas had made sure to lube himself up, ensuring that he would slip inside of you easily despite your untried state. You were soaking wet already but still, the idea of him breaching you sent a frisson of fear down your spine.

"Shhhh," Thomas crooned softly as he stroked your hair and kissed your forehead.

"It’s alright. You’re going to feel a little pressure at first followed by a sting, but you need to hold nice and still for me now, eh" he said as, slowly, he pushed into you.

You felt your walls stretch around his girth, the pressure building to a point that made you want to push him away, desperate for relief. Then, he paused as he reached your hymen.

He leaned down to kiss you once more, tenderly and passionately. His lips tasted sweet, with a hint of your own essence. You clutched at him desperately, feeling like the world outside this room didn't matter anymore.

"Relax, sweetheart," Thomas whispered as he pulled back to look into your eyes. "Take deep breaths for me."

You closed your eyes and did as he said, breathing in and out deeply. Your heart raced, but you could feel your body relax.

Thomas murmured soft words of encouragement as he pushed forward, breaking through the thin barrier that guarded your innocence. A sharp jolt of pain shot through you, making you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders. He paused, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. His lips found yours in a tender kiss, soothing away the sting of your lost virginity.

"Fuck," Thomas groaned against your lips. "You're so damn tight, Love."

You whimpered as you felt him begin to move inside of you, slowly at first before picking up the pace. It burned, but it was a delicious kind of pain that left you craving more. Your hips met his thrusts, matching his rhythm as he claimed your virginity with each passing second.

"Oh God," you cried out, burying your face in Thomas's shoulder.

Your nails raked down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. He groaned, increasing the tempo as he fucked you harder and faster.

You moaned, feeling every brutal and demanding thrust deep within your core. Your body moved in tandem with his, matching him stroke for stroke as he pushed you to the brink of insanity.

"You are such a good girl, taking my cock so well," Thomas growled, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

His thrusts grew harder and faster, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your entire body. You whimpered as you felt him hit that special spot deep inside of you, making your toes curl with every pulse.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, digging your heels into the small of his back as you begged for more. Thomas was happy to oblige, his hips slamming into yours with a ferocity that left you breathless.

"Does my cock feel good in your tight little hole, Love?" Thomas growled between thrusts, taking pleasure in watching your face contort with pleasure.

"Yes," you moaned, unable to form coherent sentences as he pounded into you. The sound of our skin slapping together filled the room, accompanied by your breathy moans and Thomas' husky growls.

"Are you going to put the white stuff inside me too?" You whispered, your voice barely louder than a breath.

Thomas grunted in response, his powerful thrusts never faltering. "Yes, Love," he said gruffly, the lust-filled haze in his eyes intensifying as his orgasm began to build. "I'm going to fill up that tight little pussy of yours with my cum."

You felt yourself grow slicker at his words, your pussy clenching around him as you imagined what it would feel like to have him spill his seed inside of you.

It was a wicked thought, and one that you shouldn't be having. But it felt too good to stop now.

Thomas must have sensed your impending release, as his thrusts became wilder and more erratic, sending shockwaves of pleasure through every inch of your body. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, desperately chasing the orgasm that was teetering on the edge.

"Fuck, Love," Thomas groaned, slamming into you with one final thrust as he reached his own peak.

His cock twitched within your trembling walls, the sensation of him spilling his seed inside of you was almost too much to bear. It was raw and obscene, yet so incredibly erotic that you couldn't help but whimper in pleasure.

The feeling of his hot load filling you up sent you over the edge, your pussy clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

"Oh God!" You screamed, clinging to him desperately as you rode out your climax.

Your pussy gripped his cock tightly, milking every last drop of cum from his balls. Thomas groaned in pleasure, his hips still jerking as he emptied himself deep inside of you.

As the pleasure subsided, your mind began to clear and reality set in. A mixture of emotions washed over you - guilt, shame, but also satisfaction and pleasure. You couldn't believe what had just transpired between you and Thomas. It was wrong on so many levels, but it felt so right in the heat of the moment.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22

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theclaravoyant · 2 days

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fireworks - bucktommy (T, ~1000wd)

AN ~ now taking prompts! because i can't help myself . in the meantime please enjoy this little hurtcomfort, inspired by the prompts "late night conversations/anxiety" for upcoming @evanbuckleyweek <3 (I couldn't wait that long!)

also on AO3.

Can't make it tonight babe :( Not feeling so hot.

Buck is running late, but not so late that he doesn't have time to stop by on his way to the Grant-Nash gathering for a little bit of boyfriending. Tommy had sadly had to pull out of this one, but not to worry, Buck has brought over his favourite meatball sub in case he's feeling like a pick me up.. and a bottle of ginger ale in case he's not.

Either way, as he approaches the front door Buck is surprised to hear music so loud – albeit muffled – that the bass in it shakes the windows.

“Tommy?”

He frowns. He, for one, isn't one to blast his workout mix when he's stuck in bed, or bent over a toilet bowl, or whatever other nastiness supposedly awaits him. The lights are off inside.

Brought dinner, he taps into his phone. All good?

He bounces on the balls of his feet.

Babe, let me in x

There's no response, not even those little bouncing dots. Buck is definitely not thinking about Tommy passed out on the living room floor or kidnapped or something. But he does pull up Athena's number before he reaches for the spare key. Just in case.

“Babe!” he calls, looking around. The house is dark. This still feels like something he shouldn't really be doing. “Tommy!”

He follows the sound toward the basement stairs, where light is coming through. From down below, he hears the grunts and slaps of rigorous exercise... or something else, and it dawns on him that well, he and Tommy haven't technically agreed, haven't really discussed, if they're exclusive or anything and he might be intruding on something and that little voice in the back of his head that tells him nobody's ever all in is getting so loud... He freezes at the bottom of the stairs, just before he can turn the corner and see something. What the hell is he doing. How fast can he back track without Tommy noticing that he's being jealous and weird and-

The music stops.

Well. Here goes.

“Evan?”

Tommy can't help it, his face lights up at the sight of him. Which is weird, because Evan looks sort of mortified. Probably because Tommy had bailed on something important to him under the guise of being sick and here he is, very much not throwing up or hiding from the light or anything, slicked with so much sweat his hair has dropped a few shades in colour.

“Tommy. Y- You're feeling better?”

“You brought a sandwich?”

“Botticelli's.”

Damn it. Tommy throws his head back, closes his eyes as a pang of guilt punches through him. The kid went and brought his favourite sandwich. He just wants to make sure he's okay. Damn it, damn it.

“I can explain.”

“Is this because you're not ready to meet Athena? 'Cause she can give one hell of a shovel talk but she's cool, really.”

“I've met Athena,” Tommy assures him. In spite of himself, a smile touches his lips, because that was kind of a significant part of this whole thing. “Evan – I promise, this has nothing to do with us.”

It seems to help a little bit. At least, enough that Evan trails after him into the basement proper while he paces and takes a swig of water and tries to wrangle the courage to say it.

“The fourth of July is just... not my thing,” he manages. “I don't really like fireworks.”

He looks Evan in the eyes as he puts it together. Maybe he knows Eddie doesn't either, maybe he knows it's a common trigger for veterans, maybe he just knows what it's like to try and pack the depths of unspeakable horror into words. Especially when you're meant to be a badass fearless firefighter.

“I'm sorry,” Evan says. The fear and confusion and anguish melts away, his expression painfully earnest and concerned as he closes the distance between them. Part of Tommy wants to bury his face, to freeze like a rabbit or run and hide, but something about Evan, as always, makes him stay.

“I'm sorry,” he breathes. “I didn't mean to lie. I'm just … used to dealing with this by myself. And you- you're so- I mean, you died? You actually, for real died in a thunder storm and you got in a helicopter to fly into a hurricane like it was nothing. I guess I worried you wouldn't get it.”

Evan cups a hand around the back of his neck and it's grounding, it's nice, and Tommy's forehead falls forward against Evan's. He takes a ragged breath. Evan's phone starts ringing.

“You don't have to tell me,” Evan says, “what you've been through. But I'm here for you, okay? If you want me.” He glances at his phone and adds- “It's Maddie. Just checking where I'm at. Want me to tell them I'm not coming?”

Tommy shakes his head. “No. Go. I'll be alright here, have a night in. My boyfriend brought me my favourite sandwich."

He smiles. Buck smiles back, and presses forward a gentle, comforting kiss before they part. Tommy shakes it off as he heads back toward the stairs, but there's a long stretch of silence. The muffled whistle and echoing boom of an airbomb sails overhead and he can hear Tommy's breath quietly catch and it's almost as if it pulls out the words from his chest.

“I can't remember the lightning.”

“Hm?”

He turns back. Tommy is watching after him.

“I can't remember the lightning, Tommy. That's probably why I can fly into a hurricane. It's- actually it's pineapple jello for me. It was all I could eat for weeks after they took the tubes out. Pineapple jello and vanilla icecream. The first time I smelt a piña colada after I got out, I thought I was going to die.”

I get it.

Tommy nods. After a beat, he adds-

“And hey, Evan. This is something I kind of like to keep to myself. So if anyone asks-”

“Violent gastro. Got it.”

He rolls his eyes, and huffs, and smiles as he tucks the little foam earplug back in place.

“I love you, too.”

#bucktommy #tevan #911 fic #buck #tommy kinard #clara's fic tag

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alice-after-dark · 2 days

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Another RadioStatic AU Because I Can't Be Stopped

(I need to hurry the fuck up and actually turn one of these into a fucking fic...)

So this may have been inspired by the song "Alastor's Game" by the Living Tombstone and a horror movie called "Late Night with the Devil." Definitely recommend giving it a watch. It's a fun ride. Spoilers for the movie will be under the cut.

TW for murder, violence, and other canon-typical triggers.

Very brief rundown of the movie: a late night TV host in 1977 makes a deal with the devil to gain success and fame. Shit goes sideways when it's time to pay up.

RadioStatic Time!

Imagine Vox, still human and still Vincent, is a struggling late night TV host. He's got the cards stacked against him in every way possible. He doesn't come from a wealthy or celebrity background, he's given the worst program slot, he's got the bare minimum crew, and zero budget for guests or any other extras. And when he tries to argue for more, he keeps getting reminded that he's "fucking lucky" that he even has this chance at all. And still somehow he is managing mediocre results with next to nothing. Imagine what he could do with a proper budget and team, he tells them. No one listens. And then, one day, he's told that if he can't double his ratings by the end of the month, his show will be canceled.

Deep in depression, Vincent (either accidentally or on purpose) summons the Radio Demon (Alastor does not give him his actual name right away), who promises the young TV host 10 years of success in exchange for Vincent doing any favor that Alastor requests of him for the span of those 10 years (with the caveat that the favors are limited to once per day and must not interfere with Vincent's success). Alastor, in all his ulterior-motive glory, is using this deal to get himself access to the Living World and...finish some business (the use of his powers in the Living World are exclusively limited to fulfilling his end of the deal). Vincent, blinded by his own desperation, agrees, never once imagining those favors of Alastor's would involve murder. But if he refuses even a single favor, Alastor gets his soul. So he does what he's told.

At first the favors start small, with Alastor easing Vincent into taking commands from him, getting him used to fulfilling Alastor's requests. An authentic 1930s Philco Cathedral Radio here, an Ella Fitzgerald record there, nothing too big, nothing too fancy. Yet. Then, with Vincent's fame on the rise, he is asked to be a guest host for a show in New Orleans (which is certainly interesting because the show in question has never had a guest host before so Vincent suspects this is Alastor's doing somehow). And suddenly Alastor ups the ante. He needs Vincent to find someone, you see. A local hunter. Kind of a strange request, but okay. He's not all that hard to find either. Under the guise of doing some research on the local area to better understand his audience, Vincent finds an old article from 1933 about a hunter who shot a popular radio host in the bayou after mistaking him for a deer. The death was ruled an accident and the hunter was never charged with a crime. Some further digging reveals that he still lives in the bayou outside the city. Now comes Alastor's next favor: kill him.

Vincent is horrified. He tries to argue that this breaks their deal of interfering with his success, but Alastor insists that as long as Vincent follows his instructions to the letter, he will be just fine...unless he feels like handing over his soul? So Vincent does as he's told. One late night, with Alastor whispering in his ear, he stalks the man, knocks him out, and brings him to the basement of this old rotting house in the bayou (it looks as though it's been abandoned for at least a decade). And, after some nudging from the Radio Demon, Alastor takes it from there. After all, what's a little possession between friends?

Over the next 10 years, Vincent's fame grows and so does his relationship with Alastor. He begins enjoying the demon's presence and quirks and even their back and forth as to the superior form of media. He is beyond stunned when he discovers that Alastor is the very same radio host that he idolized growing up (and the very same radio host who was killed by the hunter). He's even more stunned when he finds he doesn't mind the torture and murder as much as he thought he would, even eventually asking to be a conscious participant. He's watched the Radio Demon so many times before plus he's always been a fast learner and Alastor guides him effortlessly and his powers make cleaning up the mess easy (though he still finds the void in which they dispose of the bodies eerie and unsettling; he swears there's something in there watching him whenever they travel through and Alastor has made it abundantly clear that under no circumstances is Vincent to let go of him while they do so).

When their 10 years comes to a close, there's an unspoken disappointment that hangs in the air. He doesn't understand the rules of Hell, but apparently Alastor's frequent trips to the Living World are gaining some suspicion and he can't risk extending their deal, so this is goodbye. Vincent realizes with reluctance that he's going to miss the Radio Demon. He wonders if Alastor will miss him too. He doesn't ask. And on the nights when he misses Alastor the most...well, the Radio Demon is nothing if not an exceptional teacher (even without the assistance of the creepy void magic).

It's hardly a year later when Vincent dies, shot in the head on live television by a crazed fan of the actress Vincent has recently begun dating (for the fucking publicity, no less).

---

Alastor knows the second Vincent arrives in Hell. Sooner than he expected, but he is delighted to be reunited with his friend/pet/protege nonetheless. He finds it rather hilarious that his head has taken on the form of that ridiculous picture box he was so enamored with. What a delicious form of irony! Hell truly never fails to amuse hi-

"If you're gonna fucking make fun of me, at least introduce yourself, asshole!"

Pardon?

Well...he was certainly right about Hell having a particular brand of irony.

But no, his noisy picture box does not remember him. He remembers all their deeds and the favors (and he continued killing after they parted, how splendid!), but Alastor's presence in them has been scrubbed clean, replaced and painted over by others. It doesn't make him sad of course! Perish the thought! Why would something so trivial make him feel something as mundane as sadness?! No, no, it's simply...an inconvenience. But not one he can't handle. He'll just have to start from scratch. After all, his memories are just fine, so he already has the advantage and it takes little convincing to get the newly fallen Sinner to accompany him as he continues about his day (he has some hunting that just can't wait).

New beginnings and all that jazz.

---

(My personal fav look for human!Vox if anyone cares)

#late night with the radio demon au #this got out of control real fast #hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin alastor #radiostatic #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel #human vox #alastor the radio demon #vox the tv demon

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moodymisty · 3 days

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Some of the legions disliking/hating their primarch’s beloved because they think the beloved distracts their father from his responsibilities is all fun and games until you realise that space marines are a large part of a primarch’s responsibilities. I mean, they’re not only his sons but also his army, and ever since he’s met this new mortal person he’s been taking time away from his war-related duties (a.k.a taking time away from them). So for someone as familially codependent as a space marine, the idea of their primarch possibly abandoning them because they got romantically involved with somebody is an absolute nightmare scenario.

And not only that, but the legions that are disliked by their own primarch? Like maybe the iron warriors? Ohhhh boy that’s gotta suck. Because yes their father doesn’t care for them that much and doesn’t hold them in high esteem but him leaving?? Him leaving them forever??? No way!! 10,000 holes punched in the ship’s drywall after Perturabo’s “I have a partner now” announcement happened

Agree 100%. I mean even in 30k space marines still look at their primarchs as something greater than them, to guide them, even well before 40k when the primarchs are etched in stone as gods.

So like, how do you react if your near demigod 'father' just, leaves you? Or his priorities start changing, and you can slowly see yourself and your battle brothers being slowly pushed out of the picture.

Perturabo's and Angron's announcements would probably go the worst, but I'd put Konrad and Ferrus' up there as well.

I feel like a lot of the legions hide their discontentment about the whole thing under the guise of their primarch losing focus, but I imagine deeper down they probably feel some sort of weariness. I mean, when you've been molded and cut and shaped for only war, and the person guiding that war is looking elsewhere, what is your purpose then?

#reply #Misty's book club

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la-petite-lapin · 6 hours

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Keeping Secrets | John Price x female!reader

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John Price x afab!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Content Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, smut, mentions of injury, cannon typical violence, swearing, age gap (reader is in her twenties, John is in his forties), suggestive content, oral (F receiving), PIV (protected (stay safe, kids)), brief mention of Price JRs, no use of Y/N

The Captain and the Sergeant start keeping secrets from the rest of the taskforce

It wasn't like it was in the movies or the books. There were no longing glances across crowded rooms; no deep, personal conversations late at night. There was no warning.

The first indication that anything had changed between the two of you was in a dimly lit safehouse. A job had gone wrong - horribly, irreparably wrong - and Soap had been medevac-ed out to the nearest army hospital. The rest of you would have to wait until morning; would have to make it through the night when a countless number of enemy operatives could still be hunting you, then hike to the nearest evac point before sunrise.

Ghost was pacing the worn wooden floors, and you were sure he'd wear through them at some point. You knew better than to make a joke about it - knew better than most the deep bond that he and Johnny shared. To mock it would be to die a brutal death by Ghost's hand in the night.

Gaz was coping with it in the best way he knew how: checking in with everyone, yourself - as the newest member of the taskforce - included, mother-hening his way around the three-room cabin in the middle of rural woodlands.

It wasn't until he'd finally convinced Ghost to sit down and take a breath, that Captain Price finally approached you. Heavily, he lowered himself down to sit beside you on the shabby old sofa, not saying a word at first as you stared ahead at nothing.

Johnny had been standing right next to you when it all went to shit. Him diving in front of you like a lunatic was probably the only reason that you were there with them. The shot to his shoulder would have been a direct headshot on you.

It was hard not to feel bitter or dazed about that.

"It's not your fault, Sarge," John said, his voice markedly softer than usual. He typically made it a point to avoid babying you in any way - knew that you hated being treated differently to the boys - but you could make an exception for him just the once. "Soap chose to block that bullet. Saved your life an' all. Cheer up, yeah? He's alright and you'll see 'im soon enough."

You turned to face him, offering him a small, weak shadow of a smile. "I know. It just sucks."

John frowned, seeing through the thin veil of fake cheeriness. Quieter, he added, "It's alright to be shaken by this, too. First near-death is always scary. It stays with you in a way the ones after don't." There was a pause - a long, tentative pause - as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his parted knees, dark eyes finding yours and holding them. "If- if you don't want to be alone tonight, you don't have to be."

Laid out in the open like that, the offer seemed so damn tempting.

Your mind raced through all of the shit that could go down if you took him up on it - if you were found out. You could be removed from the taskforce, stripped of the sergeant rank that you'd fought so hard to attain. John could be reprimanded for sleeping with an officer under his orders. But, if no one knew... what was the harm?

With a soft, sweet smile - a genuine one this time - you tilted your head, leaning slightly into his space on the sofa. "Yeah. I think I'd like some company, Captain."

Hours later, after Ghost had fallen asleep on the floor of the living room and Gaz had been assigned first watch, Price led you into the smaller second room of the safehouse - the bedroom - under the guise of checking your wounds. In reality, the minor scrapes to his arm and leg had already been dressed, not requiring any further attention. If anything, the cut to Gaz's forearm was of a higher severity.

John grinned as he shut the door with a soft thud, sliding the flimsy, rusted deadbolt across to lock it. You were thankful for the added security; the increased reassurance that the boys wouldn't be able to just wander in and catch you in the act.

The bedroom was poorer lit than the main room, making it harder to see. The moon illuminated the outline of the Captain's broad, muscular frame as he removed his beanie and tactical vest before turning his attention to his belt. You took a seat on the edge of the bed, thighs clenching in an attempt to relieve some of the aching tension in your core.

He took his time stripping down to his white t-shirt and boxer briefs, the material straining with the impressive tent in the front. "Like what you see?" he grumbled cockily, noticing your attention.

You let out something akin to a whine. He looked so good - so unbelievably good after the day from Hell you'd just had. There was also something else that made it undeniably more thrilling; the risk of getting found out. The taboo of it all.

You couldn't deny that you'd found Price attractive before that deployment. You'd spent every day for the past two years around him, living, eating, and working alongside him and the boys. It had also been a fact of life that he had a following - a constant, ever-present gaggle of new, female recruits cornering him in the hallways and vying for his attention. But he never took any of them to bed, preferring to spend his nights in the barracks alone.

At first, you'd thought that he had a wife or a partner off-base, but a conversation on your last stakeout together led you to the truth; he just wasn't interested in the barrack bunnies. He wasn't interested in sleeping with someone just for the sake of it - just because they wanted to get a piece of taskforce 141's infamous Captain.

"I think I might need to see some more to decide," you purr teasingly, lifting a hand to beckon him closer to the bed.

He stepped forward slowly, hands rising to rest on his tapered hips. He was built like a bear; broad, built, and covered in a fine layer of downy body hair.

You licked your lips, eyes tracking every single minute movement.

"I think I need to see something from your first, princess," John teased. "It's only fair."

Eyes never leaving his, you made quick work of stripping out of your own tac vest and pants, chucking them over the edge of the mattress and into a heap on the floor. You even went one step further; shucking off your t-shirt. With a small smirk, you leaned back, clad only in your flimsy underwear and sports bra.

John's eyes were practically bulging out of his head.

"Like what you see, Captain?" you purred, words a light-hearted mockery of his own self-assured crowing.

"If I'd have known," John grumbled as he took another slow, measured step towards the bed, "that this is what you looked like under all that gear, Sergeant, we'd have done this a long time ago."

A grin formed on your lips, ego expanding ten sizes as John prowled across to close the rest of the distance. His irises were all but swallowed up by his pupils, blown with lust.

Shuffling back on the mattress, you eased back as John came to a stop, kneeling between your parted legs. With a lover's gentle reverence, he pressed a kiss to each of your knees in turn before turning his attention to the scrap of damp cotton protecting your modesty.

"May I?" he asked softly, fingers hovering over the waistband at the side, thumb smoothing a path along the ridge of your hipbone.

Breathily, you gave your consent. "Yes. Please, John-"

With practiced ease, he lifted your hips up and off of the bed, guiding your underwear down your bare legs then chucking them to join the rest of the clothes littering the floor. His hands skimmed back up, callouses feather-light against the skin of your calves before rising to knead your plush thighs when he reached them once again. He seemed to be mapping out your body; ghosting over the sensitive parts repeatedly, lingering where he'd deduced you liked to be touched.

The man was a fast learner. An eager one, for sure.

When he'd finished kneading at the soft skin there, he pushed your thighs apart, holding them down to the mattress and exposing the moisture glistening at their apex. Licking his lips, he bowed his head slightly, lowering his body down to the bed.

"John?" you asked, confused as to where he was going and why he still had his briefs on. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, princess?" he mumbled against your inner thigh, dark eyes lifting to meet yours. "Didn't think to bring any rubbers with me, and I don't fancy having any little Prices running around any time soon." A spark of mischief glittered within his gaze as he nuzzled his bristly moustache against a particularly sensitive spot. Your shiver seemed to only embolden him further. "Which means tonight's all about you."

You arched your back off of the bed, trying to push his face closer to where you desperately needed it. "Can you hurry up then?" you whined, getting impatient.

John chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

And, with that, he bowed his head and made good on his promise.

"John!" you yelled, thighs burning with the strain as you bounced up and down on his cock. "John- fuck!"

A whole three months had passed since the first night you'd spent together in the safehouse. The morning after, you'd fully expected him to put an immediate stop to it the moment you were all rescued. Instead, he'd held your hand in the Heli - tucked between both of your bodies, hidden from sight - and promised that you'd talk about what this is later.

Nights since had been split between your room in the barracks and his. Mornings, too, upon occasion. Every spare moment the two of you got some accompanied by the feeling of his large, warm hands on you. By his constant, protective presence in your life.

It was a miracle that no one had noticed the new pull between the two of you. How you seemed to orbit one another.

And then there was the sex. The constant fucking.

"Keep it down, princess," he grumbled, breathless and sweating, beneath you. He didn't look too bothered though - too blissed out to properly care or consider the consequences of someone overhearing.

Clinging to some semblance of intelligent thought, you bit down on your wrist in an attempt to muffle the sounds leaving your mouth, drawn out by the captain and his fat cock. It was quickly becoming one of your favourite parts of him, second only to his beautiful, expressive laugh. It was no secret to you that he was well-endowed. Well-endowed and skilled at utilising it.

"Stop that," he grumbled gruffly, raising a hand to gently remove your wrist from between your teeth. He quickly replaced it with his own hand, guiding the soft part of his palm between his thumb and index finger into your mouth. Anything to prevent you from accidentally injuring yourself. "Keep riding, love. I'm getting close."

A part of your brain purred at that. Love.

It was a pet name that he used sparingly. Perhaps because he saw the flash of panic in your eyes almost every previous time he'd used it.

But now...

You tipped yourself back, hands finding purchase on his tensed, thick thighs to deepen the angle. Freeing his hand from clenched jaw, you whimpered, "I'm... John, I'm so close."

"Me too, sweetheart," he mumbled, speeding up the pace of his thrust. He punctuated the sentence with a snap of his hips. "Me too."

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he tugged you down into his chest and rolled, rising up onto his knees as he set you on your back. Pressing a trail of soft, tender kisses to your face and neck, he picked up the pace; drilling deliciously deep.

You whined, squeezing your legs around his waist and clawing at his back with your fingernails.

With a low growl, John lost it. Turning frantic as he barrelled towards his rapidly approaching end, he pushed you towards your own orgasm - practically bullying it out of you.

You came with a sharp scream, turning your head in a fraught attempt to smother the sound in the pillow. It smelled of Price - rugged, masculine aftershave and a hint of tobacco smoke.

He himself came moments later, gasping as his release swept over him. Covering your body like the world's best weighted blanket, he slumped down on top of you.

Still buried deep inside the paradise at the apex of your thighs, he pressed a sloppy, lazy kiss to the side of your neck, running his nose along your throat. It was one of the best part of sex with Price; the cuddling that came after.

Giving a small jolt of his hips, he grumbled something into your salty skin.

"Hm?"

John lifted his face slightly, breath tickling the underside of your jaw. "I said, I wish I was ten years younger. Then I could go again and again without a half-hour break between each round."

You giggled. John's age was something that you didn't mind. You knew that the age gap between you probably would have put some people off, but - if anything - he made you feel safe and respected. Though that could be the fact that he was a highly-decorated war vet, and a complete Golden Retriever of a man.

Pressing a kiss to his temple, you whispered, "I wouldn't have it any other way, John."

There was a beat of silence as the two of you soaked up the moment; the feeling of just holding one another on the sweat-soaking sheets, oblivious to the world outside of the little bubble you'd created for yourselves. With a chaste kiss to your shoulder, John gave another tentative roll of his hips, drawing another whiny groan from you.

"You sure know how to make an old man feel loved, princess."

Before you could reply - to bring up to the l-word that you'd both been skirting around for weeks now - your phone chimed. The alert tone was one you'd reserved for the other members of the taskforce only.

Why would they be messaging on a Sunday night?

A wave of panic cresting inside of you, you eased John's softening cock out of you, wincing at the sudden emptiness. Your phone was on the desk, all the way over on the other side of the room. It seemed so impossibly far as you scrambled for it.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" John asked, suddenly fully alert and hurrying to tug his boxer briefs back on.

Wordlessly, you read the message you'd just been sent. Your face blanched to an unhealthy pallor as you handed him the phone. A single message notification waited on the screen, glaring with accusation.

GHOST: We heard everything, you two. Think you owe us an explanation at the very least. Rec room in ten minutes.

John looked up from the phone screen, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a lopsided, sheepish smile. "Well, I guess that's what we get for keeping secrets, princess."

a/n: hello, hello :) so this was the Price X 141!reader fic that won the poll! I've had so much fun writing this one - not that I don't love Double the Love (my firstborn fic) please feel free to tell me what you want to see next! - happy surprise-post thursday, lapetitelapin :)

#cod #cod fanfic #fanfic #callofduty #cod x reader #female reader #john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #smut #romance

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