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jellyfishsthings · 2 months

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Nerves and Stolen Kisses

I have been toying with the idea of writing a fic about him for quite sometime and after last weekend I just had to. Estelle ( Ollie's rumoured gf is mentioned here but it is a fake relationship for PR reasons.) Also Paul Aron has a gf... friends to lovers trope.

Shoutout to @httpiastri for the inspiration

The Saudi Arabian Grand Prix was fast approaching. And Ollie was a jumble of nerves and excitement as usual. Since the early hour of the day, he opened the curtains letting the sun into the room and you groaned into the pillow.

“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead. Come on, we have a whole day ahead of us.”

“No, you do. I don't know why I came.”

“Because I am your bestest friend and I paid for your ticket and let you stay with me.”

“Both of which are for your benefit.”

“Come on….”

“Fine.” You say with a dejected sigh as you get up and you both get ready for the day. David, Ollie's dad was already waiting for you and you headed towards the paddock.

Everything was a frenzy and was passing by so quickly. As Ollie got into the garage and got ready for the quali you headed towards the stands trying to find Cassie, Paul's long-term girlfriend. Throughout the years you have formed a unique friendship. She was the only one who knew about your crush on Ollie and she teased you endlessly about it. Ollie and you had been best friends for the better part of your life, joint to the hip, having endless sleepovers, even if Dad didn't approve.

It was an endless nightmare being close enough to get a taste of all the what ifs, but never experiencing them.

“Do you and your lover boy share a room, huh?”

“It's not like that and you know it, Cassandra.”

“Yeah, it hurts, doesn't it?”

“So much. You have no idea. Yesterday I couldn't sleep and as the hours passed, he came closer and closer. He ended up holding me in his sleep. And I felt so bad because of Estelle. I know that they aren't really together and it's for PR, but still, I feel awful because technically I am the other woman… and she is just so nice and sweet. Never overstepping, I think she knows.”

We both stay quiet after that as the session continues.

“You know… whatever the case. You both love each other, platonically or not.”

“Yeah, I know.” I say as I watch the times set by all the drivers, Ollie having the fastest one yet.

“Looks like your man is on pole.”

We both make our way through the paddock, trying to pass the roaring sea of fans and we hand out already-signed autographs to anyone who asks for them. When we finally arrive, we part ways, before making promises about having dinner together at a restaurant Cassie wanted to try. And I head towards the Prema garage finding two beaming Bearmans, hugging.

“Hey Bear. Did you drive fast enough?” You call at him. And he grins like an idiot before swooping you into a tight hug spinning you. His laughter echoes in your ears as he sets you down.

“Yeah I drove fast enough, you minx.”

“Good. Now let's go. We are having dinner with Paul and Cassie in four hours and I want to see the city.”

“Give me five minutes to change and we are good to go.”

The afternoon is spent visiting local stores, trying to communicate in scrappy English and making terrible puns with products or street names. When they finally head to the restaurant their sides hurt from laughing. Dinner passed by as quickly as it came. As everyone says, time flies by when you are with the people you love.

Just as they open the door for their hotel room, Ollie flops in the bed as you head towards your computer and open it as hoards of emails and messages appear on the screen. Great more deadlines and essays to write until the end of the week.

“Leave it. We can pretend that we have nothing to do and watch a movie or local TV and try to understand what the hell is going on.”

“Thanks Bear. But I can't, as tempting as your offer is. Go to sleep, I will join you soon.”

And so you sit in front of your computer, ending essay after essay, sending them on time, until your eyes hurt from the pale blue light. The bed seems more welcoming than ever before as Ollie starfishes the entire length of it and his soft snores fill the empty space. Yeah, maybe it's time to call it a day.

An awful sound echoes in the room and eventually wakes you.

“I swear if it's one more ad I will jump from the window.” You grumble into your pillow as you steal the blankets and turn yourself into a burrito.

Ollie hisses as he opens his phone only to find a ton of messages and many missed calls from Ferrari. He dials Fred back as he moves towards the bathroom, trying to let you steal a few more minutes of much needed sleep.

When he emerges back in the room he sits down in front of you, his back supported on the bed.

“Ols, what's going on?”

“Carlos has an appendix”

“Oh no. Is he having surgery?”

“Yeah.” He says softly. “They want me to replace him.”

“What?” At that you are fully awake. Your hair is a netted nest and you look at him in shock. He looks at you, you his best friend who would look like a mess to anyone else but to him you look like the most beautiful and amazing creature in the world. Your mere presence has a more calming effect on him than anything else. If it weren't for you, he would have already lost his mind. “How? When? I…”

“We need to get to the paddock, if I don't want to miss FP3. I will wake up Dad and break the news to him.”

Soon after you enter the paddock and thousands of reporters try to get a better look at Ollie, flashing their cameras at you and bombarding you with questions as you make your way to the Ferrari garage and mechanics steal Ollie from you and David as they set to work quickly. David looks pale and sick as he paces into the garage trying to control his nerves through the FP3 and the Quali. When Ollie finally got off the car when he scored the 11th place, missing Q2 only by 3 hundreds of a second, you knew that this was it. He was finally shining like the bright star he was. He had done more than enough, his raw talent showing with barely one hour to get used to the car. And as mechanics and reporters closed around him. You couldn't help but feel like you didn't belong here. Where did you fit in? The reality hit you and it hit you hard. You hid in the back corners of the garage, eyes glued to the screen as everyone passed by without acknowledging you. You would happily hide in the shadows where he shined but this world wasn't meant for you. The anxiety was picking up at you, eating you alive from the inside.

And when Ollie got too close to the wall, your heart stopped beating. He was driving a car that was twice as fast and twice as dangerous than his normal F2 car. It was too much. The sound, the danger, everything really. Breathing suddenly seemed so hard and you needed a way out. As you hide behind the garage you call the one person who could understand. Terri picks up in the second ring her soft voice already calming you.

“Hey love. Is everything alright?”

“How do you do it? How can you stand back and do nothing?”

“You love him, don't you sweetheart?”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Well … no I always hoped but… whatever the case, to answer your question you simply do it, you just have to. A driver needs his support system and you are it for him. You are his forever person, whether that is romantically or not. He needs to be near you and as much nervous as you are, so is he. Without you he would be lost, believe me I know my son. And I can bet you that as much as your heart breaks right now, you are also immensely proud.”

“Of course I am. But where do I fit in, in this world.”

“Right beside him, love.”

“Thanks Terri. Please call David. I think he is losing his mind and he is sick with worry.” You say chuckling before saying your goodbyes and head back towards the garage. The session is already over and Ollie is nowhere in sight.

Ollie plays with the power button of his phone trying to calm down but to no avail. The lock screen is a photo of the two of you. It was last summer both your skins flushed and hair slightly wet and tangled. You both smile at the camera and your eyes look bright with happiness. He feels slightly lighter but he knows that there is an impending panic attack and so he turns to the one person who could help him in this situation.

"I got your text," you say, tiptoeing inside and shutting the door behind you, careful to not make any loud sounds to scare him. "How are you doing?”

Ollie is sitting on a massaging table, elbows on top of his legs and head resting in his hands. His eyes are stuck on the floor, his silence is defeaning. When he still doesn't answer, your heart rate picks up. Is something really wrong?

You make your way over to him, hands finding his cheeks and softly tilting him up to look at you – and you swear you've never seen him look this wrecked before. Not after his worst crashes, not when he lost the rookie championship last year, not when he was cheated out from the Formula 3 championship. Once again, you've entered completely new territory, and your heart breaks at the sight.

"Ollie, talk to me," you plead, holding back the tears that starts to form on your eyes and threatento spill. It's so painful to look into his eyes, but you can't back down. Not now, not when he needs you this much.

"I'm-" his voice cracks but he shakes his head, clearing his throat. "I'm so nervous, I don't know what to do."

It's like he's oozing anxiety, and his heavy sigh is like a stab in your chest. Ollie, your usually so calm and collected best friend is probably going crazy over this – you know him well enough by now to understand that he's definitely freaking out even more on the inside than what he shows or tells. He is a messy jumble of nerves.

"I get that. One hundred per cent. But.." your thumbs begin to stroke over the skin of his cheeks, along his jaw, and then finally across his eyebrows, to which his eyes flutter closed. "This is your dream. It's been your dream since forever, and now you finally have the chance.”

"And it's not just any car, it's a Ferrari. Do you realize how cool that is? Do you realize how many people would kill for an opportunity like this?" You smile at the sight of him with his eyes still shut, eyelashes resting atop his cheeks, messy fringe covering his forehead. Even like this, at his most stressed state, he's completely gorgeous, not that you would ever tell him that. "You would've killed for an opportunity like this just 24 hours ago."

"But what if I ruin it?" His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, shoulders slumping forward. "What if I go out there and I'm shit, and then they realize what a big mistake they've made by even putting me in the academy? What if-"

"It won't happen." His eyelids slowly open and he looks up at you, seemingly not even the slightest upset that you cut him off. "You're too good to do that. You'll get in that car and it will feel like your second home, just like it always does."

Finally, a small smile makes its way onto his lips. It's only been a few minutes since you came in, but he seems much more relaxed now, leaning into your touch completely. "I'll try my best to make you proud."

“I'm always proud of you, you mufflehead.”

A laugh bubbles from his chest and he stands up from the table, opening his arms wide and pulling you in for a tight hug. His heart is still beating louder than a drum in his chest when your ear is pressed up against it, and you're almost worried it will jump out any second now. But his breaths are much more controlled now, and his mind seems much lighter. And soon enough his heartbeat slows to normal.

“I bet that in twenty four hours not only will you finish the race, you will score points and beat Max Verstappen.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves” he says chuckling. “God, my neck is killing me.”

“Sit down. I've got you.” And so you start massaging his neck. It's stiff and hard under your hands and he lets a small groan as you untangle one of the knots that were quite painful. After a few minutes he is putty in your hands, his eyes closed, trusting you completely and feeling at ease for the first time in the past two days.

True to your world, Ollie crosses the finish line in seventh place, having gained points in his debut. But the one thing that kept him calm through the process was the thought that she was waiting for him in the cool down room. When the race finishes and drives the car back home he jumps from his seat and he can't get fast enough to her. People around him are praising him and congratulating him but they all fall to deaf eyes.

When he finally gets into the room to change into new fireproofs, she is patiently waiting for him. Her eyes are a little misty and her face flushed.

“I told you.”

“I didn't beat Max.”

“Still.”

She closes in on him and her hands are thrown around his neck, he reciprocates the hug immediately as his heart beat finally slows down. They doth draw away after a while only for him to dive back into her and kiss her firmly on the lips. Shock petrifies her and when he stops, he places his forehead on top of hers. He is a flustered mess and he is mumbling apologies, before she reconnects their lips.

For the following hours Ollie sports a shit-eating grin on his face. Everyone thinks that it is because of his amazing performance and not for kissing the girl that held his heart captive since they were five years old.

#ollie bearman #ollie bearman imagine #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman x you #ollie bearman x female reader #oliver bearman #oliver bearman x reader #oliver bearman imagine #formula 1 #formula 2

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regal-bones · 8 months

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SWORDTEMBER DAY 4 : DRAGONSLAYER

The Caldera Calvaria, of bloodied metal and stolen crown 👑🔥 “Mockery. Domination. Control. The Skullblades were more than just weapons. They were symbols. They showed that anything, even gods, could be killed. These weapons are relics, older than our history, from when dragons still ruled The Continent. The wars between the Auramics and the tyrannical lords of magic spanned eons - this was the time of ancient legend, before the golden tendrils ensnared the land, before the great palace in the north was built, and blood spilt into molten silver. They fought for that wild, brilliant power the dragons held close to their breast, that shifting entity that they eventually forged their empire with over their rivals scaly corpses. When a dragon was finally killed, when man conquered nature itself, driving its shimmering blade into the beasts beating heart, their body was repurposed, and changed. A sharp, shallow knife to peel away the skin, precise cuts into tender flesh. Meat and scales pushed aside until thick fingers gripped the beasts skull, their thumb deep within its eye socket. They would change it then. Shift it to their whim - bone to gold, dirty teeth left gleaming into the light of the forge. And of course, that one singular eye. Like an artists signature, the Auramic eye was moulded into the centre of the skull. The old face forgotten, warped like warm clay to leave room for this twisted perfection. Encrusted with gems from their hoard and infused with its stolen breath, the sword became a tomb, a regal headstone, and would likely find itself again surrounded by familiar blood, deep within the chest of its old kin. Now, no one knows where they are. Some say the Skullblades are sealed within a vault in the depths of Palace Regalia. Others think they are hidden throughout The Continent, waiting to give unwitting travellers power more than they can manage, and angry, bitter dreams. We can only hope these ancient giants are well at rest, and that nothing, not vengeance or rage, will wake them from their slumber.”

A Skullblade - a relic of the Auramic history. I hope the people who have been following the lore of the Curated Curios universe for the past few years (if u guys are out there!) like this one. A very important and powerful weapon. There are more skulls out there - perhaps we will see this blade’s siblings one day.

Yesterday’s sword!

You can support me on Patreon for £1 and help me make stuff like this!

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andypantsx3 · 1 year

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some barbarian bakugou thing idk | sfw | gn reader | 1.3k words

It's cold.

The fire crackles at your back, sending warm licks of heat up and over your spine, but it's not enough. You shiver, trying to settle deeper into the hard ground, drawing your cloak up over your nose where it's beginning to grow cold.

Normally, you'd be snuggled deep in your bedroll by now, but you'd stupidly tied it too insecurely to your pack this morning. It had come loose just as your group had forded the river on Kirishima's back, the redhead wearily but gamely shifting into his dragon form to get you safely across the rushing water.

As he plodded across, splashing loudly, your bedroll had tumbled into the icy water, and you'd watched mournfully as it had been immediately dragged under and carried downriver.

It was another day from the nearest town, another day before you could replace it.

When you settled into camp, Midoriya had chivalrously offered his own bedroll—which you had declined, as the loss of yours had been your own fault—and Uraraka had offered a warming spell—but you could see the exhaustion around her eyes and mouth since the battle yesterday, and she still looked pale and peaky. You thought another spell might finish her off for good.

But now you almost wish you'd taken either of them up on it, their discomfort be damned.

Almost.

Suffering the consequences of your own mess was the least you could do for them, really. You owe them everything for saving your life time and time again, starting when they'd first happened upon your village under a bandit raid, you the only survivor.

You've tried your hardest to repay them, stitching up wounds and mending torn clothes, taking over the cooking and fire tending whenever you make camp. Once you'd even talked a merchant down from chopping off Kiri's hand when he'd gotten a little too me dragon, must hoard over a ruby necklace at market.

You won't put everyone out over something as stupid as a lost bedroll, not when you owe them more than you could possibly ever give.

A cool wind whispers through the trees, and you can't suppress another violent shiver. You inch loser to the fire, barely caring if the sparks catch on your clothes and light you up in the night if it means you can be warm now.

You roll onto your side, facing the flames, and shudder again when the cold creeps under your cloak at the movement.

The heat feels good on your face, dry and blistering. But your back is suddenly freezing, and you fight down a groan of frustration.

You'll never get to sleep at this rate.

As soon as this thought occurs, there's the barest whisper of a bootstep behind you. Before you can turn, a hand claps over your mouth, and a hard body slides up against your back, an arm hooking decisively around your middle to pull you back against your assailant. The scent of ash and the sweet, floral oil he uses on his leathers gives away his identity immediately.

"Don't fuckin' scream it's just me," Bakugou growls low in your ear.

You blink dumbly, mouth pursing against his rough palm. "Fwuuh?" you say.

Bakugou Katsuki is notoriously standoffish, the member of your party you'd learned the least about in your weeks with them. A barbarian from the steppes, he's got little time or patience for your people's mannerisms. He seems to like very few things—his dragon Kirishima, his broadsword Hearteater, and the opportunity for a good fight being the exceptions—and you seem to be one of the things he tolerates the least.

He'd been the one who'd run his sword right through the bandit about to kill you, but since then he's acted like it was a mistake. He barely looks at you when you clean his wounds, he never accepts any of your rations when you offer them, and he's recently taken to combat training you, maintaining a harsh commentary on all of your best efforts.

It's a shame he's also so handsome and charismatic, as it makes it difficult for you to discount him entirely.

"Could hear your fucking teeth chattering from the other side of the campsite," Bakugou growls, his hand lifting off your mouth. Something heavy settles over you, and you realize he's arranging his cloak over you both, the fur trim tickling your nose. It's heavy and velvety and soft, and so nice and warm.

You know you need to protest but the heat of him at your back is so deliciously good, you want to relax into him like a warm bath.

"Bakugou—what is this?" you splutter out quietly.

"What, you wanna freeze your ass off?" he demands, his words a harsh breath into your ear. His arm shifts over you, pulling you tighter as if daring you to attempt to escape.

"No," you say, trying to scrape your thoughts in order. "No. But you—is this okay for you?"

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Bakugou growls into the side of your head.

"Well you don't exactly like me," you tell him, too exhausted to be circumspect about it. You know he doesn't like it when you talk around things either. "I didn't think you were cuddling type, exactly."

Bakugou huffs a dismissive laugh into your hair. "You always fucking decide shit on your own," he mutters. "You decide you owe us shit, you decide what's best for Deku and Uraraka to do with their magic and shit, you decide you think you fucking know everything. 'S fucking annoying."

You start, not realizing he'd cottoned on to your thinking process.

"Well I've also decided that you don't much like me," you say. "And I...I do owe you guys. You've saved my life countless times these past couple of weeks."

Bakugou makes a snorting noise behind you. "You fucking village people always think that's how the world works. Owing. A favor for a favor. Trading and bartering and stupid shit. That's not how it works out here, brat. There's no equal exchange. You stay alive if you're strong enough, or if someone likes you enough to keep you alive, and that's it."

His voice is even raspier than usual, you notice. He's tired. You can hear the impatience in the clipped sound of his words, and you know his exhaustion is why you're even getting this much out of him.

You're tired, too, the heat of the fire at your front and Bakugou's hard body at your back both lulling you into a lightheaded sleepiness.

"And you like me enough to keep me alive?" You can't help but ask dubiously.

"I like you well enough even though you're fucking annoying," Bakugou says, his breath stirring the hair at the base of your neck. "But I won't if you keep fuckin' talking."

You can't help but smile at that, a little tired grin touching your mouth.

"It'll be another thing I owe you for," you say, settling back into him at last. You know you will have other thoughts about this in the morning, but for now you can't help yourself. If he's fine with it then there's not much to protest.

"Y' can repay me by shutting the fuck up," he says, before he lets out a heavy exhale, as if he too is being lured into sleep by the warmth of your own body.

You decide to leave your questions about this for the morning. It's too much to contemplate what this means for your relationship to Bakugou. Too much to contemplate that he wants, for some reason, to keep you alive.

His hand presses to your abdomen, securing you even more firmly against him, and you close your eyes again. His breathing evens out, his grip growing slack, and you can feel your own body mirroring him.

Too easily, and without another thought on the debts you're accumulating to him, you slip down into sleep.

#bakugou x reader #merms this is for u bc u said u wanted more bakugou #this is probably not quite what u wanted but this is the bakugou i had in me today!!#im sorry i didn't put a read more i didn't want to lose the bottom text #bakugou barbarian verse

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love-lilly02 · 2 months

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The Challenge pt. 4

AN: This chapter was supposed to be out yesterday but I got kinda sick so I couldn't edit it, Anyways, enjoy!!

“Would you mind spotting me?”

The question seems innocent enough, if you weren’t asking it to the scariest man on the base, much less your lieutenant.

Ghost lifted his head from where he was sitting on a bench, unwrapping his hands after his own training session.

You quickly back tracked at his expression, rethinking your choice. “You don’t have too, I think I got this set-“

“No, no I got it.” He stood, moving behind you, standing a little too close, but you chose to ignore it.

The set was fairly easy, and you finished quickly, thanking him quietly as you moved to put the weights back on their stand.

“Can I ask you somethin?” Ghost questioned, and you turned to see that he was studying you intently.

“Yeah?” You prompted, tilting your head slightly.

“That bet… Why’d you do it?”

You shrugged. “I was drunk, mostly. Figured there couldn’t be any harm. What’s the worst that can happen, anyways?”

That made him chuckle. “You have no idea, do you?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, furrowing your brow in confusion. The tall man walked closer to you, moving you slowly till your back hit the wall.

“This ain’t just a game to those boys, it’s a challenge. Whoever wins you won’t be kind, I hope you know that.” He places an arm above your head, effectively pinning you against the wall. You can feel his breath through the mask, and the warmth against your neck sends a shiver down your spine.

“Honestly, darlin’ You’re a right fuckin tease when you wanna be, hm? Acting all innocent, like you don’t know how much we all want to-“

“I’ve got it!!”

Soap’s voice cut through the whole training room, as he ran in frantically waving a piece of paper in the air. “I found one! Take that bitch, I’m in the lead!”

“Wait, what? Found what?” You and Ghost jumped apart from each other, both running over to where Johnny was doing a -frankly crude- victory dance. Your heart was absolutely pounding, heat still flying through your body at the encounter with Ghost.

We all want to what? What do they want to do…

“You did not find it, I did.” Kyle huffed, diving for the photo in Soap’s hand. “Give it back you pathetic excuse for a-“

“Hey,” Price said in warning. Kyle just huffed and backed away from Soap.

“Finders keepers,” Soap teased in a sing song voice, throwing the photo on the bench. “The first of ten. Which puts me in the lead.”

“You aren’t in the lead if you stole a photo, that’s not how it works.” Ghost said, kneeling down to pick up the image.

“Like I said, finders keepers. S’not my fault Gaz wanted tae hoard the photos till ‘e got all ten. His loss aye?” Soap nudged you playfully on the shoulder, but you were too busy trying to see the image to acknowledge him.

Gaz looked pathetically over to Price, opening his mouth to plead his case. Price beat him to it, however. “Soap, that’s not nice. Gaz found it, he takes the credit.”

“Awe, come off it captain, It’s just a bit of fun huh?”

“Johnny.”

“Yes sir.”

“Still dont think it’s fair,” Ghost threw in.

“Whadya mean? I found the image-“ Kyle protested, turning to Ghost now.

“Yeah but from where?” Ghost challenged, placing the photo back on the bench

“Online? Don’t see how it matters, it’s a photo.”

“But it’s not creditable, this could be edited-“

And so it continued. You had long since tuned out the bickering, leaning down to look at the photo. It did look like you, a smiling child holding an award for something you couldn’t really read.

The closer you looked, however, the more you started to see the imperfections. The girl in the photo had straight hair, at that age yours was more curly. And she was holding a ball in her hands, a basketball.

Of all the sports you played, basketball was never one of them.

“That’s not me.”

They were still shouting, yelling over each other to be heard above the voices. Johnny was pressing Kyle for where he got the information, and Kyle was refusing to say, under the excuse it would give them a ‘better advantage’ than he had. Johnny was still trying to insist they should share the win, and Price was just yelling for everyone to calm the fuck down.

“Hello?” You called, trying to raise your voice above all of them. “Hey, I said that isn’t me.”

But the yelling continued. It seemed to go on forever, all of them arguing over one small image. The topic slowly changed, however, till they started crossing into uncharted territory.

“Look-“ Gaz snapped, breathing heavily. “I found the photo, just like the deal said. That makes one out of ten for me. You lot can do what you will but I’m not sharing.”

“You didn’t have a problem sharing last night, isn’t that right?” Ghost hissed, and the gym was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Your head ached trying to figure out what the boys were saying, the double meanings behind everything, but you couldn’t keep up.

“I don’t give a fuck what I did and didn’t do last night, what’s fair is fair.” Kyle snapped, turning to grab the photo.

“You’re just mad cause you don’t want to think about one of us fu-“

“That’s enough!” Now it was you who was yelling, and the boys watching you in disbelief.

“Look, this isn’t like that, okay! I’m sick of you all objectifying me like i’m some fucking doll. I don’t know what side bets you have going on but I want out of this one. I made the deal drunk and you all watched me try to get out of it the next morning, and now you’re yelling like fucking children over a picture that doesn’t even have me in it. I never even did basketball for fucks sake! And you would know this if you acted like normal fucking human beings, much less behave like the grown men you are and ask me.” They all looked at you in absolute shame, as you threw the photo on the ground.

“And for the record, I am not fucking one of you on a deal. I don’t work like that so get the thought out of your head.”

You shoved past the wall of muscle made up by both Price and Ghost, storming off to your room.

For the longest time, he sat there and thought about exactly what happened in the gym.

Kyle was no fool. He understood what bringing up the photo would do, and he knew Soap would try and take the credit, as they had agreed the night before.

He didn’t actually know why he changed his mind. Kyle had no problem sharing you with the others, they were right anyways.

He shared all the time.

But something about introducing you to… this… scared him. As if they could frighten you off.

He knew that wasn’t true, so why did he think that way?

An apology message sat, typed out on his phone. He was procrastinating, heavily, on sending it, worried that it might be a little too much for you to handle.

Was it? You had taken your the whole team so nicely, he thought you would be ready…

More photos of you sad scattered on his desk. A lot of them looked like what Price had found before, a bunch of family photos with you missing or images of a girl who looked exactly like you but she wasn’t you.

Today’s events proved that.

Anyone else might have been saddened at the revelation. Putting weeks of work into one image, just to be wrong? Enough to crush a man, if it was done correctly.

But Kyle Gaz Garric is no ordinary man.

Before he can think about it too much, he hurriedly hits send on the message and closes his phone.

Now, we wait.

My Masterlist

#cod x reader #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #simon riley x reader #poly 141 #john price x reader #simon ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick

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spacecowboyhotch · 4 months

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In Plain Sight, Ch 2: A Hoard of Cupids

summary: nathan’s much more insightful about you than he used to be. it’s making you uneasy…and curious.

pairing: nathan bateman x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, enemies to lovers (sorta), boss/employee dynamics, pining, nathan trying to be nice but he’s so abrasive lol, pining, mentions of caretaking/sick family members, mentions of emotionally abusive parents, masturbation (m), sub!nathan if you squint

wc: 2,745

AN: back at it with part twoooo. thank you all for the kind words and support on this fic, i didn’t expect it to get the response it did but i’m really excited to give y’all the rest. fair warning that these chapters seem to be getting longer as i write on. happy reading!

in plain sight masterlist | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

Nathan gives you space— at first. When you return the next day at 7 a.m. sharp he’s nowhere to be found. Not in the living room or in the kitchen, not on his patio boxing. You assume he’s in his room, probably toying with one of his bots in a distasteful manner. The idea makes you shudder. But is it not easier to come to work with every task he could want you to do placed on his desk, no fuss?

You don’t like Nathan Bateman. He’s a pompous asshole, a know it all, a man who thinks only about his own desires. When he apologized— or rather attempted to— yesterday you thought that maybe you slipped and fallen down the stairs on your way out. By his standards, it was a top tier apology. You’d never once heard him apologize to anyone. On your drive home you had wondered if he had ever apologized in his life. The thought made you giggle, and then you’d turned up the music and forgotten about him until right now.

Sat at your desk, an ungodly stack of things to do. There’s a note sat on top. It’s simple and straightforward, lacking emotion but somehow still has your stomach flipping. It reads:

In meetings all day— let me know if you need anything. Go home early today.

Mr. Bateman

P.S. I’ll spruce up my apologizing skills.

You regard the note cautiously, raising your brow at it before you let yourself laugh a little. Was this a joke or had Nathan Bateman taken some criticism to heart (which is rumored to not exist). You fold the note up, and for some reason slip it into your bag.

The last thing that’s on your mind is that Nathan’s watching you. He sits in the dark at his monitors, leaning in closely. His eyes trace your figure on the screens intensely, watching as you read and read and read. He expects no reaction from you beside maybe throwing it in the trash. But then you laugh, and he watches you store it for safekeeping. A piece of him will go home with you. Nathan never thought he’d be jealous of a piece of paper, not when he seems to have the entire world at his fingertips.

—

He returns to his normal behavior after a week— partially because he thinks you settled in. And partially because…well he begrudgingly can admit to himself, in the comfort of his own mind, that he misses you. When you get to work the next Monday he’s sat on an observation table, examining what looks like a deconstructed robot brain.

You aren’t even able to open your mouth and say good morning before he’s talking to you.

“Are you sleeping okay?” He asks, his eyes appraising you intensely.

You stop in your tracks, regarding him as always, your expression pieced into that calm expression. So you’re back to normal, none of that fire. He expected it but that doesn’t keep him from feeling disappointed.

“Sir?”

“You look really fucking tired. Exhausted,” He tacts on for good measure.

Your spine goes completely rigid, your grip on your bag tightening. You are tired. So very tired. You work shitty hours for incredible money and then go home to take care of your younger sisters and mother. Dealing with Nathan is for them. For your sisters’ schooling, so they won’t feel left out when the other kids have the newest gadget or shoes. For your mother’s ever piling medical bills. It’s important that you don’t jeopardize something so precious.

“Is it affecting my work? Have I done something wrong?” You ask him softly.

“No— that’s not why I’m—“ He stutters before closing his mouth and starting anew. You’ve never seen him like this. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was flustered. But knowing Nathan, he’s just never asked a single employee he’s ever had if they’re alright. “I’m your boss, I worry about your well being. That’s what good bosses do.”

“Are you sure?” You ask evenly, eyes still trained on him.

“Am I—“ He stops, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before he bites away his smile. “Are you fucking with me?”

If he was looking at you so intentionally he would miss the way your mouth twitches. “I’m fine, Mr. Bateman. I have a lot of responsibilities, not only here but out there as well.”

“Out there?”

“The real world. Thank you for the concern, sir.”

For the second time, you’ve rendered Nathan speechless. That night he lays in bed thinking of you, like many nights prior. He turns your words over in his head time and time again. The real world. Do you think he doesn’t know what it’s like out there? He wonders how much research you’d done for the job. Nathan used his brain to get here, climbing and climbing. He hadn’t been born into this but his personality lent itself to such a conclusion. Nathan knows what his real world used to look like, though one day he hopes that any of his contraptions can help him forget. He wonders what your real world looks like.

There’s no ring on your finger, but you could have a partner. Kids? Another job? He pays you well enough for that to not be necessary. Maybe you volunteer at a puppy shelter. He could picture it. You in something other than your stuffy work clothes, a smile on your face as you drown in puppy breath and slobber.

He groans, rolling over in bed to plant his face deeply in the pillow. Maybe he can smother himself out of this. Thinking about puppies? He might as well be one, he’s practically lovesick if you have him thinking like this. When would he get used to feeling this way? His usual cynical thoughts feel like they’re being pillaged by a hoard of cupids.

He doesn’t even know if you feel the same. Being better for you is one thing, but what if there’s no payoff? What if he changes for you and you leave him high and dry? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He feels the back of his neck sweating and sits up.

Nathan’s been down this road before, it’s brought him his fortune and an insane work ethic. It’s all brought him sorrow he’ll never be able to escape. Being with his parents feels like a fever dream sometimes and other times he feels 6 again, like he’s drowning in their expectations and insults, trying to measure up. He’d given up eventually, once he realized that they would never love him the way parents should. Why try to do anything anyone wanted but himself when they could still treat him poorly for it?

He’s the way he is from his own indoctrination. He doesn’t know where he would be if he hadn’t convinced himself that he was the only person that truly matters.

But, now there’s you. You, who looks so soft, you that scratches an itch he didn’t even realize he had. You, that he wants to goad and prod and poke until you unleash all of yourself on him. He closes his eyes and lays back, envisioning you right here with him. He feels insane, his heart— his mind, his dick— are taking him through a whirlwind of emotions right now.

He palms himself through his boxers, eyes squeezing shut tighter than before as he tries to narrate. He pictures you in one of his white shirts, it’s fabric nearly see-through with the way it clings to your breasts. He grasps his length through his boxers letting out a heaving sigh. Fuck he wishes this was you.

If there’s anything that Nathan knows how to do its not only being smartest but the most imaginative. He’s been daydreaming for as long as he can remember. Universes with better outcomes— having worth, or loving parents or anyone for that matter. Anyone to be on his side. He imagined codes and synthetic body parts that live and breathe in front of him. He can surely imagine you, breathy and horny in his bed, jerking him off. He doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, or inappropriate. He wants you, and maybe this is the only way he can have you. He slides his boxers down, finally done teasing himself. Licking his palm, he grabs his cock, starts stroking and succumbs to the thought of you.

Another moan bubbles out of his throat. He can see your nipples through his shirt when you straddle him like this. Your thighs are soft against his own and he would reach for your free hand, thread his fingers through your own. Your hands are smaller than his, smooth and supple. And god, you’re stroking him just the way he likes it, the soft wet sound making pleasure shoot through his groin.

You’d overstimulate him wouldn’t you? With that clever mouth barely pulling up a grin, eyes full of fire as you stroke him past the point of pleasure. Would you make him watch? See the way your hands would grow slick and shiny with his cum as you kept pumping and pumping, pushing him to another release. Covering you both in him, until you’re too needy to keep toying with him. Nathan cums just as he’s imagining the feeling of you dragging your bare pussy against his sensitive cock. He whines and keens off the bed, the high singing in his veins. He swears he can almost imagine the way you would moan.

His eyes open, the spell broken. He’s alone, covered in his own spend, chest heaving like he just ran a 10k. He avoids his reflection when he walks into the bathroom to clean up. His loneliness spikes again and he heads to the kitchen, reaching for the first bottle he can find.

—

“You’re late,” He says stiffly, crossing his arms as he watches you cross the space to sit at your desk.

The day after he’d gotten off thinking of you he’d had the slightest difficulty looking at you. It quickly faded, he was too greedy. Too needy, if he’s being honest. He can’t get enough, he doesn’t know if he could ever say it but you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You’re openly frazzled; your shirt isn’t tucked in, your hair is a little more frizzy than usual and you look as tired as ever. He regrets his biting tone immediately.

Even as you explain you’re moving, setting your to-go mug on the desk, fetching your calendar, booting up your computer. “I know, I’m sorry, Mr. Bateman. My sisters were less than cooperative this morning.”

Nathan turns completely away from the bins he’s been searching through, raising a brow at you in surprise, “Your sisters?”

“Yes— one is 7 the other is 14. The little made getting out of the house…difficult,” You murmur distractedly, eyes trained on your screen.

“Isn’t that your parents’ fucking job?”

His question snaps you back to the present— you hadn’t shared nearly as much as you could’ve. But you’d gone into this job wanting to be nameless and faceless. Memorable only for the quality of the work you do.

You shake your head, daring a quick glance in his direction that you immediately regret when your eyes meet his.“I realized that I’ve shared far too much about my personal life. I should work, Mr. Bateman.”

Nathan immediately understands your deflecting. How many times has he been asked by reporters and interviewers where his family is? Enough times that he’s had his publicist strike the topic from the acceptable lists. That was about all he was good for anyway, Nathan says what he wants when he wants.

He goes back to the task at hand— though now with you here he doesn’t quite remember what that was. A part…some sort of part that he needed. Wires? Screws? A metal plate? He sighs in frustration and leaves without another word.

Your gaze is on the door as soon as it shuts, making sure he’s gone. The tears that you’ve been biting back fall and you bury your face in your hands. Your youngest sister had begged and pleaded for you to stay warm in bed with her this morning. With your mother so sick, you’ve practically raised her yourself these last few years. It makes her needy, which you understand. But what she doesn’t understand is how delicate the balance you found in caring for your entire family is. Middle sister lacks just as much understanding, with heaps of attitude. She doesn’t want to snuggle with you or with younger sister. Mediating this entire situation is what made you late.

It feels like you’re cracking under the pressure but that isn’t an option, is it? As if the universe wants to make it clear, your computer chimes. It’s Nathan, asking you to come to his office.

—

He’d meant to go clear his head in his office and come back to get whatever part he was in need of. But, when he sat in his chair he was met with the sight of you hunched over your desk, presumably crying by the way your shoulders jerked every once and a while.

He’s pinging you before he can think better of it. He watches you read his message. You’re such an anomaly— you sit up immediately, reaching for some tissues and cleaning yourself up as if nothing happened. You even check yourself in the reflection of your computer, fidgeting with your hair, tucking in your shirt once you stand. As soon as you start out of the office he turns off his monitors, not one to be caught snooping around though it’s right and was clear in the contract. Maybe you’ve forgotten. Perhaps you don’t think your anything worth watching…Nathan would like to change that assumption.

“You pinged me, sir?”

How would he play this? He couldn’t admit that he just watched you cry.

“Trying my hand at this apologizing shit again. I— Nathan Bateman— am sorry for being insensitive. Like I said last time, I don’t know your life or you. Alright, how was that?”

“I would say a solid, 5/10, which is a 50% improvement.”

“Fuck me, you’re a tough crowd. What am I docked for? You know I’m all about perfection.”

“There was a lack of originality. And you omitted your middle name.”

It takes everything in Nathan not to giggle. The way the words come out of your mouth are so funny… or maybe he’s just obsessed. It could be both. “My middle name is classified information.”

“Does Wikipedia know that?” You ask, tilting your head in that uncanny way.

Nathan can’t hold in his laugh this time, running a hand over his beard, “You’re funnier than you look.”

Your mouth twitches, and you give him the smallest nod, “Thank you, sir. Is that all?”

He pretends to think about it. “This apology is feeling pretty one-sided to me.”

“I accept your apology, Mr. Bateman, thank you.”

“Accept something else,” He proposes, going out on a limb. Suddenly your stare is too intense, the room is too hot and small. What the fuck is he doing?

“What’s that?” You ask, as soft and sweet as ever.

“Dinner. Tomorrow,” He says simply.

“With you?”

Nathan ignores the twinge in his heart— your tone barely changed. If he wasn’t with you every single day, studying you, he wouldn’t even have noticed.

“I can invite the droids if you want. They’ll just stare at us while we eat.”

Your hand tightens around your planner. Dinner with Nathan…choosing to be around him? It seemed like as of late he was trying to be…more palatable. This could be an act of good faith. But, you have your sisters and mother to think about. You’ve given her nurse enough overtime hours in the last few weeks.

“Without getting too personal, I don’t think I’ll be able to swing it sir, I have to get home to my sisters as soon as possible.”

Yes, your family, that you never talk about. He could accommodate, what’s he the fucking boss for if he can’t?

“We’ll do it early.”

You sway a little as you think about this— that’s new, he thinks to himself, filing that information away for later.

“You’ve already got me apologizing, I can’t add saying please to the list of acceptable behaviors. I’ll lose my fucking edge.”

“How early?”

“3:30.”

“Alright, then, sir.”

nathan taglist: @missdictatorme, @hon3yboy, @runa-falls, @campingwiththecharmings, @toracainz, @steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, @jdbxws, @crispysublimecupcake, @sub-aro, @faretheeoscar, @cupidysm, @whentheskyispinkandabitblue , @nova-ivy541, @sparkypantelones, @veritable-trash, @mangoslushcrush, @kotaropuppy

#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x f!reader #nathan bateman x fem!reader #nathan bateman #nathan bateman fanfiction #ex machina fanfiction #in plain sight #arson writes #not sfw

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ivymarquis · 10 months

Text

Blind Date

Me: “why the fuck is this fic taking so long to finish?”

The fic: *is the longest singular piece I’ve ever written for one chapter*

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 8.4k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Drinking (everyone is clear headed), run ins with a shitty ex, mentions of abuse from prior relationship, these two are incredibly down bad for each other, oral (m! and f!receiving), protected piv, squirting

There is a certain catharsis in lamenting your dating horror stories with men to a married lesbian who’s over a decade older than you. Kate is always willing to lend an ear, and you’re positive that she gets a kick out of your misadventures in the way so many married people did while listening to their single friends.

“I swear I’m this close to just giving up all together and embracing spinsterhood,” you grouse with a drink in your hand after the work day had concluded.

You like to think your standards aren’t unreasonable. Someone kind, with their head on straight. It felt like finding a man who respects you as a person is becoming too big an ask and you very simply would rather be alone than deal with the endless hoard of men who seem hell bent on destroying any confidence you have in yourself.

“What about the guy you went out with yesterday?” Kate inquires with her head tilted. Must be fun, listening to your ramblings with a devoted partner at home.

“Oh did I not tell you? He was engaged!”

Kate pulls a face like her drink soured on her, matching how you’d felt at the time.

“Even better- guess how I found out he’s engaged.”

“She showed up at the restaurant?” Kate hits the nail on the head on the first try.

“Bingo,” you raise your glass in a gesture of affirmation before finishing it off. “Somehow I ended up being the one getting yelled at in that situation. Un-friggin-believable.”

You don’t abuse your work privileges to creep on people you meet in your personal life, but public record could have spared you if he’d been married. Harder to find out about an engagement from a total stranger who was determined to not let you find out about it and didn’t have social media.

“There’s always the other side,” Kate teases.

“Women scare me too much, I get all nervous.” You could appreciate an attractive woman as much as the next gal but good God you just could not help yourself when it came to men. The subtle way their breathing would change before they made their move, that low timber growling in your ear. The sheer weight of one on top of you as he manhandled you into the bedding-

Dear Lord, you need to get laid. Maybe you’re fixating on it too much because you’ve had an over 2 year dry spell. That tends to happen after a baby though. Especially with a pain in the ass ex who thinks he can pick and choose when to be around (and becomes absolutely incensed each time you remind him he could be consistent or he could stay home).

Kate is thoughtful for a moment, clearly kicking around an idea she hasn’t fully committed to in one direction or another. You can see the moment she decides to proceed with the thought. “Depending on what exactly you’re looking for, I might know someone.”

—

And here you are on a Saturday night, nerves clawing at your belly like a rabid dog.

Most (well, all) of the men you’ve dated you met online. There’s almost additional butterflies beyond the first-meet jitters knowing that the date is set up by a mutual friend.

There’s more at stake, even if the stakes are relatively low pressure. If the guys you met online did something incredibly out of pocket you never had to see them again, and held no qualms divulging the events to friends. Your romantic life has been full of misadventures but has given you a handful of stories, and as strangers you never have to consider any possible fallout in telling those stories.

Your son is with your mother for the night, allowing you the opportunity to focus solely on yourself this evening. No concern about keeping an eye on him while getting ready, worrying about what possible trouble he’ll get into when your back is turned.

It is hard at times- striking that balance between wanting to be a good mom and also wanting to be acknowledged as a desirable woman who has needs. A lot of men are shitty about it. You’d grilled Kate for every detail of his reaction when being informed of your young son. You don’t need another ambush regarding your disinterest in making it work with your son’s father.

She’d soothed your nerves- he hadn’t batted an eye, was about as worried about your reaction to how often his job pulled him away as you were about him having a poor reaction to being a single mom. You both have responsibilities that have to be placed above a relationship, now go play nice and have fun.

You tell yourself you can have one drink while waiting at the bar of the restaurant you’d agreed to meet at.

White wine ends up being your pick- not quite so easy to suck down as a tasty cocktail full of liquor, but gives you something to occupy yourself with.

You’ve only had the drink a handful of minutes before hearing someone clear their throat slightly behind you, and then your name.

Kate has shown you a photo of what he looks like so you’re not caught off guard when you turn around.

He’s handsome. You expect that but it’s different seeing him opposed to just the photo. Kind eyes, a warm smile on his face as he takes you in.

At least you both seem pleased with the big reveal.

“I’ve got a table waiting for us if you’re ready, love.”

He holds out a hand to let you balance yourself as you dismount from the bar seating, allowing you to steady yourself in your heels.

His hand is warm on your waist as he guides you and you’re already smitten by the time the pair of you sit down.

You’re fifteen minutes into dinner when you decide that so long as he a) is willing and b) doesn’t say or do anything completely deranged, you are going to ride Captain John Price like a mechanical bull at a shitty dive bar at the end of the night.

Perhaps the bar is in hell but either way you have been utterly deprived the past few years and he is checking plenty of boxes for you.

“So you work with Kate?” Starting off on the easy footing- the common ground that leads you both here.

“I do. Not directly- I work more on the tech side. I’m an independent contractor, I basically built the entire system she runs off of.”

“Beauty and brains,” his praise warms you, an impressed expression on his face. “Would explain how we’ve never crossed paths if you were hiding in a backroom surrounded by monitors,” he teases.

“You’re actually not that far off the mark,” not that you hide persay, but keeping that contract keeps a roof over your head and food in your child’s mouth. That keeps you busy. The fewer people who know how to work your program, the harder you are to get rid of.

You may or may not have hidden a few kill switches. Job security you call it. Though it’s not exactly first date material to talk about how you’ve got a government agency in a mutual understanding- keep extending your contract, and the program continues to work.

Either way, you don’t have much contact with the soldiers. Maybe you have passed each other in the halls but probably not- you’re certain a face like that wouldn’t have escaped your notice, introduction via a mutual friend or no. But you decide to utilize that mutual friend to shift the conversation. He’s hedged around talking about his work- on his end, sees that as the thing that might be a deal breaker for you. Probably wants to delay that until you've at least gotten your entrees.

So you go from business to hobbies. And it’s probably not entirely fair, but you’re about to see what his sense of humor is.

“Kate mentioned you’re a big soccer fan?�� You make sure your expression is wide and doe eyed as you ask the question.

His eyebrow twitches- caught, no doubt, between wanting to leave a good first impression and biting back it’s football over here, love.

You crack far quicker than you initially plan, the wide grin on your face as you let him off the hook he’s good naturedly trying not to bite.

“Beauty, brains, and a comedian, lucky me.”

“I’m sorry, I had to. In fact, it was in her terms for this,” you make a vague gesture with your hand.

“Trust Kate to wheel and deal just to get my blood pressure up,” he muses as he takes a sip from his drink.

The conversation rolls easily enough- an ebb and flow as one of you poses a question, the other answering before allowing the first to say their contribution to the subject and moving on.

He’s charming, attentive, and a good storyteller. The way he carries himself screams military without being overbearing. He’s relaxed back into his chair and something about the scene in front of you makes you want to climb into his lap like a domesticated house cat.

Being the field captain to a specialized task force it’s no shock that he’s in incredible shape and you find yourself slightly distracted on more than one occasion by his hands and forearms.

The food is wonderful though the company is better- you end up moving back to the bar for fresh drinks and to free up the table for the server.

You spend a good length of time just talking with him at the bar.

John’s attention is on you but it’s clear he’s proverbially chewing on something the further on you go.

“That is the look of someone with a question they’re not entirely positive they want an answer to,” you’ve got a habit of being a touch direct at times. Amazing how it streamlines a conversation though.

“Observant one, aren’t you?” He pauses, takes another sip of his drink. “It’s probably none of my business, but ah- is your son’s father in the picture at all?”

It was your turn to take a drink. This was always such a fun topic of conversation. Frankly the number of men who took your ex’s side when the whole custody arrangement gets brought up alarms you.

But he has a right to his son.

Fuck that.

Your child is not property and you do not give a singular shit about your ex’s feelings- especially if it comes at the expense of your son’s safety. But it saves you a substantial amount of time not wasting energy on someone who could not understand the reason for your decisions.

“The short answer to the question is no. I had already left him by the time I found out I was pregnant, and given I left because he’s a raging alcoholic- with the emphasis on the rage-,” what a nice, polite way to say he is an abusive asshole. Your gaze shifts down towards the bartop, missing the way John’s expression softens as he reads between the lines of what you say. They’re not pleasant memories, but you’re not a wounded bird anymore- you’ve tended to your clipped wings and grown new feathers. “I didn’t want him involved.”

“He ended up finding out from a mutual acquaintance, and while he claims he wants to be around, he hasn’t done much other than blow my phone up at midnight trying to throw his weight around every time he gets a new girlfriend. So I get to be the cold blooded harpy that he gets to cry about- which is fine by me. On paper he says he wants to be involved, but he’s made absolutely no effort to arrange plans or anything while sober. I haven’t seen him in over 2 years. I can’t trust him to be a safe parent, and since he’s not on any official records I get final say unless he wants to go to court over it.”

Your whole little house of cards hinges on the fact that your ex wants everyone to bend over backwards for him while doing nothing for anyone else. All it would take would be one subpoena for a paternity test and your hands would be tied. He is an incredibly functional alcoholic, so there isn’t a criminal record or anything you can do to prove he would be unfit. There’s no proof of the abuse he inflicted on you.

Which means, if push comes to shove, you would be forced to relinquish sole custody and hand your child over for unsupervised visitation.

But that requires effort on his part. And that effort is the only thing keeping your little house of cards afloat.

“Sorry that’s probably way more information than you wanted-“ good job. Everything was going great until you laid out your drama.

“No apology necessary; I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

And there’s no lecture about how you should give your ex a chance, that the opportunity to raise his son could make him change for the better. No dissertation on how you owe it to your son to do whatever it took to make things work with his father (that had been a weird way to end a date, and the only reason you hadn’t gotten up sooner and left was because it was such a bizarre conversation you’d half convinced yourself the whole thing had to be a bad dream).

You’re not a wounded bird and on the one hand it’s a good thing to get everything laid out on the table, but on the other you don’t want to sit and mope about your personal troubles. You’re actually enjoying John Price’s company, and don’t want to think about your problems.

And yes you are enjoying the time for what it is but part of you can’t help but also keep an eye out for… any opportunities for a transition.

As hot under the collar as you are, John’s gaze makes warmth coil in your gut in a way that has nothing to do with the wine- he’s being a gentleman.

It’s sweet. He’s being polite and respectful and showing sexual discipline while making it clear he’s interested.

And for all your bemoaning of prior dates with other men who aren’t captains of specialized task forces about how they were too pushy and too presumptuous and a nice dinner paired with drinks doesn’t entitle them to you dropping your panties—

Yet here you sit, hours into a conversation when you’d decided 15 minutes in you want to jump his bones. And you have to be patient otherwise you’re a total hypocrite.

You’re not entirely subtle. The pair of you are perched on barstools again, much closer than the table allowed you to be with the two of you angled towards each other.

Your dress looks good on you. A jewel toned blue that compliments your skin beautifully, the hemline stopping above your knees and loose enough to bounce tantalizingly when you hit your stride walking.

It’s not exactly an olive branch, but it is an offering of sorts when you carefully take the leg closest to John and cross it over the other. The hemline of your skirt slips up your thigh, exposing more of your leg. It stops just shy of exposing the top of your stockings and the clip to your garter. It does show just a hint of the darker border to your stockings, the lace peeking ever so slightly before transitioning to the sheer material that covers the rest of your legs.

You’re incredibly pleased with yourself when his eyes flick down for a split second and linger before snapping back to your face. Got you. He tries to hide behind being caught with a sheepish clearing of his throat. It’s adorable, really.

Your cheeks are starting to get sore from all the smiling and laughing that’s occurred over the past few hours. But he’s pleasant company so it’s a discomfort you’re happy to deal with.

You look past him for a split second- nothing in particular catching your attention but just taking in the scenery of the restaurant behind you. Your eyes are back on him in a moment only for your brain to process what it saw after a delay.

There’s no fucking way-

Yes. Yes there is. Your ex is mingling in the background, and you don’t even realize the smile on your face has fallen to a flat line like all the previous giddiness is draining out of you and pooling on the floor below.

It would not take a captain of an antiterrorism task force to see your sharp shift in disposition, so John notices immediately.

“Everything alright, love?”

Maybe he won’t see you. Maybe, if there is a God and he is merciful, your ex won’t look in your direction, won’t see you, and you can continue your cheerful plan of trying to seduce your date.

And whether there is not a God or he is just not merciful- either option remains with you having the same shit result. He turns his head and makes direct eye contact. God damn it.

You look back to John. You’d hoped you could move past talking about your ex for the evening. “Remember how I said I haven’t seen my ex in over 2 years?”

There’s a twinge of relief on his face- the look of a man grateful to not be the cause of your displeasure.

“Let me guess- he’s right behind me?”

“Not quite “right behind”, but yes. Hopefully he’ll just-“ a short huff off agitation leaves you as you cut yourself off.

So much for hoping he’d simply mind his business and stay with his group. He’s making his way towards the pair of you at the bar, and you can tell he’s had a good number of drinks in his system just looking at him.

You’d become extremely proficient at gauging how drunk your ex is at a glance. A skill you developed while still with him and one that doesn’t seem to have faded.

This is, you know without question, going to end up being absolutely humiliating for you. You just know it.

“I am going to go ahead and apologize now for whatever is going to come out of his mouth,” you inform John.

His hand finds your knee, giving a light, reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be alright, love.”

“Well what do we have here?” is the warning shot letting you know he’s not going to show any form of civility.

“Hello, Michael,” you greet cooly, mind spinning a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out how to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

“You don’t have time to answer my texts but you’ve got time to go out. That’s good. Good to know you’ve got your priorities in order,” he starts.

“Answering your texts isn’t even remotely on my priority list, you know that.” You’re trying incredibly hard to keep yourself from being outright nasty but a whole lot of old wounds float up to the surface at the sight of your ex.

Maybe your new feathers aren’t as filled out as you’d initially thought. You feel raw and exposed and it’s difficult to think. You know what you should do, how you should handle it- and there’s still that one little part in your brain that is keeping tabs on John and his response to all of this.

“Your priority should be my son-“ he starts,

“-who is with his perfectly capable grandmother for the evening, thank you,” you finish for him, jaw set tightly. “Why are you here?”

The direct question is aggressive but you know the cycle with him too well to allow him to steer the conversation. He’ll run you in circle after circle until you’re so frazzled you can’t discern left from right.

“Can’t say hello and introduce myself to your new fella? Come on now, where’s your manners?”

Your eyes widen as Michael reaches a hand out- there is no way this asshole is about to grab you in public.

Quick as a snake, John runs interference and drapes his arm across the back of your chair, his fingers holding the shoulder furthest from him lightly.

The entire length of your back and shoulders are blocked by the SAS captain, forcing Michael’s hand back as there was no easy place for it to land that wouldn’t also be touching John.

Up until now, John has been quiet and assessing the situation. Not bowing up or trying to assert himself- letting you deal with your ex and navigate the situation for yourself.

The look on his face is downright unpleasant to put lightly. This is the man in charge of an elite task force, who barks orders at soldiers who drop everything at once because he told them to-

-and you don’t feel so exposed anymore. You find yourself sitting up a bit straighter only for John to gently stroke his knuckles against your shoulder in a soothing gesture. The gesture isn’t a miraculously grand one, but one that makes you realize you’re not alone in this situation even as disorienting as it is. And if you’re being honest with yourself, the upright posture and shifting of your thighs isn’t so much a stress response to your ex as you keying in on John’s response to the whole situation.

“John, Michael- Michael, John. There, now you’re introduced.” Go away now please.

Your ex is too drunk and too full of himself to see the writing on the wall, and continues to poke the bear. “Well, since she doesn’t seem to want to give a proper introduction-“ he sticks an arm out, and you can’t help but notice how the simple gesture causes him to need to correct his balance. Good lord it was barely dark out and he’s already-

Well. Not your problem. Not anymore, at any rate.

John is sitting to your left, his right arm the one that’s draped across the back of your chair. The pair of you flash a quick look to each other, John lifting his arm from your chair to take Michael’s hand and-

God.

Damn.

It.

The exchange is actually as hilarious as it is embarrassing (You can’t quite decide if it’s all the second hand cringe variety, or first hand because Look, John! Here’s the father of my child! I sure know how to pick a partner! Is still coiling in the depths of your stomach). You’d prefer if it simply never occurred at all.

You can see your ex’s forearm flexing as he shakes John’s hand. The microexpression that flicks across your date’s face confirms your suspicion- Michael is (for some reason) trying to use an overexaggerated grip to establish some sort of dominance in the situation.

The quick really? that reads on John’s face rapidly turns to a bemused and subtle if that’s how you want to play then, a barely noticeable shift in his own grip resulting in Michael wincing.

“Captain John Price,” his tone is easy, betraying none of the pissing contest your ex instigated and is failing miserably to get one over on John.

Your ex mumbles his full name, clearly realizing that whatever his brilliant little plan is a) isn’t so brilliant to begin with b) he might just be alert enough to acknowledge the fact that he clearly has no true plan. He came over with the intention of being an asshole and has been flying blind the entire time.

There’s one woman from the group your ex split off from who is watching the three of you keenly. If you were to guess, she is probably his new girlfriend.

You can’t help but wonder- does she know enough to know that this is routine behavior for him? That he throws himself headfirst into a situation he hasn’t planned out- isn’t sober enough to plan out? Situations that don’t need to occur just so he can throw his weight around? Too petty to give a genuine “Hello, how are you? It’s been a while. I want to talk to you about Sam when we’ve both got some free time?”

Everything is vindictive. Constantly worrying about not being undermined and being respected to the point he gets in his own way. Actively sabotages his own opportunities. In dire need of therapy to work through his issues because you know the alcohol is how he copes and you’d sympathized at first but the reasons became excuses and then he’d started blaming you and-

-John places his arm on the back of your chair again and you pull yourself out of your mental spiral.

“I think your date is waiting for you, Michael. Best not to keep the lady waiting.” John observes, his tone neutral despite being a clear dismissal.

“You’ll be hearing from me later. I want to see my son.” Michael’s ignoring John’s presence but taking the hint.

You don’t fling a final barb at him. The venom has been drained out of you and you just want the interaction over and done with. Let him have the last word. You just want him gone.

You merely cast a look over at the woman who is Michael’s date for the evening and hope she’s got better sense than you did- that she leaves before he sinks his claws in her too.

The weight that settled in your stomach upon first seeing him is finally lightening up on you. You know you’ll wake up tomorrow to a barrage of phone calls and text messages that you won’t answer. It’s probably not good you’re so desensitized to the idea that it barely registers as a problem. Merely one of life’s many inconveniences.

“You alright, love?” John’s voice helps you shake the last of the tendrils that cling to you.

“Yes. Sorry. Wasn’t expecting to run into him of all people tonight, is all.”

“Never fun being ambushed, is it?”

You take a bit of a risk- you know enough about his job but he’s steered the conversation away from it every time the topic would naturally shift that direction. You know how Kate’s work can go and you assume his is very similar. “Well you’d certainly know more about that than I would.”

It works. The two of you break out in grins, and you find yourself no longer worrying about Michael and your focus readily settling back on John where it belongs.

At some point- long after the single cube in John’s drink has melted, and the condensation of your wine glass has soaked the bev nap underneath it, and more importantly long enough that you don’t feel that you’re fleeing the restaurant- the suggestion is made to go back to John’s. “No more surprises, hm?”

You gladly follow him. You’d taken an Uber to get to the restaurant, anticipating drinking and hoping to go home with him, so you have no worries about your own car.

You can easily see him being the type to give you a quick, chaste kiss on the doorstep after safely dropping you at home. In another universe you’d appreciate the restraint, enjoy fleeting touches over the course of a few dates that get more intense each time before finally finding yourself in his bed.

In this universe however, you don’t have to wait. Don’t want to, either. You get to indulge your earlier impulse of crawling into his lap, knees spread wide on either side of his waist. Lowering your hips allows you to feel him and what exactly he’s packing between his own legs. Your hips cant in short motions and heat coils heavy in your gut.

From the feel of things he’s proportional and John is not a small man. There’s a brief flicker that runs through your mind that you might be in over your head with him. The pent up lust and desire stifles that flicker. You’re more than game to see what a night with him ends up being like.

His hands are warm against your skin- one cupping the back of your head and keeping you close as the pair of you make out, the other settles on your hip and keeps you steady as you grind down on him.

You are possessed with the desire to get his cock in your mouth.

It’s cute how his face follows yours as you pull away from him.

“Help me with my dress?” Your question is perfectly innocent as you turn your back to him, presenting the zipper that runs down the length of your back.

His pleased laugh warms you, a shiver of desire and anticipation running down your spine as his breath fans across the back of your neck.

You’ve got a surprise waiting for him underneath your dress, partially revealed as one of his hands holds the top of the dress steady while the other draws the zipper down.

You gave him the hint you were wearing stockings when you’d baited him back at the restaurant, letting the heavy fabric of the dress fall to a heap around you before kicking it off to one side.

Turning back to face him, John seems quite enraptured with his surprise.

The lingerie set is a matching shade as your jewel toned dress, the garter belt clipping to the sheer black thigh high stockings.

There’s always that split second hesitation when revealing yourself to someone- the anxiety of if they’ll be pleased with what’s presented to them.

John is the first person you’ve been with since you’ve had your child, and the slight anxiety quells quickly at the look on his face.

John looks like he wants to eat you alive. Any insecurity is knocked firmly aside by desire quickly ramping back up.

Placing one hand on his thigh to steady yourself as you lift a leg to take your shoe off, John is quick to stop you. “Leave them on for now, love.”

It’s a request but it’s not. Really that doesn’t surprise you- he is someone who is likely used to having his whims accommodated to. You find yourself having no urge to defy him, nodding in compliance. If John wants your heels to stay on, then they’ll stay.

He guides you between his legs, enough space between his knees for you to slot yourself in. With him sitting on the bed he’s shorter than you standing straight up in your heels. Bending down to give a quick, teasing kiss you let yourself drop to your own knees.

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to,” you assure him with doe eyes and are rewarded with him settling into the bed as your hands go to work on his belt.

Unable to resist teasing him, you mouth at his bulge through the thick fabric of his pants. You’re rewarded with a soft cant of his hips, having his belt undone and working on the button and zip of his pants in record time.

Your earlier suspicions are correct. John is a big boy in more ways than one. You want him in your mouth- now.

While you’re occupying yourself with getting his pants off, John shucks his shirt and shoes.

He is, simply put, delicious to look at. From the broad muscling to the thick dark hair running from his chest down his abdomen. He doesn’t have the hard chiseled abs of a man who lives in the gym but the sturdy build that comes from having useful, functional muscle that’s put to work.

And that’s incredibly hot. He’s girthy as hell in your hand as you give a few strokes before putting your mouth on him.

You’re not entirely certain if deep throating him is going to be an option, but by God you’re going to try.

“Bloody hell, love.” John grunts while you bob your head up and down the length of him. You’re gauging just how much of him you can get in your mouth- where your threshold is before your gag reflex wants to kick in.

He’s petting you. Doubtless trying to fight the urge to fist your hair, his hips struggling to stay still on the bed.

You want him to. You feel feral, all the pent up sexual energy you’ve been storing for God-knows-how-long welling up all at once. You want this man carnally and your brain presently thinks having your hair held in place and your throat fucked is a fantastic idea.

John clearly has other plans, restraining himself and letting you work at your own pace. That low, deep breathing paired with his soft grunts and voiced encouragements stoke the flames of your arousal hotter.

Eventually you do need air, pulling off of him for a moment. Your hand works his shaft and teases the tip of him as you lean forward to run your tongue up and down the length of him, dropping a bit lower to lave at his heavy sac. He jolts which only encourages you to do it again.

You know your eyes are one of your better features- you’ve heard the compliment enough times both in and out of the bedroom, holding John’s gaze as you lick him back up the length of his shaft and circle the head once before having caught your breath enough to wrap your lips around him once more.

The second time around you’re able to get a bit more of him down your throat, but not all the way. What you can’t reach you stroke with one hand, the other resting on his thigh to help balance yourself as you work. You can feel the tension building in his thigh as he gets closer, pleased with yourself.

It’s a heady feeling. You don’t know exactly all the dirty details of his job but understand enough to know you’ve got a powerful man at your whim right now and that scratches a deep seated itch in you.

“Good girl,” his praise washes over you, warm and welcoming. “Just like that-“

You’re intent on sucking the soul out of him, all doe eyes and hollowed cheeks with those painted red lips. Eventually he gives into the urge to grab a fistful of your hair. He doesn’t do anything to interrupt the rhythm you’ve settled into, letting you move as you see fit.

He bites out your name and you feel the muscles in his leg drawn tight. “I’m getting close, love.”

It’s not quite a question. You give your not-answer by doubling down on him. You’re so close to having him in your mouth all the way to the base. You don’t want to back off. What you do want is for him to finish down your throat.

You get your wish. John’s fist tightens and you let out a grunt as his thrusting results in your nose pressed against his public bone.

The taste of him doesn’t really register as he spills inside your mouth, your focus on breathing through your nose and keeping your gag reflex down.

He’s petting your hair again, praises falling freely from him and soft apologizes. “Lost myself for a moment there, love. You alright?”

You keep your mouth hilted on him for a moment to prove a point- you’re fine, he didn’t push you past threshold- before finally releasing his softening cock.

He’s pulling you up to him after that, an open mouthed kiss that flusters you considering he just came in your mouth. “You’re just a treasure,” his voice purrs in your ear. “Only fair I return the favor, hm?”

He guides you to lay on the bed, knees hanging over the edge before he turns to settle between your legs.

He starts at your neck. You’re ticklish at one spot his lips, squirming in his hold with a giggle. “Sensitive, hm?”

You nod out a “mhm,” that breaks into a breathy moan as he works his way down your chest. Rather than removing your bra his hands work to pull your breasts free from the cups before paying particular attention to your nipples.

His hands are warm as they roam your ribcage, the heat of his body seeping through the lace of your outfit as his fingers trail across your skin and the delicate material.

“You’re so soft, love,” you don’t quite know how to respond to the compliment, mewling wordlessly in pleasure at the attention.

That seems to appease him as he kisses his way down your sternum and to your belly, the expanse of most of it covered by the fabric of the garter belt.

His eyes flick up to your own as his lips travel closer to the apex of your thighs. Where you’ve been lying patient and pliant in his grasp, the eye contact draws something tight in your core and you squirm again.

The next thing you feel is teeth as he nips you. “Be a good girl for me,” he tells you, soothing the soft throb of his bite with his tongue.

You force yourself to still as he moves lower, lower, lower- taking his time and having you thoroughly worked up before moving to the next patch of skin.

When he’s down far enough he slides one of your thighs over his shoulder, that arm looping under your arm and banding across your abdomen.

It’s his turn now to mouth at your clothed sex.

He pulls the gusset of your thong aside after a moment of teasing, his lips descending on you.

“Oh,” your hand immediately finds purchase in his hair, a pleased whimper escaping you at the feel of John’s tongue.

John feasts on you. There’s not much else that can be done to describe it. It’s lewd and wet as he laps at you, the flesh of his tongue doing little to soothe the burning ache inside you and only ramping it up.

Those eyes are wicked as he gazes up at you from between your thighs. The hand resting on your lower stomach is pressing ever so lightly, like John wants the pressure there but not too much yet and you’re once again struck with the idea you might be in over your head with him.

“John, please,” you beg. It feels good but you need more, lust clouding your brain as your hips rock against his face.

“You need to be patient, love. I’ll take care of you. Just relax, hm?”

It dawns on you that he’s probably running down the clock until his refractory period is up. That he doesn’t want to get you going too quick and then be stuck not quite ready to perform.

It’s an assumption, and you’re not 100% sure that you’re correct, but it’s a solid enough option that you move forward with that in mind.

The thought almost makes it easier to relax into the bed- the idea that John is going to pleasure you with his mouth until enough time has passed and he can get it up again. That he’s not just mindlessly toying with you with no end goal in mind.

It feels good you’re just stuck being greedy and wanting more stimulation despite knowing that won’t happen until John decides he’s ready to give you more.

You almost jump when the fingers you’ve been waiting for make their presence known. His mouth moves to focus on your clit, lips making a seal and sucking on it. You cry out, hips canting as his fingers gently rub at your labia.

He starts with one, gently sliding it in and out of you. Your back arches in satisfaction of having something to clench on and rub against. It’s more satisfying than just one of your own- that was for sure.

“That’s it love,” John praises you while easing a second one into you.

The second finger is what you were looking for, stimulation wise. John pets and strokes you, thumb gently working over your clit in soft circles before putting his mouth back on you.

He doesn’t just find your g-spot. John’s fingers are placed so they hone in on that spongy bit of tissue tucked inside you. He doesn’t let up on it, tongue working on your clit as you arch your back helplessly and moan.

That pressure is back on your abdomen, the hand not currently stroking you to nirvana pressing down on your belly.

You moan and buck against his hold. Your orgasm is creeping up on you and it’s like he’s determined to make you squirt.

“You keep that up and I’m gonna make a mess,” you warn him- not entirely certain how he’ll respond to the prospect of you squirting on his face.

John looks delighted and you realize that yes, you are in over your head with him.

There’s a mischievous glint in his eye as he pulls back from you, “You promise, love? Don’t tease me.”

Oh dear God- Next thing you know he’s reaching over you to pull a pillow from the top of the bed, wedging it underneath your hips before returning to his place between your thighs.

You’re flustered at how eager he is to see you squirt. His mouth is back on you, sucking on your clit and making your legs shake as two fingers go right back to abusing your g-spot, his free hand pressing on your belly increasing the pressure that is mounting by the second.

There’s nothing else for you to do but grab a fistful of his hair and hang on. “Please- oh! J-John! Right there,” at your encouragement he locks in on the spot that’s got you arching your back and your thighs trembling.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me,” he’s moaning encourments against your skin and you feel like a bow drawn tight and ready to snap. You’re so, so close.

The sounds he draws out of you- both from your mouth and between your legs- are filthy and vulgar and you don’t care at all as he gets you teetering just on the edge.

You’re practically gasping for breath, eyes screwing shut as the hand not buried in John’s hair fists the sheets next to you. You babble his name, chants of John all your brain can muster.

All that pressure coiling in you snaps and gushes out, literally and metaphorically.

“Good girl, making such a mess for me,” John’s praise has you flushing hot while his fingers work you like he’s making sure he can wring out every single last drop.

He stops when you have nothing left to give him, a trembling mess shivering in his hold.

Your brain at some point made the windows shut down noise, needing a moment to settle as you process what John just did to you.

This is the hardest you’ve cum in ages, certainly better than the orgasms you’ve given yourself during your little dry spell.

You return to the land of the living with his lips on yours, tasting yourself as he soothingly strokes your side. “You back with me?” He asks, eliciting a nod from you.

“Please tell me you have a condom,” your tone is pleading. You still want to ride him but you’ve learned your lesson about practicing safe sex. Once was, in fact, all it took for things to go off the rail.

“I do,” he stands, moving to the nightstand and opening a drawer.

Now that your legs feel somewhat compliant you sit yourself back up.

No sooner than John’s got the condom on then you’re guiding him back down, having him lay on the edge of the bed.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, getting yourself situated so your heels don’t catch on his sheets, but you’re straddling him with the leg closest to the edge of the bed hanging over the side as the opposite leg folds underneath you. You hover over him while getting everything lined up. The position of your legs allows you to alternate which one is supporting the brunt of your weight, a factor that is going to be fairly important once you’ve hilted yourself on John.

Even with how pliant your body is it takes a moment for the head of him to breach you.

“Oh,” you let out a breath as you sink down on him. You’re not able to get all the way to the base of him on the first go, getting your weight underneath yourself and lifting almost completely off of him before dropping down again. You get a little further this time, a moan escaping you.

“That’s it, love. Nice and easy,” his voice coos in your ear, that low timber having you liable to melt.

He’s thick. Not in a way that’s insurmountable to manage, but you have absolutely no complaints with how he fills you and anticipate being pleasantly sore in the morning.

Two more slow bounces have you sinking low enough to hilt yourself on him, taking a moment to enjoy the sensation of sitting fully on his lap.

One of his hands braces on your hip, the other his thumb circles your clit. You squirm at the stimuli, relishing in the feel of him before getting to work.

This is what you’ve been drooling over all night. Your reward is very well earned in your opinion. Moaning lowly as you bounce up and down, your movements are initially slow and languid but pick up speed as you get your bearings. John’s heavy exhales and grunts when you clench only serve to wind you tighter.

“You feel good, pretty girl? Hm? You like bouncing on my cock?”

You flush- a ridiculous notion given how you’re quite literally hilted on his dick-, face hot from the dirty talk.

The hand on your hip helps guide you to a pace that’s pleasurable for the both of you, eyes rolling as he thrusts his hips in a way that makes you see stars. “Yes! John- yes! Oh it feels so good,” your voice a low purr as he delivers on every fantasy you’ve had this evening.

The stretch of him in you feels absolutely incredible, knocking the air out of you on each bounce. It doesn’t take long until that knot begins to form again, growing steadily as you rise and fall in his lap. The press of his finger circling your clit draws staggered moans, bracing on him for support.

“Been thinking about this all night,” John grits out. “Wanted to flip you over the bar top and have my way with you right there on the dining room floor.”

You moan at the confession, feeling less like a rabid dog with no impulse control now you know you’re not alone in the intense desire that had struck once you’d laid eyes on him.

“Probably wouldn’t have- ah! st-stopped you,” you tell him. The grip on your hip tightens at that, another moan escaping you as you bounce on him.

Your eyes roll in pleasure, cunt practically fluttering from the way he keeps getting you to clench. The thickness of his girth doesn’t just let him keep hitting that spot in you with lift of your hips so much as the mushroom tipped head of his cock drags across it.

“Aren’t you just a fucking treasure,” he praises.

Your thighs are burning, eased by the position of your legs and John’s grip helping you but becoming more present with each wet clap of your sex against his lap. It almost helps you tip closer to another climax.

Your eyes squeeze shut, a staggered breath escaping you.

“Eyes on me,” he tells you and you comply immediately.

“John, please I’m so close,” your thighs are shaking again, threatening your already precarious balance.

“You need more, pretty girl?”

You shake your head. “No-no. Just don’t stop. Please don’t stop!”

And bless him, he doesn’t do anything to fuck up your rhythm. The fingers circling your clit keep the same tempo and pressure perfectly, his free hand still helping guide you up and out of his lap before sitting you back down.

You know you’re about to come but are caught off guard by how sharp it is as you squirt for a second time.

The sight of you spurting across his abdomen nearly severs any control John has left. The next thing you know John’s abandoned your overstimulated clit in favor of rolling you onto your back, your heels clattering to the floor from the motion. Your legs go instinctively to clamp around his waist for security- only one of them does, the other stopped by wet fingers gripping your thigh by your knee as he spreads you open. His weight is held on the forearm bracing next to your head by the time you process the shift in position.

“You alright, pretty girl?”

You can’t quite get your words out but manage a nod. “Ye-yeah,” you eventually stagger out as he waits for a verbal confirmation.

With the comfort that you were fine, that gives John the assurance he needs to seek his own pleasure.

More than satisfied with your two climaxes, you lay limp and pliant in his grasp while he chases his own end.

The wet squelch of his cock splitting you open with each thrust was loud and obscene although you were too far gone in the blissed out pleasure to care. Your whole body feels delightfully tingly, your head swimming pleasantly.

You clench down on him a few times, more for his benefit than anything else. You’re spent but more than willing to help him across the finish line as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muttering praises that are punctured with short, sharp thrusts before he stiffens as his own climax hits.

The two of you have both broken into a light sheen of sweat by the end of things. After a moment to recuperate John stands with a “I’ll be right back.” (And you unabashedly enjoy the view of his ass while he retreats to the bathroom.)

True to his word he returns shortly, evidently having disposed of the condom with a towel in hand for you.

The pair of you get yourselves clean and sorted. Before you can decide how you want to ask, John seems to already know what the question is.

“You don’t need to leave, do you?”

Again it’s not entirely a question, but still gives you an out if you want to take it.

You don't want to take the out.

#john price x reader #captain john price #john price #x single mom reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #my writing #now I gotta name this bitch because I totally plan on a whole series and the other characters can’t be calling her love all the time lmao #i wrote and coded this whole thing on my phone because my laptop has once again quit on me

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sebuckyverse · 1 year

Text

for a good time, call

modern!rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

Eddie Munson is a burnt out rockstar, touring the country. When he finds a phone number written on a bathroom wall, he strikes an unusual friendship with a coffee shop barista who has no idea who he is.

warnings: 18+ cussing, eventual smut if i'm horny, steve harrington, none yet, strangers to friends to lovers <3 word count: 3,4k

an: Y'ALL idk what this is but i had this idea when i woke up from a bomb ass nap! tagging my bestie @hellfirewhore because she helped me so much with this, love u bub. also @ceriseheaven because she's obsessed with me. also i apologize for the Steve Harrington girlies

chapter two ♫ masterlist

chapter one ♫♪♩·..·

With a heavy sigh, Eddie slips into the bathroom of a restaurant, the name of which he cannot even remember. It’s barely 6pm and he’s already two drinks in, cursing himself for agreeing to this meeting at all when he could’ve just been a dick and said no, but like someone once close to him used to say, he is a people pleaser. He closes his eyes for a minute before pushing off the door and heading to the furthest stall, locking himself in and sitting down without taking his pants off. He didn’t really need to go, this was just an excuse to escape giving the answers his shitty manager is waiting for him to give.

It’s nearing the end of Corroded Coffin’s summer tour “Live from the Upside Down”. With only 7 shows left, it’s safe to say the tour was a massive success. Tickets were sold out, fans were lining the streets and Eddie couldn’t blink without a camera going off somewhere. It’s what he wanted, dreamed of ever since he was in middle school and he was proud of himself for realizing his dream, specially when in high school, he thought about quitting. The fans are already asking about a new tour or a new album - they aren’t the only ones. Management is also on board, hoarding Eddie about new songs or if they could extend the tour, it’s good business after all. That’s all it seems to be about recently - money, publicity, instagram likes. It didn’t use to be like this, it was good when they blew up and signed with their record label but thinking back, it was too good to be true.

Eddie doesn’t have an answer to anybody. He hasn’t written anything new in weeks and his relationship with the band is strained, he doesn’t remember the last time he actually enjoyed being on stage. So as he sits on the toilet rubbing his eyes, the bags under his eyes blue and purple, he’s trying to find another excuse to his manager waiting by the table to why they definitely shouldn’t jump right into another album. Once he has stretched out the minutes to a quick bathroom run as far as he could, he stands back up and stretches his legs. Eddie does a double take when before stepping out, he notices some text written on the stall door, followed by numbers.

“For lousy head, call Y/N.”

.•♫•♬•

For what felt like the hundredth time today, your phone buzzed in your back pocket. Ignoring it, like you have done for the past two days, you continued packing blueberry muffins into a perfectly folded cardboard box, slapping a thank you sticker on top and pushing it to the side next to a few other to-go boxes. The clock was pushing 7pm and you were counting down the minutes until your shift was over, thankful that you had the next two days off to relax and turn off your fucking phone.

You don’t know what happened, but yesterday afternoon you started getting incredibly weird and vulgar messages and phone calls from unknown numbers. After consulting with your best friend last night, you didn’t reply to a single text and ignored the phone calls after you already answered one, where a guy asked for a blowjob.

“How did this happen?” Your best friend and co-barista Robin asked.

“You’re asking me! I have no idea!” you shrieked back at your phone, looking at her through the Facetime app.

“Have you signed up for anything weird lately?”

“Like what? You’re making it seem like I leaked my own number.”

“Well, someone clearly did.”

You chewed on your thumb as you rewinded the event of the last week. One thing did pop up, something that made your stomach churn. “You don’t think Steve would do this?”

“Uh, yeah! That guy is an asshole and the only thing bigger than his head is his ego. Didn’t you say he blocked you?”

“Yeah,” you sighed and massaged your temples where a headache was already forming “He got mad at me when I didn’t want to sleep with him on the second date.”

“Pfft- what?! Why didn’t you tell me?” Robin gawked at you, only her eyes and forehead visible now.

“It’s embarrassing! Sorry!”

“Well anyway, I bet it was him. You were too good for him anyway, by the way.”

You smiled and stuck your tongue out, “Stupid! But what am I going to do? Am I going to have to change my number now?”

“Seems so, unless you can find out how Steve leaked your number.”

After you promised to look into getting a new number the next day, you finished your call with Robin and turned off your phone. Today was super busy and you were too tired to worry about changing your number. You walked a short mile home and immediately flopped onto your bed, kicking off your shoes.

You had ignored your phone most of the day, but decided it was time to take a peek as you may have missed something important. You scrolled through numerous new text messages and deleted every single one, only sending back a quick text to Robin who had asked for any updates as she was off work today. Just as you were about to turn the device off again, a new message popped up that made you jump up the bed.

7:28pm Hello, I hope this message reaches you. I’m sorry to bother you, just wanted to let you know someone has written your number on a bathroom stall with a pretty nasty message. I scrubbed it off as much as I could. Have a good night.

.•♫•♬•

It's been a few days since Eddie shot that text off and the almost instant reply he received back was still sitting unanswered at the top of his messages.

7.31pm, three days ago Hi. Thank you so much for letting me know, my phone has been going off like crazy. I appreciate what you did. If there's anything I can do to repay you, please let me know!

Eddie had no intention of asking for anything in return, that would be absurd. He was only doing what was right, it's what any decent person would have done. He's been hesitant to respond, he still remembers that one time he was a bit tipsy and made the irrational decision to give out his real number to a girl after a show. It only took three hours before his number was blasted all over the internet and he smashed his phone against a wall just to make it stop ringing.

Eddie was never this reclusive, not before all of this anyway. In high school, he had a handful of friends who he cared for and loved messing with. He was loud at times and he didn't care what anybody else thought of him, they all hated him anyway. In high school, he still had Wayne, too. Now he only has himself.

He was currently sitting on a hotel bed, after a show, his hair still dripping with water from his shower. He's scrolling Instagram, checking out the bands latest post, reading various fan comments who all appeared to love the show - which was good in theory, but it makes him feel sick. Can't they see that he's miserable? He's burned the fuck out but everybody seems blind to it. Before he can close the app though, a new text comes through, from the same number he still hasn't answered to.

02.59am ''ROb where re you- steve is here and i slapped him!! Cme find me quick''

His brows bunch together in a frown and before he can help himself, he snorts. This was clearly a text someone would send not-sober, which he has done too many times. He decides to write back, just to be.. polite.

03.00am ''Not Rob, but if Steve is the one who wrote that shit on the wall, good for you 🙂''

03.02am ''oh fuckk im so sorry'' 03.02am ''this is so embarrass sing pls ignore me'' 03.03am ''and it was steve!! he said t was him'' 03.04am ''hes such a dick im sorry i'm bothering you'' 03.04am ''ignore me, m so sorry again''

Eddie is staring at his phone with the most comical look on his face, if he felt tired before it's all gone now. He doesn't remember the last time he had a genuine laugh, but your texts are very amusing.

03.05am ''It's very hard to ignore you when you keep bombing my phone.''

It takes a couple of minutes before a new reply comes in and for some reason that he doesn't want to think about right now, it's making him anxious waiting for your reply. That's not creepy at all, he thinks.

03.08am ''IM SORRY have a kiwi on me🥝🥝''

.•♫•♬•

The fresh September breeze has sneaked in through your open window, a gush of wind petting your forehead. You peel one eye open and do a quick scan of the room, noting that you're thankfully in your own apartment. With a delicious groan, you stretch your limbs and turn to your other side. The subtle thumping in your head is a stark reminder that you should've stayed home last night, but Robin refused to take no for an answer, as usual, and you two ended up at a bar downtown.

While downing a few fruity drinks might have been in your bingo cards, seeing Steve Harrington wasn't. Your eye twitched as soon as you saw the back of his head and that stupid hair of his, his arm flung around a girl you had never seen before. Robin had disappeared to the bathroom a while ago and you were left alone at the counter sipping your Cosmopolitan. Blessed with liquid courage, you set your unfinished glass on the counter and stomped your way over to him and his group of friends.

When you were in earshot, you heard one of them shout ''All hail King Steve!''. You rolled your eyes, pretty sure there was steam coming from your ears.

''Pff, King Steve? More like bitch Steve!''

The girl on his arm sputtered out her mojito and looked between you two, her wide eyes moving back and forth like she was observing a tennis match. Steve turned as well and scoffed at you, ''You need somethin'?''

You crossed your arms, needing to shield yourself and popped your hip. ''Yeah, why'd you do it?''

''Do what?''

''Don't play dumb, Steven. I know you wrote my number on some random bathroom wall. The fuck is wrong with you?''

Steve unhooked himself from his date and took a step closer to you, but you took a step back as well. Someone bumped into you from behind and spilled liquid onto your open toed shoes, but you didn't turn away, instead staring Steve right in the eyes, hoping your looks could kill.

''Aw, I thought I was doing you a favor, babe. Thought you might use the experience.''

''Fuck you,'' you spat. ''All this because I wouldn't have sex with you?''

''Nobody turns down the King, sweetheart. It's your loss anyway.''

You scoffed and broke eye contact to dig through your purse for your phone. Robin would abolish him, but she was still not back yet. ''You're such an asshole!''

Steve raised his hands and run his knuckles up and down your arm, which you jolted away immediately. ''We could still hook up if you want, you know. I'll even do you first.''

You gasped at his crummy words and before you knew it, you raised your hand and slapped his cheek. Steve's head flew to the side and your palm stinging from the harsh contact. Your chest heaved as you turned to leave, looking back at the girl and seeing honest confusion in her eyes. ''Don't bother with him babe, I heard he's only 4 inches.''

You pushed past people back to the bar and ordered yourself 3 shots of tequila, your fingers still trembling as you handed over bills. The shots were gone in the blink of an eye. You needed to find Robin and tell her what happened. You don't condone your actions but you knew she would high five you once she hears about this. You used the restroom, hoping to find her there, but she was nowhere in sight. Sighing in defeat, you pulled your phone up and swiped until you found Robin's text chain and sent off an emergency text. Your vision was already doubling, no doubt the work of 2 Cosmos and 3 shots of tequila, being the lightweight that you were.

Back in bed, you raked your hand through the bedsheets, trying to locate your phone, finding it under your ass. The clock showed 2.13pm. How the hell did I get home last night? you thought and swiftly found Robin's number and put the phone on speaker and placed it next to you on your pillow. The ringing went unanswered and you went to send her a quick text.

2.14pm - to Robin ''Hey, you ok? call me when you get this.''

Looking at your text messages, you were confused when you didn't find texts from last night. You specifically remember texting her and she even replied! Didn't she? Nausea started forming at the pit of your stomach as your fingers made quick work to look through any other messages you might have sent last night and your heart almost stopped beating when you realized who you actually messaged last night.

''Oh, dear God.''

.•♫•♬•

Eddie was on the other side of the country, in the middle of soundcheck when he felt left pocket vibrate. As there were only two songs left, he ignored it until he had a few minutes to spare. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he was maybe hoping it was you. Not in a romantic way, of course, he was just wondering what happened to you last night, if you got home safe.

They finished soundcheck and headed back to the dressing room, where they would spend the rest of the day waiting for the show to start, fitting in a few interviews where he put on his best act. Eddie fished his phone from his bucket and felt a cold shiver run down his back as he stared at the screen. It wasn't who he was expecting, it was from Wayne.

Eddie and Wayne used to be close. Wayne was like a father to him and during high school days, were people accused Eddie of being the devil himself, always had his back and looked out for him. It's how Wayne also noticed that Eddie was unhappy, even before Eddie realized it himself. Eddie would reassure Wayne that he was fine and that this was what he wanted, but Wayne could see through the bullshit. He never let Eddie stomp on him either, calling him out for lying and telling him to come home, or at least take a break. But how could he take a break when he is at the height of his career? He couldn't.

Being manipulated by his manager as well, Eddie slowly started pulling away from Wayne. He wouldn't call as often or would leave certain texts unanswered. It's at a point where they aren't really speaking anymore, only the occasional text Wayne sends to let him know he's doing good, everything is fine. Eddie can't admit it, but he needs those texts more than ever. He's thought about calling Wayne every day, now that things have gotten so bad for him. He needs his uncle, the only person he's ever looked up to, to put him straight. But like always, he is a coward and instead of replying, Eddie just locks his phone.

.•♫•♬•

''Where the hell have you been?'' you scold as you hold your door open for Robin, graciously accepting the entire bag of junk food she brought. Chips, cookies, various types of candy and four cans of Coke Zero.

After you hauled up from bed and straightened yourself up, Robin called you and told you she would be coming over with hangover medicine, hence the junk food. You emptied the bag on your coffee table and popped open one of the Cokes. Robin toed off her shoes and joined you on the couch, reaching for the chips. ''I think I found the love of my life.''

''Oh great heavens, again?''

Throwing a chip at you, you pick it up and snack on it. ''Hey, she's the one who got us all home last night. I found you slumped against the wall next to the bathroom.''

''Oh, well, make sure to thank her for me then. What's she like?''

Robin proceeded to fill you in on her activities last night and you told her about your encounter with Steve, receiving a very expected high five. ''Fuck yeah! He deserved it, I hope that girl dumped his ass, too. He's a stupid idiot.''

Fidgeting in your seat, you pulled your legs closer to your chest. ''Speaking of idiots, I may have done something dumb last night, too. You remember that number that texted me about the whole thing? Who told me my number was on that stall and shit?''

''Yeaaah?'' Robin asked cautiously.

''I.. might have drunk texted him last night, thinking it was you.''

''Oh my God, what did you say? Show me your phone!''

You grabbed your phone from the coffee table and handed it to her, watching her facial expressions as she kept reading. ''Oh my GOD, this is like, sexy.''

''Sexy?! What part of this is sexy? I humiliated myself to this stranger. He could be the president for all I know.''

''Really doubt the president is allowed to text. But this is cool! You have a mysterious pen pal, or a text pal. He hasn't texted anything yet?''

''Nope,'' you say and is that disappointment you detect in your own voice? This is stupid.

''You do it then! Text him something right now.'' Robin claps her hands and scooches closer to you so she could see your screen.

''No, what the hell. And say what?''

''Anything!''

.•♫•♬•

Tonight's show was the hardest so far. The band changed the setlist a little bit and Eddie was off his game, forgetting some words to their last song. The night ended in a screaming match with his manager when Eddie spoke up about wanting a bigger break before they do another tour. Jake, his manager, accused Eddie of being lazy and not willing to work for it, whilst Eddie accused him of being a phony and only caring about money. At one point, the band had to separate the two of them so fists wouldn't go flying.

So, as he nurses his beer at another hotel room, laying on silk sheets and dried streams of tears running down his cheeks, he feels the need to talk to someone. He can't call Wayne, although subconsciously he know that should be the first option, he thinks of that stranger, somewhere out there, who has no idea how he is. He bends down to rummage through his pants until he finds what he's looking for. He's surprised when he sees that you have written to him first, the nickname he gave you staring back at him.

5.56pm - Kiwi ''Hi. I would once again like to apologize for my antics last night. Please know that I'm so humiliated!''

Without thinking much about it, Eddie quickly types a reply, hoping you still might be up.

01.13am “Don’t worry about it. You’re entertaining.”

01.15am - Kiwi “Oh, is my despair entertaining you?”

01.15am ''Yes.''

01.16am “I hope I didn't wake you.”

01.17am - Kiwi ''You didn't.'' ''What's your name, by the way?''

Eddies fingers hovered over the keyboard, seconds ticking by. He couldn't give his real name, he'd already made a similar mistake once. He didn't want to lie to you, but seeing as you didn't know who he was anyway, it made feel a little bit less guilty when he offered you a fake name.

01.20am ''It's Kirk.''

01.21am - Kiwi ''Are you from Metallica?''

Eddie smiled - he was outsmarted. Bonus points for liking, or at least knowing Metallica.

01.21am ''What would you do if I say yes?''

01.21am - Kiwi ''Nothing, probably ask you what James Hetfield smells like 😜''

01.22am ''It was nice knowing you, Kiwi girl.'

01.22 am - Kiwi ''KIWI girl?? Wait come back, Kirk's my second favorite!''

01.22am ''I'm here.''

01.23am - Kiwi ''Are we friends now?''

01.24am ''Sure. If you want to be.''

01.24am - Kiwi ''I think so.''

01.25am ''Good, me too.''

01.27am - Kiwi ''Good night, Kirk.''

01.27am ''Good night, Kiwi girl.''

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #rockstar!eddie munson #modern!eddie munson

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chaoticreation · 6 months

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10/29/23

This area is a death sentence without transportation. I'm running out of food, I can't get my prescriptions, can't flee in an emergency, and me and Syd have been freezing for like, a month, aside from the past two days because it's been surprisingly warm out for October. But November is around the corner, and it's gonna get cold. Fast.

I don't have the funds to repair my van, or the furnace.

Eventually, I'm gonna go homeless if the taxes aren't paid, but the van and furnace are extremely pressing matters right now.

If you can afford to donate, I'd appreciate anything you can spare. If you can't, that's okay. You can still help by sharing this campaign! Please don't donate if you can't afford to, but please SHARE no matter what!

OUR SURVIVAL DEPENDS ON IT. YES, I AM BEGGING. I'M TERRIFIED.

Gfm requires at least $5 donation, so if you can't swing that, you can send less to:

ven.mo: https://account.venmo.com/u/rroche90 pay.pal: [email protected]

Edit, 11/7/23: And we also don't have hot water now either. When the plumber came to give me an estimate on the furnace, he found that the hot water heater had a bad leak, so that was turned off to reduce damage.

Edit, 11/12/23: Septic problems now, too. Sinks are backing up. Woo! Still no heat, btw. It's been a month without heat and it's getting colder. Friend bought Syd a bigger hospital cage, but it hasn't arrived yet, so poor girl has to continue to suffer. Still no transportation, either. HEAP has said they'll pay half the furnace bill if I'm on the deed, which I can't and won't do until the taxes are paid off. I'm not about to inherit that debt.

@sydthetiel is being kept in a tiny hospital cage in my office with a space heater. Not ideal, but it's keeping her warm at least.

We're really not okay.

Edit, 11/16/23: Still no heat or hot water. Plumber isn't even actually getting back to us lmao. Mechanic got back to us, though, and they've found that the brake lines are rusted and need to be replaced. They want an extra $3500 for that. So it'd be roughly $6,000 to get my van repaired. Or I can just fix what I can fix at $2,000 and take my chances with rusted brake lines, and be an accident waiting to happen because I'm desperate to not be trapped in a freezing house with no meds or food or water lmao. Or I just don't get to have transportation back. Or I have to buy a new used vehicle, for like, $15,000+. So... mostly there's just no hope left for me. I'm ready to just give up. It's too much to fix, and my odds of survival are at 0 anyway. I won't last the winter here, and I can't even leave.

Edit, 11/22/23: That plumber ghosted us. We got a new plumber. He came out yesterday and got the furnace rigged to work, just in time. As he pulled into the driveway, it started sleeting and snowing. Throughout the night. The problem is, the furnace isn't fixed, so it could crap out at any moment. The water heater is off, but still leaking, so it's time sensitive to have it replaced. But he's pointed out another problem with that; Rex's hoarding. We need to be able to get rid of enough of her crap to get the equipment in and out. He can do it, but it's gonna cost. Additionally, the chimney isn't in great shape so we have to do something about that, or it's going to defeat the purpose of these replacements. Waiting for the quotes on everything.

As for my van, it's ready to be picked up, without the brake lines being finished. We found a new place that said they'd charge between $700-$1000 to replace the brake lines. A lot better than $3,500, but still not money I have. So until I can do that, it's a risk driving it, but I really don't have a choice. I can't stay living like this, trapped in the middle of nowhere. It's defeating me mentally and physically. But there's another problem too, that won't be covered under warranty. A knock sensor. No idea how much it'll cost yet, but it needs to be replaced in order for the van to pass inspection in December.

I'm feeling incredibly hopeless. I can't even run, because I have Syd, and I'm not going to abandon her. She's my kiddo. She's in a bigger cage now, happily. But I'm at such a loss of what to do. We're not going to survive the winter here without these repairs, and fleeing is going to be really difficult, and I may not have a home to come back to in Spring if I did manage to leave for the winter with Syd.

#signal boost #gofundme #donation #fundraiser #help us survive

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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 1 month

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Simon Riley is an enigma. He masks all of him under the skull feign. Always composure, without any unneeded emotions.

At least that’s what you consider. but there’s something different, a spark of passion in his attitude to you. The way he lands his eyes on you, the ambiguity when he closes the distance between you while talking. You try to search, see if there’s a crack in his flawless disguise, so that you may have a chance to know him better. You know he’s observing you too. Sometimes, you notice him staring at you, but once you recognize, he will turn his attention away. It’s making you anxious, or — needy. The eagerness to understand more of him, to discover what he hides, hoarding whatever is under the mask. Even if it’s his darkest side, you need to know, what he’s thinking every time his palm touches your shoulder longer than usual, what lies in the turmoil swirling in his eyes.

“Sergeant, are you listening?” His gruff voice snaps you out of the trance. Ghost towers over you, you’ve been immersed in your own thoughts, and haven’t realized others already finished their debrief and left. Haven’t realized there’s only you and him in the room now. “Yes, I am, Sir.” “Then start your debrief.” he commands. You inhale shallowly, and report what happened in the mission yesterday. and again, you can feel his gaze, enthusiastic and stern, roaming over your body, tracing every detail on your face. You shift under the pressure, choke back a whimper and stumble to the end of your debrief. “Good.” Ghost’s eyes are locked on yours, and he reaches out, giving you a pat on your shoulder. and the slight graze on the side of your neck. You try not to tremble, but still shiver when his cold fingers touch your neck, but you feel another mood this time, especially when you see the mischievous glint in his eyes as he takes in your reaction. It’s anger. “Please stop this, Lieutenant.” the words slip out too fluently, you don’t even process what you truly just said until you halt to a shocking pause. “Stop what?” The gravity contained in his dark eyes is suffering, he asks you in a plain tone, as if he’s just making another order. “I... I’m not your plaything, please stop this. Don’t hang me in the air and leave me with nothing.” Fuck it, you think, the hunger you experience these day gives you the courage, all your longing and desire spills out, but you don’t dare to look at him, eyes wandering around, staying on everything but him. “Then what do you want?” Ghost steps forward at you instantly, and you back off in response, but like a predator stalking its prey, he’s precisive, following you and finally — cornered and caged the prey in his trap. “I...” “Tell me.” His voice is low, alluring, seducing you to tell him your deepest wish. His right hand catches your chin, and forces you to look at him. and you can see it, the lust, the tiny hint leading you to his secret. “I want to know you, Sir.” “Not just Ghost, I want to know about Simon Riley... the rest of you.” “Greedy...” Ghost chuckles, making you feel like you are boiling in embarrassment, but you gasp when he suddenly grabs your hand in his much larger one. and then he guides you, until your fingers are tangled with the hem of his mask. “Are you ready, Sergeant?”

With widened eyes and drowning in excitement, You hold your breath as he leads your hand upwards.

#cod imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #cod x reader #cod x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #Spotify

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fyeaheddiemunson · 1 month

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This man had never been on a trampoline until they filmed this scene.

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #jq #hoard #give me hoard yesterday #michael

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kitixie · 9 months

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Little Girl Gone (pt 5)

synopsis: You and Tommy cook dinner, and things get a little 'out of hand'.

warnings: some sexual content (18+)

tag list: @budugu, @ajmiila02, @filmtv2022, @cyphah, @ce1iat, @thenattitude, @globetrotter28, @tn22220-blog, @fudgethisyo, please let me know if you want to be tagged!

info: my apologies for not updating yesterday, my schedule is starting to pick back up, so updates may come every other day rather than every day, but we shall see. enjoy!

You watched Tommy as he stood over the stove, dropping the potatoes into boiling water. You were still chopping, but every once in a while you’d look over at him and just watch. You would admire the way his wide shoulders shifted as he turned, watch how his hands delicately moved, yet always had a purpose.

He had come to your house ready to cook, bringing along some potatoes and two steaks with him. How he knew that this was your favorite meal was beyond you, as you couldn’t recall ever mentioning it. Nonetheless, he came prepared. You had been helping cut up the potatoes while he worked on the steak, and then he took over cooking the potatoes as well. The two of you naturally shared the kitchen, it never felt too crowded, or like it was foreign; it seemed like it should always be like this.

“What’re you thinking, Love?” Tommy asked, looking toward you with a soft smile.

“I’m thinking about a lot of things, Tom. But I'm mostly thinking of how you knew this was my favorite meal?” You said, finally scratching the itch of curiosity.

“You mentioned it once before you went away, how you always loved steak and potatoes. I’ve just remembered,” he said, leaning his waist against the counter.

You gave a ‘hmph’, and nodded at him before turning around to continue your chopping. Once he could no longer see your face, a smile stretched across it. He remembered a passing comment from years ago, about your favorite meal. Out of all the things that go into his brain, from stresses, to jobs, to familial drama, he made space in his memories for you and your favorite meal.

“Ya know, Love,” Tommy said, coming behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder, “I’m the one who cooked this same meal that night you ate with Ada, Pol, and I.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before returning to the stove to check the steak. If you could’ve blushed any harder, you would’ve.

*after dinner*

“Tommy, why do you remember my favorite meal?” You asked, this time it being you who turned your attention to him.

“Because, when you like someone, you hoard every bit of knowledge you can about them,” he replied nonchalantly, sitting your dishes into your sink.

“So you like me, aye?” You laughed, watching his fluid motions.

“I do, I have. For years, Y/N,” he said, turning to face you, “I’ve had my eye on ya since we were teenagers, but I was always older than you, or the both of us were always seeing somebody, or I was always scared.” He spoke, staring at the floor.

You took in what he was saying, but you could barely comprehend it. Tommy Shelby had fancied you for years? The words he said were what you had always dreamed of hearing from him, but you never imagined they’d actually come from his mouth. You watched his face, just staring, waiting. You didn’t know where to go from here, you had no idea what to say. You thought for a moment, trying to find words. After a moment, you spoke up.

“Tommy, if you wanted me, all you would’ve had to do is say the word. I’ve had my eye on you since I was sixteen, aye.” You said, pushing yourself off of the counter.

He straightened his posture when you did, both of you watching each other. You stood for a moment, and just felt. Felt your bare feet against your hardwood floor, felt your linen trousers brushing against your legs. Then, you decided you wanted to feel his lips against yours. Without giving yourself time to back out of it, you paced across the kitchen, and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Y/N…” Tommy trailed off, bringing his hands around your waist slowly.

“Tommy.” You looked into his eyes, and took in a deep breath.

You leaned forwards, mashing your lips to his slowly at first. His lips were warm and soft, and you could feel his small stubbled as your hands ran across his cheeks. He tilted his head, angling downwards, and began roaming his hands all over your back. He slipped his hands under your shirt, letting them rub over your lower back, all while still moving your lips together in a perfect harmony.

He broke the kiss and came to rest his forehead against yours. He stared into your eyes, still massaging his hands around your back. He took several deep breaths, before bringing his lips back to yours. This kiss was more passionate, faster than the first. He pressed into you hard, his large hands shifting your body even closer to his. He began to back you towards the counter, making sure that his hands found it before your back so that he didn’t pin you between himself and the wooden surface. He moved his hands down the back of your ass, lifting you to sit on the counter. He worked his way between your legs, as you wrapped them around his waist. You tangled your fingers in his hair, slightly tugging at it to adjust his head for a better angle. You felt his hands travel around to your front, running along your stomach, then upwards. He grabbed at your breasts, kneading them and running his hands over the sensitive buds.

“If you want me to stop, Y/N, just say something. Alright, Love,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours.

‘Don’t stop, Thomas. Don’t stop, ever.” You laughed, bringing his lips back to yours.

You sat on the counter, with Tommy’s lips moving harshly against yours, as his hands traveled all over your body. Your face, your breasts, your legs, he had his hands everywhere. He slowly inched his hands towards your inner thigh, letting his long fingers graze over your center through your pants.

“Do you want me to take them off, Tommy?” You asked, almost breathless.

“No, not yet.” He said, bringing your lips back together.

He kept his mouth on yours, moving together. Your kissing and touching lasted for several more minutes before he pulled away. He held your face in his hands, and a large smile crawled across your face. He smiled back at you, and you began to giggle. He made you feel like a schoolgirl who just got her first kiss on the playground, made you feel like a fish who had just been returned to water.

"Y/N, I've got to go. I promise I'll be back, but I've got some business to tend to, Love." Tommy spoke, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Okay, Tommy. Be careful, I lo-," you paused, "Just be careful." You sheepishly nodded at him, as he headed out of your front door.

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby fic #tommy shelby

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 26 days

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AITA for getting upset at my best friend for calling me a hoarder in passing?

My (29NB) best friend (also 29NB) have been going through major crises lately at the same time—we will call them Sun. So, yesterday, they sent me a text, when we weee talking about how they haven’t wanted to be over at my house for a while, mostly bc they don’t like my partner…although the subject was in discussion bc my partner and I are splitting up, and I will be living alone again in a couple months. At some point in this discussion, they mentioned the more pressing matter that’s caused them not to be over as much is that they are very allergic to one of my cats—but only the one I just adopted a couple years ago, they’ve had no allergy issues w the other one and they love her very much, she is their niece.

However, at one point, they mentioned that a few years ago, when I was using drugs a lot more irresponsibly than usual—to the point where I got injured from falling down the stairs—they had been speaking to my other close friends. Which is appreciated, and I knew about this already obviously since there was an intervention that happened around that time…the way they mentioned this was upsetting. Specifically, they mentioned that “they approached [other friend of mine] about my drug use bc they thought I was becoming a hoarder” and that MAJORLY triggered me—specifically the hoarder comment. The woman who gave birth to me/raised me is a hoarder, which is a well known fact to just about anyone who is close to me irl, especially anyone who’s known her irl, and ESPECIALLY Sun, who worked as her caregiver for quite a while. Also being compared to/told I am just like my abusive egg donor is the thing that will hurt me the most, bc she is the most cruel, manipulative, abusive people I’ve ever had in my life.

So the thing is, my house is indeed very messy…I have too much junk around, and it’s very difficult for me physically to keep anything clean. It’s actually one of the reasons I’m separating from my partner, and as ashamed as I am about it, I understand. However, it’s not a hoarding disorder at all—I don’t hold onto anything I don’t need out of sentimentality, and if I could wave a magic wand and simply get rid of all the extra shit I don’t need/make everything nice and clean, I would. Unfortunately, I am very disabled with too many chronic pain/fatigue conditions, and actually cleaning the house/sorting through shit to get rid of takes immense physical effort. But whenever someone offers to help me, I jump at those opportunities! I take things to be donated all the time (if I’m able to sort through the stuff that needs to go) and it’s entire worlds different than my egg donor refusing to give up several bins of my baby clothes bc she can’t bear to part with them, despite them never seeing use in her possession ever again.

So, I responded to Sun’s mention of a past conversation thinking I’m a hoarder, with offense and saying it hurt me. We had been discussing just downsizing and how we will be going through my stuff as we pack for the new place, and had mentioned that I should make sure to get rid of certain clothing things if they have holes/are worn out/whatever, which to me, sounded like they think I have a hard time throwing clothes away even if they’re not even wearable anymore. With that and the hoarding accusation in mind, I told them I was very hurt by this. I made sure to be respectful and kind yet assertive, but after explaining how this was an unfair assumption/description of me, they got upset and said I should’ve asked for clarification before coming at them.

Now, do me, I wouldn’t have even considered they meant anything other than how I interpreted it, so it would never have even occurred to me to ask for clarification if I’m not even aware there’s a miscommunication. Apparently, the reason they mentioned getting rid of clothes that have been too worn out is an issue they have themselves, but this isn’t anything I was ever aware of, and once again never would’ve thought was referring to anyone but me. They also say they’re aware that it’s my physical difficulties that make cleaning physically painful for me…but honestly, that’s not anywhere near the same as having a hoarding disorder, which is indeed what they’d accused me of.

Of course, I know the both of us overreacted—me, being offended about being accused of being a hoarder (especially since my immense difficulty cleaning the house is part of why I’m separating from my partner and is therefore something I’m incredibly sensitive about right now) and them, being offended that I took what they said wrong and being upset over some things they didn’t actually intend w what they said…but I’m just not sure if maybe I AM in the wrong here, for expressing being hurt by being called a hoarder here, or if I really am making the entire thing a big deal out of nothing.

So, AITA for voicing my offense at being called a hoarder?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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hopefulromances · 9 months

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“Don’t lie to me.” and Jamie speak to me on a personal level (f reader) if you maayy

It was happening again. The hoards of paparazzi waiting outside your workplace for you to leave. You chewed on your thumb as you stared out the window, trying to figure out what to do. Jamie told you, no, he insisted you called him whenever it got bad and he would come help you.

Paparazzi was a sensory overload waiting to happen with you. The constant flashing and yelling and the clicking of the cameras on top of them crowding you always sent you into a panic. But Jamie had been so stressed recently due to Zava's involvement in the team, you really didn't want to add to that stress.

"Fuck it," you decided. You threw on your hoody, and sunglasses and steeled yourself before the door. Then your threw it open and were met with flashing and shouting almost instantly.

"Where's Jamie?"

"Have you broken up?"

"Care to comment on the woman Jamie was seen with yesterday?"

"Are you pregnant?"

You pushed through the group, trying to look down and head straight to your car.

Just breath you tried to think. Don't engage, just breath.

"Are you and Jamie getting married?"

"What's it like being involved with a known player?"

"C'mon just give us a smile!"

You felt the fear start to creep in as the swarm moved with you, following you to your car. That ache in your chest appeared and you tried to ground yourself. But the ground seemed to disappear below your feet.

Finally, you made it to your car. Base, you thought, you hoped. But even as you started to back out, the group of cameras didn't let up, blinding you as you tried to get out. You did all you could to not hit anyone as you started to drive away.

You started your drive home, trying to blink away the flashes that stained your vision. You worked on regaining your breath, as you pulled into the drive way. He couldn't know. But of course he would. He could always tell.

"Hey Jamie!" you called as you entered the house.

"Hey, babe!" He called back, standing up to greet you. "How was your- woah, wait a minute..." He grabbed your shoulders and pulled you to look at you properly. You begged yourself to look normal, to not be bleary and teary. Jamie stared at you for a long while before the thought formed in his head. "Somethings wrong."

You shook him off, brushing past him. "No! Nothings wrong."

"Hey!" He grabbed onto your arm and pulled you back toward him. "Don't lie to me."

That broke you. You felt the tears you'd be staving off finally start to well in your eyes as you fell into him, letting out a sob. Jamie quickly wrapped himself around you, holding onto you for dear life. He rocked back and forth slightly, comforting you as you just let it all out.

"They were there again..." you murmured when you finally caught your breath.

"They were... the paps? (Y/N) I told you to call me!"

"I didn't want to bother you," You whined, pulling back from him. "You've been so stressed recently, and I didn't want you to worry about me."

"Well, I'm gonna worry about you no matter what," He stated simply. "And I would be a lot less worried if you called me and told me when the paps were swarming yah. I can help." You nodded meekly, looking at your toes. He bring his finger under your chin and nudged you to look up at him. "Yeah?"

You sniffled and nodded. "Yeah."

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso #ted lasso show #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fanfiction #drabble #fluff

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pablitogavii · 9 months

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Happy Family Pt. 2

Here is PT.1 for y'all :)

The next morning you were the first one downstairs preparing some coffee while texting one of your best friends from back home. You just needed to tell someone what happened last night or you would burst.

"Morning hermanita..." you suddenly heard dropping your phone on the ground not expecting him to be so close and he chuckled picking it up for you.

"You really enjoy scaring me, don't you!?" you say about to take your phone away but he kept it looking at the messages which made you freak out.

"Apparently you don't mind me that much, hermanita" he smirked reading your message before giving you back the phone and you were once again bright red. Damn it! He keeps winning this war!

"Buenos dias kids. I will drive you both today" Sr. Pablo said carrying his morning newspaper while Belen went to make some breakfast. She told me yesterday during dinner that she loves to have all meals as a family and I thought that was so adorable.

"Por que!?" Pablo said and his dad gave him a stern look reminding him of the promise you broke yesterday so he just shut up sitting down waiting for breakfast.

"Bon día!" a boy entered carrying the bag with fresh pastries putting it on the island before greeting he parents, shaking hands with Gavi and finally arriving to where I was sitting.

"I'm Javi..nice to meet you..I'm.." he shook your hand and you interrupted him knowing exactly who he was from the talk.

"Aurora's boyfriend" you say and he smiles nodding his head as she joined in hugging him tightly.

"This is mi nueva hermanita cariño..I told her about you" she said and the boy blushed a little nodding his head and joining in for breakfast.

I went to change into my new uniform after we all ate walking downstairs where Pablo stood in his training kit making me unable not to look..he looked so much better in barça attire.

He was just as guilty looking up as I walked down the stairs staring at my placed skirt raising up a little as I stepped down. He moved a little coughing when his dad joined us and we went to one of his cars.

I was surprised that he opened the door for me thinking to myself that although being cocky idiot, he was raised in a good family and was still a true gentleman.

"Gracias.." you say trying to be kind entering the car and he closed the door before getting in the passenger seat. You had to stop by the gas station and when his dad left, he turn around shamelessly looking at you from head to toe.

"Do you want a picture cabrón!?" you say looking away from your phone and he smirked nodding his head about to take his phone but only chuckling when you blushed red.

"I don't need a picture hermanita..I will remember you in that little uniform for sure..just like I remember you in those red panties..every detail" he whispered the last part and you felt yourself shivering while playing with the edge of your skirt in nervousness. Thankfully his dad came back quickly and he turned around.

When you arrived to the university, there was a hoard of fans around the car knocking on his window until he opened and gave a few signatures.

"And this always happens??" you ask truthfully never experiencing anything like this before and Pablo's dad chuckled nodding his head.

"At least nobody will notice me being the new kid.." you joked grabbing your bag and leaving the car hiding from the camera shots and rushing to the entrance. Pablo watched after you clenching his jaw when some guy smirked while looking at your ass while following after you.

"Hey! You're Pablo Gavi's new hermanita right?" curly haired girl who was sitting next to you in class whispered and you sighed knowing this would happen.

"Yes, I am..and no, I can't get you to meet him!" you say opening your book but she only chuckled shaking her head.

"No..no..you got me wrong. I saw you come in and noticed him in the passenger seat. I have a boyfriend, and thought you could use a friend. I'm Nicole" she said and you nodded smiling at her.

"I'm sorry..I just thought.." you started but she interrupted you.

"You're right to be careful..most would only play nice to get to him through you" she said and you nodded before the class finally started.

"Hey Nick! Back to school party tonight at 10? Bring that bombón too" some tall guy said to us while we were waiting in the lunch line and she smirked nodding her head.

"Who is that??" you say thinking he was kinda handsome but still a little too cocky for your taste. It seems all cocky guys glued to you since you arrived to Spain!

"That's Charlie. But don't fall for his charm..he's the biggest player. Doesn't mean we don't take the free party ticket tho! I'll pick you up at nine?" she said and you nodded although you still had to ask your 'new parents'.

During the dinner, when everyone was there you decided to bring up the party you were invited to hoping they would let you go.

"It's the back to school party and I would really like to go and meet some friends?" you said and they looked at each other trying to decide together.

"Since you just got here, we would like someone we know to go with you.." Sr. Pablo said and you understood knowing that they are responsible for you while you live with them.

"I would go but it's date night tonight..but Pablo is free?" Aurora said and you knew this would be a hard thing to ask but you really wanted to go. You just turned towards Pablo who was eating his toast carelessly meeting your big pleading eyes.

"Stop looking at me like that!" he said but you kept looking at him sadly now pouting as well while his parents smirked chuckling amongst each other.

"Come on hermano! You can't say no to that!" Aurora said smiling at you and he sighed shrugging his shoulders agreeing like it's not a big deal.

You jumped hugging him from behind without thinking which took you both by surprise. You returned to sit down and eat with blushing cheeks but happy to have convinced him to take you.

"Are you ready finally!?" he knocked on your door and you opened making him stand back looking at you in awe which defiantly built your confidence.

"Um..you look nice hermanita" he said you smirked nodding your head and walking by him towards the stairs.

"Thank you Pablo" you said for the first time using his name instead of some insulting nickname. He smiled after hearing that following after you.

"Ready to go chica!?" Nicole was in her jeep in front of the house and you smiled nodding your head but Pablo unlocked his own car.

"You're riding with me! No arguments!" he said before you could whine and you just shrugged nodding your head and getting into the passenger seat as he held the door open.

When you arrived, you met with Nicole introducing her to Pablo before you three entered the club. Pablo was not much of a party lover especially since people always surround him asking for pictures and autographs.

"I'll be by the bar..behave yourself hermanita!" his voice was low and threatening and your panties were ruined but you decided to ignore it walking with your best friend to the crowd of people.

Nicole introduced you to some of her other friends when Charlie walked up with a bottle of vodka and a girl on his shoulder. He was clearly known by everyone but when he saw you he let go of her giving his whole focus to you instead of anyone else.

"It's a second time we meet..I think I deserve to know your name now bombón??" he said reaching out his hand as the girl snarled snatching the bottle and leaving.

You shook his hand smiling feeling a little uncomfortable with the whole situation but still liking the attention you were receiving.

"I'm Y/n..nice to meet you Charlie" you said and he smirked asking how you knew his name but everyone knew who he was anyways. Like you said before, too cocky for your liking!

"Y/n..how about I get you a drink to start this party huh?" he said taking your hand and pulling you towards the bar but you knew Pablo was there and didn't want to make a scene.

"No..um..that's okay..I'm not thirsty right now" you tried to get out of this but it was no use since he kept offering while pulling you to the bar where Pablo was sitting with own drink.

"Tyga! Let's make this bombón a rum cola" Charlie said making Pablo turn to the side clenching his jaw when he saw the same guy who was checking you out holding your wrist.

"You will not make her anything Tyga!" Pablo's voice was low and threatening and the bartender stopped pouring the rum in the glass.

You gulped when Pablo walked up around the bar to where you were standing snaking his muscled arm around your waist and pulling you to his side making Charlie let go off your wrist.

Pablo might not be as tall but he was bulking and didn't look like someone you should mess with, especially when he was angry like this. Charlie was just as angry getting closer and making Pablo hide you behind his back.

"Listen you can be the famous footballer all you want, I don't care cabrón!" Charlie yelled and people started to show up cheering for a fight and you started to freak out while holding onto Pablo's shirt helplessly.

"Stay away from her! I won't repeat it again.." was all Pablo said trying his best not to cause a scene and end up in every gossip magazine the next morning.

"Didn't think I needed Golden Boy's permission to fuck you, bombón??" Charlie smirked while everyone laughed and you felt so embarrassed from how he was talking to you. Who the hell did he think he was!?

Pablo was thinking the same exact thing tensing up about to move towards him but you pulled him back just wanting to disappear from here.

"Pablo, please don't..let's just go home" you snaked your arm around him waist to keep him from moving. Obviously you couldn't hold him back being much weaker but he was letting you calm him down.

"Yeah just go home footballer!" Charlie smirked and Pablo couldn't help his anger again pulling away from him and hitting his face with all his strength.

Before Charlie stood up, you screamed standing in between them and placing your hands on Pablo's strong chest not letting him move forwards.

"Please Pablo..for me.." you whispered the last part and Pablo looked down at your eyes sighed gulping heavily before grabbing your hand and taking you out of the bar. The ride home was quiet and you could tell that Pablo was very angry so you didn't want to test your luck.

"Thank you for walking away.." you broke the silence not expecting him to attack you about what happened next which is exactly what he did. Pablo told you to 'behave' and the next thing you do is get a drink with a playboy!?

"How could you be so fucking stupid huh!? Can't you tell when someone just wants to use you!?" Pablo was gripping his steering wheel and now you were getting angry as well. Why would he get angry at you for something that asshole did!?

"Well, if I'm so stupid why the hell did you save me!?" you spat and his jaw clenched breaking suddenly and your body trashed forwards and you were turning towards him angrily.

"You're in MY house, MY city and MY car so you're MY responsibility! Get that!?" he was yelling and you felt hurt that he just saw you as some bother in his life. Were you really such a horrible thing that happened to his life!?

"Then I'll stay away from you! Just drive me home, please.." you were sad and something in Pablo broke not wanting to be so harsh but the previous anger towards that asshole was still holding him.

You pulled your legs to your chest crying softly and Pablo felt like a real asshole trying his best not to look but every once in awhile he stole a glance at you wishing he can just dry your tears with his hands. You finally arrived home and you left before he could open your door rushing straight to your room. You just wanted to sleep and forget about tonight!

Pablo sighed walking past his old room towards the guest room wanting so badly to walk in an apologize for his actions. He didn't do that tho not knowing if it was a smart idea so he just left to get some sleep hoping things would be better in the morning.

Here's the second part :) I hope you like it!

#pablo gavi x you #fc barca #fc barcelona #fc barça #gavi #gavigif #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi icons #pablo gavi #pablo martín páez gavira #pablo gavira #gavi x reader #gavi x vini #gavi x yn #gavi x you #pablogavixreadersmut #pablogavixreaderfluff

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