#nail on the head op
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"I am no messenger. But I will give you a message. A message of death."
sooo i got a custom done by @popfizzles and they're SO cool and funky :D
everyone say hello to Razing Rot, the god of creations/projects filled with love, care, and dedication that were left to rot as if none of it ever mattered. corporate greed, the world moving forward, someone looking to cut corners rather than keep that which people lovingly brought to life- all of it falls under their domain.
they're a nice deer-wolf-monster thing, really! they just don't like being ignored :)
also they go by the name shane on occasion for the joakes
#razing rot#only time im gonna tag the op bc i dont wanna clog up notifs or anythin#but!!! im in LOVE i spent all day on this LOOK AT THEM GUYS LOOK AT THEM.#god the design turned out better than i couldve ever thought. was SO easy to adapt into my own style like!!! yes!!!!!!! hit the nail on the#-head for the character designs i SUPER love woughghgh#nyway. everyone look at them rn. im gonna shove them into everything ever for a bit and then jsut kiss them on the head and doodle them#idk if they'll get their own story but i love them so much. they're gonna be so fun to just mess with EEE#also. for those wondering. the quote is lyrics from klippa's 'grandfather clocktower'. unnoficial theme for my creecher <3#gore tw#body horror#artnerd1123
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This whole thread is so....
https://twitter.com/orikkunn/status/1754831427903074488?t=WbVE9Fu585pxZFXPbr_JlQ&s=19
It's pissing me off actually and I search the word hijab on their account and in one of their tweets they said "I think hijab is a bad thing" ??? I need non-muslims who speak on Islam without any knowledge to stfu
i'm going to apologize beforehand if this is upsetting in any way bc i'm sure you were expecting a different response but while i feel like op's wording could have been better in this thread specifically—i like their wording in this thread more—i do generally agree with them. i definitely understand there's a gut reaction to any critique of islamic practices esp in the context of modern orientalism and islamophobic sentiment, but i also think that muslims (and people of any religious faith, really) can simultaneously acknowledge that some criticisms of faith, while driven by racism and/or xenophobia, are also validly driven by a worthwhile contention with women's material circumstances over the course of history. in the other thread i linked above i think op is very much correct in that it's not constructive nor useful to criticize individual people. many individuals do choose to dress more modestly of their own volition and are privileged enough to have that available to them as a choice and nothing more bc of the environment they grow up in and the familial interpretation of religious tenets they're taught. but i don't think people are wrong when they acknowledge the larger context within which women are advised to dress modestly and how those standards of modest dress compare with those imposed on men in comparison. there's an undeniable dichotomy there and at least in my islamic upbringing i've been taught that the way some of these things diverge along the lines of gender is preordained and not meant to be perceived as inherently oppressive towards one gender or the other. a thing is simply bc it is. but religion isn't really something you can view within a vacuum much as that would be ideal. it is connected to the material circumstances of women in the real world and i do allow myself to sit with that reality even if it's weird to process at times bc i still consider myself a muslim and have no plans on ex-communicating myself
personally i like to dress modestly in the sense that i don't wear very exposing clothing. i've grown up wearing pants for my entire life. my parents are lax enough that i'm allowed to wear t-shirts but i can't wear anything where my armpits are directly exposed so that means no sleeveless tops. i can't wear anything with a deep neckline either unless i have a higher positioned undershirt on underneath. and again, i'm not particularly bothered by any of that. i do toe the line on a few occasions but generally i'm ok with how i dress bc by now i'm used to it. that being said, i know the reason i've come to be okay with dressing this way is bc it's how i was taught to dress, and towards the specific end of maintaining modesty and emphasizing on the shape of my figure as minimally as is possible without having to outright wear a bag lol. that is at large a structural reality of muslim practice towards women, regardless of what individual women choose to do in their own homes where they have the liberty to choose. and as i mentioned above, i do think we have to sit with that reality even if we acknowledge it opens us up to abuse by other people who may not have the best intentions. this is why, for example, i've really come to frown upon the way ex-muslims (esp when they're women) are almost mocked by the extant muslim community for logically reacting to patriarchal oppression under the guise of religion. bc at the outset, materially, there is no choice presented to these people. and even if there is ideologically a choice within the tenets of the religion itself, with respect to women in particular, there is still a defined gender dichotomy and hierarchy that cannot be denied and that is quite regularly used to perpetuate the oppression that many of them try to escape
what's hard to do and what requires a knowledgeable, concerted effort on our part as muslims is trying to balance the nuance of the oppression we are accessory to against the nuance of our own oppression for who we are. it's certainly cruel that we have to do so much to parse all of this because racist, xenophobic imperialists are incorrigible people who will co-opt anything if it's beneficial to them. but all the same, we do have that responsibility at minimum. we have to learn to sit in the uncomfortable reality that while many of us as individuals may choose to practice the way we do, that choice may yet be colored by how we grew up within organized religion, and it obscures our ability to recognize that while we think it's a choice for us as individuals, it's certainly not a choice on a structural level, and that's something we should vehemently argue against maintaining the status quo of
#again i apologize and i really tried to word this as kindly as possible so i hope my perspective is understandable#my relationship with islam is weird bc again i don't ever plan on Not being muslim#but i'm also very hyperaware of the fact that many of the things i do are a product of what i was taught#and i was taught those things with certain ideals and values in mind#which at present unfortunately do go against what i believe about women's liberation in general#and i will once more reiterate that the other thread i linked from op really hits the nail on the head#criticizing individuals isn't a solution nor should it ever be an endeavor we take. the focus should always be on a perpetuated system#our criticisms should be of institutions and organized religion as a structural tool of oppression#outbox
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doggie (tribbing) w ellie
prompt: been having tribbing brain rot for the past few days n i saw 🎀 this video 🎀 on twtr that only made it worse so > <
tags: lesbian, 18+, tribbing 💦💦💦✂️✂️✂️, doggie style ♡, porn w/o plot, topping from the bottom!ellie
ps: wrote this while high :3 so im sorry if it not supr good!
ellie asking u to come sit on her clit and at first ur confused but once she has both of u naked, u bent over in all fours with ur back to her, gasping as she presses her hips up to your ass to slide her clit over urs, u actually understand what she means. ellie swears she sometimes feels like what she thinks having a dick (ghost dick she likes to call it) is like whenever u guys fuck like this, but this new angle has ellie damn near begging she had one with the way ur fucking back onto her. she has to stop herself from digging crescents into the meat of ur thighs as thrusts herself against urs, sound of skin slapping together wetly and ellies low groans fill the small space of her room as ur cunts kiss one another. she has half the mind to flip u both over to hold ur legs to ur chest and fuck u properly but she likes the view of ur ass bouncing on her pelvis and the way breathy whines fall from ur lips whenever she takes an extra second to angle herself up a lil higher so she can feel ur sopping folds drag directly over her puffy bud. with the way ur riding her now ellie knows it won't take much longer for her to cum so she quickens her pace, planting her feet on the bed so she has the proper leverage to pound into u, biting down a whine herself when she hears ur whimpers turn into drawn out moans each time her hips meet ur ass. she knows ur also close by the way ur thighs are trembling and she wishes so badly she can see ur face scrunch in pleasure, an image she fondly has burned in her head, but instead she ops for pulling one of your shaking legs back towards her so she can slot ur legs together, now full on fucking u with her cunt. ellie's thrusts are brutal against u, her slick mixing with your own as she digs her blunt nails into your flesh, relishing in the broken keen she gets in return. ur in tears, babbling her name along a pleathora curses tumbling from ur lips as u both finally fly over the edge, cum gushing down each others thighs, stickiness of it making wet squelching sound out between u both, the filthy noise makes ellie chuckle breathlessly as u both come down from ur highs.
a/n: mmmmpphfff i need her so bad TT TT
#wlw#lesbian#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams tlou#the last of us#tlou2#the last of us smut#ellie williams smut#♡ navigation#ki rambles
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no more mister shy guy.
OP x fem!reader
in which you can’t work out why he just won’t sleep with you
i am neither normal, nor am i hinged! i hope you guys get the vision, i literally wrote this last night possessed by some feral urge bc i just love oscar sm and i’ve been needing to write for him sooo baaad. enjoy! pls lemme know what you think <3
songs to set the vibes: delicate by taylor swift, good looking by suki waterhouse, my kind of woman by max demarco, feeling myself by wolf alice
warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, pwp but also there is some plot? overstimulation, crying in a hot way, choking, unprotected sex (L bozo don’t do that!) the most minor moment of angst, fluff
2.8k words
you watch him make coffee, daydreaming, balancing your heavy head on your hand. you study him while your free hand taps against the kitchen counter, nails drumming a random beat. sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, framing him golden. you don’t think he knows how pretty he is.
oscar is oblivious to the way your mind is ticking behind him, twisting the cap on the carton of oat-milk. you hear the plastic fall onto the counter and your tongue wets your lower lip as he reaches up into the cupboard, his back flexing beneath his shirt as he finds your favourite mug. you realise then how swollen your lip is, snapped out of the trance he had you in, the one that had you biting your lip so hard, completely mindlessly.
he’s bulked up over the winter break, filled out a lot over the course of his rookie season. he’s no longer the scrawny, anxious guy you’d met at your fathers work event a year ago, he’s broader, thicker in your hands, utterly delicious. as much as you like the way he looks, you like his mind a whole lot more. if only you knew what was going on inside it.
oscar is an enigma, quiet, hilariously dry, the kindest man you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. you’ve been together since the start of the winter break, november, after awkward run ins and plenty of pining since the start of his first season. you’d travel to races with your dad, a mclaren sponsor, and run into the australian, stare at each other and pretend no one noticed. after months of teasing from lando, oscar finally got the kick up the arse that he needed and you’d said yes to dinner before he’d even finished asking the question.
it’s february now, a week til he needs to be in bahrain. the last three months had been serene, spent with a man made of sunshine, and you’re sad to see him go, as if you won’t be in the emirates a mere four days after him. you fear the way you’ll ache for him, having been inseparable since the dinner that started it all.
but then again, it can’t be worse than the way you ache for him now.
“sweetheart?” oscar is waving his hand in front of your face when you realise he’s been calling your name for a good 15 seconds, and you have, in fact, been staring. hm? you jump, staring at him bewildered. he looks amused. “you okay?” he coos, sliding the coffee across the island towards you.
“yeah, sorry, i, um, i just- why won’t you have sex with me?” you blurt, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as you realise what you’ve just said.
oscar just blinks, mouth forming a little o, the permanent blush he seems to have increasing tenfold. you instantly feel guilty for ambushing him, but you were at the end of your tether. three months of nothing, nada, zilch. every move you made was refuted, ignored as if he was oblivious. you were ravenous for him, he’s so gorgeous! and you didn’t want to pressure him, but you were starting to feel like there was something wrong with you.
you’d wake up in bed with him wrapped around you, grinding against your ass in his sleep, and you’d revel in it, the rare times that he actually seemed to want you like that. you loved him regardless, of course you did, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t need to be… dealt with. urgently.
“i- um- what?” oscar splutters, and the bottom of his mug blinks against the granite.
“is there something wrong with me? am i not pretty enough?” you whisper, shy. “do you just not… like- do you not want to do that?” you ramble.
panic fills his face, and he’s rushing around the island, by your side in an instant. he takes your hands into his, finding your eyes. they’ve grown watery, a mixture of guilt and desperation swirling in them which makes him feel ill.
“baby, no, god no.” he rushes the words out, desperate to convince you that it wasn’t you. “you’re the most beautiful person in the entire world, prettiest girl i ever saw.” he promises. “i’m just… it’s scary.”
“oh, osc.” your face falls, and you want to throw yourself off of the balcony. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to pressure you. if it makes you feel better, i’m scared too. but i love you so much, i just want to feel even closer to you.”
“you didn’t make me feel pressured, i’m just sorry i made you feel unwanted. trust me, i want you like that. drives me insane. but i’ve never had sex before with someone that i love. not the way i love you, anyway. scared that i won’t be good enough for you.” he murmurs.
you’re hung up on the part where you drive him crazy, the part where he loves you like that, and then you remember how vulnerable he’s being, baring his entire soul to you, and you rip yourself from the fantasy.
your hands smooth over his shoulders, until you’re softly fisting a clump of hair at the nape of his neck.
“i love you. insanely. we’ll go slow.” you state. he moulds further against you, and you quickly realise it’s for leverage, because the next thing you know, you’re in his arms. he has his hands hooked under your thighs and he’s kissing you so, so deeply that you’re dizzy. you don’t realise that you’re halfway to his bedroom until he pulls away.
“i don’t wanna go slow anymore.”
oscar places you on your feet at the end of his bed, the large, plush king-sized mattress that is currently calling both of your names. your blouse gets unbuttoned first, his hands shaking in a way that makes you melt, and his lips trail over every inch of bare skin that he uncovers. when it finally falls to the floor, his pupils are blown wide, his hands palming intricate black lace. your jeans are stripped away mercilessly, his hands shaking less now, and you take it as a sign to crawl backwards onto the bed.
he stands there, watching you, apprehensive again. you can see how hard he is, how desperately strained his cock is through the light grey of his sweatpants, and so you switch tactics. your hand grazes your tummy, skimming up your abdomen until you reach a bra strap. you toy with the elastic, holding the kind of eye contact that makes him twitch, tugging it until it hangs loosely off of your shoulder.
“i need you, osc. i trust you.” you utter, soft and enticing. one finger runs under the cup of your bra, flicking over your nipple. he can just about see the hardened bud through the lace of your bra. it’s not enough, though, and every ounce of self control depletes when you whine, “want you inside of me so badly.”
the elastic band snaps and he’s on top of you, rutting between your legs like a man starved. you drag his shirt up and over his shoulder blades, moaning as you feel each and every muscle under your fingertips.
“just wanna make you feel good.” oscar rasps, rolling his hips even harder into your core.
“take these off.” you beg, pulling at the waistband of his joggers. he somehow musters the strength to pry himself off of you, just long enough to discard the uncomfortable material of his sweats, but as soon as he looks down, his plans change.
painted over the crotch of them is a shiny pool of your slick, and when his eyes flit hungrily to your core, he sees where you’ve soaked through your panties. you’re panting when you see the stain, and you just want to get him inside of you, but his priorities have changed. oscar collapses between your legs, head buried, tongue exploring.
he groans, carnal and needy, into the fabric of your underwear, laving his tongue over the lace. your eyes widen as he dives in, licking over the wet patch until he grows frustrated. you hear the tearing of the fabric, feel his big hands pawing at your thighs to spread them as wide as they’ll go. his tongue slides right inside of you and he whines. he fucking whines. the vibration nearly makes you scream. you can’t believe this is your oscar, the same oscar that had quivered with nerves a mere five minutes ago.
“oh my god.” you chant, rolling your hips against his face. you must be all over him by now, what with the way he’s sucking and slurping, obscene sounds of wetness sounding around the room. you’d be blushing a deep red if you weren’t so turned on, shaking against his bedspread which will probably need changing once he’s done with you.
you thought that maybe he was inexperienced and that was the source of his fear, but if he was, you never would have known. he was a natural in between your legs, nipping at your clit to get you even louder for him.
you cum faster than ever, and he’s mumbling something incoherent into your pussy when you do. you’re riding the high, midway through the bliss, when a thick finger slips its way inside of you. oscar realises that he can easily slide another in, and he does. he doesn’t thrust them in and out, he grinds them against your walls, and your mouth falls open as a silent scream forces it’s way out.
you cum a second time, in record time yet again, and he still doesn’t let up. he’s hitting that spot relentlessly with his fingers, keeping your clit between his swollen lips, and you’re begging him. for what, you’re not sure, but you’re whimpering his name like you’re going to die. and what a good way to go this would be.
his eyes meet yours, and he looks unhinged. that’s when you feel it. that all consuming, belly twisting rush.
“oscar!” you try to warn him, but it’s too late, and he knows it. he makes you squirt, because of course he does. the shy guy who was scared that he wouldn’t be able to please you makes you squirt.
he pulls his mouth off of you but keeps his fingers buried deep, eyes fixed on watching the way your pussy convulses.
“holy shit.” you cry. you’re staring down at him like you’ve gone insane. he’s smiling innocently.
“was that good?” he almost sounds shy and you want to kick him.
“are you… are you serious?” you rasp. oscar just shrugs. “get up here.” you reach for him and complies, slotting himself between your legs once more.
oscar resumes the rolls of his hips, and the friction of the grey fabric against your core makes your eyes roll back.
“please, oscar, fuck me.” you whine, his head falling into the crook of your neck. he bites down, leaving behind the sting of his teeth and a faint purple splotch.
“fucking love you.” he slurs, his accent thickening in a way that makes him sound that extra bit fucked out already.
“i love you.” you murmur, forcing his sweats down his legs. his boxers are wet, just like your panties were, and you can’t help but stare. oh, it’s big.
his boxers are peeled down and you can feel yourself throbbing. his cock hangs heavy, red and dripping, painfully hard. you reach for it, looking at him to make sure it’s okay to touch, and he’s rapidly nodding his head. your small hand struggles but you make it work, and his head tips back, exposing his thick neck that you want to suck purple. your hand works over him a few times, and a visible shiver running through his body makes you stop.
“you ready for me?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“please.” you gasp, locking your legs around his waist. “however you want me, ‘m yours.” you breathe.
oscar’s eyes roll back in his head, your words sending his brain blank, and then he’s pushing home, slow and deep.
“fucking hell.” he groans, guttural. you’re so tight, warm, soaking wet. he feels like the biggest idiot in the world for waiting so long for this.
“oh.” you gasp, your eyebrows knitting together. he’s so deep. “so full.” you pant.
“can you take it, sweetheart?” oscar’s lips bump your jaw. “want you to take it.” you nod profusely, desperate to hear him run his mouth even further. your eyes clench shut when you feel him move, just the tiniest bit, readjusting.
“move.” you plead. he’s staring down at you, watching every single micro movement of your face.
oscar pulls out the smallest bit and thrusts back in, nice and slow. the drag drives you feral, the weight of him on top of you makes you weak. you want to stay like this until the end of days.
“good?” he hisses, trying to keep composed. he’s finally inside of you, claiming you as his in the most intimate way of all. he tries not to think about how many times he could have had you begging under him in the last three months.
“so good, so good.” you repeat, pushing your hips up to try and meet his.
“so pretty like this for me. always so, so pretty.” he rambles. he realises that he never quite made it as far as getting your bra off, and he needs to see all of you. the cups are tugged haphazardly down, and oscar stares at your breasts like he’s never seen tits before. you hear him hum, low and greedy, and then you feel the wet drag of his tongue across your nipple.
the animalistic whine that he rips from you makes him thrust harder, upping his pace a bit. he can hear how much wetter you get when he picks up his pace, and he changes up his rhythm, pushing all the way in and dragging out again at lightning speed. your jaw goes slack and your eyes are damp.
“baby, what’s wrong?” oscar slows to a stop, and you want to scream.
“no, no, no, keep going.” you choke out, your throat constricting with a sob. “it’s so good. feel so good.” you sound drunk, all for him, and he loses his mind completely.
he taps into that athletic stamina, fucking into you with a newfound vigour that you didn’t think was humanly possible, and you feel things that you didn’t even know you could feasibly feel. you see stars behind your eyes, his face, and nothing else but bright white. calloused fingers find your clit, and you wonder fleetingly if he’s trying to kill you when he rubs messy shapes into the much too overstimulated bud. his teeth graze your nipple, and everything seems to come together perfectly.
thick tears run hot down your cheeks, only to be licked away by eager tongue. your belly tightens, aflame for him; he’s wound your body up perfectly and you’ve never in your life teetered so dangerously over the edge.
“can feel you, baby. want you to cum, okay? ‘n then i’m gonna fill you up.” oscar grunts. you clamp down on him even tighter, thanking god for oscar’s filthy fucking mouth and birth control, and then everything snaps.
you think you scream, you know that you’re sobbing, and your throat is raw when the wave hits. oscar keeps going, intensifying your pleasure, and when he finally let’s go, it’s the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever seen. it’s surreal, the way his neck flexes, eyes clenched tight, brown locks flopping over his sweat damped forehead. and the sounds he makes, god. he’s muttering into your ear, lewd and shameless, and a fifth orgasm nearly takes you under.
“gonna need you everyday like this, tight fucking pussy, all mine. can’t live without this now. fucking perfect.” he’s rambling, burrowing deep into you one last time. you feel his warmth spilling into you, feel his hot breath fanning your face. he licks into your awaiting mouth.
“fuck.” you giggle, breathless.
“good?” he raises an eyebrow, grinning bashfully.
“more than worth the wait.” you whisper, mustering the strength to lift your head just enough so that you can peck his lips. “you better not hold out on me ever again though.” oscar laughs at that and you feel the rumble in your flushed chest.
“you promise?” there’s the shy guy again.
“osc, honey, that was the best. ever. ever. need you to be mr sex god more often.”
“only if you behave for me.” he smirks down at you.
“there he is.” you sigh happily.
when he snakes his way back between your legs, lapping up the mess he’s made, and then some, you wonder just what you’ve unleashed.
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whoops? lol
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taglist
@thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @charli123456789
(run outta space on my taglist lol, lemme know if u wanna be added or removed)
#oscar piastri#oscar piastri smut#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri oneshot#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri angst#oscar piastri fics#f1 smut#f1 fluff#f1 fic#f1 fics#f1 imagine#f1 oneshot#formula 1 smut#formula 1 fics#formula 1 fic#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x reader#f1 driver x you#f1 driver x reader#smut#fluff
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cold little kisses ; yandere!singer x reader
summary: Omar's love knows no bounds.
warnings: s~mut (minors DNI!) & tooth-rotting fluff!
a/n: I LOVE @oncomingnight 's OCs to BITS, but Omar has been haunting me for DAYS. OP if you're reading this, hi!! Quick question; is the man in the original post like someone someone? ‘Cause he now comes to mind whenever I think of him ✋🏼😔 Hope you don't mind me giving this sweetheart a go! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ
'But like the greedy man he was, he never stopped. Not even when the two of you returned to his cabin.' ;
Smut includes: unprotected sex (p in v), cockwarming, slight teasing & marking, drools & sweat, body worship, soft!dom!Omar!
Omar believed you were God's gift at its purest form, and to be the luckiest son of a gun when you bestowed before him that very day?
Absolute miracle.
There was no way he could have wiped the lovestruck smile off his face every morning, waking up to you in your most vulnerable.
The extravagant sight of Quebec was already a treat as it was, enjoying the spot with his wife was another. He was more than content to watch you marvel at the snowy night, eyes twinkling in the fairy lights as the snowflakes fell on you like an extraordinary being blessing the Earth, but that would be unceremonious of him.
“Omar, look.” You gasped for the umpteenth time tonight, bending down at the line of the nation's quintessential souvenirs, handcrafted in ways that would surely grab the attention of first-time tourists. Those familiar with the renowned singer were kind enough to leave him and his beloved be, going only as far as taking a picture of the two from a distance to share on their social media later and rake in OMGs or any other forms of awe.
That, and many were smart enough to stay away, having witnessed the more intimidating side of him online at the mere mention of you in manners that never sat right with him.
“Would you like that one?” He asked, his deep voice never failed to send shivers down your spine.
“Omar, we already have so much.” You raised the bags in your hands, plus motioning to the majority that he had offered to hold. Brows furrowing a little in a way that you feel guilty that he has to play tour guide for you, no matter how many times you have visited.
“Well, who else is going to beautify our new bookshelf, if not you?” He chuckled, languidly walking over to stand next to you. He briefly surveyed the souvenirs through the glass, only for his eyes to flit towards you within seconds, prompting your face to burn, despite the chilly air hitting you, “We're buying it.”
Omar ducking his head was a telltale sign of him wanting to steal a kiss, but rather than feeling his lips on yours, he pecked the cold tip of your nose. Embarrassed by the affectionate display in public, you hid your face in his chest, your giggles vibrating through him.
That didn't stop him from showering you with more, planting kisses after kisses on the top of your head while he rested his free hand on the small of your back.
But like the greedy man he was, he never stopped. Not even when the two of you returned to his cabin.
Your eyes were brimming with tears, glassy to the point where you couldn't pinpoint the nature on the other side of the window beyond silhouettes. Your mind was no better, your brain already in the midst of turning mush in favour of him prodding your cervix.
He cooed at you, akin to a delicate flower if not for the way one of his hands gripped at your ass tightly. Blunt nails leaving marks for him to appreciate in the next sunrise. His other hand lightly held the back of your head, leaving you no choice but to stare back at him in a drunken haze.
Omar welcomed your drools and tears dripping down his chest, occasionally leaving damp marks on his shirt, all unbuttoned but barely removed from his shoulders. The half-disheveled look on him was a sight to behold, the oh-so-put-together-singer nowhere to be seen.
You felt full, and you were full, the stretch around him evident when bouncing you up and down his cock required his aid. You would've fallen back or sagged in his arms if not for his own holding you snug against his chest. Although, that didn't mean he wasn't seconds away from losing himself into the feeling either—falling back into the velvet seat with one arm around you, chest heaving in shallow breaths and skin covered in a thin layer of sweat.
His body akin to a Greek God, created to worship his one and only with loyalty, riches and silk, and protect you from the dangers of humanity alone, or even the unforgiving weather that occured beyond the safety of his luxurious cabin.
Lost in the way you squeezed him each time he rolled his hips, he surged forward, wrapping his lips around one of your pebbled tits. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing his face further into your breasts as he shamelessly looked up at you through his lashes.
“Omar…” You hiccuped, brushing your lips against his forehead, moving your hips when he stilled you for a moment. It felt sickly sweet. something only he had the privilege of—of your body and soul, “Move, please…”
He couldn't say no to you, not now, not ever, even if he wanted nothing more than to listen to your pretty voice and hold you real close.
So long your lips, your mind, your you—could do nothing more than reciprocate his own desires, he'd only stop at his own expense when hell freezes over.
˚ · . f i n . · ˚
» Bonus HC from the train pic on OP's post:
I love the thought of Omar, with his reading glasses as he writes the lyrics of his upcoming song on a journal and casually drinks his coffee. But he's also watching his beloved play a one-player card game in front of him with a warm smile. UGH.
» deadass could not help it. this is one of those 'if I don't do something about it, no matter how short or quick it is, I'll sure as hell think about it for a LONG time.' ksjslsksls ;; tagging @firefly-graphics for the gorgeous divider ♡
#— reve's reverie 🌹#again: he's not my oc!! he's made by oncomingnight!#pls check them out!! 😭💗#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc x you#yandere oc#yandere singer x reader#yandere x willing reader#yandere oc x y/n#oc x reader#oc x you#oc x y/n#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#yandere oc x f!reader#yandere x f!reader
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— 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹 ౨ৎ
suna rintaro x reader. 1.7k wc. ﾉ suggestive ﾉ fluff ﾉ college au ﾉ fwb!suna ﾉ miya twins appearance :3
there’s no way you could miss that annoyingly familiar pattern of knocks at your door—you only know because you tried. it was foolish to think they’d go away on their own, after all, the one behind them can be just as irritating.
with a heavy, dramatic groan that you hope is audible from the hallway of your apartment complex, you toss your phone on the coffee table and begrudgingly pad over to the door. pulling it open is the only way to put a stop to the rhythmic banging. an equally annoying smirk painted on suna’s face greets you at the threshold.
“if i didn’t know any better,” he sticks his hands in his pockets, a sparkle of mischief shining in his eyes, “i’d think you were ignoring me.”`
you send him a smile, one that you’d use on a coworker you don’t like but have to be civil with. “believe me, i tried.”
“yet you opened the door anyway,” he retorts, squeezing past you and into your apartment. for someone you barely consider a friend, he sure is comfortable barging in. you can’t find it in you to care, so you simply close the door and turn to face him. he’s looking at you with that same smug expression. “sounds like you can’t resist my charm.”
you snort. charming isn’t the first word that comes to mind when you think of suna, hell, it’s not even very far up on the list. you suppose you have to give him some credit, though. even if you can’t put your finger on what it is, you can admit that there’s something about him that you find appealing. otherwise, you would have called that first night with him a one-time deal. “why are you back so soon? is your sex drive really that high?”
he raises his brows at your thinly veiled suggestion. “i’m actually here to get my hoodie but if you had other ideas, i wouldn’t be op-”
“just get your jacket and go.” you shove his chest with both of your hands before you slap the palms to your cheeks that are quickly warming in embarrassment. suna chuckles but holds back from teasing you any further, instead making his way down the hall to retrieve his forgotten garment. it’s a little ridiculous how acquainted he is with your apartment, you think as you watch him push open the door to your bedroom.
maybe you should start meeting at his place more often.
no, that would be weird. having one designated meeting area is the only thing keeping your relationship so casual. he’d definitely take it the wrong way if you asked for a change of scenery and as much as you give him shit, you don’t want to part ways with suna so soon.
another set of knocks, one much more calm and expected, breaks you from your reverie. you spin on your heel and pull your thumb nail from between your teeth in favor of answering the door. on the other side stand the twins.
“hey,” osamu greets you with the raise of his hand.
you return the greeting with a silent wave.
“what are you doing here?” atsumu asks.
your eyes flit over to the blonde. “funny thing, ‘tsumu, i actually live here.”
“not you, smartass.” he fights the urge to roll his eyes, instead choosing to tip his chin up in a silent gesture. “him.”
you turn to look over your shoulder where atsumu’s gaze falls to find suna standing behind you, hoodie in hand. your eyes widen and your shoulders jerk up in surprise. it’s not that you had forgotten he was here, rather, you didn’t anticipate the three men crossing paths.
as far as the twins knew, you only ever came in contact with suna through them. to see the two of you together—alone—surely must have presented as suspicious. the last thing you want right now is to explain your relationship with him.
you angle your head to face the twins with what you hope is a composed and convincing expression. “oh, we have the same psychology class.” that much is true. “he came over so we could work on an assignment together.” that? not so much.
it seemed to be enough to appease the twins but you can hear suna’s terribly concealed laughter from behind you. it takes everything in you not to jab your elbow into his ribs. to stop yourself from doing so, you announce his leave. “anyways, we’re finished and he was just on his way out.”
a few seconds pass but suna makes no move to leave.
you meet his eye with a sickly sweet smile. “aren’t you leaving?”
“i was,” he starts, and you can tell that the rest of his statement won’t be doing you any favors,“ but it looks like you guys are hanging out. can i stay?”
the two of you haven’t done anything with the twins since you started shacking up and you aren’t confident in suna’s ability to keep that bit to himself. he needs to go. “we’re just watching a movie. and it’s atsumu’s turn to choose so it’ll probably be awful.”
“hey!” the blonde shouts and you’re sure you can hear osamu snort.
you ignore atsumu’s petulant display, staring down suna in hopes that your unyielding gaze is enough to get your message across. he shrugs. “i don’t mind.”
there’s no way he’s this slow-witted; he’s got to be toying with you. pushing any further would only be more suspicious, so you cave and agree. “fine.”
an hour and a half—two hours, max, you think as you watch the bag of microwave popcorn rotate in the appliance. and you’ll be focused on the movie. it’s not like your catching up over lunch or anything. you doubt there’ll even be an opportunity for either of you to drop the ball. yeah, it’ll be fine.
at least, that’s what you think before you see how the three have decided to seat themselves on the couch. you’re used to sitting in between the twins—they both insist that they can’t sit next to each other. as strange as it is, you’ve never questioned it. though, you did think that suna would be enough of a buffer between the two.
apparently, they’d be using both of you to widen the gap. you bite your cheek to hold back a sigh as you situate yourself between suna and osamu, setting the movie snack on your lap.
atsumu says something about you eating your words before starting the film but all you can focus on is how suna scoots closer to you. you stick your hand in the bowl of popcorn, hoping the movement makes the way you gravitate toward osamu more discreet. your eyes are glued to the screen but you can feel suna’s on you.
there’s half of the movie left when you let your guard down. suna’s been awfully quiet and the twins’ periodic bickering lightens the once tense atmosphere. you’re almost back to your completely relaxed state when you feel a weight on your right shoulder—the side suna’s sitting on.
you (thankfully) can’t turn your head to face him so you settle for looking at him out of the corner of your eye. you can’t see much, but you’re sure that his eyelids are drifting closed. through a whisper, you ask, “what are you doing?”
“this movie’s boring,” he mumbles, the whisper of his words distorted because of the way his cheek is pressed to your shoulder. you can practically feel his pout against you and if you weren’t in the company of others, you might have considered bringing your hand up to stroke his hair.
“i told you it wouldn’t be good,” you murmur, turning your gaze back to the tv. if you looked at him any longer, you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep your hands to yourself and the heat radiating from him isn’t helping either. you chew the inside of your cheek as you think up a way to get out of your current position. “just say you’re tired and head out early.”
without paying your suggestion any mind, suna shamelessly asks, “can’t we just go to your room?”
“what?” you struggle to keep your voice low at the nonchalance of his question. “have you lost your mind?”
“god, your mind is so dirty today.” you can hear the humor in his voice despite how quiet it is. if you could see him, you’re sure he’d be eyeing you with that dumb, annoying smirk. “i just meant to sleep.”
the combination of his initial proposal and his explanation light your cheeks and the tips of your ears on fire. it’s frustrating that he’s able to fluster you so easily. although, a little part of you, one that you’re trying and failing to bury deep down, actually likes it. once the embarrassment lingering behind the warmth fades, you’re left with a feeling you have trouble putting a name to.
if you had to guess, it was something like yearning.
you shake away the thought from your head. your mind shouldn’t be wandering there—not here, not now. you quietly clear your throat before whispering, “we’re not going anywhere together. just hush and watch the movie.”
to your surprise, the man only hums.
by the time the movie comes to an end, suna is sound asleep on your shoulder. you should just nudge him awake, walk him out the door with the twins, but you can’t seem to move. it’s a bad idea, staying put, but you can’t help but think this is the least you could do after trying to run him out all night.
“you guys can go,” you tell the two of them. “i’ll wake him up in a bit.”
they take their leave, no questions asked.
the two only make it five steps from your door before osamu blurts, “they’re totally fucking.”
a grimace overtakes atsumu’s expression. “gross.”
thanks for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment :) much love from me 2 u <3
#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: haikyuu#suna x reader#haikyuu x reader#hq x reader#suna x you#haikyuu x you#suna fluff#haikyuu fluff#suna drabble#haikyuu drabbles
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Eddie’s sick. you have a little surprise to cheer him up.
eddie munson x fem!reader, ~800 words
There’s some kind of bug floating around the garage, and it’s got Eddie sick as a dog.
It’s the second day off he’s taken from work. He’s at home, taking refuge on the couch — since there’s no television in his bedroom — huddled underneath a blanket, watching some mindless daytime program that he can barely focus on.
The front door to his apartment clicks open, and you appear in the entryway, wrapped up in a big overcoat. A large tote bag dangles from your shoulder.
“Hi, baby,” he calls out hoarsely at the highest volume he can manage.
“Hi, Teddy.” You toe your shoes off and leave them by the door, but keep your coat on. You pad over to where he’s laid up on the sofa. “How’re you feeling?” you ask, pushing his sweaty bangs off his forehead. The smooth swath of skin feels too warm beneath your palm.
“Like shit,” he croaks.
You hum sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”
He coughs, and the noise is thick with phlegm. “But better, now that you’re here,” he adds with a weak smile, voice cracking on the last word. You scratch his head lightly with your nails, right behind his ear, just like you would a puppy.
“Here, I brought you some stuff.” You set the bag down on the floor and start pulling out items. “A thermometer, because I know you don’t have one.” You take the it out of its box and stick it in his mouth before he can complain. “Flu medicine, heating pad, VapoRub…chicken noodle soup…” You set a thermos down on the coffee table in front of him. “Dark Crystal on VHS.”
“You’re an angel,” says Eddie. The words are garbled, as he’s speaking from around the glass rod tucked under his tongue. “Thanksch.”
“Wait, wait, I have one more thing.” You start to undo the buttons on your coat, fingers working slowly, dragging the process out. “Seeing as how I’m your caretaker and all, I thought I should dress for the part.” When all the buttons are undone, you shrug the coat off, letting it fall to the floor to pool around your feet.
Eddie’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and the thermometer falls out of his open mouth. “Oh my God.”
The costume is from Halloween three years ago, before you met Eddie, so he’s never seen it before. The nurse uniform is tight and form-fitting, the silky white fabric hugging your body perfectly. It’s also short — the hem sits high up on your thighs, baring a generous amount of leg. For the finishing touch, you pull out a little red nurse’s cap and secure it to your head. “Ta-da! What do you think?”
Eddie thinks he’s going to start barking, that’s what he thinks.
“What do I think?” Eddie struggles to sit upright, propping himself up on his elbow. “Baby. Sweetheart. Angel. You look stunning. You’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen. You look so sexy, I — I can’t believe that I’m sick and have to keep my hands to myself.” He sounds utterly dismayed as he comes to this realization.
You start laughing. “Aw, I didn’t put it on to torture you. I wanted to cheer you up!”
“Oh, it’s working. Consider me cheered.” He hacks into his elbow briefly, then twirls the air with his index finger. “Gimme a spin, babe.”
You oblige, turning slowly on the spot. His eyes flit wildly up and down your figure, desperate to drink in every inch of you. The ill temper Eddie’s been in for the past two days completely dissipates. He’d wolf-whistle if he wasn’t so full of snot.
“You know what? I think I’m feeling better already.”
“Hmm. Are you very sure about that?” you ask innocently, leaning forward with your hands braced on your thighs so he can get an eyeful of your chest. “‘Cause I think you could do with a little more tender loving care.”
Eddie shivers, and it has nothing to do with his being sick. “Whatever you say, nurse. You’re the medical professional.”
The corners of your lips turn up in a smile and you straighten back up. “First order of business,” you call over your shoulder as you head over to the kitchen, “eat your soup!”
You open up the cutlery drawer and pull out a spoon while Eddie twists the lid off of the thermos. A curl of steam wafts up from the warm liquid, and he inhales deeply, excited for the first time in two days to eat something.
You hand him the spoon and sit on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table. He slurps the soup down noisily, and you giggle despite your wrinkled nose.
“S’really good, baby. Thanks for doin’ all this.”
“Of course.”
“And as soon as I kick this flu, I’m gonna fuck you stupid.”
“Ooh, language! Talk like that again and I’ll have to give you a sponge bath.”
Eddie’s eyes gleam with excitement. “Promise?”
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson reader insert#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#this one is silly
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‼️imagine riding price while he’s smoking a cigar‼️ that just popped inside my head and now i’m horny
⇾warnings: unfettered filth, gratuitous smut; gendered!female reader, female anatomy; very slight possessive!Price; very heavy dom!Price; choking?? kinda???
⇾notes: damn, op. me, too. also, has anyone seen bodies bodies bodies? you know that moment when Pete Davidson says I just look like I fuck? that's this. that's Price.
With his head tilted back on the bed, lit cigar dangling from between his teeth, he looks almost attainable in the gloam. Touchable. Like a man you reach out, and have. It's so different from his usual countenance that it jars something inside of you, pricking that soft, sensitive place between your thundering heart and ribs.
Shadows cut under his eyes, his nose, the jut of his lip, illuminated only by the flushed, yellow light of the lamp beside the bed.
Cot, really. Barely enough space in it to fit a single person, much less two. How he manages to squeeze inside the tiny slip of a mattress makes you question everything you know about physics and spatial mathematics.
Though—
"That's it, mm," he rasps, words slurred and muffled around the cigar in his mouth. His hands are firebrands on your breasts, where they settle hot and firm, rough palm grazing your hard nipples. "Just like that, dove. Take me in—all of it, yeah? Want to feel your cunt around all of me."
—there really isn't any room in your head for complex queries when you're sat on your captain's cock, pussy pulsing around him all the way to the root.
He knocks all logic from your head with a soft flex of his hips, cockhead nudging something inside of you that has you reeling through samsara.
You can't stop the whine from spilling out—high-pitched and breathless—when he shifts like that, grinding his fat cock against your gummy walls.
"C—captain—," you mewl, nails digging into the coarse auburn covering his chest. Your hips gyrate over his groin, seeking more of that delicious stretch, that blistering press of him splitting you apart.
"Shush, shush," he coos, his hand falling away from your swaying chest to wrap around the body of the cigar. The tip burns red; the heavy scent of sex and tobacco permeate the tense atmosphere between you.
His other hand stays, and slides down until your nipple is caught between his thumb and forefinger. A pinch of his fingers sends a ripple of pleasure-pain shuddering down to your core. You keen at the sting, the bliss.
"Gotta be quiet, love. Want them to come in, and see you like this? Bouncin' on your captain's cock like you're desperate for it? And you are, aren't you? So fuckin' greedy for it."
"Fuck, sir—"
His groan is filthy around the butt of the cigar when your cunt flutters at the notion. The idea of being watched while your aching cunt takes him to the base.
"What a slut you are," he teases, slurred and gruff, words thinning out around a pull of smoke. "Want them to see how pretty you look on top of me, eh?"
He bites down on the end of the cigar, his hand falling away to reach behind you. Your mouth opens—pleas, apologies on your tongue; but it's stifled by a loud whine when the flat of his palm slaps across the meat of your ass. The sharp crack of his hand hitting you sends a gyre of pleasure roiling through your core.
Your belly flutters; molten heat spumes at the sting. It's too much, it hurts, and—
You want more.
"Please—;" the word is choked, bitten off when he slides his hand up, fingers dancing between each knob of your spine. The other tugs on your nipple until your back arches for him.
"Come on, pretty thing." He purrs, eyes lidded and burning. A veil of smoke congeals in the air between you when he breathes out. "Like I'd let anyone see you like this. This—;" his teeth dig into the cigar, hips canting up into your pussy. "—is all mine, love."
You don't know how he expects you to last with his thumb brushing over your nipple, his cock battering the plug of your womb with each fervid grind of your hips. Each soft bounce sends you spiralling closer and closer to the edge, to that white-hot haze of euphoria that splits your head down the centre until all you can feel is the swell of his cock in your cunt; his full, heavy balls slapping against your ass each time you sit fully on him, taking him to the base where he's the thickest, where he throbs like a heartbeat. It's too much, too much—
He hums low in his chest. The noise ripples through your palms, desperately scrambling for purchase on his slick, broad chest. It should have been a warning, but you're too far gone, too blissed from the way his liquid sapphire gaze threatens to flay you alive; the wide arsenic white of his eyes boring into you, watching you fall apart at the seams with each plunge of him inside of your pussy.
"Fuck—oh, fuck—captain—I'm… I'm gonna cum—"
Heat sears into your throat. Your tremulous words are cut in the middle when his hand slides up, palm pressed flat against your jugular. His thumb strokes your jaw gently, a dizzying contrast to the unyielding, solid grip he has on your neck. His thick, tobacco-stained fingers wrap taut around the delicate, fragile, curve of your throat, nearly spanning the entirety of it. If he wanted to, you think, a touch delirious, hysterical: he might be able to touch his index and thumb at the base of your skull.
Your inhale is shaky; a quivering gasp that edges on instability. You feel yourself being pulled deeper and deeper into those pits that sear into you.
A burning ache throbs inside of your belly; a coil pulling tighter and tighter with each press of your groins, his cock filling you deeper than you'd thought possible, the unruly auburn hair around the base of his cock grazing your clit. Your core tenses. Cunt spasming around him when he squeezes his hand, the air choked from your esophagus.
"Look at you," he drawls, nearly slurring the words around the end of his cigar. He pulls in another mouthful of smoke, eyes gleaming aquamarine in the dim light. "Such a pretty fuckin' sight you make, don't you, love."
All you can see is liquid blue. A spark of ochre from the end of his cigar. Your vision fades, blurring around the edges. He's not choking you, just holding steady, firm, but it's everything: his voice, his touch, that stupid cigar wrapped around those lips—
"C—captain—"
"Go on, then." He settles back into the pillow, hand still wrapped around your throat. His eyes bore into yours; a whirlpool cuts through the sea—dark and dizzying. "I want this pretty little cunt to cum around my cock, mm." He rumbles. His hand flexes, shifts, until his thumb is pressed to the seam of your lips. His eyes darken. "And then when you're finished, I want you on your hands and knees. I'm gonna fill you up, nice and proper, yeah?"
All you can do is whimper his name, and try not to slip inside those frothing waters that threaten to drag you under. A swirling vortex of want; pleasure. You burn under his heavy gaze. Feel the heat of his cigar scorching your skin.
“Oh,” he adds, blowing out a plume of white against your skin when you shudder on top of him, nails biting into his skin. Smoke rings curl around his words. His voice is hushed. Quiet. The lilt an unbreakable command. “Better not make me drop my cigar, love. Or there will be trouble.”
#captain john price x reader#john price x you#captain john price#john price x reader#john price#captain john price x you#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#cod#cod mw2#this man is singlehandedly ruining my life
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ok but like gangbang with 141 x gn! or fem! reader...
alright i tried my best, this is literally porn with very minimal plot so. not proofread
warnings: mdni (18+), literally exactly what you expect, oral (fem+male rec), smut, dub con, unprotected pinv, anal fingering, overstimulation, creampie, so much touching, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, it’s a 5sum all bets are off, this is pure smut so read with caution, use of afab descriptors
You don’t know exactly how it started but Price had called the team into his office, you had just come back from a failed mission, you, Soap and Ghost were all meant to clear the building and retrieve your target while Price and Gaz provided aid from the heli, except your target got away. Luckily everyone made it out with barely a scratch, but it set the op back weeks now as you had no clue where your target had escaped to.
You anticipated getting a ear full from Price back on base, it had been your fault that the mission went sideways, you let off a shot too early, causing the enemy to track your position and reign fire while your group tried to push in, it hadn’t been your first mistake, but it would be your last.
You’re sitting in the office, nervously picking at the skin around your nails as the team files in, one by one. Price is sitting 5 feet from you, a lit cigar hanging from his lips as he waits for the men to settle in. You were already scared to be yelled at by your Captain but having him do it in front of the team made it astronomically worse, these were men you respected, you hoped they respected you.
“Simon lock the door”
Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, was he going to kick you off the team?
“You’re a valuable asset to this team, but this mistake, you understand I have to punish you in some way”
“Yes Captain”
“Good” He stands from his chair nodding at Soap who moves forward and placed his arms on your shoulders, you stand up from your seat confused.
“You can say no at anytime” Soap says as he leans in and kisses you. He pulls back and you’re in awe, utterly baffled by the situation, you glance around the room, you’re cornered by the four men, and your heartbeat rises.
“Sargent, it’s your call” Price says to Soap and he nods, his hands moving down your form to i bottom your pants, your brain is a flurry of a thousand thoughts as he pulls them down, leaving you bare aside from your panties. His hands roam over your thighs before moving to cup at your sex, the feeling causes arousal to pool in your lower stomach.
Soap looks up at you from his spot on his knees before his fingers push your panties aside and he attaches his lips to your clit. You brave yourself back against the desk with your hand, his tongue working intricate circles over your bud, the sensation diluting your senses.
Soap wraps his arms behind your knees, pulling your body up slightly to rest you on the desk, allowing you to fall back, your back pressing against the wood as your fingers thread through his hair. You hear Price utter something to the men and you become painfully aware of your state, naked and vulnerable in front of your team, blush covers your cheeks as you make eye contact with Ghost who was braved against a wall.
Price circles your form, moving to stand at your head as his hand cups your jaw, you’re a mess of moans as Soaps fingers tease at your entrance.
“Just relax” Price says, reaching down to unbutton his pants and pulling out his hard length. You swallow thickly, his thick cock staring you down, his tip is leaking and all your thoughts converge on wanting to taste him. You stick your tongue out and he smirks, running the top along the muscle before pushing in, you open your jaw and allow him deeper, moaning around him.
Gaz and Ghost appear at your sides, Ghost scans your form before bringing his hands to grab at your shirt, tearing it from your body causing you to flinch from the cool breeze, he watches your breasts move as you writhe under Soaps tongue, his gloved hands moving to pinch at your hard nipples, eliciting a sigh from your chest.
Price is braced above you, one hand on your neck as he thrusts into your mouth, the room filling with the wet sounds from your mouth mixed with the gags he was forcing out of you, you’re struggling to breath, Soaps fingers pushing deeper into you, curling to hit your sweet spot as he sucks your clit into his mouth, Price pulls back from your throat allowing you a deep breath before your orgasm hits you suddenly, the men watch as to ur back arches, fingers gripping at the table as you ride out your high.
“Shit if I knew that’s what you sounded like I woulda done this sooner” Johnny says
You’re breathless, splayed out in the table like some sort of animal as the men’s eyes roam your form, they’re whispering to eachother as Gaz positions himself at the entrance, Price teases his cock at your mouth.
“Just gotta open you up a little” Price says, his cock pushing past your lips, you flatten your tongue against his shaft allowing him to thrust into your mouth. You swallow around him as Gaz inserts himself, the sudden intrusion making your eyes squeeze shut, you’re reaching for anything you can grab before you feel Ghost grab your hand, guiding it to his own cock. You moan at the feeling, your hand barely able to wrap around it nerves suddenly wracking your body as you think about taking him. He holds your hand to him, stroking it up and down his length as Soap watches you, your body glistens with a thin layer of sweat as Gaz continues fucking into you, securing a quick pace that has your legs wrapping around his waist. Price slows his thrusts, cooing in your ear before he buries himself deep in your throat, you choke around him as you feel your mouth fill with his hot seed, swallowing him before he removes himself.
“That’s a good girl”
You take a deep breath, the thrusts from Gaz making your hands clench on Ghost, a small grunt falling from his lips.
Soaps hands roam your body, his thumb settling on your clit as your hips twitch, you’re unraveling, your body putty in their hands. Your skin is rubbing against the hard desk, your neck digging into the corner before Prices hands move to hold your head,
“Doing so well Sargent”
He coos in your ear, his praise allowing you to relax, Ghost moves your hand to stroke his length, Gaz picks up his pace, the force making your body move slightly up and down, your breasts jumping with every thrust. Gaz is cursing as his pace becomes rabid, chasing his high, he bottoms out inside you and your pussy fills with his spend, the sensation making you curl your toes and you whimper as he pulls out.
Strong hands snake under your form, pulling your body up to turn you and place your chest flat against the table, your body spreading out as Soaps hands spread your thighs, his tongue licking a stripe from your clit to your ass causing you to flinch. His thumb teases at your virgin hole and your head falls forward, forehead coming into contact with the wood.
“Don’t worry lass, I won’t fuck your ass just yet”
He teases the head of his cock between your folds, causing you to clench around nothing before he pushes in, your slick coating him as the remnants of Gaz’s orgasm spill from your core. His cock is dragging against the ridges inside you, cashing moans to spill from your lips, quickly caught by Ghosts fingers as he pushes them into your mouth, you twirl your tongue around the digits sucking on them and he removes them with a pop, his spit soaked hand moving to stroke his cock in front of your face.
He watches your eyes widen as you finally catch a glimpse of him, smirking to himself, his massive member wracking your nerves. He cups your jaw, turning your head so your cheek is flush with the desk, his tip prodding at your lips. You part them letting him settle his cock between and he holds himself there, your tongue flicking over his leaking head.
You struggle to keep him in your mouth as your jaw opens, more gasps and moans slipping out as Soap pounds into you, your hips digging into the desk sure to leave bruises, his fingers got at your clit, correcting your slick before placing them over your asshole, teasing around the rim before pushing in past his first knuckle, the new sensation has you melting as he moves his fingers in tandem with his cock.
Soap is gripping your waist as he fucks deep into you, his top hitting your cervix with every thrust, burying himself to the hilt, his arms reach down and pull you up against him, your head falling to his shoulders as his arms snake around your waist.
Price sits on the desk in front of you, his eyes glued to your face as he watches you come apart, his hands moving down to circle your clit causing you to clench around Soap.
“That’s it baby, you wanna cum on his cock”
You nod
“Yeah? You wanna cum for all of us”
You look around, eyes glancing over the men before you sheepishly nod at Price,
“Then do it, cum for us”
You clench down on Soaps cock as he buried himself deep into you, filling you as you ride out your second high. He pulls from you and you fall forward, hands braced against Priced shoulders as he runs circles over your bare skin, the mixture of seed dribbling down your thighs.
Price barely gives you time to breath before inserting himself the intrusion making you sob into his neck, he holds you against him as he fucks up into you, a hand grabbing at your thigh to brave your leg on the desk allowing him deeper.
Your clinging to him, face buried in his shoulder as he drills you, your weight being held up by him as you lose your balance. His arm is around your waist, tugging your form down on him in time with his thrusts, he’s hitting impossibly deep inside you.
Gaz kneels behind your form, his hands moving to spread your ass to give the men a better view of where you and price meet as your juices coat his cock.
Wet sounds fill the room as Price continues fucking you until you can’t see straight, his punic hair grinding against your clit everytime he brings your body down, your hard nipples grazing against his rough shirt.
You turn your head and find Simons eyes, they’re glued to you, his face stoic under his mask as he strokes himself, the sight alone brings you back to the edge. You cum with a cry as Price keeps his pace, pounding into you, refusing to let you down.
His arms grip at your form, his knuckles almost white as he keeps you still, grunting as his orgasm overtakes him, he thrusts in a few more times fucking his spend deeper into you. You’re practically filled to the brim, begging for a break as he moves out from under you.
Ghost moves in front of you, the tip of his cock red, almost angry as he sits in Priced chair, legs parted. You whimper at the sight, slowly making your way to him, his hands find your hips as you settle on top of him, straddling his cock. You glide your folds over his length, shuddering when it hits your clit. His hands find your thighs, urging you up as he lines himself up with your core, you move down on him slowly, his size stretching you as you brave against his chest.
You were so weak and he was massive, you practically fainted against him, he fucked up into you slowly, allowing you to adjust to him in your fatigued state, once you adjusted he stood up, your legs still around him as he laid your back against the table, holding you there. Soap found your side, his cock situated beside your mouth, you lazily pry your lips allowing him in and he drags his length across your tongue.
Ghost holds your thighs to your chest, keeping you still as he fucks into you, the sensation of him making your brain cloud as your moans turn into pathetic meals and whimpers. He’s moulding you to him with every thrust as Soap pushes deeper into your throat.
“So fuckin pretty like this lass”
You look up at him with glassy eyes, your hair a mess sticking to your forehead as your skin glistens in a sheen of sweat. Soap braves himself over you, holding his cock deep in your throat before cumming, it pools in the back of your mouth, the salty taste mixing with the remnants of Price as you swallow every drop. He pulls from you with a heavy breath and you turn your attention to Ghost, your body is wrecked, your muscles weak as he forced you to take every inch of him, your head falls back as you let him use your body.
His pace is hard and rough, his cock filling every bit of your abused hole as he leans over you, hand gripping your jaw forcing you to look at him. You let out a whimper and he feels his abdomen tighten, his seed filling you to the brim as he comes down from his own high. He pulls from you, his fingers pushing the cum back into your weeping cunt as you clench around him.
You’re breathless, at their mercy as they tuck themselves back into their pants, your naked form splayed over the desk.
Soap finds himself back at your side with a glass of water, his arm braces against your frame holding you upright as Price kneels below you, helping you into your underwear so you don’t feel as vulnerable. Your breaths are heavy as you come to, your mind beginning to clear as your heartbeat settles.
“We clear now on why we don’t shoot early” Price asks
You nod meekly,
“Good, cause next time we won’t be as nice”
You swallow a thick gulp as the men leave the room, it reeks of sweat and sex as you dress yourself slowly, your knees wobbly as you brave against the wall, silently praying that no one heard what had just happened.
#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost cod#cod mw x reader#ghost x reader#mw2022#price#john price smut#captain john price x reader#captain john price#john soap mactavish#soap x you#john mactavish#john soap mctavish x you#john soap mctavish x reader#gaz modern warfare#gaz x reader#kyle garrick#kyle gaz garrick x reader#reqs💌
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Mind blank, just thinking of Jason todd eyeing how you giggled and laughed with an old friend, his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing as he leaned up against the wall, teeth digging into his bottom lip and eyebrow twitching out of suspicion and irritation, only to fuck the reader dumb once they're back home, marking them all over their neck — even concealer can't cover how dark the Hickey's were.
ohmygodohmygod OP you are a GENIUS I can't get this out of my head 😩😩😩😩😩
18+ / nsfw - "OLD FRIENDS"
summmary: smut (duh) | jealousy | possessive behaviour | fem!bodied reader | rough sex
word count: 2.5k
You had taken Jason to the pub to be introduced to one of your former university buddies, but it was not going as planned.
Jason's arms were crossed over his chest, and a frown hung on his face. You could feel his aggressive gaze burning into you, and your heart was pounding. The longer he stayed there, the tighter his jaw clenched, and you could almost taste the anger rolling off of him.
You mustered up the strength to tear your eyes away from him for a few seconds. That respite was short-lived; laughter erupting close by jerked your head back toward Jason. His lips were now pulled tight, revealing an expression of displeasure as he watched your old college friend touch your arm and chuckle about a memory that excluded him. With every laugh, Jason’s face seemed to grow more intense, causing the energy between you two to become increasingly acrid.
You knew you had to defuse the situation before it got out of hand. You stepped away from your college friend and turned to face Jason, who was now tapping his foot impatiently. You took a deep breath and spoke with as much calmness as you could muster.
"Jason, you need to calm down. Have a drink, live a little."
"I don't like the way he's touching you and laughing with you. It's disrespectful."
You could feel your patience wearing thin. It had been a long day, and you weren't in the mood to deal with Jason's possessive behavior. You placed your hands on your hips and looked him straight in the eye.
"Jason, he's a friend. He's harmless. You're making a scene."
"I'm not making a scene," he spat back, his voice cold and harsh. "I'm just saying, I don't like the way he looks at you."
You go to speak, but your attention is dragged away again as your friend comes back with more drinks, and Jason's eyebrow twitches with frustration. His jaw ticks, and he looks away, trying to hold his tongue.
You giggle at something said across the table, sipping at your drink demurely, and that seems to be the last straw for him. Jason stands quickly, grabbing his jacket, and holding his hand out for you. "Come on, y/n. We're leaving."
You go to protest, but his face does not
allow any room for argument. You sigh, knowing that it was going to be a long night. As you exit the pub, Jason takes hold of your hand, pulling you close. His grip is tight, and you can feel his nails digging into your skin. The silence between you two is palpable, and you can feel the anger radiating from him like a heatwave.
"Jason, what the hell was that?"
"That stupid friend of yours," he growls, his eyes darkening. "I don't trust him."
"He's my friend -"
"He wanted you. I could see it in his eyes!" Jason snaps, wrapping an arm around your waist possessively. "I can't stand other men looking at you, touching you. Making you laugh! You're mine, y/n. Mine."
His words send a shiver down your spine, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You know that his possessiveness is unhealthy, but a part of you finds it strangely alluring. His grip tightens on your hand, and he pushes you into a cab, sliding in beside you.
He is silent the entire way back to your apartment, but you can feel his palpable heat and frustration as he fumes beside you.
It's when he drags you through your front door, slamming it sharply behind him, that you really see the full effect that seeing you with another man has had on him:
He grabs you by the waist, pressing his body against yours, and you can feel the hardness of his muscles. His breath is hot against your neck as he leans in and bites your earlobe, making you moan softly. Despite his possessiveness, you cannot deny the way he makes you feel, the way he dominates you with his power and strength.
"Mine," he growls again, his fingers digging into your skin.
You surrender to his touch as he pushes you against the wall, kissing you fiercely. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, feeling the heat radiating off of his body. His hands roam down your body, exploring every curve and dip, and you can feel yourself growing wet with desire.
He breaks the kiss, his breath ragged, and looks at you with a dark intensity in his eyes. "I won't share you with anyone," he says, his voice thick with emotion.
"I'm yours," you whisper back, pulling him in for another kiss, twisting your tongues together.
"Come here," he groans, his hardening erection slowly dragging against your thigh as he grinds your bodies together. He twists a hand in your hair, pulling your head back as his lips drop down to your jaw, then to your throat, sucking and biting hard at the tender skin.
"Jason..." you moan softly as his teeth sink gently into the soft flesh below your ear.
"Say it. Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours," you whisper, your body going weak in the pleasure of his touch.
"Good girl," he growls, his fingertips trailing down the curve of your body to the hem of your shirt.
He lifts it slowly, his eyes dark and lustful as he takes in the sight of your breasts, bared before him.
"You are so fucking beautiful," he says, a dark tone in his voice. He leans in again, kissing your lips hungrily, then trailing his lips down your body. He pulls your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought. "Too beautiful."
"Jason," you breathe, a slight whine in your voice. You can feel your body growing damp as his fingertips leave a trail of fire across your bare skin.
"Mmmm... gonna teach you a lesson," he murmurs, still trailing kisses down your body. He reaches the top of your pants, and his hands slowly slide down the back, expertly unhooking your bra. He pulls the straps down over your shoulders, and you reach behind you to pull the bra off completely. "You're mine, baby..."
He groans softly, his hand moving to your hip to keep you still as his mouth finds the peak of your right breast. He sucks hard, and your body tenses with pleasure. You bring your hands up to thread through his hair, trying to urge him on.
"Oh fuck Jay," you whimper, and his eyes trail up to meet yours. He smirks darkly, letting your nipple fall from his lips.
"Turn around," he commands, and your body shivers in anticipation. You press yourself against the wall as he unzips your pants, sliding them down over your ass and thighs. He unfastens your bra, sliding it off along with your shirt and pants, leaving you clad only in your panties and heels.
"Didn't like the way you laughed at your friends' pathetic jokes," he murmurs against your ear before trailing kisses down your neck again. His hands slide up your thighs, his fingers caressing your skin as they drift closer to your dampening pussy. "You find him funny, huh? What's so funny about him?"
You whine needily, arching against his touch, and he tuts, nibbling gently at one of the growing red welts dotting your throat.
"Ah-ah. No. Beg me. Tell me how funny your little college friend really was," he says, his fingers teasingly close to your clit.
He gently strokes the lips of your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties, teasing you into submission. Your body shudders with pleasure, and you can feel the vibrations radiating out from between your thighs. Your eyes flutter closed, and you press yourself against Jason.
"Please, Jay -"
"Please what? Please touch you? Please make you come?"
"Yes," you moan, grinding your body against his hand. He curls a finger into your panties, dragging them down over your thighs, exposing your glistening pussy. You can feel his hot breath against you, oh so close, and your eyes flutter shut -
"Look at me," he growls, grabbing you by the jaw. You can smell the scent of your own juices on his fingers, see them sticky and wet in the dingy light of your living room. "Who's funny now, y/n?"
You whimper, and his eyes flare with pleasure. He reaches up, grabbing your leg and pulling you slightly off-balance, positioning you just above his hips.
"No one," you moan, pressing your pussy against him. "No one's funny but you."
"Good girl," he says, and you feel his cock brushing against you through his boxers, the fabric wet and translucent with precome. Your back arches, and you press yourself against it eagerly.
"Jason," you moan. "Please..."
"Yeah, baby?"
"Please... I need you..."
"Need me to what?" His hands tighten around your thighs, holding you in place as he ruts against you, teasing you slowly with the head of his cock.
"Need you to fuck me, Jay..." you whisper, leaning your head back against the wall. His breath is hot against your skin, and you can feel yourself growing wetter. "Please fuck me..."
"Yeah?" he says, kissing just above the soaking wet fabric of your panties. "Are you ready for my cock?"
You nod vigorously, your body trembling on the edge of orgasm as his fingers trail teasingly along your wet slit.
"You're mine. No one else can have you, no one else can make you scream," he says, his fingers stroking your pussy.
You moan as his fingers curl into your wet folds, caressing your clit.
"Mmmm... You know I want you, don't you? Tell me how much you want me," he orders as he slowly slips a finger inside of you.
"I - I want you...," you say dedperately, biting your lip. You can feel his cock straining against his boxers, and you press your hips forward, the ensuing friction sending a thrill through you."I want your cock... I want you to fuck me... I want to feel you inside of me, stretch me open -"
"That's right," he says, his voice low and deadly. "You want me to fill you up with my fucking cock. No other man is ever gonna make you feel this good, baby, no one gets to put their hands on you but me."
"I'm yours, Jay. I'm yours," you pant, your voice ragged.
"You're god damn right you're mine," he groans, leaning in to bite at your neck.
"Jason," you groan, your body trembling with need. "Please fuck me, fuck me right now-"
"Oh, I'm going to fuck you," he growls, pulling down your panties with your thigh. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to sit down for a week."
You shiver at his threat, and he pulls you forward, the head of his cock sliding against your wetness. You can feel the heat of him through his boxers, and you press yourself against him, eager for more.
He reaches down, taking his cock in hand and squeezing tightly, hissing.
"I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't think of anyone but me for a week," he repeats, the threat clear in his voice. His eyes blaze with passion as he lowers you onto his cock, filling you up in one smooth motion.
You moan, your body trembling as his thick cock stretches your pussy to near-unbearable limits. He pulls you down hard, forcing his cock deeper inside of you. You can feel his cock pulsing as he thrusts against you, your body reverberating with pleasure as he hits deep, sensitive places inside of you.
"You're wanna laugh at another man's jokes?" he says, bucking his cock against you. He presses his face against your shoulder, leaving delicious craters in your skin with his teeth. "You think your pathetic friend was funny?"
You shake your head, babbling desperate apologies, eyes rolling as he slams into you roughly.
"I'm gonna make you scream," he growls into your ear, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. "You're so fucking tight for me, baby. Gonna remind you who owns you."
"Jason," you moan, your head falling back against the wall. His hand travels down to the underside of your thigh, pulling your leg up around his waist and holding you in place as he thrusts against you.
Your pussy throbs as he presses against your clit, and you buck your hips forward to meet his every thrust. The head of his cock hits deep inside of you, sending waves of intense pleasure rippling through your body.
"Oh my god, baby," he growls. "You're so fucking tight..."
"Harder, please," you beg, your voice barely a whisper. "Please don't stop..." you whine.
"Shut up," he growls. You feel his fingers dig into your ass, squeezing, and his hand comes to grasp your throat, pinning your head back against the wall. syllables leave your throat, wordless and unintelligible as your muscles squeeze around him.
"You're not laughing at anyone else," he grunts, his hand tightening around your throat. His other hand slips between your legs, and he gropes your clit as he slams his cock into you. "You're not thinking about anyone but me..."
You moan and bite down on his shoulder, your nails digging into his back. He flicks at your clit roughly, and you can feel your body start to tighten around him.
"Come for me, baby," he growls into your ear, his breath heavy and gruff. You let out a long, keening wail as he slams into you, pressing his fingers into your clit and sending you careening over the edge.
You moan, wordless and unable to slur even an affirmation, your voice barely intelligible as your body trembles. You feel his cock twitching inside of you, and you shake your head. "Nnnhg..."
He chuckles, breathy and panting.
"You know you want to come on my cock," he says, his lips brushing against your ear. He bites your earlobe, his fingers pressing against your pussy rhythmically, and you cry out, shuddering against him.
"Come for me, baby," he growls into your ear. "Come for me."
Your body shudders, and you wind your arms around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder. Your pussy clenches around him as you come, the orgasm radiating out from between your thighs. He moans against your neck, and you can feel him coming inside of you, his cock twitching inside of your pussy.
You collapse against him, a whimpering mess. Jason holds you upright as your legs buckle, wiping his fingers against your leg. He pulls out of you, his come dripping from your pussy, and he leans in close to whisper into your ear, his tongue flicking out to tease the violent blemishes marking your neck.
"You won't cover those. Couldn't even if you tried. Everyone will know you're mine," Jason growls, his voice low and deadly. He squeezes your throat gently, before he pulls away from you, leaving you to slide down the wall to the floor, your legs jelly. He watches you, a light smirk playing on his face. "You wanna laugh at another man's jokes? I'll show you how funny I can be."
#jason todd x reader smut#jason todd x reader#jason todd smut#red hood x reader#red hood x reader smut#jason todd#jason todd imagine#red hood imagine#posessive jason todd#smut#jason todd fanfiction
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Recording // Nanami Kento x f!reader
MDNI — Rating is mature.
word count: ~1k (ops)
cw: smut, smut, smut. porn with plot, explicit language, alternating between 2nd and 3rd person, recording / s3x tape, exhibitionism (if you squint), cunnilingus, P in V, petnames (sweetheart, good girl), nipple play, clit play (?.
notes: this got out of my hands fairly quickly. i might be ovulating idk. i thought i should get on the kinktober spirit and try giving smut a try for once. its like my mind took over before i knew it and spew out this. Divider by @/cafekitsune 🤍
liked this? show it with a like, reblog, and/or comment. each is greatly appreciated and celebrated!
nanami was surprised when you asked him if he ever thought about recording you two in the bedroom. no, he hasn't. he was never fond of the idea of someone watching you two get intimate. he didn't want to share how pretty you looked with your lips parted, pathetically moaning, barely able to ask for him to go harder as your thoughts became incoherent by the thrust of his hips. he didn't want others to see how sweaty and sensitive your body could get, squirming at the hands of his fingers, tongue, and cock.
no, those little things were his and his alone to experience. he is quite possessive of you. recording you two was something he didn't think about, especially because it would mean sharing those things.
but he notices how indirectly direct your question was and how your eyes scan his for a reaction. you wanted to try something new and it was obvious by the way your hands were behind your back, probably fiddling your thumbs nervously as you waited for a response. you looked like you were begging him for a chance to try this out.
how could he say no when you looked too cute? after all, you assured him it would just be for the two of you. something to get you through those nights when you're not together. it wasn't a bad idea. He said yes.
and boy, did he learn something new about himself.
it was as if his body took a mind of its own, that possessiveness and need to indulge you in your little fantasy coming together the moment he pressed record on his phone. though the kiss was slow, it became heated pretty quickly by the way his hands roamed down your body to immediately get those pesky clothes out of your body. pressing you down the bed, his lips becoming hungrier against yours, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.
you didn't know what to focus on, his tongue exploring your mouth or the way his fingers were already pinching your nipples and soothing the sensation by rubbing around the areola with his thumb. whatever it was, it made your lips part and welcomed his touches and tongue easily as you moaned into the kiss.
while your eyes constantly darted to the camera, brows furrowed as you tried to process the pleasure that was swirling all around your body. sure, he has been rough and dominant before when he came home stressed. but tonight was different. it was as if he was worshiping your body without the usual praise, at least not the one he usually did.
"need your moans to be louder than that, sweetheart. wouldn't want the camera to not pick them up," he mumbled against your breasts, his tongue licking all over them and alternating with his lips to suck your nipples. all while his other hand was busy sliding your panties off your legs and pressing his thumb against your clit before quickly rubbing it just right.
"the camera is making you shy? let me help you with that." he purred while he lowered his head to between your legs, placing them on his shoulder before he lazily trusted his tongue into your entrance. going in and out enough times to get some of your juices dripping on his tongue to then place it flat on your pussy and lick a nice long stipe. your pearl becomes wet with his saliva and you before he takes it into his mouth, moaning loudly at the taste of you while he's eyes look up at you.
"look at you, clenching around me, digging your nails into me. good girl. what a shame watching this video back won't let me feel these again." he chuckled before a moan interrupted him. wet squelches fill the room so clearly that the video probably included them too, along with how your needy moans rhythmically matched with the pace of his him rocking into you.
all sights were captured. his back and butt in all glory as he fucked you stupid into the bed, your face twisted in pleasure with tears in your eyes and knitted brows, hickeys all over your body but especially in your chest, scratches in his back. but there was one sight the camera didn't get: his face.
a breathless smirk on his features and knitted brows were obvious, but it was the look in his eyes that was interesting. that's when it all clicked. it was about showing how good he could make you feel, how lost in pleasure he could get you, him, and him alone. no one else would bring you to any of tonight's orgasms and guide you through the intense pleasure so diligently as nanami.
he was yours, but you were also his. this video proved that much so eloquently without any shadow of a doubt.
honestly, he wouldn't mind if anyone were to see this video. now, your sex tape didn't seem to be about arousing others. it was to show them how good nanami could make you feel, how good he could pleasure you and that no one would get even near second place.
let them watch how your back arches when you orgasm around his fingers, his tongue, his cock. they would never be able to feel your body like he does, let alone pleasure it.
let them hear how needy and desperate your moans are. but they would also hear his voice and the effect it had on you. they would hear how pretty his name sounded with your voice when you moaned and whimpered "please, more, nanami!"
nanami is possessive of you because he loves you with all his heart and wants to show you that love compared to one else's. but now he wasn't jealous at the idea of others watching you two pleasure each other. not when they would never be able to touch, smell, or taste you. they could only watch while he could experience you with all of his senses.
and if he ever missed you, he could just watch your video and remember how much you love him.
#*blushing profoundly*#i know this man is a service top#he does it all the time when eh go to bed#nanami kento#kento nanami#nanami kento x reader#kento nanami x reader#nanami kento smut#kento nanami smut#kento nanami x reader smut#nanami kento x reader smut#nanami kento x y/n#nanami kento x you#kento nanami x y/n#kento nanami x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen nanami#jjk#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#jjk nanami kento#jujutsu nanami#jujutsu kaisen fanfic
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I’ll Take the Night Shift
Pairing: Husband!John Price x Wife!Reader
Synopsis: Before you knew it, John was gone - taken from right under your nose and leaving you no choice but to retreat without him. But you would do anything to get him back, even go into the lion’s den itself.
Word Count: 15.2k
Warnings: Torture, blood & gore, V suggestive & some spicy bits, vulgar language, angst, found family tropes, eventual fluff, and comfort, injured Price would be the sweetest person idc, so much plot, briefly edited
A/N: The flashbacks are spicy because I said so. (Soap request being written after this). Enjoy!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You try to remember how you felt the first time they told you. Your combat vest was still on, that night vision rig still connected to your head and weighing about as much as John did when he rolled on top of you in the middle of the night. At your front rested the M13, its black and sleek metal bumping against your chest with every teetering step.
Black, on black, on black. Except for one item, hidden, kept close to heart, and even closer to mind at all hours. You were always aware of it, the metallic press that was ingrained into your body just as the caress of John’s fingers was, burning over your pulsing epidermis as it traveled.
Around your neck, your wedding ring sat heavily on its chain – gold more bright than the sun and kept safe and warm against the flesh of your breast under the numerous padded layers. Your face was bathed in sweat, lungs aflame with blood dripping from a knife puncture on your right thigh. Although the limb is bathed in crimson, the dark fabric of your pants hid most of it. But it couldn’t hide the red footprints in the dirt.
It was a Black Op in Finland – a target stashed away in a mansion that was clawing for breath in this dense forest with more viridian-colored trees than any you had seen before. Green seemed to breed in the small spaces, between rocks, up crackling bark; crunching under your black boots as you came to a shattering halt. Moss and tiny plants get crushed under your fierce steps.
If it was any other circumstance, you would have loved to drag your husband here for a vacation.
You had felt fear when they told you. Cold. Chest-tightening. Skin tingling as your limping body fought to focus on anything but the pain that was spiking in your leg, but that was simple when the words flew from Gaz’s lips with panic. Simon had stopped behind you as well, the two men dressed just as you were and holding their breath for your reaction. They knew it wouldn’t be good.
“The Captain isn’t responding. Soap can’t bloody find him.” The chill of the night was nothing compared to the dread that flooded your veins, eyes snapping forward blankly at flashing shadows as your panting breath was all at once sucked back down.
What?! Is all you can numbly think.
A brief stuttering inhalation ensues, your brain screaming as if banshees wail and smash against the bone of your skull with sharp teeth and blunt nails; tearing to try and get out. But you were not born to break at such a fickle emotion as fear in your bloodstream, or the adrenaline making your eyes vibrate. You were taught to act.
You’re turning on your heels and hiking back to the mansion without a word or hesitation, the world around you speeding by. In a single instant, the organ in your head promptly goes silent in a fell swoop of horrified realization. Everyone left in that mansion would be dead if you got your hands on them – ripped to tiny little pieces until that which was yours was returned unharmed and conscious into your arms.
You hold the M13 tight around the stock, jimmying it into your shaking grip.
“Whoa!” Gaz rushes to get ahead of your warpath – which didn’t take much as your wound was throbbing; making your head pound something awful.
It doesn't matter what I feel…Where is my John?
Dark hands grasp your shoulders tightly, shaking you as your lips turn into a snarl.
“Out of my way, Garrick,” You growl, face suddenly twisting into an image of pure animalistic rage, “I’m going to Soap’s position.”
Attempting to jerk out of the man’s hold, your skin crawls at the thought of John. He always answered the comms – always stayed within eyesight of his partner when placed with another individual. Your husband did not leave men behind. He would never leave Soap behind.
And that meant he was either dead or captured.
Your mind jumps to violent imagery. Your Captain, riddled with bullets and bleeding as he writhes in pain; left to die like a feral dog as he snaps at everything that moves. Or worse, taken and stashed away, far from you, and tortured for information. John would never break – they’d have to kill him anyway.
There was no version of this story that involved him living if you did nothing.
“Johnny isn’t at the mansion,” Ghost comments, popping up in the side of your vision as you have a stare-off with Gaz and releases the radio attached to his vest, “He was under heavy fire – had to pull back. Should be closin’ in on our position soon.”
“I’m still going back!” Growling, you snap your arms back and shoulder past Gaz, “You’re idiots if you think I’m leaving John by himself in fucking Finland surrounded by hostiles.”
But what if he’s already dead and I don’t know it? Can I handle that?
You grunt under your breath, trying to stop the sting of your eyes.
“Love,” The younger man pleads, Kyle’s dark eyes worryingly going from your thigh to your face, “You’ve got to be bloody joking with us. If you go back to that place you’re as good as dead. We have to pull back to the Evac Point. There are too many guns – we’re outnumbered.”
When you had joined Task Force 141 you had never expected to marry the older Captain of this rag-tag bunch. It had been surprising enough that you had been spotted by the brown-haired Brit at all, only seeing him once when he had come to teach a class of rookies on Counter-Terrorism. Naturally, the two of you had struck up a conversation – or, rather, you had forced him to speak to you. But how could you not? The man was about as handsome as they came. The gruff and gravel tone that rumbled his chest, his large build reminiscent of a brown bear, and how the muscles under his shirt had rippled when you snuck up on him. Physically, he was everything you wanted, and the same went for attitude once you got to know him.
And, hell, how could you look at someone like John Price and not get entranced by his eyes? Storm gray and raging waters; you swore you could see an entire world hidden in the flecks of silver as if he was carved from stone and his soul was pure electricity. But despite all of it, his serious face had seemed warm under that beard of his and that bucket hat on his head wasn’t helping. He seemed kind enough, and that had piqued your interest as you were constantly being surrounded by less-than-respectful men in the barracks.
In fact, your first sentence to him was, “How many times have you nearly lost that hat of yours mid-Op, Sir?”
You had snuck up while the rookies were working through a practice course down below the loft, where the two of you currently were. John’s head had snapped to the side, his constantly narrowed eyes widening a fraction. If you had to guess, he didn’t get snuck up on often.
But he had never met you before.
His arms were attached to the collar of his vest, and you saw the fingers tighten as his shoulder-width stance tensed below him. The shouts and calls of the people below blurred as you tilted your head, blinking innocently up at him, watching his lips move with heated thoughts.
You quite liked him looking surprised.
“Ma’am,” He utters in greeting, before letting out a deep sigh that makes you huff a laugh in turn. He seemed tired – stressed, “Very funny. Don’t suppose you’re part of the others down there, then, are you?”
“Unfortunately, no, Sir,” Your gaze filters to the flailing limbs and you watch with creasing eyebrows at the chaos, amusement deep in your blood, “I mean…they look like they’re having fun, at least.”
“Yeah, that’s a bloody exaggeration, that is,” His wrinkled forehead had creased, following the horrific sight as well, “Laswell told me that this group was promising.”
Your laugh makes his head fully turn back to you, blinking down and fighting the flick of his eyebrow in confusion.
“Oh, God, she told you that?!” Shaking your head you shifted your body to face him and stifled your chuckles. You say your name and utter out, “If you want someone who’s not going to sugarcoat things for her amusement, Captain Price, you come straight to me. Squad 5 is the one you want for Counter-Terrorism courses; certainly not 3. That’s a good way to get shot in the ass by your own guys.”
He stared at you for a long minute before his eyes flickered down to your hand; he grunted and grasped it in his own.
You were correct – he was warm. Firm. The ingrained lines of his palms splayed over yours, and the flesh of your lips softened at the delicate way he was holding you. Like you were a prized weapon.
And you would have it no other way.
“Just Price is fine, Ma’am. Kate mentioned you in her call…You were in Romania in ‘04, Yeah? Quite the job to do by yourself…You ever think on joinin’ a team?”
Three months later Laswell was giving you a call saying you were getting a promotion and the rest was subtle glances that evolved into stolen touches in dark corners when no one was looking. It had been scary how instant the feelings were realized…you trusted John with your life, just as he did with you. That was the first feeling after lust and the one far before love – protectiveness for each other on the same level as wolves in a pack.
You can’t leave him behind.
“He’s the Captain–” Your lips begin to hiss out, eyes narrowed at the ground as you struggle along. You were weaker than you should have been – blood loss leaving you nearly on the ground after the retreat, “He’s my husband!”
Rage was easier than panic. Perhaps that was why John called you Lion for a callsign.
“...And you’re going to get him killed.” The remark makes you freeze. Ghost doesn’t move from behind you as the echo of his words bounces off the trees, but you feel his presence just the same as Gaz clears his throat awkwardly, “You go back, Aarre Virtanen will put a bloody bullet in ‘em. Not a chance he doesn’t.”
Aarre Virtanen. The target that had escaped the Force’s grasp like the weasel he is. Your eyes alight with rage, and cities burn in your iris.
“You’re just about the most impulsive person I’ve ever met, Love,” John mutters into your hair, running his fingertips over the hospital gown as he lays in the bed with you. Your eyes are closed, feeling your head rise and fall with the steady breathing in the Captain's chest – damn him, the way he touched you was hypnotic; putting you to sleep where the pain meds failed.
“Hm,” You groan, digging your head deeper into his peck and feeling him chuckle velvety.
“I need to teach you how to think plans through before you commit, Yeah? Else you’re going to keep getting hurt…and we can’t have that, eh, can we Sweetheart?”
“...If you’re gonna hold me like this when I get shot, I’ll make sure to take more bullets for you from now until the end of time.”
A puff of breath and a brush of coarse beard hairs over your scalp.
“You’re hopeless, you are. What am I supposed to do with you…?”
“Probably kiss me, Sir, but I’m not picky. You can fuck me too while you’re at it.”
A shuttering of leaves rips everyone out of their arguing, and in an instant three guns are held leveled at a dense bush, shaking in the moonlight. Every moment spent with John was flashing over your eyes like you were dying. Why was your breath getting strained? Why was your grip shaking?
“Friendly! Don’t go poppin’ off shots, it’s jus’ me!” Your stance lessens at the familiar Scottish drawl, air falling from your nose in a terse sigh.
Soap’s body pops out a second later, and you’re right next to him with a heavy heart, gripping him by the arm and digging. It was hard, holding yourself together with string and fraying cloth, but you had to. You can’t break…not now. The man's vision is locked on your face, and you don’t like the thinness of his lips as his expression is layered with guilt.
It mirrors against the desperation in yours, leaking into the tone coating your sentence like poison.
“Little Lady, I–”
“Where is my husband, Johnny?” Your face contorts, pulling back. He was supposed to be here, why wasn't he here? He took MacTavish with him because he needed an expert to detonate a bomb in the lower mansion’s tunnel structure. He said he’d be back soon…Where is he? “Johnny, please, he can’t…” Begging has never been implemented in your life. Never.
But for John, you’d do anything.
The man in question flinches back, the dried blood over his face catching your gaze in the dim light as you stop dead; your eyes slashed the distance between Soap’s visage and the gore over his cheeks. Up his arms. On his hands. Staining his chest like fucking finger-paint. Before you know it you’re backing up, eyelids fluttering like hummingbird wings and jumping from place to place as all you can see is red. Your hands are slippery, and you hold them limply ahead of you.
No, no, no. No, it can’t be.
“Holy shit, Soap,” Gaz whispers, voice horrified, and you feel his hand on your back trying to steady you, “Is that…”
Ghost’s dead eyes stay locked on the scene, narrowing behind his mask. The Scot’s head flows to the blood, quickly inhaling as his nose scrunches. His lips part in horror as he tries to calm you down, backing up a step.
But you can’t stop seeing red.
“Hen, now don’t do that – it’s not…I…He,” He stumbles over his words, swallowing thickly as you gape. Soap growls, splaying his hands, “Steamn’ Bloody Jesus! The explosive went off prematurely, fucken’ bastard of a device – whoever made it should get his neck rung – an’ the…the tunnel collapsed with us in it,” You just stare, and you wonder if your heart can hurt any more than it already is. At your side, Gaz blows out a slow breath, and over your back, you feel his grip tighten, “I tried to get him out of the rubble, Hen. But,” He stops, and one of his hands smacks against the top of his helmet, “Virtanen’s men got there first. God,” Johnny gasps your name, “I’m so sorry.”
But all you do is stare.
“Love,” Garrick lightly says, his breath on the side of your face, “Love, we have to move.”
But Gaz, You want to say; scream, as your stained fingers twitch when you level them with a heavy glare, Gaz I can’t leave him here
“He’s not dead.”
Ghost grunts, fixing the position of his gun over his chest; resting on hand on the end and looking off into the trees, “They’d keep ‘em alive. Try to get answers – who he is, who sent him…” The man trails.
Your heart fractures your ribs, ears ring like cicadas under your skin.
He’s not dead, You have to tell yourself so you don’t break down, looking at everyone around with veiled shock, He’s not dead.
The only reason the four of you were still standing around was that, in the absence of John’s leadership, you took point. It hit you suddenly, then, in that instant where the storm that was going on inside of your head was silenced. These men were under your wing – they needed you to take up the mantle; you needed to trust that John was alright. If only to keep the whole of the 141 safe and alive.
Gaz had shrapnel in his back; Soap looked like he was about to either turn around and go on a rampage or slump over with his head in his hands. And Ghost well…he was Ghost, but even so, his clothes were layered with blood and dirt. Not to mention yourself – your thigh has since gone numb.
…And we can’t stay here.
With your heart falling into a deep hole, you school your expression.
Don’t think about him. Don’t do it.
Your job has never been more difficult than at that moment.
“Evac Point is a ten-minute jog. L-Laswell’s expecting us.” The voice that comes out of your mouth isn’t yours, the tone is off and the structure is shaky at best and broken at worst. There was nothing more you could do, even if you knew you could drag your way back to the mansion and start a fight.
Gaz was right, you would die if you went back. And you can’t get John home safe if you were dead.
The team needs you to lead them just as your husband would.
So, avoiding all eye contact and the wide looks, you slip out of Kyle’s hold, feeling your leg sizzle with agony as you put weight on it. Garrick mutters your name, and Soap clears his stuffed throat; coughing into the night. Ghost is the one who loops his arm under your shoulders when he strides up behind you, and you flinch at the contact before closing your eyes and feeling bitter tears drip down your cheeks.
“We’ll get ‘em back, Lion,” The man glances down at you, skeletal face glowing bone white, “I give you my word.” But you don’t answer, just grimace and will away the feelings in your heart and the vomit in the back of your throat.
This is what John would want you to do, you know that – perhaps that was the only reason you were willing to leave and reevaluate at all – but, somehow, it still felt wrong.
Akin to betrayal.
The ring around your neck suddenly weighed more than the numb flesh of your leg as tears smack the moss mutely.
—
Laswell is sitting in the meeting room as a nurse wraps your thigh tightly. The sutures underneath pull at your flesh; making it stretch at a touch of a finger as you stand upright. The others had pleaded with you to sit down, but nothing would sway you. Not even the needle that had been going through your skin when you refused pain medication. Being on your feet made you feel better – like you were about to do something which would stop the thinness of your breath and the jump of your heart. Your weight was mostly on your uninjured limb anyhow, shifting as the affected pant’s leg was cut lengthwise and shoved aside as the gauze slowly wrapped around and around.
“When are we going after him,” You ask Kate, rubbing the sleep from your eyes but only succeeding in spreading dirt and blood all over your sockets, “I’ll be ready in five if you need me to be. All of us will.”
“Damn right,” Kyle nods, “Just give the order.”
The blonde sighs, and the other men in the room move on their feet in unease. No one was content sitting still – one of their own was missing. Soap in particular was taking it badly; almost as broken up as you about it.
“We can’t do anything,” Your rampaging heart clenches. You had been worried about that, “This mission was Black,” Laswell’s chair squeaks as she rises, a tablet in her hands and a scowl on her face, “Legally speaking, no one was ever in Finland in the first place. A blown power box was the cause of the explosion.”
“Kate–” Gaz growls, but Soap cuts him off.
“This is clatty, Laswell!” He crosses his arms, the mohawk on his head pressed down from being in a helmet for so long making him look unhinged. When the helicopter had dropped the Force off at base, a meeting had immediately been called; that was over three hours ago, and still, nothing had been done. It was precious time, “Send out drones, recon forces, anything. Hell, send us back in – we'll take care of this.”
“Sergeant MacTavish,” Kate stares at him, and she spares a quick glance at you as the nurse stands quickly and leaves. You clench your jaw. Without John being here the room felt empty, devoid of a very important figure; you were no leader, but what choice did you have but to take charge, “Price knew the risks, and…Black Op means no take backs. He’s been in this a long time.”
“We all have,” You whisper, grunting as a shiver of fire runs up your leg.
In the back of your subconscious, you know everyone can see how shaken you are. Your eyes constantly rove to the corners as if shadows will suddenly take form and attack, your fingers twitch as if still around the trigger of a gun; when someone mentions John’s name your hand unconsciously reaches to grasp the ring around your neck. Gaz spares you looks, reaching up to fix the position of his ball cap with tense breaths.
Inside, the thoughts were running faster than you could catch them. Every moment you spent with your Captain – dinner dates, gifts that you told him not to buy you but he did anyways…the list went on including the moments spent together. They were distracting you. He was distracting you.
Was this how it felt to lose a vital part of you? Like torture? But your person knows what torture was like – it had never felt as painful as this before. You couldn’t recall in your memory a time when your chest had been this wound tight, fingers so shaky and weak. Your brain was what you would consider your best companion in these situations…but this was different. Common sense had abandoned you in the form of a square brown-bearded face and strong arms.
God, John, You press your fingers into your eyes until you see stars, Please be okay. Please. I’ll be there soon. J-just wait for me.
There was another voice as well, telling you that if you just told yourself he was okay you could get through this easier. You could break later – you needed to focus on getting your husband back.
That was all that mattered.
Laswell scratches at the back of her neck, and your hands fall back to your sides.
“We can’t do anything,” Kate repeats, and the subtle change in phonics leads your head to snap up. Her deep blues were already staring at you; boring into your soul. The others perked up as well when your body stills, listening with predatory attention, “Shame. I heard the target was planning on being at a get-together in a week at his property in Poland.”
Your pulse stills, and you find your wavering voice, “...Can’t fault the man, he has a weapon-smuggling business to run…He’ll need more potential clients.”
“Hm,” The boys look back and forth with bright eyes, teeth showing as their lips peel back, “Affirm.” Laswell saunters to leave the room, slipping past you. But before she brushes against your shoulder her face tilts to you. You smell her scent – bark and coarse linen – as she speaks, “You might want to clean up the armory and get your gear repaired. John wouldn’t stand for his team looking like shit it if he was here.”
Kate saunters out the door, and you watch her back as the barrier closes, standing in silence. Sucking down a slow breath, your gaze filters back to the boys only to find them already staring at you.
“Well,” Clearing your throat, your eyebrows twitch, “You heard her. We can’t do anything…officially.”
“I’d say we better go clean up, then,” Soap grunts, crossing his arms over his chest, and nodding his head to you, “Head off and get a good sleep.”
Gaz and Ghost spare glances, but look about as ready as you are.
“You sure you’re up for this, Love?” Garrick asks motioning toward your leg with a head nod as he moves closer, “We have no problem doing this by ourselves.”
“I took my vows just the same as he did,” You respond immediately, gripping the younger man by the shoulder and sending a small, weak, smile, “You think he’d stay behind if it was me?”
“I think he’d rather let Soap make him tea again. And we know how that went last time.”
You huff out a sound that resembles a laugh, but the Scot in question refuses to look at you; your eyes catch Ghost sending you glances before he motions with his head to the man. Turning to Gaz you nod.
“You take Simon and get the gear ready. We’re leaving tomorrow first thing.”
“Copy, Ma’am.”
Ghost pats your skull once before disappearing, “Keep your head on, Lion.”
The door once more closes, and silence overtakes the small room. Taking a deep breath that fills you with a wave of ease – even if for a moment – you focus on the second big problem after a brief second to close your eyes and think.
Johnny.
He avoids your gaze; fidgets with his hands more than he usually does. The men of the 141 were dear to you and in a way, the entirety of it was a big family of people who really didn’t belong anywhere but with each other. You cared about them more than you cared about yourself – one of them was your husband, but the rest were your brothers.
“You remember when I took a metal rod right through my lower leg?” You begin, hobbling closer and nearly laughing when the man takes a step forward to help with a grimace set on his lips. You raise a hand to stop him, “In Egypt about two summers ago?”
“You shoved me out of the way and got hurled through a window by a bastard with a knife, Hen. Landed in an industrial yard,” You stop a foot or two from him, attempting to get his attention while he stares at his feet and mutters like a kicked dog, “Yeah. Remember it clear as day. Price nearly had my head – knew right here that he was gonna marry you.”
The comment warms your heart.
“Did I ever blame you for standing near that window, Johnny?” You ask softly, tilting your head and catching his eye as he clenches his jaw in thought. The scar on the pale skin moves, and his stubble bunches.
“Never, Ma’am.”
“Then why would I ever blame you for an explosive that went off spontaneously – one that you didn’t even build in the first place?”
He stays silent at that, but his head slowly rises to face yours fully. You had never seen him look so guilty before, those blue eyes of his so hopeless.
“I couldn’t get ‘em out,” Soap whispers and before you know it you’re grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into an embrace, “I left him behind. How could I…?”
There was still blood on him, stuck in the makeup of his flesh like large bruises; dried, yes, but you nonetheless felt it. You found, though, that at that second, it didn’t bother you as much as it should have. The Sergeant’s arms hesitantly wrap around you and when you feel him press forward with his weight, your form loses tension.
“No one blames you, Johnny,” He's shaking when you tell him, “No one. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Price,” Your throat tightens, “John knows how to handle himself, you know he would never be mad at you for retreating.”
Soap wetly laughs and places his chin on the top of your head; playing it off with a chuckle as the minutes stretch on, “I’ll just have to believe you then, Lion. Who’s to say I can go against my superior?”
Your arms tighten around him as a snort meets air, “You say that and when we get the real Captain back, I might not want to give up the position. The power’ll go straight to my head.”
“And it hasn’t already? Now that’s surprising, I could have sworn you were telling the others what to do not a second ago.”
There he was.
—
“I’m just saying, John, Fantasy beat out Nonfiction as a genre,” You shake your head, bringing the cup of coffee to your lips and sipping. Over the rim, you watch the Brit toss his beanied head to the side in disbelief.
“Negative, Dear,” The Café was mostly empty today, considering that it was so late at night you were surprised it was still open and that it was a Tuesday, “I’ll agree to disagree.”
“Name me one Nonfiction book that beats ‘The Hobbit,’ hm?” Your eyebrow raises and you place the cup down, “That’s right – you can’t!”
“‘The Guns of August’ to name one,” John raises a large brow, “do you want me to continue, Love? I’ve got quite the long list.”
It was one of the rare moments when the two of you had Leave together – once in a blue moon. These moments were so special it became tradition to spend every moment together despite the wounds or the fatigue. You both had just gotten back from an Op and rushed to change into civilian clothes and clean up together before leaving.
Admittingly, the shower took a bit longer than expected, but who could blame the two of you for taking advantage of a chance to please one another?
Across the table, your lover smirks, and you see his eyes dip to ogle the hickeys and beard burn on your neck with satisfaction. Under the table, you reel back a foot and kick his shin. Not hard, of course, but the message was received.
“Bloody Hell!” He sputters, looking back to glare comedically at you. His black athletic shirt was tight around his chest, making his muscles writhe under the fabric from where one arm sat over the back of his chair. You could imagine where you left nail marks down those abs of his; how his face had looked as you straddled his waist and used him.
“Don’t look so smug, bastard,” Your lips pull into an imitation of an annoyed frown, “Gaz is gonna make fun of me when we get back. I had a hard enough time trying to hide them when we were leaving!”
“Garrick?” John grunts from across the small table and the warm lights flicker above the two of you. His lips set forth a small smile, pulling his cheeks back and crinkling his eyes. The corner seat was the best in the café – allowing both privacy and a view of the windows and doors. Some things would just never die in the two of you, it seemed, “The Muppet can’t even pin you in drills, Sweetheart. If he teases you, just kick his legs out from under ‘em.”
“Encouraging violence between peers is not Captain behavior, Love. What would Laswell say?”
John grunts, “I couldn’t give a damn, Dear.”
While you roll your eyes and try to hide the adoring smile ripping open your skin at the man’s chuckle, you take notice of the street outside as time moves on. Staring out, your soft gaze dances over the illuminated areas of the street lights, finding old architecture and simply enjoying the scenery for what it was. When you were in the field, it was hard to take in the sights around you through the gun battles and tense situations; being able to take your time and admire was a gift. A calm silence falls over the café, and John hums gingerly from ahead of you as his knee brushes yours under the table.
“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” Blinking, you connect your eyes with his lovely blues.
The way he’s looking at you leaves your lungs tight, lashes fluttering over your cheeks as heat alights. His body had moved forward, hands and elbows on the table and leaning forward to gaze at you in reverence.
“John?” Your eyebrows turn in, lips flicking to a gentle expression of giddy embarrassment.
“Shh, Love,” He mutters, tilting his head to stare at you as your fingers fix the weight of his lent brown leather jacket over your shoulders, “Let me admire my wife, yeah? She gets lovelier every second.”
In your own little world, your head is floating as your eyes stay locked on an ocean with flecks of silver and storms. The air is thick, and around the leather, your fingers twitch with a want to embrace him; pull at the fabric of his shirt and rip him into a kiss over the table. Your heart skips beats.
Where was this coming from? You want to ask, but all that comes out is a huff as you tear your half-lidded eyes away.
“You’re making me all shy,” You grumble cheeks hot and on fire under the flesh. Your lips try to restrain a giggle, but your chest is too tight to hold anymore.
“That’s my job, that is. No use tryin’ to stop me now; you’re stuck with me.”
“I will kick you again,” You emphasize as fire burns down your neck and ears, heart suddenly too big for your body.
“Hm, I’d let you.”
“J-Johnathan Price!”
His chest-shaking laughter is contagious in the best possible way.
—
He remembers the explosion and then nothing more. It was like a ball of fire, carried on the wind before Soap even had the time to call out a detonation time; the device went off in the deep tunnels after the order had already been given to fallback. The fire was too heavy – you had taken a blade to the thigh and that had been it. John had called it off immediately.
Just when he and Soap were about to rush to the exit, the bomb went off without call or meaning. The tunnels were part of an old wine cellar – the target had converted them to be a quick back exit if anything went wrong and he needed to disappear.
The entire purpose of John taking Soap with him was to collapse the long stretches of rock and wooden support beams; to box Aarre Virtanen in the mansion like a bear in a trap but, of course, these missions could never go simply.
He remembers the explosion, and then nothing more.
The pressure of rock on his chest and gripping hands. Was Soap the one yelling at him to wake up? Shoving off the debris and ripping at his gear with grunted breaths? The barked orders were getting closer from all over.
Muppet, he should have just run.
But then the heavy presence had disappeared, and John knew he had been left behind; his thoughts, before it all left him, were only of you. How would you take it? The fact that he wasn’t coming home with you was sure to induce you into a rampage of gritted teeth and hurled curses. That was, perhaps, the worst thing that could happen. He prayed for one simple thing – that, no matter what, the boys would convince you to hold back.
And then he woke up in the room.
It was small; barren of anything besides the chair John was tied to. Under his feet was a drain, the silver metal glinting as the chilling overhead light cascaded down and left him blinking rapidly to push back the instinctual tears gathering in his ducts. As John moves his neck, it pops, making his jaw clench even as the bones ache deep under the layers of black and blue flesh.
His whole body hurts.
Blood is dried over his skin, and the world around him pulses as the stab of broken bones moves inside of him.
Concussion, He assesses, moving his wrists under the tight hold of rope from where they’re restricted behind his back; tied to the back of the metal seat. Still unable to focus his eyes, he continues to go down the list of injuries, broken ribs, John sucks in a sharp breath when he attempts to rotate his left ankle, and broken Fibula and Tibia. Bruises and lacerations everywhere…shit.
But were you alright? Was the knife wound treated, wherever you were? Did Mactavish get out?
Groaning deep in his throat, the Captain shakes his head, noticing immediately the familiar weight of his gear was absent – his bucket hat and night-vision rig are gone as are the combat vest and M13. But under his shirt, one item is still there, pressed into his skin deeply.
Golden metal. The wedding band. At the very least, that item could bring him a sliver of comfort.
Narrowing his eyelids and scrunching his large nose, a bead of blood travels down a gash above his eyebrow.
“Fucken’ hell,” John growls, grunting and groaning as he forces his neck to right itself, lower body jerking forward to help relieve the pressure on his midsection.
Finally, the water over his eyes dissipates like a wave in the ocean and his ears cease ringing. But the buzzing of the light quickly takes its place and his nose twitches at the stench of black mold and gore. Everything was concrete – the walls, floors. Blinking, John’s eyes quickly snap around the room to take it all in; trying to find the weak points that may come in handy later.
There was only one door and no windows. When the Brit tried the rope around his wrists he found it was bound incredibly tight, even making the skin irritated at the slightest movement.
“Bloody bastard,” The Captain weakly mutters under his breath, shuffling in his seat, “First you stab my wife then you tie me up, is that it?”
Struggling does nothing but serve to make John angrier, and the pain can easily be thrown to the side when his thoughts run to you. They always did, but now more than ever, considering he didn’t know if you had also gotten captured and were only a concrete barrier away.
While he tries to force down the floating feeling of his brain, a sharp cough works its way from his mouth, jerking his body back and forth raggedly. John is so out of it that he missed the sound of the door opening, the violent squeaking of the metal hinges, and the scrape of concrete. Heavy shoes pound over the floor, and when the air finally returns to his rampaging lungs, blue eyes lock onto the man.
Aarre Virtanen stands with his hands behind his back, a smug expression staining his perfect, unscathed, face. The Target wasn’t more than thirty, dressed in a nice expensive suit and dress shoes on his feet shining with more polish than Price could begin to wrap his head around.
Muppet, The characterization was almost instantaneous, Pompous little Muppet. Lion would eat ‘em for bloody breakfast.
John raises a brow slowly as a dribble of blood slides down his nose and gets caught in his beard hairs. The two men stare at one another, eyes clashing.
“I’d like to imagine,” Aarre smirks down at the Captain, “That whoever sent you planned on my life being forfeit. Unfortunately,” John has to stop himself from laughing in his face, “As you can see, Sir, I am very much alive.”
Narrowing his gaze, Price runs down the length of Aarre’s twig-like form – Not much of a Smuggler, is he? His picture made him look bigger.
But all that meant was that he had others to do the dirty work for him, and John knew that, whatever basement he was cramped into, was guarded heavily just beyond eyesight.
The chances of escape were drawing up dry, and his tongue ran over his teeth.
“The real question is, however,” The thin man speaks, coming closer with a careful step. Nose twitching, the Brit can smell the disgusting odor of violent perfume; his head rears back in disgust that the Smuggler takes as fear. Aarre leans closer, “Who might you be? Your little friends managed to slip my grasp, but we got that bitch in the thigh–”
John’s head moves forward so fast all that was seen was a blur, and soon after a cracking of a nose meets damp air.
A muffled yell echoes off the cracked walls like a satisfactory reward to the Captain’s ears, and the brown-haired individual quickly shakes his head to the side to clear the bouncing of his skull.
Definitely a concussion. He hisses and rips at the bindings behind his back; all that gets him is bloody skin and blisters.
“You,” Aarre is stumbling backward, one hand grasping his broken and bleeding nose. Crimson splatters on the floor and ragged breathing rattle chests from both parties, quivering around the room, “You…p-pathetic little shit. Fuck!”
His tears only serve to make John smile, cheeks pulling back as a humorless chuckle enters the air. Feral satisfaction lives in his flesh.
“You better watch your language there, Mutt. It’s not proper to insult a lady who can’t be here,” John’s tone drops, nearly a growl as the deep rumble leaves a hunched over Aarre flinching back; the Captain’s teeth are bared like an animal. Feet sound off in the hallways – rushing boots booking it down a set of descending stairs, “To knock your fucken’ teeth in herself!”
Blood spits from John’s lips at the hiss, and his limp feet over the floor slump to the side as his legs fall open, body raging forward as if he could break the restraints. He wanted to – wanted to bash this little bastard's skull against the floor until he was unrecognizable.
How dare he say that? How dare he call you that?!
Pain could be shoved aside in this case, his anger was so overpowering when it came to you that it simply didn’t bother him. You defended him just as religiously, and John’s mind flies to glimpse a fast memory of you physically getting in the face of a man who had insulted him over some pointless football game at a bar.
“You better mind your tone,” You had spoken slowly, face calm and the perfect example of hidden rage shimmering under the surface. The Brit watched from the corner of his eye with a smirk on his lips; not at all opposed to letting you pick your battles and feeling his heart skip beats when his title falls, “When speaking to my husband like that.”
Aarre’s guards rushed through the door, guns held in hands, all immediately leveled on John’s head.
“Don’t!” The target gasps out, slapping one of the barrels to the floor and straightening himself, “Don’t.”
A deep smirk spreads the still-falling stream of crimson over the sides of his lips; the brown-haired man’s muscles are tense, stringing him up like a wire or a snake ready to strike. Torture was elementary to him, he’d gone through it all before and none of it had ever worked. He could take it, as long as you were far away from here.
“He’s going to have a buyer,” John’s eyes minutely widened in surprise, caught off guard, “Prep him for the flight to Poland. Don’t bother being gentle…the staff won’t mind if he comes in a bit damaged.”
—
Your fingers flinch forward as you shove the sapphire earring into your ear, the sharp point poking out the other end before you shove the backing on. Taking a deep breath, you feel the car under you bounce right as you ask your question.
“Gaz?” Lips thinning, you look through the limo’s glass separator and grimace at the man’s reflection in the mirror, “Are you sure no one knows what we look like? No one at the mansion saw our faces?”
“Lion, I’m promising you – it was too dark, and we were moving too fast for ‘em to get a clear picture.”
“Hm,” You grunt, flattening out the brown fur jacket over your form-fitting gown. The navy blue color was deep, reminding you of a Lapis Lazuli stone with veins of silver reflected in the jewelry around your throat and wrists.
Poland was cold this time of year, and as the expensive buildings whizzed past just outside the glass, your breath created condensation.
You were nervous, heeled feet shuffling over the tufted floor of the vehicle and sucking down slow breaths as a way to slow your heart. It had been a week without John at your side, and all the makeup in the world couldn’t hide the bags that had sprouted under your eyes; sleep had come in bouts of quick fatigue but then left just as swiftly. Your body wouldn't relax – couldn’t – until your husband was right beside you once more.
And if he was already dead…
Your hand goes to itch at your neck, catching on the necklaces, one specifically, before you force it back down with quivering effort. Attempting to shake out your head, your ribs suddenly feel like they’re strangling your organs, and all you want to do is take off this damn dress.
Kyle utters your name from the driver’s seat, and when you blink over to look at him, you find his eyes already staring back.
“When I went missing in the Congo – you raised hell to go and find me,” He tells you, focus flicking back and forth from the road to you, “If anyone can get intel on Price and bring him back, Love, it’s you. He’ll be just fine until then, yeah? Bloke’s probably already out and rushing to get back to you.”
“Think so?” Your lips form a smile, and on your forehead, a brow raises. John was stubborn, there was certainly a chance he was already free.
“Know so, Ma’am. Just you wait and see.” Snorting, you return to looking out the window, breath now noticeably more even.
There weren't many people who could make you keep a conscience; when you worked alone before 141 it was because no one else could keep up with your spontaneous plans or ideas. You were described in your file as a quick-witted and cunning nuisance for anyone on the opposite end of your weapon – whether that be your tongue or an actual gun just depended on the Op. But John and the other boys were more of a good influence than a bad one; in many ways, they were just the same as you.
Sometimes it felt nice to have people that understood you. Your actions, the small tics that gave away how you were feeling. No one else could do it like Task Force 141, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
The rest of the ride was silent, and soon the city was peeling back to show off more extravagant houses with iron gates and cobblestone walkways. Properties the size of football fields take up your view, and your eyes blink at the extravagance; all you can’t help but wonder about is if the people that live there even know how many rooms they have.
When Gaz makes the final turn onto Aarre Virtanen’s land, you suck down a deep breath.
There were so many lights that the night sky is nearly re-illuminated with a bath of warmth – the people already inside can be heard out in the air, a chorus of phantoms just beyond eyesight who sing with alcoholic breath and gasp down smoke. You had been to many parties to infiltrate high-level organizations, but never had the stakes been so high.
Or so illegal.
When the car in front of you pulls out of the roundabout driveway, Garrick pushes on the gas to take its place. A moment of steel silence rings.
“Earpiece?” Gaz reminds softly, and you nod in response, tapping the appendage on your right side.
“Earpiece.”
“Alright…The rest of us’ll be listening – I’ll circle ‘round and be inside in an hour and Ghost is already there. He’s the waiter wearing the silver Jackal mask serving champagne near the back window. If anything goes wrong, Soap’s our sniper on the roof of the neighbor's house. Say the word and he starts popping shots to give you an exit.”
“Affirm,” Your hand is already reaching for the door, but the man stops you one last time with your name. You find his creased eyes in the mirror, brown a deep shade of concern.
“...You look beautiful, Love, Yeah? I’m sorry the Cap. isn’t here to see you like this – he’d lose his damn mind. Go all slack-jawed and trip over his own feet; God, I’d pay to see that.”
Lips delicately slide into a smile, and your face heats at the compliment. Letting out a light chuckle, you whisper, “I’ll see you in an hour, Sergeant.”
“Count on it. Stay out of trouble ‘till then?”
“Trouble? Since when have I ever gotten into trouble?” When you sneak out the door, a light chuckle bounces off the doors before they close, and your heels click against the ground like nails on a desk.
With a bitter determination entering your blood, your expression eases into a look of smug superiority as you begin to move forward and ascend the steps in front of the mansion.
Virtanen was inside those doors, and your ears twitch, listening to Gaz peel the car away into the night; plucking out the forged invitation from your jacket pocket, you can’t help but call John forward to memory. Carefully maneuvering your way up the last flight of stairs, you reach the doors and imagine your husband right behind you, clothed in a suit and tie like the one he wore to your wedding, waiting to take you by the arm and lend you strength.
Keep me aware, You want to ask his phantom, Make me see the hidden details so I can bring you home to me.
Invitation in hand – which Ghost had to go through quite the killing spree to get accurate – your lips flick into an easy smirk.
Your silver tongue would come in handy tonight, but you hoped you weren’t too tired to miss important social cues. You needed to figure out where John was by tonight, or there was the possibility of losing him forever. Aarre Virtanen was the target yet again, and you would do whatever was necessary to get information to spill from his mouth like prayers; the party was an obvious front to impress buyers.
And you could play that part quintessentially.
“Hello, Handsome,” Purring, you move fluidly, body swaying as you come to a stop, letting your fur jacket slip down around your elbows and display a delicious amount of skin around your adorned neck, “So sorry you’re stuck out here in the cold, I can’t imagine what a bore it’s been.”
The man couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, eyes wide as they bore into your form from behind a silver mask depicting a bird of prey. His eyes slip, and a very audible swallowing of saliva makes his throat jerk – the poor individual's face was undoubtedly beet-red, seen extending down his neck and ears.
“I-It’s really no problem, Ma’am,” He stutters, grabbing the slip of paper from your outstretched hand and barely opening it before he shoves it back into your chest, “You’re all good! Please, enjoy the hospitality of Sir Aarre Virtanen to the fullest of your abilities.”
“Why,” You show an all-teeth smile, “I’m sure I will.”
Slipping through when he opens the door, a woman in a cat mask offers to take your jacket to the coatroom, which you agree to immediately, and disappears a second later.
“Did you just flirt with the doorman, Hen?” Soap’s voice nearly startles you, but with a subtle flick of your hair, you play off the flinch as you step through the extensive foyer; slipping past other well-dressed individuals to make it to the ballroom, “Tch, naughty, naughty.”
“You’d be surprised,” You mutter and send a polite smile to a man who ogles your form, his eyes boring into your flesh, “How fast people can look over an invitation if you give them an incentive. Simon’s forger misspelled the street name.”
“Bloody fucken’ bastard,” Ghost growls lowly under the line.
“So vulgar, Simon,” You smirk, waltzing into the marble-floored ballroom and clearing yourself a path with wide eyes and stares, “We’re at a party. Aren’t you excited?”
“You’re not the one holding a damn plate of champagne, Little Lion. Feelin’ like I might bash someone over the head if they wave me over with a fucken’ finger again. Like I’m some damn mutt.”
Stifling a deep laugh, your fingers splay over your lips, “Easy, boy. Don’t go barking up the wrong tree.”
All you hear in return is a grumble and a muffled giggle from Soap. Gaz is most likely scrambling to get his tux on and tie a bowtie like how you taught him on the far street corner back in the city. Slowly, but surely, it was coming together.
Soon, You tell yourself and imagine a steady hand splayed over your back; digging into your skin.
“Excuse me?” A presence slips up to your left, and you turn with a slow head and an even slower smile. Already, your cheeks were hurting from the constant fake expression.
“Oh, hello, Love,” It’s a man who wears an all-black outfit, fitted with silver buttons and a red pocket square, “How can I help you?”
“That’s one of the target’s guards,” Soap slithers out over the line, “Saw ‘em scheming not five minutes ago near the snack bar.”
“I was wondering if such a beautiful woman might not humor me. I’m in desperate need of company for the auction later this evening.” Your smile turns deadly, a glint forming in your eye that should have deterred anyone who saw it – but sometimes people overlook the snake in the grass if it’s pretty, regardless of its fangs.
Getting close to this man got you close to Aarre. Your hand reaches up to caress the wedding ring on its chain.
“Well, how could I say no to such a dashing man? But you must tell me, where did you purchase your tux? My brother has been looking for one that looks the same; you understand, of course, the kind that hugs the body just right…”
—
“You’re a fucken’ minx, you are,” John moans under you, hips sputtering and jaw clenched. He’s panting as you finally slip off of him, choosing to collapse to the bed just by his side with a breathy sigh. Your legs are still shaking, but the deep-rooted ache of pleasure takes hold in your lower body nonetheless.
Chuckling while sucking down breaths, you smirk and turn your head to the side, finding deep blue already digging into your skin despite the glaze over the orbs. Perspiration leaks down his flushed forehead, getting caught in the hairs of his eyebrow before you reach up, and flick it away with a firm finger.
“And you’re a lousy bottom, Captain, how many times did I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself?” You ask, eyeing the way the brown strands of John’s hair stick up at odd angles with growing amusement. He looked like a porcupine, “You don’t listen very well. I’ll have to fix that.”
“Damn woman,” He groans, turning his head away with a huff escaping his lips. Your ears twitch when he cracks his neck, stifling a chortle behind your fingers as he levels you with an unamused look, “Need to figure out a way to tire you out quicker. Gettin’ too old for this.”
“Hm,” Rolling your eyes, you shift till you’re laying on your stomach, legs sliding over the ruffled sheets, “I like you like this. Just perfect.”
“Yeah? Tell that to my hips, Love.” Now that really gets a laugh out of you, hiding your face down in the covers for a moment and feeling John’s eyes lovingly gracing down the curve of your spine.
Reaching over, your fingers grab onto the bare skin of his toned thigh and pinch.
Grunting in surprise, the Captain’s hand snaps to your wrist and grasps it as your giggles fill the air with softness. You turn your head up and rest your chin on your free hand, looking over and letting your eyes wash down John’s physique; a primal sense of possessiveness leaks into you when you know no one else gets to see him like this. The nail marks track down his pecks, over his abs and deliciously lower atop his navel, and over his neck and collarbone is the fresh array of black and blue hickeys. Just like you, his heart was still racing, seen moving under the skin.
He looked positively, beautifully, wrecked. The Captain’s eyes never left yours, side-eyeing you with a half-open mouth. A small sigh leaves his red lips.
“C’mere,” John mutters, and you squeak when his grip is suddenly pulling you right up next to his chest so that you were more than half lying on top of him.
Moaning out in contentment when you feel his heat leak into you, your body goes limp against the man; leg thrown over his upper thigh. Eyelashes flutter over your cheek when his large hand keeps you against him, settling on your ass heavily. He squeezes gently in payback for the pinch, and you smile, knowing he can feel it against his chest by the way he purrs like a cat as you press a kiss to his sweat-slick flesh.
The moment of content silence leads long, but just when your eyelids are nearing their final shut is when you hear it, muttered on teeth-bitten lips for the first time, though it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“Love you, my Sweet Girl,” John mutters deeply into the air, but you’re already drowned in sleep, satisfied and more at ease than ever before.
But no matter, he’d just tell you again in the morning; make you say the same as he gripped your hips and used his tongue for more…carnal types of confessions.
You had no idea at that moment, but two years from that day, you’d both be married. Husband and wife in every sense – bonded and promised to each other until the sun and moon collided; till every city burned and only dust remained.
There was really no other pair so carefully crafted than the two of you.
—
“Here you are, Lovely,” The guard, whose name is Mikael, hands you a champagne glass as you both stride forward to the bidding room. It had been two hours of entertaining this man – dancing, flirting, brushing off compliments that made you want to hurl – but none of that mattered. No matter the cost, you would see this done with a smile and a knife through Virtanen’s eye.
“Thank you,” You sing, toasting with him and taking a slow sip. The liquid sits bitterly in your stomach, a rock that bounces around with every clipped step.
Choosing back-row seats, you sit in what could be described as a theater of sorts and place the glass on the floor. There was a large stage at the front, with rows upon rows of plush chairs.
How many people are here to buy smuggled contraband? You can’t help but wonder silently, eyes wide as more and more people flood through the doors.
“Do you usually get so many buyers?” Asking Mikael sweetly, you keep your gaze moving, filing every face into the back of your mind for later.
His hand moves to rest on the back of your seat, and you have to hold back a grimace, “This is more than the last times, but, uh…well,” Sensing hesitation, you shift closer and peer up into his eyes, blinking innocently and smiling.
“Well…what?”
You swore you heard Soap gag over the line and soon after a sharp shushing sound. At your side, Mikael’s expression gets giddy, pupils dilating as his vision darts down to your dress before righting itself.
“My boss has got something good tonight – a new piece of merchandise that everyone wants to get their hands on. Apparently, some people here have been waiting for a score like this for years.”
“Oh?” Wondering aloud, you lean back out of Mikael’s hold with a furrowed brow and ignore his light huff of annoyance in your ear.
Narrowing your eyes, you scrunch your nose at the thought.
‘New piece of merchandise?’ What the hell could that mean? The target mostly specializes in weapons – certain ones that are manufactured so that they can’t be traced…what could be so new?
“It’s starting, here,” The guard whispers as the lights dim, and hands you a golden-colored bid paddle designed with lace-like designs. You twirl it in your hands with an unimpressed look.
“How pompous can this guy get?” You mutter under your breath and startle when Ghost’s voice pipes up.
“Get me a new G18, yeah? Johnny lost my last one.” Resisting the sudden urge to cover up your face and hide your smile, you lightly hum in the back of your throat.
“I did not!” Soap starts a ruckus as the Auctioneer comes onto the stage, and you ignore the fast man’s voice as he begins a bid for a stack of RPGs – wheeled out in a crate by three other individuals in animal masks – in favor of the amusing argument, “I told ya’ where you could blood find it.”
“It was in the middle of an active war zone, MacTavish.”
“You’ve never complained about it before, ya’ bawbag. Canny be my fault if you don’t go an’ get it.” The Scots accent gets more prominent as the Auctioneer sells the current merchandise to a couple sitting two rows down, “‘I lost it’...utter shite.”
Gaz groans and you see a shadow near the door, leaning on the wood from the corner of your eye. The badly presented bowtie gives away who it is – you’d have to have John teach him how to do it properly when you got him back.
“Would the two of you shut up? Bloody hell, I’m about to scream.”
The bickering went on for a while, making your tight chest just a little looser. John would be proud of them.
“Finally,” The Auctioneer calls out, yelling over the crowd, “The grand attraction for tonight – a product put forward by our esteemed host Mr. Virtanen!”
Your body straightens, spine tensing, as Mikael tries to get your attention fruitlessly to talk about a product he won. You ignore the guard, watching with a unique type of hatred as the weasel of a man swishes his way on stage from behind the red curtain. Immediately all conversation in your ear is halted, and try as you might, a growl builds in your throat.
“Easy, Lion,” Simon mutters, but all you see is red; red around an expensive tux and a lithe form of the man who had stolen away your husband from you without thinking of the consequences. The bandages over his nose gives you cruel satisfaction that someone, whoever they were, had gotten a hit in.
You had half the mind to tell Soap to take the shot but knew that if you did, John would be lost forever. Your Captain had always said violence and timing were the most important aspects of a mission – you had to politely disagree.
Ops could be accomplished without violence, though it was rare, it could still happen on occasion and timing was all relative. One person could say it was time to act while a million others disagreed; this was shown in your case. You wanted to rush the stage, tackle the thief, and beat his head in – Gaz, Soap, and Ghost would all disagree, of course, but that was because you were thinking only about John and nothing else.
What really mattered was cunning and drive. You had the silver tongue, and you, without a doubt, had the drive to see this through.
But nothing could have prepared you for what came next.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aarre Virtanen called out, his thin face ugly and punchable, “May I present the star of tonight's bidding wars – an esteemed and highly sought-after mystery man! Captain Jonathan Price!”
The curtain rolled back, and, tied to a chair with a light shining above his head, was John. Beaten. Bloodied. Barely recognizable besides the tufts of his brown locks and the glittering of golden metal under the ragged remains of his clothes. You can see his wedding band around his neck, and you go to grip your own in a flashing second. There was so much blood. Your heart ceased working, body suddenly very numb and stone-still despite the heat in it, as if you had been shot in the throat and all you could do was gasp out in panic. And gasp you did. It was involuntary, instinctual, like you could feel every ounce of pain and agony that he was undoubtedly in deep in your own marrow.
What?!
A loud, horrified, sound rips from your throat; the air was hard to suck down as your hand snapped to your mouth, muffling the exclamation of terror. Your eyes are so wide you’re afraid they’ll pop out of their sockets as you lightly hunch into yourself like a bug.
“Now, now!” Aarre Virtanen continues over the muttering of the crowd, oblivious to your panic in the back row. Mikael is giving you strange looks, lightly pulling away from you in confusion at your reaction; you don't register any of it, “I know what you’re thinking, my lovely patrons, but I can say without a doubt that this man–” He points to the limp figure, “Is the one and only Johnathan Price! Do you want to know why?” The crowd cheers, and in that instant you want to torch the entire building and laugh as it burns to the ground, “Because he and his precious 141 tried to attack me on my own property! The idiot’s explosive went off before they could run!”
Over the ruckus of gleeful laughter, Soap on the line is hissing curses under his breath, voice heated and full of hatred.
What I’m I supposed to do? Your mind’s running. For the first time in your career, you can’t focus clearly. Gaz is saying something in your ear, his shadow slinking closer step-by-step, and Ghost is nowhere to be seen or heard.
Oh, John, You feel like crying, eyes running from one injury to another as if he were just a punching bag – his body was broken, but still, you knew he hadn’t given anything away. In the chair, you can see the small inhalations of his lungs, jumpy and shaking, but he was still breathing.
“How did they figure out his name?” Simon grunts over the line, and his tone is the only one unaffected by emotion, even if you could feel the anger wafting out and mirroring your own.
His dog tags, You want to tell them, He keeps them in his vest pocket because he said he wanted to wear his wedding band instead.
Your hand tightens over your matching piece, one half of a promise to protect one another even in the direst of circumstances.
Freezing, you snap back into focus as the bidding starts with Aarre Virtanen laughing and clapping on stage like some demented jester. So be it. Your mind halts and a rage-induced calm encompasses you as your eyes stick like glue to John. Tossing the joke of a bid paddle at a startled Mikael’s lap and slipping past him, your heels connect with the floor with muffled thumps, carrying you down the middle of the aisle.
“Ma’am–!”
“Lion, what in the bloody hell are you doing?!”
“Playing the game,” You growl over the chaos in the comm, “Gaz, find a way to get on stage from behind one of the curtains,” People are starting to turn and look at you now, accusing glances that bounce off you like flies, “Soap, have a line of sight of the target – do not let him stray from it no matter what. And Ghost,” Your heart is speeding when Virtanen’s gaze snaps to yours, expression blanking. John groans weakly from where his head is downturned, and you can’t help but take a shaky breath at the sound, “Go find out where they store the sold items. Find something that’ll come in handy. Take out anyone you need, I give full Execute Authority.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” They all say it at once, and the line goes silent not a second after, flipped off so everyone can remain focused. Steeling your body, you put on a cloak of indifference, even as your eyes bug and sweat stains your palms – the stakes had never been this high, and if you messed this up…
The both of you would be going home in body bags.
If I had known he was going to be here, I would have come more prepared. A knife in a carry bag or a hairpin – Something. But John had stated before that he loved you for your intuition.
You simply needed to move your pawn piece and hope it wasn’t in the way of a bishop.
Sliding over your husband's slumped body once more, you have to rip your gaze away, else your cover be blown and everything falls apart before it’s begun as a sting forms in the back of your nose.
Just a little longer, Love, just hold out a little bit longer.
The Auctioneer halts when you stand just below the slightly higher plateau of the platform, and Aarre digs into your body with his dead face, body bent to stare down at you. All around you, the world is deathly quiet. A minute…two…
“And who might this be?” Virtanen spits, lips pulling into a sneer as his eyes crinkle, “I don’t have to tell you, Dear, that all purchases are final.”
Don’t look at John. Don’t look at him.
“You said this is Johnathan Price?” Your voice carries; it's stronger than you would have imagined, even as your legs shake, “Well, I don’t believe you.” You swore then that your Captain’s head moved slightly, his face turning to the side, but you can’t be sure.
Gasps are hidden behind hands and handkerchiefs.
“...What?” The smug look on the man's face falls in an instant, just as you had hoped it would – Virtanen relied on his power; ego, and unquestioned superiority. What you had to do first was break it down to a point where he was frothing at the mouth, “What is it that you are implying? That I would…lie to my loyal customers?!”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Your feet carry you away to the stairs, scaling them up to the stage and shoving past shell-shocked guards who didn’t know what to do, “Where’s the proof, Mr. Virtanen? I believe I would like to see it before I make any definitive financial choices. You could be selling us any stray British man you found on the street and we’d be none the wiser for it.”
There was a pause before a murmur of agreement from the crowd.
Aarre gapes at you, mouth opening and closing as his face gains a red sheen, blood rushing to his head and making his eyes rapidly flutter from the guests to you. Swallowing down saliva, you saunter up to John, fingers shaking as they reach out to brush his arm. You nearly break when his flesh flinches and becomes tense, muscles writhing as you hook a finger under his chin all too aware of the eyes on you from every angle. It helps that one of them is Soap, though.
Looping the digit under him, John’s beard scratches your skin just like it always did when you ran your hands over his cheeks or around his square face. Moving his head up, your grip vibrates with anxiety when you’re finally able to take a full look at his visage.
Please be okay, Love.
You can’t help the widening of your eyes when they lock on the bruises, the cuts, and scratches littering his large nose and forehead. His eyelids flutter over sunken cheeks, bags of severe color under his orbs as a rumble echoes in his battered chest.
Did they even feed him?
“I don’t – I don’t like what you’re implying, Miss!” The Target continues to prattle, but already your shoulders have squared, “I would never, in a million years, make such false claims–!”
When John’s eyes shutter open you seem to forget where you are entirely, head completely going silent off all fears or concerns. As the lids slide back, you notice one optic is bathed in red – the veins in the gentle sensory organ having been popped by relentless fists…but the other, oh, oh, the other. A shade so familiar it twists your lips and makes your heart clench. Storm gray; ocean blue, flecks of moonlight trapped just for you.
John’s focus is blurry, his mind confused and in need of a dark room with a glass of chilled whiskey to put on his forehead, but...that finger under his chin. His gaze narrows, lips pulling tight under his beard hairs as a shadow stands in front of him. Why did it feel so familiar? So…warm?
“John?” A soft voice graces his ears, leaving them twitching as his arms burn more than a thousand suns, “John, please, look at me.”
His face scrunches, eyebrows turning in. Blinking, the man only succeeds for a few moments, consciousness so rapidly fading because of the wear on his body, but a few moments was all he needed.
It was you – looking at him with terrified eyes, mouth slightly parted in awe. John’s heart skips beats.
She’s here? He questions, weakly moving his arms to try and embrace her before the rope stops his bloodied and shredded hands, Why? How? And…oh hell, is that a dress?
Blinking at the navy gown, his eyes widened at the heavenly sight in front of him. Was he dead? No, he realized, you wouldn’t be here if he was. But that was the only option to see something like this in front of him when he was where he currently was.
“L-love?” He gasps out, letting his full weight fall into your hold.
Your hand brushes over his beard, tangling in the bristles and flinching at the open wounds that you find.
“It’s me,” You whimper, “I’m right here.”
If possible, he gravitates toward you even more.
“--Are you even listening?!” Aarre Virtanen yells, and people are standing from their seats out in the crowd, calling out in confusion.
John murmurs out comments from under your grip, but they’re so weak you can’t make them out as he nuzzles your limb. From the corner of your eye, a figure rustles one of the stage curtains, held back in the shadows.
“I’m here,” Gaz says a second before Simon does.
“I found something that might come in handy...When I throw it, get Price out of there and take cover.”
“Soap?” You ask, voice low and gaining a sheen of ice. Slowly, your head tilts to the side, gripping your husband by the back of the head and drawing him to your stomach, caressing his scalp through his hair as he sighs into your dress.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Take it.”
“...With pleasure.” The ear-ringing shot fires off, breaking glass and rustling half-drawn curtains, but it meets its mark with expert precision.
Aarre Virtanen’s head pops like a balloon, and a moment later a smoke bomb is being chucked from halfway across the room by a Jackal-masked waiter with a strong arm. Before the guards can even get to their pistols around their thighs, Gaz has rushed through the smoke and sliced John’s bonds with a serrated cake knife. Both of you grab your Captain by one of his arms and drag him off to the side, disappearing just as the first screams wail out.
The 141 works like a well-oiled machine, and not five minutes later everyone is in the limo that Gaz had re-driven and parked down the dark roads of Poland, rushing off as you press table cloths against your husband’s leaking cuts. Tears dribble down your cheeks, with large hiccuped gasps as you lean over John – who could only barely keep his eyes open to look at you as Soap and Ghost watch anxiously from their seats.
“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, y’know that,” You sob out, practically sitting on top of him to stop the crimson leaking over the cushions, “I need to keep a bell on you, my Love.”
Your wedding band sways just above his face, and his own glints below you, bunched on his collarbone.
“Go on,” He says in a low voice, eyes incredibly soft but still distant in a way that told you he was concussed. It was a miracle he was even conscious if you could admit it to yourself.
The man’s shaking hand travels to your cheek, brushing away tear tracks only to leave blood stains behind instead. He pulls away slightly, staring at the mark in disgust as his complexion gets even paler. Snapping your grip up, you bring it back, making him cup your flesh in his big hands and splay his fingers over your ear and weave into your hair.
John hums under his breath, “Beautiful.”
Then he goes limp, and you start screaming.
—
Stripping your face of makeup, you step into the shower with only your necklace on, letting the water slap against your head as you take a deep breath in. You lean forward, letting your head connect with the porcelain of the hospital’s washroom as your body begins to shake – finally allowed to fall apart and feel the genuine horror that had lived in you for a week straight.
John was just a door away in the hard bed of some random hospital Gaz had driven to. Quite recklessly, you should mention, but it’s not like it mattered.
Ghost was on the phone with Laswell, getting a protection detail in case anyone attempted to break into the room and stab someone with a scalpel, while Gaz and Soap also got ready for sleep. No one was leaving the hospital tonight. Garrick had explained the situation in broken Polish to the local authorities, and the staff was kind enough to give out a free office room with pillows and blankets. It was a good thing that the room was connected to John’s, otherwise, you might have refused…even if the bags under your eyes threatened to block your line of sight.
Wiping blood and grime from your body, you take less time than you should have in the shower – too occupied with being by your husband's bedside. The new stitches on your recently ripped-open thigh wound were red with irritation, but you had all but forgotten about it entirely.
They had only just gotten John stable an hour ago.
“They, uh,” Gaz’s eyelids crease, “I think they said that they had to re-” He halts, face going slack, and sending you a slow look, “restart his heart.”
“They nearly beat him to death,” You whisper, hands coming up to weave over the top of your head as you sob into the wall, “They…God, John. I was nearly too late.”
Your words trail off in a weak whimper, muffled over the sound of water and the whirring fan in the ceiling. What if you had been five minutes late? Three? Would he have…
Would he have died in your arms?
You spend the rest of the shower wondering, and as you dry yourself off and slip into sweats and a hoodie from the gift shop, your tears splatter the floor. Rubbing your nose, you sniffle; reaching to grab the ring and pull the chain out above the fabric. Your fingers caress the item for a minute or two, and your eyes flutter shut.
He’s okay, You tell yourself, He’s just a door away. He’s alive.
You open the door and let the steam waft, itching at your neck before you take a steadying breath. John lays still on the hospital bed, body hooked to machines that display screens and vital signs with glitching green lights that pierce your eyes as if a mocking little beast was behind the glass.
Your husband’s wounds are all stitched and glued back together; wrapped tightly and tucked in by your gentle hands with an extra blanket. He usually complained about how cold it was back at your shared flat in London and around the multiple bases the Force traveled to…you would hate for him to shiver here.
It was the least you could do.
Drawing your eyebrows in, the red ring around your eyes doesn’t help the sting, but still, you gaze at your husband with all the tender concern in the world.
If was determined, then, that you wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was awake; until you saw his eyes soften on your figure. Until he was tracing the very makeup of your genetics like no other being could even have a glimpse of you in their features – like the aspects of your form were holy and utterly unique, never seen besides out of legend and fable. You longed to bathe his flesh in the feeling of your touch. If you believed it hard enough, you could convince yourself that you could make him forget this ordeal, forget the wounds.
But you were no fool. A cunning nuisance, perhaps, but not a fool.
All you could do was wait for him to wake up, and so your socked feet carry over the tile and bring you to the chairs beside the bed, grabbing one and pulling it out. Your fingers intertwined with his, weaving the calloused pads and scared flesh that mirrored your own like an echo of history together.
Bringing his limb to your face, you rest your forehead on it, feeling the pump of his blood like a hymn and letting it calm you. A presence in the room makes your once closed eye crack open, slipping to the side. You had only just noticed him.
I really must be tired.
“Doctors say he’s stable,” Gaz mutters lowly, leaning against the wall in the far corner. It was like he had known you wanted someone to watch John while you couldn’t – even if only for a few minutes, “They came in while you were showering”
Your lungs inflate, “...Thank you, Kyle.”
You feel his eyes on you, but as you lay a gentle kiss on your husband's knuckles he speaks once more.
“You sure you don’t want to get some rest, Love? It’s late, y’know – sun’s gonna come up in a few hours around here.” It was a nice concern, and you knew that after Ghost’s call with Laswell that he’d get some sleep as well; Johnny was already snoring away, the sound nearly heard through the walls.
Gaz, well…
“And am I to expect my Sergeant to get some rest if I do that?” Your voice is hoarse and weighed down, but the message is clear. The man lets out a chuckle, pushing off the wall and coming over to you. He rests a hand on your shoulder and you lean into it.
“I have no problem watching over him for you – he’s my Captain too, Lion. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you have to carry the burden more than the rest of us.”
If you could have rolled your eyes, you would have. A teasing tone sneaks into your words as you snort.
“Gaz, and I mean this in the best possible way,” Your lips utter out, still gazing at John’s face as it scrunches and twitches in his sleep, “Respectfully, fuck off, yeah?”
A moment of silence passes before a thick laugh echoes out over the room.
“You act a lot like Cap. when he’s out of commission, Ma’am.”
“Of course I do,” Your grip travels up John’s arm, tracing old blemishes and kissing across bruises, “If he brings all the hard-headedness away with him, none of you lot would get anything done.”
An easy air keeps the both of you in a tight embrace and Garrick’s hand squeezes for a moment; a piece of you breaks open as your gaze slips to the floor.
“I’ll take the night shift. Please, I…,” Your voice borders on unheard, “I can’t sleep until he’s awake.”
He sighs but nods his head.
“Say no more. If you need anything, and I mean anything, you just come get me, yeah? Don’t worry if you have to be loud – been trying to get used to waking up abruptly anyways.” His hand disappears, and you huff.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good. You better.” Gaz’s feet carry him away and through the side door, slipping into the office. A rustling of thin cotton is heard a moment later before the door completely closes on its own.
You stay in that chair for another hour and a half before John moves an inch. When you feel his finger twitch you jerk up, drool falling from your chin to the sheets before you wipe it off.
“John?” Breathing out a gasp, you shake your head to focus better, and pause when his hold on your hand suddenly gains strength. Your heart soars.
“...Love,” He grunts out, face scrunched, and tense.
At that moment you swear your body loses all weight, and you pull the chair closer as you wetly speak.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here. D-don’t move too much, just let the painkillers work.”
“Bloody things make my damn head lose,” He groans, head falling to the side on the pillow as his eyes flutter open.
You place his knuckles to your lips to hide the shuttered breath you take when you see his eyes – even if one was still red. It was still your John.
He looks at you for a moment, eyes glazed, with his jaw clenching and unclenching to gain bearing. The covers hide his chest, but you hear the way he breathes as his messed-up bedhead leaves you chuckling. But the longer you were chuckling, the more you wanted to cry, and soon nothing could stop the swell of vile sobs falling from your mouth.
“Oh,” John whispers out, voice weak as his digits twitch under your shaking lips, “C’mere, Love. None of that, now.”
Your body falls forward, and the man hides the grunt in his chest when you unintentionally hit his ribs as you burrow closer into his side. He doesn’t mind. John’s hand goes to the back of your head, weaving through the strands as the covers catch your tears – he’s looking down at you with such blatant worry it hurts.
He shouldn’t be worried about me, look what happened. He’s in the fucking hospital.
“Y-You,” You’re gasping for breath, chest tight and vibrating. ‘Take a breath’ it tries to tell you, but getting the words out was more important. John’s hand gets tighter, and he longs to kiss your forehead, “I didn’t know if you were dead, a-and then when they had you on stage I was trying so hard to keep it together, John. But…but then you were bleeding all over the car and I was screaming at you too–”
“Breathe,” Your husband pleads, authority leaking into the comment, “Please, Dear, take a breath for me, Yeah? I’m right here.”
You weep but do as he says, feeling the muscles under your grip move as he shifts his weight. Taking a deep breath, your nose is shoved into the fabric of the blankets, inhaling John’s scent and letting it encompass you entirely.
He was there. He was right there.
Letting out one last whine, your Captain prompts you to lift your head with a muted brush of his finger over your scalp. Pulling yourself up, you scrunch the bedding in your hands around John’s waist, practically leaning all the way over him. It was a good thing the bed wasn’t too high.
He smiles softly down at you, his grip moving to slip past your eyebrow and swipe away the salty water that itches your chin, “There she is. My beautiful wife”
Your watery chuckle wraps him in more warmth than any blanket ever could.
“Do you need anything?” You mutter after a minute of staring into each other’s eyes, head tilting to the side as your heart rate finally slows to a pace that copies John’s.
One of your hands goes to smooth his hair, carefully flattening down the patches and being mindful of the bandages and band aids over his visage. You swear he purrs at you, body rumbling under your chest.
He doesn’t answer right away, instead focusing on mapping out your face – as if for the first time. But when he does speak he brushes off the question entirely.
“I had a dream.”
“A good one?” You ask immediately, voice equally as low and vulnerable as his. In his orbs, you see stars blinking with every movement, deep hues of blue in every shade.
“Hm,” He affirms, a slow smile blossoming on his lips, “You were there.”
“That, my love, could mean many things.”
“No. Only one, Mrs. Price,” Your eyebrows raise, eyes watering as rogue drops tracks fall down your cheeks once more.
It was all so much. Getting him back; seeing him like this, having him talk to you like that again – with all the love in the world. He was beaten, but alive, and already awake beside the gargantuan odds.
But you didn’t marry him just because you thought he was buff and could give you a good time. You married him because he was John, and no one else could be.
John’s gaze washes over you, narrowed in that expression he always had on his face when he’s thinking. When he’s studying you with more care than anyone has in your entire life. Like he could figure out everything and anything about you in the way your lips curved, or how you looked at him so delicately as if he was made of glass and not stone or metal.
He could never understand how you loved him so much, how every bit of stardust was reflected into your body and leaked out of you whenever you moved.
How he managed to get you by his side…well, he’d never know. But the feeling was mutual.
“Oh,” Your thumb caresses his cheek, running over the bristles and skimming over the skin, “And what’s that, Mr. Price?”
“..Means I’ve been blessed to see you not only when I open my eyes…but when I close ‘em too.”
In Poland, two people are finally able to press their lips together for the first time in a long while; they themselves would say it felt like ages. That was expected, naturally, because a match such as the one made between you and Jonathan Price was forged with steel and tempered in rough waters. Nothing could break it.
Their wedding bands clink together as they pull back, glinting gold more vibrant than the sun…but not quite as warm or adoring as the looks in their eyes.
TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here
TAGS:
@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @antigonusyuki, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @lora21, @330bpm-whiplash, @michirulol, @john-pricee, @cl0wncxre, @jade-jax, @anna-banana27, @lothiriel9, @halfmoth-halfman
#john price#captain john price#john price x reader#John price x you#captain johnathan price#cod#cod x reader#cod mw22#cod x you#x female reader#x fem!reader#MW#MW2#Call Of Duty MW2#mw2 2022#johnny soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#kate laswell#call of duty
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OP characters
Would they let you paint their nails?
(Only MILDLY suggestive for Shanks...because yknow...its shanks)
Luffy!
You can absolutely try! He's not against it but this boy will most definitely run off about two fingers in
His color of choice was a ruby red that was supposed to get a coat of silver glitter, sadly you did not make it that far
The few fingers you did get done are completely back to normal within a day from a mixture of picking and chewing at them unconsciously
Sanji!
Is absolutely enthusiastic that you asked him! Tells you to choose whatever color you love the most so he has a constant reminder of you
Most definitely gets a nose bleed the moment you touch his hand, but other than that he sits patiently
Takes extra care in the kitchen to not damage said nails, if they flake off over time he will ask you to fix them for him
Zoro!
Definitely not overly enthusiastic about it but will begrudgingly agree after an idea hits his 2 working brain cells
He will get you to paint his two middle fingers a lime green, and will exclusively use this opportunity to flip Sanji off any chance he gets
Does not last long though within a week all the polish has chipped off
Nami!
100% down, she will request to paint yours as well afterwards
The two of you will be rocking a cute tangerine orange, every couple weeks you two will sit and touch them up again together
Brook!
He will absolutely crack a bone joke about how he does not have nails to paint
Will let you paint the tips of his boney fingers though, he would ask for a shade of blue that reminds him of his dear friend Laboon
Shockingly with a protective coat the polish stays wonderfully for many werks
Robin!
Another who is very happily down and requests to do the same for you! She will make a whole event of the time, tea, and some light reading in-between coats drying
If this becomes a regular ocurance she will mix up colors between dark violet shades and deeper pinks
Jinbe!
This man is not quite sure what you are asking of him but agrees with a hearty chuckle
When you ask him to pick a color he will ask for dealers choice, he does not particularly care about the polish but enjoys the way your face lights up when he agrees
Sadly does not last long on him ask with so much swimming it is bound to break down quickly
Ussop!
Beyond down! Another to make a whole event of the time, hair, face mask, and nails
Paint his nails while he tells you beyond Preposterous stories, the self care will be going both ways that night and by the end both party's will be refreshed
He would choose a forest green and after it drys attempt to do little designs of vines and flowers on them, to a somewhat success
Kid!
You would not even have to ask, this man would run out of his own polish and ask if you had any
A bit annoyed when you ask to paint them for him but agrees under the terms that he can make the two of you match
This man is red all the way, the more like fresh blood the better, will let you once in a while spice it up with painting his middle fingers black
Killer!
God he really did not want to at first but he is a softy and will agree after he sees your disipointment
At first he thought about matching with his captain but quickly decided against that settling on a deep ocean blue
With the amount of fighting this man gets up too it does not last long, but once a week will go to you to have them fixed up
Heat!
Obsessed with the idea! Another to have an entire self care night with you
Will pick a deep firey orange with a lighter orange glitter on top, has you help fix up his dreads as each coat drys, he struggles with the ones behind his head so that where your main focus will be
Afterwards will do the same back for you choosing for your nails to half match his, instead having a sparkly blue on top
This will become a regular occurrence
Wire!
Loves the idea, he's a man of few words so things you can do together that do not put pressure on talking are his favoites
He would wants a darker purple as to complement his outfit, after you finish he would place his hand out and after a moment of confusion you'd understand this him offering to do the same for you!
He takes great care of his nails but fighting takes its damage on them, when they get too bad he will simply approach you and hold out his hand to show how chipped they are, you get the message and fix them up for him
Law!
Absolutely! ...not...
He rejects it flat out multiple times and after so long you just stop asking...
That is until one night all the crew was drinking and celebrating their latest victory, after several too many drinks he approaches you, definitely even in his intoxicated state finds himself struggling with his words to request what he wants
After a while of anxiously waiting for the captain to tell you what he wants he simply asks you to follow him, assuming you are in trouble you are shocked to find him request such a silly thing
Happily you lead him to your chambers digging around in your bag you pull out a matte black polish
The next morning he wakes with a ragging hangover on top of the shock of his nails now painted, wants to be angry but knows it looks damn good, continues to take damn good care of them as well
Penguin! & Shachi!
Okay if you ask one they will not only agree immediately but also drag the other along
Unshocking this will not be an easy endeavor, it starts off strong with the two of them dumping out every color you own digging though struggling to choose a color
Eventually they will settle on a color each, penguin having picked and icey blue and Shaci with an almost neon orange, they request you do every other finger with each color
After you finish up they do the same for you each boy taking a hand, it starts off fine but quickly turns into the two insulting each other over how messy they paint, it turns into a competition of who can paint better
Bepo!
Often you find yourself napping and relaxing with Bepo so after a while of this you mentioned the idea of painting the polar bear's claws
He is absolutely giggling and squealing at the idea, quickly requesting for the most fun color you could think of, this boy wants glitter and do not cheap out! A light icy blue base with as many rainbow sparkle coats you can muster up
He will treasure them and keep them as safe as he can but will come to you with tears in his eyes as they peel off, give this boy a huge and fix them up for him!!
Shanks!
Absolutely will but requests you sit on his lap as you do it, this man will use any sneaky trick to get what he wants but as long as you both are happy he's winning
Wants a shade of red that matches his hair, once you finish up his hand he will ask you to do the other hand, out of pure Instinct you look towards where his other hand would be as he lets out a deep vibracious laugh poking fun at you for the rest of the night
Mihawk!
We'll say no the first time you ask but if you mentioned it a few times he will eventually give in requesting the most simple soild black you can find
After you finish them he takes a moment staring at them before nodding at you and sending you on your way
Over the next few days you'll notice anytime he walks by a mirror to straighten up his outfit he will take a moment to appreciate the nails and how well they complement his look, he may not want to admit it but you can tell he is feeling himself up
Will eventually ask you to fix them up over time as he says he's grown fond of them
Writers note!
Thank you reading! Requests are open for headcanons, fics, and really just about anything!
#one piece#headcanons#one piece headcanons#one piece hcs#kidpirates#killer#wire#eustass kid#fluff#monkey d. luffy#one piece luffy#cat burglar nami#one piece nami#roronoa zoro#trafalgar law#dracule mihawk#shanks#bepo#heart pirates penguin#shachi#one piece jinbe#robin#reader#x reader#ussop one piece#soul king brook#black leg sanji#heat
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No Such Tastes In Men pt.2 (Dazai x Reader)
Dazai x Male Reader, NSFW
-> Content Warnings: oral (m!reader receiving), dom/sub undertones, dom!reader
-> 1.4k words
NSFW CONTENT AHEAD - READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
<- Previous Part
Author Note: This accidentally ended up being twice the length of the first one, oops
You expected that sucking Dazai off in an alleyway would make things weird between the two of you. You’d mentally prepared yourself for him to avoid you, but the next day things are… normal. Whenever you spot him on your usual spy routes, he looks fine; well-adjusted. Not at all like someone who’s in the midst of a sexuality crisis.
Maybe he really is straight after all.
After a week of uncomfortable normalcy, you’re beginning to wonder if you imagined the whole thing. Not only has Dazai not mentioned the incident at all, he gives every impression it’s not even on his mind. Your weekly one-on-one update meeting with him is in an hour and somehow you’re the one who’s nervous.
You’re too anxious to drink your usual coffee beforehand, so you decide to head to the meeting location early instead. This time it’s at an abandoned warehouse you haven’t been to before, so it’ll be good to scope out the spot anyway.
When you arrive, a whole 45 minutes early, you’re surprised to see Dazai sitting on a crate reading that book he carries everywhere with him.
When he hears you coming, he glances up, looking a little surprised. “You’re early.”
“So are you,” you say defensively.
He hops down from the crate and dusts himself off. “The mission I was on ended early and I had time to kill, so I thought I might as well wait here,” he explains, even though you didn’t ask. “Are you okay? You seem nervous.”
“M’not,” you insist, sidestepping him when he inches closer.
“You don’t need to be,” he presses further. “I don’t want things between us to be weird just because you sucked my dick once.”
Your heart skips a beat. “So you do remember it!”
Dazai flashes one of his flirty smiles at you. “Couldn’t stop thinking about it.” He leans back against the crates, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His gaze is on the rafters above, rather than your face as he continues. “I’d heard the myth that men give better blow jobs, since they’re more familiar with the equipment so to speak, but I admit I was surprised to find that it’s true. And when I think back on that night, I’m not just thinking about the feel of a mouth around me - I’m thinking about everything. Your hands on my thighs, the feeling of my fingers running through your hair… it’s YOUR mouth I’m turned on by.” Dazai rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration. “And I guess by extension, it’s you.”
His cheeks are pink when he fixes his gaze on you again. You’re playing with your hands nervously, running the pad of your thumb over your bitten nail beds. You feel like a deer in the headlights with him looking at you so intensely. There’s no doubt in your mind he can see your anxiety written on your face.
“So I decided,” he says, more softly, “I want to do it to you too.”
You gape at him. “Me?” you ask. “You want to… suck my dick?”
“Yeah,” he says casually. “Maybe I have more of a taste for it than I originally thought. And besides, I feel like I should pay you back somehow for all the orgasms you’ve given me.”
“Orgasms, plural?” you ask. You feel like your knees are gonna give out so you sit on one of the crates nearby.
Dazai smirks. “The one in the alley, and all the times I’ve jerked off to the memory of it.”
He moves to stand in front of you, slotting himself between your legs. He fiddles with the shoulder of your shirt and asks, “So, can I?”
You grip his forearms and gently push him to his knees in response. He looks up at you with those adorably eager eyes, obediently waiting for instructions.
“Ever given a blow job before?” you ask.
He shakes his head. “I’m a quick learner,” he offers.
You don’t doubt it. Your fingers trace along his jaw, pushing gently at his lower lip. “Open for me,” you say, pressing against the seam of his lips. He does, allowing you to slip your thumb inside. You feel along the ridges of his teeth, mapping out the inside of his mouth by touch. When you press lightly against his tongue, he pushes back against you.
“So good,” you murmur. You remove your thumb and replace it with your index and middle finger. You press along his tongue, further to the back of his mouth, until you hit his gag reflex and he makes a choking sound.
“You okay?” you ask, quickly taking out your fingers.
“I want the real thing,” Dazai whines when he recovers. “Stop teasing me!”
A brat, hmm? you think to yourself. You’ll be nice to him today, but if this arrangement continues, you’ll have fun breaking him.
“Take it out then,” you say, leaning back.
Dazai eagerly unbuttons your pants and takes your cock in his hand. He looks like he’s about to just go at it, but you stop him.
“Don’t try to deepthroat, okay?” you warn. “That’s too much for your first time. I want you to take your time learning how to use your tongue and your hand to make me feel good. I’ll give you tips here and there but for the most part you should be able to tell what’s working from my reactions. Got it?”
He nods. “Good boy,” you say quietly.
Dazai looks at the cock in his hand for a minute, running his thumb along the veins before gently stroking it. He tests out a couple different speeds, settling with a slow, firm pace when he notices how it makes your breathing go shallow. A bead of precum wells at the tip, which, after a second of hesitation, he laps up.
You laugh at the way he tries to hide his grossed-out expression. “Cum tastes better,” you assure him.
He licks your cockhead again, and this time takes it into his mouth. His eyes are trained on you as he runs his tongue over it. Your hips stutter when his tongue flicks over the slit. He sinks a little lower, but his hand has stilled completely.
“Try using them at the same time,” you groan, tapping on the back of his hand to remind him it’s still wrapped around your shaft.
Dazai resumes pumping you, now pairing it with little licks and bobs of his head. You groan, hand moving to stroke the back of his head.
“That’s it, just like that,” you sigh. “Think you can take me a little deeper?”
Dazai can’t nod, but he increases how much he takes into his mouth on the next bob. You know you’re probably right against his gag reflex now, so you’re careful not to push his head.
“Fuck, Dazai,” you moan. “Your mouth… so fucking good…”
You can see him palming himself through his pants out of the corner of your eye. He lets out a little whimper at your praise, and the vibration feels incredible.
“Ngh, gonna come soon,” you warn him. “Pull off… if you want… or you can keep going.”
Dazai doesn’t change his motions, and within a few seconds you’re spilling into his mouth. “Dazai…” you moan, abs clenching hard.
When the orgasm fades out, you carefully drag your softening cock out of his mouth. His mouth is still full of your cum, like he’s not sure what to do with it.
“You can swallow or spit, I won’t be offended,” you say quickly.
He thinks about it for a second, then spits it on the ground beside him. There’s a thoughtful look in his eye as he runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth, tasting you.
“It’s not bad,” he says finally.
You tuck yourself back into your pants. “You’re right that you’re a quick learner. That was pretty good.”
“Eh, it was just my first try. I know I’ll get better with practice.” A playful look makes its way across his face. “Wanna be my tutor?”
“More than anything,” you say with a smile. You raise an eyebrow. “Does this mean you do have a taste for men after all?”
Dazai pouts. “I have a taste for you,” he clarifies. “I’m not ready to label myself yet anyway.”
You nod knowingly. “I understand! There’s no rush.”
Before you get the chance to continue the conversation, your phone pings with a reminder.
“Time for our weekly meeting, apparently,” you say, grinning. “Shall we get to it?”
Dazai grins back and stands up. “Now, where were we?”
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