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oceantornadoo · 2 months ago

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ch9 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: kidnapping. yeah...

masterlist | next

You feel like a teenager again.

Your first date is full of nerves and hormones, shy eye contact in the warm light of the candlelight dinner. That is, the candlelight dinner John organized in the back of a London bookstore you’d never explored, shut down early for the public so you could have a private dinner date. He takes you on a shopping spree after, setting you loose on the quiet store with no restrictions on time or money. You pick a few books to be sent back to your library in the country (what an extraordinary thought to have!), and a few for home. Home. Over the past weeks, almost two months, you now think of John’s home as yours. His bed as yours, his life entwined with yours.

“I would say you’re spoiling me too much, but honestly, you owe me.” You mention as John shadows your book search, his body heat searing into yours. He laughs, waves of sounds settling into your skin. “Glad y’r stayin’ true t’ y’r beliefs, sweetheart.” You nudge him with your hip and he takes advantage of your proximity, pulling you closer into the cage of his body. You grab the book you were perusing and tug it to your chest on instinct. “Hey! I said nothing sexual.” John nuzzles your neck, hands wrapping around your waist to rub at the pudge of your stomach. “‘S not sexual, jus’ comfort.” You melt like chocolate, conforming to the contours of his body.

“Tell me ya hate me.”

He whispers into the space between your ear and shoulder. You shudder at his words, pushing back into him to get closer. “I’m not answering that.” It’s the best you can give him without showing your cards. He hums in approval, sending a shock of electricity to your core. “Guess I’ll hav’ t’ take ya out again.” You turn in his arms, the book between you like a shield. “Someone’s presumptuous. Don’t you know it’s bad luck to plan a second date during the first?” He shrugs, the grays in his beard glinting in the lamplight. “Y’r a sure thing, sweetheart.” You gasp in faux-outrage, hitting him square in the chest with the book you’re holding. He barely moves, not having the decency to look hurt. If anything, he stalks closer with eyes like a tiger, a look at you like you’re prey. “Do tha’ again.”

That night, his words echo in your head. A little flower of insecurity grows in a hidden crevice of your heart. “Y’r a sure thing, sweetheart.” The memory of his smile, joking and lighthearted in the moment, warps into a smirk in your mind. In the bed you’re lying in, you inch away from John’s sleeping body as it replays over and over. Would all of this be happening if you weren’t married? How much of his hunger for you is fed by the fact that you’re the closest option? That you’re easy, letting him get you off within a few weeks of knowing each other. Sleep only comes hours later, when you’ve wrought your brain of all its thinking power.

John wakes you with sweet words and intimate cuddles, holding you against him as he tells you about all the places he wants to take you. Your earlier doubts, screaming and rioting, fade away into a whisper, letting his words wash over you. You forget about it.

Mostly.

Your own bookstore is getting along well. You’ve hired another assistant, a man named Arthur who was a referral of Phil’s. The extra help goes a long way, as he’s experienced enough to install the cafe you wanted in the front. In the next month, you order inventory and thrift furniture. You venture out to cafes to inquire about catering and post job listings for a cafe worker and bookseller.

On the weeknights you go on dates, John insists on picking you up from the store. It’s only one or two nights a week, where he’s free enough to do a late dinner or a drive around town. John shows London to you in bits and pieces, shyly peeling back the film of mystery that covers the town. You go to hole-in-the-walls, cuisines ranging from Jamaican to Indian to traditional British fare. The owners always seem to know him, giving him the best seats of the house and refusing to take his card. You’re starting to understand how much of an influence he holds, how the caring husband behind closed doors is also the feared mafia boss outside of them. It’s like you’re learning him anew, sharing childhood memories and terrible twenties stories every date. It’s a fantasy of what life would’ve been like if you’d met him naturally.

Speaking of his frightfulness, he’s not friendly with either of your assistants, but after a stern talking to, he becomes begrudgingly polite. He speaks in monosyllables and grunts, only offering you a full English conversation. Despite yourself, you find it a little endearing. This non-jealousy looks good on him and makes him handsier in car rides.

“Y’ look so fuckin’ good in these.” He’s talking about the overalls you thrifted, which appalled Gaz when he stopped by for breakfast this morning. You insisted they’re practical for the work you’re doing: going through newly delivered inventory and moving furniture around to your liking. “Thought you liked me in fancy things.” You murmur. He tells your driver to keep driving, then rolls up the partition to give you some privacy. John yanks you into his lap, a tight fit between his bulk and the ceiling of the car. It forces you to curl in tighter, your head in the crook of his shoulder. “Think y’re wearin’ these to our next gala.” Our. It grows roots and you hope it's poisonous enough to kill that flower of insecurity. He pulls you closer, and even through the denim of your pants, you can feel him grow hard under you. “John…” He kisses your exposed neck, then licks at the dust that’s settled on your skin. It’s so primal, like he’s reduced to base instincts when he’s with you. “We’re not doin’ anythin’. Jus’ want ya t’ know wha’ ya do t’ me.” He bites your earlobe, then soothes it with a lick. “So this has nothing to do with my all-male employee force?” He growls and you giggle at his annoyance. John pulls you back a bit so you’re off his cock, smirking when you groan at the loss. “Nah. Jus’ reminding you wha’ y’ve got at home.” You plant a quick kiss on his lips, then roll off and into the seat next to him. Despite the glaring safety violation, you tuck your legs under you and rest your knee on his thigh. Your hand runs through his beard, then moves up to smooth the wrinkles on his forehead. “Consider me reminded.” He kisses your palm near his face. “Now take me to dinner, I’m starving.”

Weeks later, you’re home late from your favorite date yet. A private movie screening of a drama film you’ve been talking about for weeks. The set-up was thoughtful and sweet, with your favorite candies and popcorn set up with a comfy blanket. However, the movie was darker than you thought, with a primary focus on a father and his strained relationship with his daughter. Two hours of watching them on screen left you raw and bloody, silent on the car ride back home.

“Feelin’ ok?” You nod. He squeezes your thigh, but when he tries to keep his hand there, you cross your legs so it falls off. He seems to get the message, stroking the outside of your thigh before pulling his hand back.

When you get home, Gaz is at your kitchen table. You nod to him in greeting, then try to bypass him in favor of a hot shower, but he stands up and blocks your path. “We need to talk, ma’am.” His eyes flick up to John standing behind you. “Sir, you need to hear this.”

Gaz lays out building plans and tax documents that blur in front of you. Your tired brain can’t comprehend what he’s saying, something about “encroachment” and “buying up buildings.” John goes into work mode, shrugging off his jacket and sitting down to take a closer look.

“Am I really needed here? I’m sorry, I’m just tired.” John’s eyes are warm but Gaz’s aren’t, his smooth skin marred by a frown. “Shepherd's bought a building a block from your bookstore. From what I can tell, it’s empty, but it’s a safety risk. It’s got a basement that we can’t get our eyes on.” You drag a hand down your face, clearly not equipped for this conversation. “Look, it’s empty, right? So just keep eyes on it and up my number of guards. I bought my bookstore under a ghost LLC, so the only way he’ll know is if he sees me. I’ll start using the back entrance.” Gaz’s eyes flit to John’s, waiting for his opinion. You groan at being dismissed so clearly.

“You know what, you guys figure this out. I’m going to bed.”

You leave before they can say anything. A hot shower calls your name, but the water is abrasive instead of calming. The same thing happens with your skincare, sitting too heavy for comfort on your face. When you’re ready for bed, and John’s still not there, you pop a few melatonin and go to sleep, eager to delay any sort of conversation.

He wakes you by brushing your shoulder gently. It’s clear the sun’s been up for a while, a rare sleep in. “Hi, baby.” You grumble at his words, turning to smother your face in your pillow. He kisses your shoulder, where his hand was, and stays there for a second, dark blue eyes tracking yours. “We need to talk.” His tone switches from sweet to serious, enough of a change to warrant you turning back to squint at him. “No.” He did not expect that, eyebrows raising. “No to whatever suggestion you’re going to make about delaying my opening or shutting down my bookstore.” You push off the covers, rising to get ready, but he yanks your arm and tugs you under him.

“It’s not fuckin’ safe.” He growls out. You push against him, trying for once. He uses his strength against you, pushing you further into the mattress. “Then make it safer. I’m not giving this up. There’s not even a clear threat yet.” You spit. Your tactical knowledge of Simon’s security strategy come to the forefront of your mind. “I’m puttin’ Gaz on yer team.” You roll your eyes, finally pushing off him to go use the bathroom. He follows you like a hound, not stopping when you try to shut the door in his face. “You’re not putting Gaz on my team. He would hate it. I don’t need a babysitter.” John doesn’t trust you, doesn’t trust the fact that you’ve been in this life for decades and know how to analyze a threat. John doesn’t respond as you pee defiantly, even when you throw a roll of toilet paper at his head to get him to leave. It’s only when you’re done washing your hands that he responds.

“It’s gettin’ more violent everyday, sweetheart. I can’t be biased when I make this call. Might need to send you t’ the country.” You can’t even compute his sentence. “What, send me away like you did 20 years ago?” That was not what you wanted to say. That was not how you wanted this conversation to be, you washing your face in your shared bathroom while he stares at you through the mirror. “Spit it out, darlin’. ‘S clear you want to.” You don’t comment on how he’s never called you darling and how evil he is to whip it out in that deep accent of his now. You towel off your face, then whirl around to face him, exposed in so many ways. “I think it’s pretty clear. You send me away when I complicate things. You did it when I was a kid and you’re doing it now. I’m a fucking problem to you, John.” He runs a hand through his beard, agitated.

“Tha’ why you hate me? ‘Cuz I told yer old man t’ send you away when I was 16 and green in the gills, not knowin’ a damn thing?” You frown, turning back to rub lotion on your face. You take your time, rubbing the excess into your wrists. John tracks the movement with squinted eyes. “I know you were young, John, but I was too.” John pulls you into him by the fabric of your t-shirt (his t-shirt). He settles his hands on your waist, ensuring eye contact before speaking. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry f’ bein’ an idiot when I was young an’ not thinkin’ about the little girl’s life I was destroyin’.” Well. That was the apology you’d been chasing for months, if not years. So why weren’t you satisfied?

“Thank you. But it doesn’t change what you’re trying to do now.” You stand and look at each other, silent. His hands don’t move and neither do yours, akimbo at your sides. “‘M not sendin’ you away. I’m keepin’ ya safe.” He murmurs. You shake your head in disagreement. “London is my home, John. The bookstore is my life. Where would you even send me?” He looks away, uncharacteristically unsure. “The country.” You roll your eyes. “You said that. I’m asking where.” He grips your hips hard, startling you. “The library.” You bark out a laugh. “The library? What, am I gonna sleep on the couch and just haunt the place.” A realization dawns on you. “No way.”

“Baby-”

“You own it?!”

“It was my first real estate purchase.”

“When were you going to tell me? You just, what, invented an old, dying friend?”

He almost looks embarrassed, the blush of his cheeks hidden in parts by his beard. “I didn’t want ya to feel trapped and you hated me too much then to take it freely. Yer mad I did somethin’ nice?” You pull away out of his grip, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I am trapped, John. No matter how I feel about you now, I didn’t pick this marriage. On top of that, you lied. You won’t let me go on trips with you, you’re trying to push these security decisions on me, and I can’t even tell if you like me for me or my proximity. I need to go to work before I say something I’ll regret.” You dodge his reach easily, shucking on the nearest nice clothes you can find before heading downstairs to find Terrance. The clothes end up being your recently worn jeans and one of his button-ups, white for a change. It smells like him, pine and musk and man. You sniff the collar discreetly when Terrance is arranging for the car. Quick steps thud down the stairs and when you turn he’s there in a suit, unruffled and polished. You dart out the front door as quickly as possible, but because you’re weak and shameful, you turn back right before you get into the car. You mouth ‘bye’, brows knitted in frustration, and a sliver of betraying warmth hits your heart as he mouths ‘bye’ back.

Kyle is going to ask for a raise next week. He’s been working twelve-hour days, tearing through Shepherd's finances non-stop. He’s finally gotten to Shepherd’s employee list, unofficial, of course. Bored with the bland names, he switches over to his tabs on the bookstore. In his perusal, a name catches his eye. Phillip Sorth. Where has he seen that before?

Kyle goes through the man’s file. Pretty standard, worked at a bar before this. Kyle didn’t create this report, handing it off to a person on his team. So he’s disappointed when he clicks on the bar name, The General, and is returned with a blank page. Whoever made this is getting fucking fired.

The bar closed down three years ago. Which is odd, because Phil’s resume says he only stopped working there six months ago. When Kyle runs the address, alarm bells go off. It’s one of Shepherd’s.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He dials Price’s phone, which goes straight to voicemail. Shit. While he waits, Kyle runs another test and sure enough, Phil’s NI number links to a Phillip Graves, not Sorth. Which, of course, is a name on Shepherd’s fucking list. A top name, actually. The man’s a high-ranking spy.

Kyle dials Terrance, who also doesn’t pick up. He bursts out of the security room and ensures his keys are in his pockets before heading out the door. “Shut this shit down. We’re at Level 5.” He barks out to the men guarding the door, emulating his Captain. They immediately start talking in their earpieces and out of the corner of his eye, Kyle sees his men in the park close in on the Castle. Good. Someone needs to protect this place while he tracks down a fucking rat. Before someone harms the new angel of the Castle.

“Arthur, do you mind putting these away? I think my arms are going numb.” He takes the box from your hands with ease, winking as he walks away. You breathe out a sigh of relief, then trek to find Phil. He was finalizing the checkout desk, but now he’s nowhere to be seen. You really want to get his opinion on your ideas for wall decor. You head back to the office, thinking he might be there, but pause right before you walk in. Phil’s on the phone, and the walls are thin enough that you can hear his entire conversation.

“Yessir, copy that.” Who’s he calling sir? It’s like how Gaz addresses John, deferent and loyal. “Affirmative. Later today. We’ll get the van ready and-”, the rest of what he says is muffled, like he’s turned away from the door. Something isn’t right.

That’s when you realize you haven’t seen Terrance in over thirty minutes. He went to the bathroom, which he always tells you about, making you feel like a third-grade teacher, but he hasn’t come back. You dig in your pocket for your phone, then swear when you remember you left it on the cafe counter. When you turn to go find it, there’s a wall in front of you. A human wall. Arthur.

“Sorry ‘bout this.” You try to run but a strong grip captures your arms, holding you firmly in place. From the corner of your eye you see Phil, holding you tight as you struggle against him. “John will find you. My brother will find you. You’re going to-”, except you can’t tell him what he’s going to regret, as Arthur holds a rag over your mouth and everything goes dark.

Sorry this took so long! This semester has been crazy. Im thinking 3-4 more chapters and we’ll be done! I hope nothing happens to reader…

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porcalinecunt · 11 months ago

Note

boothill punishing reader for calling him ‘just a fucktoy’ so he turns them into one :3

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐘!

🪽 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ friendly banter often devolved into mean spirited teasing, but there’s a fine line that you regretfully cross. Or did you?

·˚ ◌༘͙[featuring] ! ˊ 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐗 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

cw — mean dom! boothill. window sex. degradation. overstimulation. humiliation kink. biting. dumbification(?)

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ author’s note! : ignore the fact that i forgot boothill cannot curse SHHHHH. but it’s finally done and im too tired to proofread this ;-;

friendly banter was a given in your relationship with boothill. you couldn’t help yourself to the free entertainment as the cyborg was forced to get creative with the troublesome filtering system that was installed in his mechanical body, much to his annoyance.

every swear word he spat out, every nasty phrase that’d slip off his tongue would become the polor opposite. it’d make you chuckle a bit hearing him call you the sweetest names with reluctance in his voice.

you on the other hand, often have a whole field day with it. spewing out sarcastic and maybe creative remarks just to rile him up even more, only to burst out laughing at his failed comebacks. it was a constant spit for spat that would last until one of you gave up and ended it with a soft make out session or cuddling in your shared bedroom. however, there’s an invisible line in the sand, one you wished you could’ve seen.

another back and forth, like usual. as the more aggressive you got with boothill, so does your language. you teetered on the edge of your own teeth, slowing coming at his little fuck up’s like his heavily filtered system and his obnoxious munching of his own bullets. the ranger would shoot back with his own attempts, only passing off sarcastic and subtle remarks about that mouth of yours. the tension in the air only grew thicker and thicker before your words finally cut it in two.

“I dunno why you should be talkin’ bootie, after all, you're just a fucktoy! ♡”

a cackle bursted from your lungs, as you tried to catch your breath. while you were stuck in a state of victory from having the last laugh, you didn’t quite catch the sudden silence that washed over the room until a chill shot at the back of your neck. turning your head, you were met with an unamused boothill, jaw clenched and eyes burning holes into your skull. your laugh diminished into tiny nervous sounds as the machine promptly marched his way to you, ignoring your babbles and apologies as your back pressed against the wall. you understood quickly that despite the unhinged nature of your verbal play fights, there’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

a raspy chuckle tickled your eardrums. “me? a fucktoy? now look who’s talkin’ sweet thing..”

boothill, now wearing a hungry grin on his lips, promptly threw you over his shoulder with a harsh smack! on your ass. before you could protest, you were chucked onto the nearest soft furniture he saw, in this case being the couch.

the window in front of it showing off a dazzling view of Penacony, the perfect place to show you off. it didn’t take long for your clothes to be torn clean off by his metal fingers and discarded on the floor while you whined loudly. something that warranted a palm over your pouty lips.

“shh, now now doll..i don’t think fucktoys can speak. Now can they?”

he spoke with faux sympathy traced in his tone, as you could only lie there helplessly while his cold hands traced your delicate flesh. boothill was an unpredictable man, some nights he takes it easy while the others have his more cynical nature leak through, tonight being the latter. you screwed your eyes shut once pleasure crawled through your skin, the ranger prying and poking at every sensitive corner of your body. from his ice cold fingers pinching your hard nipples, to his shark-like teeth nipping at your neck.

“a-sll this..over an insul–”

“shut it.”

you flinched, unable to prepare yourself for what the machine had in store for you. you nearly forgot how hard he can be, until you felt something poking at your thighs.

seven rounds, and he had yet to stop.

your jaw went slack so long ago, nothing but incoherent words and pleading coming out of your fucked out mouth. the taste of his spit lingered on your tongue which rolled out and is now pressed against the glass with the rest of your naked body.

“Ah..! B-Boothill! T-They’ll see uh—us!”

you whimpered, unable to string two words together without a sharp thrust ripping another sound out of your throat. through blurred vision, you could see Golden Hour in all its glory, praying that nobody spots your ilicit act with the ranger. your knees buckled, already weak from how long you’ve been standing without a break as boothill snapped his hips against yours while his teeth sunk into your shoulder for what seemed like the upteenth time.

“you think i give a crap doll? now keep that pretty mouth shut like i asked.”

he hissed in your ear, squeezing the plush of your thighs that were littered with teeth marks. you mewled, feeling the knot in your stomach snapping once again and throwing you into another intense orgasm. your hand curled up into a tight fist, almost banging itself against the foggy glass as stars filled your vision. a raspy chuckle was all you could hear, courtesy of an insatiable and spiteful boothill. he watched as you lost balance and fell onto his metal chest, breathing heavily between sobs.

“awee..~ tired already, doll?”

he cooed, you just wanted to sock his stupid smirk off his face. instead, you pouted, letting out an annoyed whine as you squirmed from his cock simply sitting inside you without moving an inch.

“maybe watch that tongue next time, hon’. then i’ll go easy on ya.”

he laughs, before pressing your limp body against the messy glass again and snapping his hips against yours with his relentless pace. feeling your brain melting from the overwhelming amount of cock he’s stuffing into you, you could only hang on for dear life as boothill made you eat your own words.

quite literally too.

#𓆩♱𓆪 — porcalinecunt #boothill #boothill hsr #boothill smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail boothill #hsr boothill #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #x gn y/n #x gn reader #gn!reader

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blogtumble · 1 year ago

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NAVİL - PRO+

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#Cabinet #Kitchen #Doors

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supremeat · 7 months ago

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PANELLO - GOLD

Transforming Spaces: The Versatility of Slat Wall Panels, MDF Panels, and Wall Profiles

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Whether you're revamping a retail space, updating your home decor, or designing an office, these materials offer numerous possibilities for customization and innovation. Embrace their potential to transform your surroundings with elegance and efficiency.

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t-lostinworlds · 1 year ago

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Big, Hormonal Heart | Bucky Barnes

》 PAIRING: bucky barnes x pregnant!female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: established relationship (marriage), fluff fluff fluff

》 SUMMARY: It'd probably take more than one lifetime for Bucky to list reasons why he was so lucky to call you his wife. He was certain your big heart was one of them. One that grew even more with pregnancy hormones. It was sweet, how you to got so upset when they got his order wrong. Your meal was perfectly fine. But when his wasn't? Oh it was a crime.

》 WARNINGS: pregnancy, a dog named Snow and Alpine the cat, pet names (doll, baby, my love, sweetheart), emotional!r (she cries. like, most of the fic), husband!bucky being the sweetest, domesticity and just overall fluff (pretty tame fic ngl)

》 WORD COUNT: 2.5k+

A/N: this idea was super random. i saw an insta reel of a pregnant woman having mood swings over some food and then everyone was sharing their experiences in the comments and i got inspired so here ya go alksalkss. DISCLAIMER! I'm not pregnant nor have i ever been lol. I did as much research as i could but still, don't count on me to be 100% accurate.

++ ALSO this was written in just a few hours. this isn't my best work. just something i wanted to write as an exercise since i haven't written anything in months. anyways, i hope you enjoy!

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ B. BARNES MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

Bucky Barnes was one lucky man.

If someone had told him years ago that he was going to live in a quaint home in the suburbs, a lovely backyard space for a dog and a cat to enjoy, and that he'd be married to the absolute love of life, an angel on earth who was now carrying his first child—

He honestly would've stared at them dead in the eye, wondering how someone could make such a cruel joke.

Yet here he was, actually living it, a life that seemed so much like a dream.

Though he was quickly reminded of how real this was as he stood in the nursery, glaring at the manual that came with the crib you two had bought from the furniture store.

It looked simple enough at first—putting together ready-made pieces should be easy, right?

Wrong.

Not when you have countless amounts of screws that more or less looked the same but were actually not because each served a different purpose.

He was in the middle of figuring out how to install the legs to the main base when you walked into the room with your two bodyguards—Alpine the Cat and Snow the five-year-old Samoyed—in tow.

"How's it going, handsome?" you hummed as you reached his side, arms wrapping around his waist, your warmth immediately easing the frustration he had about this goddamn crib.

"It's…" he sighed, gesturing at the wooden pieces scattered around the floor. "Going."

You laughed at that, kissing his clothed shoulder before standing in front of him.

Bucky held your waist then, pulling you as close as he could given that your baby bump was in the middle of you both.

He honestly couldn't begin to express how much comfort and warmth covered his whole being every time he was met with the absolute love in your eyes.

And Bucky was sure his gaze shined the same.

So many people have pointed it out on numerous occasions, the twinkle in his eyes every time they land on you—his beautiful wife.

"I was thinking," you murmured, resting your hands on his chest, moving up his shoulder and down again in a sweet caress. "How about a quick break while we order some food?"

It was only about an hour after lunch, so Bucky wasn't particularly keen on filling his stomach some more.

But you, on the other hand, were nearing the end of your second trimester. It wasn't out of the norm for you to be hungry at this time, given you were eating for two. Plus, there was an added layer that your little peanut probably had some super soldier serum in their DNA—the baby's appetite could be enhanced for all he knew.

Other than that, the last thing Bucky wanted was an angry and hungry pregnant wife. So it wasn't really a hard decision to make.

"Okay, let's get you something to eat," he said.

Ever the observant person that you were, you quickly noticed his choice of words.

"For me?" you asked, brows furrowed. "You're not hungry?"

Bucky shook his head. "Not really."

Your bottom lip went.

He instantly knew he said the wrong thing.

"But I'm hungry," you murmured, eyes starting to glisten.

He could never explain it even if he tried, but whenever you got upset, your bodyguards always seemed to notice it. The two have always been protective of you and that only grew tenfold when you got pregnant.

Today wasn't an exception.

Snow barked at him, whining his complaints as he put his fifty-pound body between your legs, slightly pushing Bucky back. The furball was well trained though, so his protectiveness never went too far beyond being vocal about it. Alpine, on the other hand, was sitting a foot away, glaring at Bucky—quite the traitor given that she was supposed to be his cat, but he couldn't blame her for loving you, either—as if she knew it was his fault you were upset.

But still, Bucky wasn't quite sure what he'd done wrong.

"I know, sweetheart," he said slowly, a little confused, trying to navigate around Snow who was pawing at his leg as if trying to push him further away. "I'll order some food for you."

"But you're not hungry," you repeated, body slumping with sadness.

"I'm not," he agreed, quickly cupping your face when a tear slipped from your eyes. "But hey, hey, that doesn't mean we can't still order food for you, doll."

"No, I know," you sniffled.

"So, what's making you upset, hmm?"

You buried your face in his chest with a shaky breath as you said,

"I don't want to eat alone."

Bucky paused, pressing his lips and swallowing down a laugh because he couldn't have you thinking he was making fun of you. He wasn't. But you were so adorable it made his chest ache.

"Okay, okay," he hummed, kissing the side of your head as he rubbed your back in comfort. "I'll order something for me, too."

•••

A few minutes later, your little family migrated to the living room. You both were sitting on the couch together, the two furballs sprawled at your feet as a random show played on TV. Various take-out bags covered the coffee table, way too many for two people but hey, that's what fridges and microwaves are for.

Fondness filled Bucky's bones as he watched you settle your food on your lap, doing what he called your Cravings Satisfied Wiggle.

He couldn't contain his chuckle.

You looked at him with furrowed brows, words a little muffled with your mouth full. "What?"

"Happy?" he asked, reaching over to wipe the sauce on the corner of your mouth.

"Very much," you giggled, eyes wrinkling at the corners.

Even after all these years, the sight of your pure joy still made his heart stutter, chest growing warmer when you leaned closer with a pout.

Bucky met you halfway for a short yet sweet kiss.

"Thank you," you hummed, even though there was no need for you to thank him for ordering you food.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

Reaching over the table, he took the one and only paper bag that was for him, because again, he wasn't that hungry.

"Oh."

"What's wrong?" You turned to him in concern.

"It's not a big deal," he reassured with a smile, shrugging because it really wasn't. "They got mine wrong."

You frowned. "You didn't get the nuggets?"

"No, they give me the burger meal," he said. "They must've misheard me.

Bucky immediately perked up when your lips started to tremble.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly, cupping your face to wipe away your tears.

"You—" you sniffled. "You didn't get your nuggets."

Bucky pressed his lips to stop a smile.

God you were so fucking cute.

"It's okay, baby," he soothed. "I'm fine with a burger, too."

You cried even harder.

Snow and Alpine quickly stood, all alert and concerned as they nudged your leg.

"You wanted the nuggets, Bucky," you insisted, choking back a sob. "But you didn't get it."

He carefully pulled you closer, rubbing your back in comfort as you laid your head on his shoulder. "I know, but it's okay—"

"No, it's not!" you protested, all teary and frustrated, pulling away to glare at him. "You deserve to get what you want. Y-You deserve all the good things after e-everything."

Bucky might honestly start crying too with how sweet you were being.

"Oh doll, come here," he placated, pulling you in for a hug while trying to navigate the food on your lap.

He could take it away for safety, but he'd already learned his lesson the hard way. Taking food away from a pregnant woman was a death sentence.

"I want you to be happy," you sniffled, burying your face against his neck. "You wanted the nuggets and they disrespected that."

It took so much for him not to let out a chuckle. Because as much as Bucky hated to see you crying and upset, he couldn't deny how adorably funny this whole conversation was.

But you'd always had the biggest heart. Whether that was crying over those rescue animal videos, emotional scenes in movies, to feeling upset over something he was experiencing—your empathy was always high.

What more with the pregnancy hormones in the mix?

"How about I ask them to change it?"

Again, wrong thing to say.

He needed to get better at this.

"But they're probably so stressed and overworked already," you sobbed. "A-And it's about to rain. I don't want the delivery guy to get wet in the rain. T-They already don't get paid enough."

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he hummed, rubbing your back. "Will you look at me, my love?"

You lifted your head then, Bucky's heart aching at the absolute distress on your features—pout in full play, eyes a little bloodshot with tear stains on your skin.

He cupped your cheeks with a soft smile, placing gentle kisses all over your face, unrelenting until you let out a whine of protest. He stopped then, thankful to see that you'd calmed down now.

"I promise you, the burger meal is perfectly fine with me. I'm not mad or upset about it. I don't mind it at all," he said.

You took a calming deep breath and nodded. It only took a second for you to look at him sheepishly.

"Sorry I overreacted," you whispered, embarrassed.

"Hey, none of that," he lightly scolded. "All the emotions you're feeling will always be valid."

You smiled, small yet sweet, leaning in and kissing him with as much gratitude as you could muster.

"Besides, it makes me feel so honored to know that you're willing to fight for my chicken nugget rights."

"Shut up, Barnes."

•••

You and Bucky always had a nightly routine and it usually consisted of the two of you getting ready for bed in your own different ways. They were intertwined, but not exactly the same. Like you'd be doing some skin care in the bathroom while he would be brushing his teeth.

But ever since you got pregnant, your routine became more in sync.

It usually started with a bath that he'd run for you. Most of the time he'd end up joining you, the length of said bath varying since that usually depended on what mood you were in. Bucky was always at the service of meeting his wife's needs, after all.

Recently, now that your bump wasn't particularly easy to navigate, he'd helped you get ready for bed. From getting dressed to your skin care, including rubbing some moisturizer on your stomach. That part was one of his favorite things to do.

Then it was the typical things, getting dressed, brushing your teeth—this one you stopped him from doing it for you even though he was more than willing—and overall just getting ready for bed.

Once you’d settled on the pregnancy pillow that Bucky fluffed up for you, he'd sit near the foot of the bed to give your sore feet a massage while you read a book.

Tonight, right when he was in the middle of doing that, he heard you sniffle.

Bucky looked up in concern, catching you already staring at him with tears already in your eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking you over. "Does something hurt?"

"No, I-I'm okay. I just—" You cut yourself off with a sob.

Bucky quickly moved beside you, pulling you onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around your form. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, body shaking as you cried.

"Hey, hey, talk to me," he murmured against your hair. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's just—" You let out a shaky breath. "You're always taking care of me."

"Of course, sweetheart, you're my wife," he said. "And not only because it's my duty as your husband, but because I love you so much."

That made you cry even harder.

"I l-love you too, so much," you sobbed. "But I haven't been able to take care of you lately and that's not f-fair."

Bucky felt his heart grow as if it wasn't already bursting at the seams.

How could someone be so selfless and sweet?

"You're pregnant, my love," he stated the obvious reason as to why. "Besides, I'm capable of taking care of myself. It's alright."

"No, it's not," you argued, pulling away slightly to face him. "You deserve to be taken care of, too! You deserve to get pampered a-and a break but you're always fussing over me and taking care of me instead. I'm not helping with any of it. I'm just making it harder for you."

"No, absolutely not," he stated firmly, holding your face in his hands, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. "I love taking care of you. It honestly makes me feel so fulfilled and happy when I do."

"Really?" you sniffled.

"Yes. It's the least I could do with everything that you've been going through right now," he said truthfully, adding with a chuckle, "Hell, if I could carry our baby so you wouldn't have to go through all the pain I would."

That earned him a small laugh.

"But I want to take care of you, too," you admitted after a deep breath.

"You already are," he hummed, thumb stroking your cheek lovingly. "You're taking care of our baby and my heart, and those are very important to me."

You scrunched up your nose adorably.

"That was so cheesy."

"But it's true, though."

You smiled, cupping his face. Bucky turned his head to kiss your palm.

"Thank you," you sighed fondly. "For putting up with me and for everything."

"First off, I'm not putting up with anything," he reassured, kissing your other palm before adding, "Second, you never have to thank me for taking care of you. Never."

You nodded, leaning closer to press your lips against his, pouring all your love and gratitude into it. Bucky kissed you back with the same fervor, never needing words to express what you truly feel for each other.

He felt so content—feeling your lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, and your little peanut asking for attention too, kicking the second Bucky rested hand on your bump.

When you let out a soft, needy whine, he was ready to take the kiss even further.

That was until a wet tongue met his cheek.

Bucky groaned in annoyance, pulling away to see Snow giving you a kiss, too. He couldn't be angry at the dog for ruining the moment when your lovely laugh echoed in the air. Alpine jumped on the bed a second later, nudging her head against Bucky's chin before walking over to place a loving paw on your bump.

His smile was as bright as it could be as he watched the scene before him.

A wonderful home, a wholesome family that involved his beautiful, loving wife and two furballs, his family that was only getting bigger in a few months—

Yeah.

Bucky Barnes was one lucky man.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

↬ thank you for reading lovely! reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated! ++ consider supporting me on ko-fi if you can!

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#bhh #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes reader insert #sebastian stan #my writing

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fatkish · 1 year ago

Text

Aizawa x Autistic cat-quirk Reader 3/3 NSFW

Part 2:

Part 1:

(Art not mine again, I found it on Pinterest)

As you and Aizawa got further into your relationship eventually you moved into his apartment. Aizawa was more than happy to be able to come home to you and be able to spend his time with you without having to worry about meeting up or making time to go anywhere. Since you moved in with Aizawa there are things you did specifically to help accommodate your needs. Aizawa gave you full support and permission to do whatever you needed to make his home yours as well.

A few of the changes you made were installing various hide boxes that you placed around your’s and Shouta’s house/apartment, they have little cat beds inside and a curtain covering the entrance to them.

The boxes are actually color coded based on how you’re feeling and how one should interact with you.

Green means you’re feeling good and are happy to interact, yellow means you’re a little anxious but are up for snuggles, red means you’re overwhelmed and leave you alone.

Aizawa’s other cats liked the hide boxes so you made bigger ones and helped him create an exercise course for his cats to use that runs along the walls

There is also a small water fountain that you placed in Aizawa’s apartment for his cats to drink from, you replace the water every day and wipes it down to clean it

You’ve also put brushes on the sides of certain furniture, walls, and on the cat’s towers. These brushes help you as well as Aizawa’s cats with grooming and helps reduce the amount of hair on everything and the amount of hairballs. The brushes are easy to clean and remove hair from. The cats just have to rub themselves against it and it brushes their fur collecting any loose hair.

As you both began sleeping in the same house/apartment Aizawa has gotten to see a lot more of your unfiltered self.

Sometimes when you’re completely in the Autistic zone you’ll just lay on his chest and lick Aizawa’s stubble whenever he’s laying down. You’ve explained to him that sometimes you just have an unstoppable urge to lick him and that you enjoy the feeling of his stubble. You apologized for it but he doesn’t mind it and lets you just follow your instincts.

While he was asleep you had played with his scarf and got tangled in it only for him to wake up to you yowling and angry, he laughed as he untangled you

Sometimes you’ll use cat behaviors to express yourself without words. One of the ways is when you make biscuits: you’ll do this whenever you’re happy in both cat and human form. Sometimes you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

another thing is Bunting: (y/n)’ll rub on Aizawa and leaves their scent on him every time he leaves the house (hound dog thought an intruder got inside UA and tracked the scent only to find Aizawa. He explained that a cat quirked friend rubbed their scent on him and that’s what inui is smelling)

Eventually Aizawa had to introduce you to his friends. At first when you met Hizashi you were spooked by his loud voice and even puffed up your fur with your back arched hissing at him.

After a bit you got used to his presence and carefully approached him. The moment he started scratching your head and giving you pets you folded and that’s when you both became friends.

After having known him for awhile you and Hizashi worked together to create a cat music playlist for his radio station. They created “cat radio: the 9 to 5 station for your feline friend” the station plays music for cats created by various artists and plays Monday to Saturday from 9:00 am to 5:00 pm.

You gave him a list of sounds that cats enjoy and he mixed them together and created a rhythm that sounded almost like human music.

Whenever they hang out he plays his newest pieces for them and they tell him what they think and if it could be improved.

Sometimes on Sundays, Hizashi and reader will accept calls to the studio or will open emails/letters from the listeners of the cat radio channel and reader will answer the listener’s questions about their cats and give advice as well as help the listeners understand their cats and somewhat translate for the cat(s) using their quirk’s ability to communicate with cats. Sometimes they have special guests such as veterinarians to answer questions and discuss cat things.

After some time (y/n) eventually met Nemuri as well. Nemuri immediately fell in love with (y/n) and quickly became their relationship coach. Whenever you’re having issues or need help with anything you call Nemuri for advice. She’s the one who helped Aizawa with the more intimate aspects of your relationship.

One time as a joke, Hizashi gave (y/n) catnip just to see what they’d do, only for them to get really horny and tackle Aizawa when he got home.

They kept biting him and eventually he had to lock them in a room to relieve their urges with the help of some ‘toys’ and needless to say, Aizawa was extremely exhausted afterwards but enjoyed tying his little kitten up.

However after that he never allowed catnip near them again unless (y/n) agreed beforehand due to how it makes them feel

When they get frisky in bed Aizawa will often bite the back of their neck where they have a human scruff, the skin there is just more loose and stretchy.

He will also make sounds like a seductive growl or rumbling when he bites it. This causes reader to become completely relaxed and intensifies their physical sensitivities as well as their 5 senses when they’re having sex.

You also experiences heats instead of periods(for you girls). (Boys experience heats too)

During this time you become especially sensitive and horny. Aizawa will mark and track the days leading to your heat so he can prepare for it.

He has bought various toys that he can control from his phone as well as a teddy bear that he recorded messages on for you to listen to his voice when he isn’t home and you need to relieve yourself

A lot of the messages are dirty talking telling you what he’s going to do to you when he gets home, praises and compliments or just him telling you how much he loves you

“Who’s my pretty little kitty? That feel good? I can’t wait to get home, you’d better prep yourself, because I’m not going give you any time to prepare.”

“Look at you, you’re so wet, such a naughty little kitten, making a mess.”

“You’re such a pretty little kitty, making such cute little noises, I just can’t wait to get home and sink my teeth into you and fuck you all night”

“Face down, ass in the air kitten, you know how I like it”

“Look at this cute little ass, maybe I should tie you up, make you beg for me as I spank you”

“I’m going to make you scream so loud you’re gonna give Hizashi a run for his money.”

“That’s it, good (girl, boy, kitty) go on and purr for me baby let me know how good I’m making you feel.”

“You’re so tight, I love you so much.”

When he does get home during their heats, he’s always happy to help them.

During your heats he’ll give you catnip on occasion as an aphrodisiac to help you when he’s especially tired since it makes you even more sensitive.

After your heats Aizawa will happily snuggle you and help you get around since you’re sore afterwards more often than not.

All in all, your relationship with Aizawa is purrfect, and he couldn’t ask for anything more.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #x autistic reader #aizawa smut #eraserhead #x neko reader #aizawa x y/n #Aizawa x reader smut

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gremlinmodetweeker · 6 months ago

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König of the Icks (the rage post)

This is the post where I actually got mad at König. I can't stand people like this, but I also love them. If nothing else, life's always interesting when they're around, right?

Art from This Post

König rarely laughs. When he does laugh, it's usually quiet, subtle. If you didn't know he was laughing, you'd probably think he was crying because he just shakes his shoulders and makes soft chuffing noises

It's a bit eerie

However, when König loses control of his laughter, he sounds like a whole damn pigsty

He's snorting, squealing and honking as he tilts his head back with laughter. He laughs so hard he cries

This would be cute if it weren't almost always at the expense of somebody else.

Horangi had the misfortune of hearing it when König tipped all his belongings upside down and then taped and/or glued them to the ceiling. This included Horangi's bed and sheets.

Hutch nearly threw out a computer mouse until he found a piece of tape covering the bottom.

Roze swears she heard König laughing when she found her entire locker filled to the brim with tiny rubber ducks

The rubber ducks became a huge problem with soldiers trading them like contraband and hiding them in weird places around the base

This concluded with snipers using them for firing practise and laughing when they squealed when they were shot, making it to easy to find their hiding spots

Unfortunately for Stilleto, she heard König's laugh when she walked through a line of tape over a door and got it tangled in her hair. She figured out which recruits did it and had them running laps. When they were done, one of them admitted it was Cnl. Leichenberg who set them up and she was furious

See, König loves to set other people up to do his dirty work

He'll gladly set up soldiers to piss other people off so he can watch the fireworks fly

He'll purposefully hold off on doling out a punishment if he thinks it'll be funny to watch shit go south first

He's well known on base as a through and through sadist who relishes in schadenfreude

Hell, he's the one to teach everyone what that word meant

He's the literal dictionary definition of the word

Now, the problem is that König isn't just a kinky sadist (he is, but that's a different post)

König loves to torment anyone he loves. And of course, that includes you

König won't put things on the top shelf, he'll put them on top of the cabinet so you'll have to ask for his help because not even the stool will help you reach that high

He'll doodle over any picture you have of him to 'hide his identity'

He just likes messing with you

He torments his children with wicked pranks and gaslights them terribly

When his toddler offers him a bite of their animal cracker he eats the whole thing and laughs at them

He will absolutely label three objects 1, 2, and 4 so you'll go searching for #3

He will sit on you when he gets mad at you, or when you get mad at him because, well, this is the two of you (and he will do this to you and laugh):

His worst sin was childproofing the house without your knowledge. Ever had a fully childproofed house? If you're not the one installing it, it's an ugly thing to find

He will shift furniture just a little bit to the right or left to screw with you if you finish off his breakfast meals and don't replace them immediately

König takes delight in leaving you cryptid notes (you've learned to ignore the ominous threats because they always turn out to be something completely innocuous)

König is a nightmare of a man to live with. Is it fun? Sure! Is he a menace? Absolutely. He's got a penchant for mischief, and he's used to getting away with it because he's either got the reputation of a battle-hardened colonel that demands respect when he steps into a room, or the soft-spoken gentleman that would never raise his voice against a civilian. This just means he has the perfect fallback for whenever somebody accuses him of being a miscreant. In truth, he's most likely behind it, but the true extent of how many thing's he's behind is terrifying. This man fucks with people as a hobby.

Konig Dump

Konig Headcanons

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erodasfishtacos · 2 months ago

Text

Let's Be Alone Together - Trucker!H Prt II

prompt: harry doesnt understand why he asked her to travel with him, why he cares, or why he seems so drawn to a girl who cant stop apologizing and is too kind for her own good.

word count: 3.8k words

warnings: depression, suicidal ideation, lack of resources (food), childhood trauma - this is not a light-hearted read so use caution for yourselves!

author's note:

the first part was posted on tumblr here

there are currently eight more installments of this up on my patreon and still being posted

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

---

YN had laid back down in his bed after they had settled that she would go with him, that neither of them were attached to anyone else in any way, and all this was a bit of company - nothing more, nothing less.

Harry tried to keep his mind blank as he watched the road ahead of him.

It was a slippery slope that typically never led to happy thoughts when he lets himself be alone with them for too long at once.

They would creep in, like slow-cresting waves, and then hit him with the impact of a tsunami.

His body moved in practice, subconscious motions as he shifted gears with ease, flicking the windshield wipers up a notch because this weather was brutal and unrelenting.

Normally, Harry wasn’t concerned about such treacherous conditions where the roads were a sheet of white, snow flurrying rapidly and thick enough the clog the wind streams to make it nearly blinding.

He sickeningly enough enjoyed it because of the risk.

The higher possibility of death.

It was because what was the worst that could happen?

His truck could veer off the road.?

Hydroplane off the asphalt, hitting him into a guardrail, flipping it over until he’s falling down the steep embankment?

He would never want that to happen, only for Birdie’s sake, but if she wasn’t a factor then his answer would be different, most days.

Harry hated to admit that there were more days than not that he thought about how much he wouldn’t mind such a thing to happen to him.

His life had never been easy, it’s why he fled his home when he was sixteen, lied about his age, and had a rough-around-the-edges older man who had hired him for some odd jobs around his mechanics shop taught him everything he needed to know about driving a semi-truck.

And as soon as he could get his commercial license, he found a job that had him driving a truck from one end of the states to the other to deliver furniture from a custom brand out of Canada.

He didn’t mind the job, except for when he was granted his time off.

It was three weeks on, two off, and for people with families, children, it was rigorous schedule but they looked forward to having the extended time to relax at home before another three weeks took them away.

Harry didn’t know what to do with himself for that two weeks.

His bosses had looked at him like he was insane when he asked if he could just not take those two weeks off.

The first time, he came back to his hometown because he didn’t know where else to go, and it hadn’t ended well - he gave his mother too many chances and it resulted in him heading back out onto the road with twelve hundred less dollars in his wallet.

He never went back, left all of his belongings at his childhood home, changed his number so that his mother couldn’t get a hold of him, and cooped up in extended stay hotels wherever he landed for those two weeks.

Occasionally, he would meet a cute girl at the local bar or a waitress at the diner who he would spend a night with.

He really wasn't a one-night-stand guy or just a casual hookup either, but he sought out those women when the thoughts got dark, when the loneliness seemed overwhelming, and he really wasn't seeking out sex as much as he was comfort and intimacy even if just for a few hours.

He never felt enough of a connection with any of them to visit on his next off-time, even if he had promised it a few times to smooth over the hurt he had caused by crushing their hopes of a relationship.

His work paid for his meals during his weeks on, he stayed in cheap hotels, and didn’t spend money on anything except necessities that his company card didn’t cover which led to quite a hefty sum in his bank account.

Enough that he could purchase on his own semi-truck, used and beat to shit, breaking down every couple thousand miles and causing more financial burden than it was worth, but it helped him start his own business.

He had his own transport company now, just his truck and him, nothing fancy or overly complicated.

He could pick and choose his work, always picking the highest paid contracts, and it really made him successful.

Enough so that he could purchase a new, top-of-the-line semi which he reasoned was the best investment because not only was he purchasing his work truck but his home as he would be living out of it.

Ever since he started his own company, with no off time because he had contracts lined up to fulfill for the next year, and then some that never gave him a break - just like he wanted, no time to get too lost in his own miserable shit that he preferred to suppress.

No time off meant no life.

Harry hadn’t chatted anyone up at the bar, hell, he can’t remember the last time that he was even in one.

He can’t remember the last time he had sex either.

At some point, the company of a woman didn't quell those thoughts.

Sex workers knocked on his cabin door quite frequently, his flashy truck drew their attention with the hopes that he would be a generous tipper, but he always shooed them off.

He would be extra pissed if they woke him.

At some point between his first job and now, his depression had worsened to a deeper state than it had ever been in his life.

Life was a routine, monotonous and never-changing, miserable and defeating.

Harry convinced himself he didn’t need people, he only needed the open road and his dog, and that would be enough to suffice.

It was…

Somedays.

But other days (most of them), Harry found this sense of hopelessness, the weird in between where he wouldn’t do anything to end his life, but he wasn’t going to go kicking and screaming if it happened.

This world wasn’t made for him, he had told himself a long time ago.

It was destined to be a path of unhappiness from the moment he was born to the woman his mother was.

Happiness, prosperity, excitement towards life had never been an option when the woman who raised him rejected it all.

Harry couldn’t possibly start to consider his own behaviors of inviting this girl on a five-day trip with him around the country.

He was just being nice, is what he’ll tell himself because he’s fine being alone, really, he is.

It’s been this way for years; this was certainly just a blimp before his life becomes routine again.

Birdie is always sleeping in the passenger seat during the day.

It was weird to look to the side to see the seat empty, the expensive leather worn from the amount of time her lazy ass slept there.

However, Birdie was back with YN, tucked into her like they were the best of friends, and Harry never existed.

Traitor.

Acting as if Harry hadn't nursed her back to health when she was a puppy, too young to be away from her mother, and completely reliant on Harry to survive.

Could fool him.

Harry didn’t even want to acknowledge that Birdie has never taken to another person, ever, like she had with their visitor.

YN must have not slept well for weeks at this point, obvious by the dark circle under her eyes that had been covered with thick concealer when they’d first met.

YN didn't stir from his bed until nearly five in the evening, he had kept the blinds down, and the black-out curtains drawn so that no light was seeping in to disturb her as she slept, making up for lost time.

When YN finally does wake up, after using the bathroom, she pads up to the front of the cabin, and sits in the passenger seat, legs crossed and tucked under her as she glances out the windshield at the snowy mountains ahead of them.

Harry looks over at her, his eyes accidentally falling on her chest before they’re darting back up to her face - she wasn’t looking at him anyways but the henley she was wearing wasn’t the thickest and the pebbling of her nipples was obvious.

“Sleep alright?” Harry asks, eyes already back on the road, with this weather he didn’t have the luxury of not being vigilant.

“Yes, thank you,” YN replies as she curls her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees, and resting her chin on her kneecaps.

Harry just nods, he’s not good at conversation, at one point he was but that was a skill he wasn’t familiar with anymore.

The extent of his communication was over the radio, letting other truckers know that they’re driving like assholes or the customers he had contracts with - that was really it.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, it’s comfortable for Harry but he can tell by the way that YN keeps looking over at him and then out the window, that it wasn’t the same for her as the only noise filtering in was the engine.

“Why don’t you have a home to go back to?” YN’s voice breaks the quiet, her voice is unsure because what were they supposed to being doing on this trip together?

Was YN supposed to keep him company by conversation since her purpose to come wasn’t sex.

Or did Harry just want the physical company?

Just a body in the seat, nothing more than that.

“Why don’t you?” Harry replies in a terse tone, it was defensive because he didn’t talk about his past, to anyone, fucking ever.

He felt emotion when he thought about what his home used to be.

It trudges up anger, helplessness, desperation.

All things that his depression helped him ignore.

He isn’t an open book, the most binded close, lock-protected type because he wasn’t going to share anything that made him vulnerable, weak, and the only thing that got him to the point was recalling what a shitty childhood he had.

Shitty was an understatement.

Harry feels instant regret for his choice of words when YN flinches at his response back, arms coming to wrap around her knees a bit tighter, and that has him cursing himself out in his mind.

He didn’t want YN to be scared of him, he could tell she was already a jumpy thing which most likely came with the required hypervigilance of the work that she does, and he doesn’t want her to have to feel that way with him.

“I’m sorry,” YN apologizes, a nervousness in her voice as she positions her body more towards the door, and away from him.

Fuck.

Harry doesn’t reply because he doesn’t know how to say ‘sorry’ without showing emotion.

As he never did before, vulnerability was his worst fear, and he was going to do anything and everything possible to never show it.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Harry says instead, glancing over at her but she’s looking out the window, head now resting on the cold glass.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it,” YN dismisses easily, not turning to look back over at him.

And she didn’t say it in a way that she wanted sympathy or that anything like that.

Her voice was kind and forgiving, understanding which just shows how beat down she is.

Tired enough to just accept others' behaviors because that’s easier than fighting, accepting how people talked to her because she was so used to it that it didn’t seem like anything special when they did.

And God, that made Harry feel like absolute and utter shit.

He didn’t know YN, no, but he had a feeling that she really was a sweet girl under all the anxiousness and turmoil, and didn’t deserve that treatment from anyone.

Harry doesn’t want YN to feel like she has to get used to him treating her the same way that others have but they only have a few days together.

Why did this bother Harry so much when in the grand scheme of things, their time together was so limited that he shouldn’t care like he does, and he’ll continue to lie to himself - to chalk it up to a lame excuse.

Instead of apologizing, his voice is probably still too gruff when he responds, “You shouldn’t be used to shit like that. You need to stand up for yourself, not let people walk all over you. S’not right.”

YN picks at a loose thread of the pajamas pants she’s wearing, “I shouldn’t have asked, it’s my fault. I get why you said that.”

Harry hasn’t registered guilt as an emotion he’s had for a very long time, it hasn’t been a necessity, and it’s not YN’s fault that it's pounding inside his skull right now.

There’s something about how understanding she’s being, kind and giving him every opportunity to act like it never happened, and she deserves to be treated nicer - nicer than he was treating her too.

“S’not your fault,” Harry shakes his head, his fingers knuckling the steering wheel a bit harder because going from zero to a hundred of getting his feelings back wasn’t an easy thing to try to sift through - it was overwhelming, and he didn’t know why it was happening.

YN doesn’t say anything else, props her chin back on her knees after a while and watches the open road, her eyes trailing over the snow-capped mountain tops, to the wildlife they would occasionally see off in the plateaus.

Harry finds himself wanting to talk.

He wants to know more about her, but he can’t do that when he just shut her out.

“You can go nap again, if you want. It’s going to be at least another hour before we’ll stop,” Harry tries to keep his voice more friendly, but it just comes out flat, monotone, bored.

YN had been leaning down to scratch behind Birdie’s ear, lounging right at her feet on the floor, perpetually dozing off - “I won’t sleep tonight if I do. If I’m bothering you, I can go back there.”

She slips her feet out from underneath her, standing up with the intention to get out of Harry’s space.

“No, that’s-” Harry cuts off when he realizes he had wrapped his fingers around her wrist to stop her, light with no real intention to stop her actions.

They both look down but Harry’s dropping his hold on her, continuing where he left off without acknowledging the touch, “That’s not what I meant. I just know this can be boring. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to feel like you had to sit up here with me.”

YN doesn’t seem alarmed or angered by the touch, she didn’t try to rip from his hold or shake him off, her body language was as calm as it had been before.

It was a relief because Harry was starting to have a sense of anxiety that YN might be scared of him or intimidating, and he knew he came off…strong, unapproachable, unfriendly is just a few ways to describe him.

However, his intention is never to make her feel fear or concern about her safety around him.

His goal in these past twenty-four hours has become the exact opposite, an intense urge to protect her, even though he doesn’t know her or what she’s been through.

“I like sitting up here with you,” YN tells him shyly, her eyes darting away from him as she moves to sit back down in the passenger chair.

It had been a miracle that Birdie hadn’t snagged it in the short amount of time that YN had been out of it.

Harry’s chest warms at the admission, but he doesn’t let it show.

Of course he doesn’t.

Fuck, she’s pretty and Harry has to look back at the road because he could just stare, admire, and try to memorize her features because each time he gets a good look, he feels like he discovers something new about her.

He doesn’t say anything back, only leans over to turn up the heat a bit when he realizes that she has goosebumps on her arms, and she smiles to herself at that - almost like she doesn’t realize that she did.

And that anger floods in because all he did was turn the fucking heat up for her and apparently that gesture, that miniscule gesture, was enough to cause her to smile which make Harry wonder what the fuck she had gone through in her life.

Harry likes her smile, he thinks that he’d like to see it more often, and that thoughts are scary to him - all of this is more terrifying than it should be because his mind was becoming occupied with her.

So much so that he hadn’t thought much about his depression, his lowness, that dank place he tries to keep his mind out of at all today when normally it’s the only thing that is circulating in his mind.

Harry had been very spot on when he predicted that they would hit the next town in just a little of the hour.

He hadn’t eaten yet today and with a realization that he didn’t think that YN had either.

“Did you eat anything?” Harry asks with a frown, he knows that he startles YN a bit because they hadn’t spoken in that hour, and they probably would have if Harry had shut down the initial attempt at conversation, “At all today?”

“Not yet,” YN tells him as she sits up, stretching her arms above her head.

Harry knows to keep his eyes up because even out of his peripheral vision, he can see the flash of her smooth belly as the shirt rising just the slightest, and since when did he find his eyes wandering to that of any woman before?

It seemed that every inch of her body was of interest to him.

And even though that sounds bad, it truly wasn’t in a predatory or sexual way, it was more of an awe, admiration to how beautiful she was, and how perfectly she was crafted albeit much too skinny.

He can see the outline of her ribcage when she stretches, not enough fat on her bones to disguise them at all, her hip bones more prominent than they should be, and all of this a clear indication that she wasn’t eating enough.

And was Harry the person to talk to?

No, not really.

He was skinnier than he should be too.

Depression sucked the appetite from him, but he did enough to keep his muscles, even if his ribs are showing more than his abdominal muscles at this point but it was hard to have any motivation to care about his appearance that much.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Harry doesn’t mean for it to come out as accusatory as it did, he really needed to work on his tone.

YN pulls at the hem of her shirt, almost like she realized that Harry noticed how skin and bones she was under her clothes, “I am but I also learned how to cope with the hunger pains when I get them. I try to save my money to eat when it gets to that point, where it hurts.”

Harry doesn’t like that one fucking bit.

“You’re not going to do that bullshit when you’re with me, you got it?” Harry huffs, letting his irritation show and he doesn’t know how it translates - whether she gets that it is because it concerns him or that she thinks that he just finds her annoying.

It’s a tossup at this point.

“You’re going to eat when you’re hungry, no stomach pains, none of that shit,” Harry meets her eye, facial expressions firm to show that he means it.

“I’m sorry,” YN apologizes again, eyes wider and remorseful, “I’ll eat.”

Harry wishes he had the words to tell her not to apologize, to explain his behavior, and that it was all with good intent.

He wasn’t yelling at her, but he was concerned.

Instead of saying those things, he just grunts out, “Good.”

“Did you eat?” YN asks in return, not throwing it in his face but genuine concern in her words.

Harry holds up his coffee cup, “This is my fuel.”

“But…you have money to eat?”

The confusion knits her brow in a way that shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

“Yeah, m’just not hungry a lot of the times,” Harry shrugs, it’s not a lie.

YN’s lip twist at the side, thoughtful as she reties the knot of the pajama pants, too big and slipping down her hips, her voice quiet like if Harry hadn’t really been listening, he wouldn’t have heard it, and she probably wouldn’t have said it again.

“I really love McDonalds.”

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edgeray · 9 months ago

Text

BENEATH THE MASK

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Have this Father's Day special oneshot. enemies to lovers villain arlecchino x hero reader, aka, is it gay to sleep in the same bed as your enemy? Your hero name is Rover, because heheh wuwa reference. Might make a part 2 if someone wants it. Content warnings / info - arlecchino is mean and threatens you, arlecchino's pov, gn! reader, 2.2k words

A knock sounds on the front door, making Arlecchino pause in the midst of her meal. A visitor? Certainly, there’s no one she was expecting today, especially at–Arlecchino glances at the clock– 9:18PM. Anyone who she would allow to visit her would text or call beforehand. Should she just pretend that she's not there? Frowning, she sets down the fork on the table. Damn it, she really should install cameras already but she always pushes it back.

Cautiously peering through the eye hole, her breath hitches and her eyes widen. If she had a heart, it would have sunk into her stomach. Her hands fly to the door handle, unlocking it and flinging it open.

At her doorstep, you stand there, blood staining your torn and ripped suit as you clutch your arm. There's a knife lodged in your shoulder, and she could see your face– scratched up and bruised. Your pupils are foggy and your expression seems far away, hardly able to direct your attention onto her. Upon seeing her, an abnormal smile finds your face, then, your knees buckle and you tumble into her arms. She catches you effortlessly, slotting her arms behind your back and tugging you into her chest. You go boneless in her grasp.

“What the hell happened to you, Rover?” She demands through gritted teeth while she glances down at you. She carries you into her house, closing the door with a swift kick, doing her best to haul you into her living room and setting you down to lay on her couch. Your blood seeps into the furniture. You wince at the new movement, sharply inhaling.

“Got… into f-fight. With some, some new guy. Real asshole he was. Fucked… fucked him up pretty good,” you force out in between your labored breathing, before you cough out more blood. Your eyes flit over her form.

“Heh… nice sleepwear,” you remark with a trembling, cunning smile. “Who would have known… the notorious Knave sleeps in Hello Kitty pants… you're a lot less scary now… you know? Nice place as well…”

Arlecchino proceeds to ignore your comment. “How did you find me? Why did you come here? Do you have a fucking death wish, Rover?” She presses on, her hardened features showing no hint of empathy or concern.

“I'm… smarter than you think. And… I came because… hell, if I know.” You wetly cough. “Didn't have… anywhere else.”

The two of you know that she won't kill you, at least not now. For as often you found one another on opposite sides, the two of you have come to understand each other.

Arlecchino breathes in deeply through her nose, processing her enemy's word. Rover has always been a major hindrance in her plans– a constant rose thorn in her side for years, but she always appreciates your grit and strength. You've battled her tens of times, and each fight she can't deny the exhilaration she feels. She's yet to beat you and the vice versa is the same. A frequent dance between players of different sides, somehow the two of you always found the other in each other's paths. It would be romantic if it wasn't outright irritating.

Only you could truly challenge you and for that it's why the pitiful state you're in disturbs her to no end. You can't die, not here, not now, not when it's not by her hands. She will pry your last breath with her own hands, she will not allow anyone else to have that honor. She wants to see what kind of expression you'd make when she snuffs out your final bit of life. It would be so easy to end you here. To wrap her claws around your pretty neck, watch your pathetic attempts of struggle, savor the despair in your eyes, oh how easy it would be.

But if there was anything the Knave was, it was not a freeloader. She will not take other people's efforts and use them to further her own goals, which she will strive for by herself alone. If she killed you here, her own dignity would be singed.

There will come a day when the Rover is brought down, and the perpetrator will be clear: her. Until then, your survival is of the utmost importance, and next? To pay this scum a lesson of who can touch her angel and it is certainly not him.

“Who is this new villain that's sprung up?” She questions as she walks to the bathroom, grabbing her first aid kit, cotton balls, and some alcohol.

“Get this. The Doctor…” The hero then chuckles weakly. “Massive dick.”

“I see…” the Knave mutters as she approaches you. “Why did you come to me instead of the hospital?”

“Closer… easier to hide…”

“He was actively hunting you?”

“His ‘segments’ are still out there… no doubt wanting to finish the job…”

“Segments?”

“His clones.”

“Why you?”

“Jealous… of my good looks, maybe…?”

Arlecchino frowns. So you don't know why. She sits down in between your legs, leaning over you as she observes you, examining any wounds she can see. A couple of cuts on your sleeves and face, a deeper laceration over your sternum, and the knife wound. At least he gave her a little keepsake, though it is just like any cheap, small knife. If he has multiple ‘segments,’ then supplying them with proper weapons would be costly…

“Can you remove your costume?” Her finger trails over your ribs making you hiss out in agony.

You shake your hand. “C-can't… can barely lift my arms.”

The Knave sighs, letting her claws extend out. “I'm going to have to cut it off you.”

“Go ahead.”

Deliberately and precisely, she uses one claw to slice open your costume, exposing your chest to her. You flush and squirm slightly before she places the same clawed hand over your stomach, talons pricking your skin. Her fingertips feel impossibly hot, just like her blood flame abilities. Your abdomen muscles flex just from the contact and she can feel it when her frown twitches.

“Stay still,” she gruffs, piercing red-crossed eyes bores into yours.

“At least…take me out… to dinner first, Knave,” you snicker.

“You're insufferable.”

As she patches you up and tends to the various bruises and cuts you have, a silence forms between the two of you. She notices that throughout the entire interaction, you're peering at her, but not at her hands–her face.

“Lift your hips. I need to bandage your abdomen.”

You try to comply, but find yourself barely able to lift it past a little up. You grunt in agony, and then give her puppy eyes. The Knave is a villain. She's able to destroy the city center with the snap of her fingers, has brought down buildings with no effort, and has cremated numerous people. She is either feared by the mass or revered by scums. She would never be defeated by something as commiserable as your pleading expression.

“Do I have to do everything for you? I wonder how I've yet beat you when you're this incompetent injured,” Arlecchino huffs. Her hands grasp your hip, raising your hips until she slides your bottom over her lap, your bent knees on either side of her. The sight resembles something terribly intimate to Arlecchino, and from your flustered appearance, it seems that way to you too.

“Didn't think I would… have the Knave in between… my legs so soon,” you smirk cunningly, wiggling your hips as best as you can to further enunciate your archon-awful humor. One hand of hers finds your thigh before she grips it, claws digging through your costume and nicking into your skin. It's shallow enough to act as a warning but deep enough for you to feel it, a gesture to show that she doesn't appreciate your mouth.

“Did you forget? We are enemies. Just because I choose not to harm you now does that mean it would be wise to provoke me.”

“Not currently.”

That much is true. Silence fills between the two of you again.

“You know… you would be a lot easier to look at without your mask,” you whisper. Arlecchino looks up at you, her stone cold expression betrayed by her eyes, focused intently on you. How you had the audacity to trifle with her, she's uncertain. Perhaps it's just a distraction tactic you’ve turned into a habit, though she's unaware of whether or not you use this with other villains.

“Are you suggesting I'm rather hard to look at when I do?” She inquires.

“Quite the opposite. You would look even better, though.”

“The reason I wear a mask is the same reason you do.” Though, you don't need to wear yours right now. She already knows where you reside, and your true name.

“We don't have to wear masks when it's just us, Arlecchino.” The villain shivers at hearing her name come from your lips; it sounds immorally ethereal, wicked to associate something so vile with something as seraphic as your voice. And that voice that's slipped past her rational, calculating thoughts whispers that she'd like to hear you say her name again. It's just as electrifying as when you bellow her villain name in fury.

She swears that the dead heart inside her chest beats for a moment.

She comments nothing. She doesn’t enjoy the dalliance your words seem to imply, doesn't like how the air between you becomes thick with something that inspires hunger. She physically turns away from you.

“I've finished patching you up. Rest is the only thing you can do now. With your regeneration, you should be back to normal conditions.”

She packs up the various medical items, slotting the items into their respective containers. She's about to get up and put them away when your hand catches her wrist, a frail grip that she can effortlessly wrench herself out. She doesn't however.

“Do you have… anywhere else for me to rest?”

“I've tended to your wounds and you ask for more? How selfish can you be, Rover?” She frowns.

“The blood makes it feel… sticky.”

“You need to wash off the blood.”

“Well… considering I can't move my arms or legs…”

You're going to make her burst a blood vessel.

“Know that your death will be excruciating,” she sighs, and you give her a cheeky grin that she wants nothing more than to rip off your face.

She scoops you up into her strong arms, carrying you as firmly yet tenderly as possible in order to not aggravate your wounds. She takes you upstairs to a hallway, turning to the closest door. She seats you on the edge of the bathtub and turns on the faucet, letting the tub fill with hot water. She exits the room, presumably to grab some extra clothes and towels. She returns with exactly that, setting them down on the sinker counter.

She picks you up again, seating herself first squarely in the tub before you're placed on her lap, your back towards her.

“I'm going to have to remove your pants.”

“Seems unfair if I'm the only one that's going to be naked.”

“Do not make me stain my walls with your blood tonight. I prefer not having to clean up the mess.”

“You already have to clean up the living room, what's one more?”

She shuts you up with a loud tearing noise as she slits down the seams until finally you're left exposed to her. You gasp, squeezing your thighs. Arlecchino takes note of this, a small smile disappearing on her lips the moment it appears. Once she peels the pant sleeves off of you, she tosses them carelessly onto the bathroom floor. She retracts her claws to rub off the dried blood on your back, a long exhale escaping her as she gapes wordlessly at all the scars and faded bruises that scatter your back.

“No bath bomb?” You whine–yes, a full grown hero whining about a bath bomb–which quickly interrupts her stare.

“I'm not wasting one on you,” she says.

Although Arlecchino can't see it, she knows that you pout.

Thankfully for the rest of the time she cleans the blood off, you hold back on any more suggestive quips. Arlecchino shuts off the faucet and dries you off without another word, dressing you in a satin robe. She turns, quickly removing her own wet clothes and donning proper dry ones. When she returns her gaze on you, you seem oddly flustered–ah, she forgot she had an audience. If you appreciated her bare self, you had said nothing about it.

She hoists you into her arms again, marching down to the room right next to, which is a bedroom, and you’re placed onto the soft bed. You waste no time indulging in the mattress before you stop.

“Wait, isn't this your bed?”

“Indeed,” she says nonchalantly after she shuts the lights, sliding under the covers beside you.

“But, wait, you, don't you, don't you… have anywhere else?”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“Well… it's just… you're not going to kill me when I'm asleep right?” You chuckle though the unease is evident in your words. Arlecchino grasps your chin, making you face her. Your face is only a hair's breadth away from hers and she feels your hot breath against her lips.

“Do not mistake me. When I kill you, it'd be when you're awake and beaten by me alone,” she whispers huskily. She lets go of you, and turns to the side, her back facing you.

She can feel your eyes burrow into her. She pays no mind.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fic #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fics #genshin fanfic #edgeray.writes

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xxx-wounded-angel-xxx · 1 year ago

Text

Tear you appart - Felix Volturi x reader

Felix Volturi x fem! reader - contains smut

3456 words

content warning : swearing, darker and wilder than my usual Felix, possessive Felix, size difference (both him and reader like it) - Smut ahead ! please no judgment, this is the first time I'm writing some I tried my best I feel so embarrassed 😅 Stop at the divider if you don't want the smutty part that contains : dirty talk, voice kink, size kink, penetration, virgin reader (she's an adult in her 20's !), praise kink

Taglist : @agirllovespancakes <3

At first, you weren’t sure what to make of your mate. First, Felix was big. Like…two meters tall and really muscular. Like wow. And second, he… was busy. Like very busy, which you could comprehend since he was one of the highest ranked guards of the Volturi Coven. And the executioner… that's it you had said it. His job was to brutally kill people, and you did not fully know what to make of him because of that.

He was kind to you of course. But you could barely see him. He had a very important place in the coven after all, it would be mean to hold it against him, he couldn’t help it after all. But it was making it harder for you to understand him, how could you get to know him better if he wasn’t there with you?

Ever since you were staying with the Volturi after finding out that you were Felix’s soulmate, your existence had gotten kind of lonely. The current secretary would go shopping with you if you needed something but you were mostly staying in your quarters that were adjacent to Felix’s. So, you decided to spend the time by decorating as much as you could your quarters to your own taste.

As a goth, you took advantage of the Halloween season to buy home decor. Artificial black roses, deep red and purple ones, black lace curtains, gothic prints you paired with vintage looking frames Heidi found for you in an abandoned room… You kept the walls white but painted the furniture black. Lots of bookshelves were acquired to hold your book collection, CDs and DVDs, Felix had made sure you had a good TV and even better stereo when you said you basically lived with music. Anne Stokes and Victoria Frances’ art hung all over your walls, nemesis now dark fairy figures and cult cuties shelved neatly above your desk, nightmare before Christmas plushies and figures scattered all around your quarters with the occasional Hello Kitty and Kuromi: it was starting to look like home.

When December came by you bought red velvet curtains, and red crystal beads. A lot of them. Surprisingly, you were now finding every week rose bouquet, that you would put to dry and keep in elegant vases. You were sure they were from Felix, even if he never mentioned it the few times the two of you had met in November.

You were working on the canopy of the bed, after installing the black lace curtains and strings of white pearls that were easy to find as Christmas tree ornament, you were making garlands of red crystal beads that would reflect the light all around your bed canopy. Attaching bead after bead, you were disrupted by Felix. You looked at him, surprised as you saw him sit beside you on the black silk sheets of your bed.

“Good evening my darling mate”

This evening, you finally got to spend time with your mate. He apologized for his lack of presence beside you, the coven had been exceptionally busy and he had not been able to give you the time you deserved. But now, he was here, and could finally take care of you, his mate, properly.

You talked for hours that night, She Wants Revenge playing low in the background as you finally got to know each other.

But no matter how interesting this all was, you were getting tired. Felix noticed your yawn, and with a smile put you to bed, tucking you in and gently kissed your forehead goodnight.

Your Felix held his promise. Week after week you got to know the other better. Going from strangers to friends… to more. After a few months you realized that Felix wasn’t a friend anymore. No, he was more. You wanted him to be more. But it wasn’t easy. He was your soulmate! It was supposed to be easy! But it wasn’t. At all.

Spring came and left, and so did summer. It was the middle of autumn, and you still did not know how to tell your soulmate you liked him. How could you? How could a simple human compare to a vampire? He had not turned you yet, it seemed that he quite enjoyed your human habits for now. Maybe he liked your softness, the warmth of your skin or the color of your eyes? But that did not resolve your problem. How could you tell him when you had never done this before? You were in your twenties and not had your fist kiss yet!

You had started a diary to keep your memories, express your feelings and your thoughts. And the most recent entries were all about him. About Felix, the gleam in his eyes, the way his skin shone brightly under the sunlight, how hot you had found the glimpses of his toned and muscular body you had been able to see, the way his thunderous laugh made your heart smile… How… You love him. That’s it, you had admitted it fully: you loved him. It was written black on white in your diary. Your heart was in his hands. You did not need a prayer when you had his name.

That was the last line you wrote, leaving your diary on your bed as you left your bedroom to take a relaxing bath before going to bed in your favorite attire.

You came out of the bathroom, all clean and fresh, humming some She Wants Revenge song, when you froze. Felix. Felix was sitting on your bed. Felix was sitting on your bed holding your diary. Felix was reading your diary where you very explicitly wrote how much you loved him. Fuck.

When Felix looked at you, you felt like you could die from embarrassment. You tried to leave, but in the blink of an eye you found yourself your back against a wall, Felix’s body pressed against yours preventing you from running away. Anyway, where would you have gone? This was your room, for fuck’s sake! You shivered as he used his big hand to raise your head so he could look you in the eyes.

“You meant it?”

“What”

“What you wrote in your diary about me. You mean it?”

You had never seen Felix that serious before, his husky voice had lost all humor.

“It… It is… Yes, it is true. I … I really mean it.”

You blurted out the last words, anxious. What if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear? What if he hated you now? What if… Wait, why was he smiling?

“You have no idea how long I’ve longed for this. May I?”

You nodded, not sure what he was asking for. He cupped your cheek, and to your surprise he kissed you. You closed your eyes.

It was better than what you had read in your books, much better. His lips were soft against yours, his kiss tender but quite possessive at the same time. You returned it, quite clumsily due to your inexperience, but still with enthusiasm. He was the one to break it so you could breathe again. You were only human after all. Your body needed it.

“Damn, that was…”

He laughed at your reaction.

“Can you do it again?”

Smirking, he eagerly accepted your request.

Later, when you were too tired to stay awake, Felix accepted to stay under the covers and hold you. The feeling of his strong and much bigger body wrapped around your much smaller frame brought unholy thoughts to your mind, that you quickly shook away, but it still let you the time to show slight embarrassment. You thought for a moment that Felix would take advantage of it, but he didn’t, only kissing the top of your head and bringing you closer to his body.

“Does that mean that we are together now?” “You could say that dolcezza.” “So you’re my boyfriend?” “Absolutely not. I’m your mate. If you want a more human term, just say that I’m your husband.”

You looked at him, shocked, and that little shit that was your mate had the biggest grin you’d ever seen.

“I… I think mate is an appropriate term.” “As you wish.”

Your heart was beating so fast he couldn’t not hear it, and his bright smile was the confirmation. Luckily for you, Felix had decided to go easy on you for tonight. But you feared what his teasing would be like…

You fell asleep with these thoughts in mind, Felix’s arms holding you tight against him. “Buonanotte tesoro mio, ti amo…”

When you woke up the next day, Felix was still here, holding you.

“Hi” “Hi. Slept well?” “Yes” “Good”

Bringing you closer to him, Felix buried his face in your neck. You froze as it felt like he was smelling you, and he left a kiss where he could feel your pulse. Being this close to him felt nice, really nice. He smelled good, too. Something musky, homey.

“Are you sniffing me?” “You did a few moments ago” “Touché.” A pause. “So?” “You smell nice. Like home.” “Ah, that’s a mate thing, you know? I smell good like that to you only.” “And me? What do I smell like?” “The tastiest thing I’ve ever met.” “Felix!” “What?! You should take this as a compliment! You smell delicious!”

He had that cocky look that looked so good on him. You couldn't wait to spend forever with him.

It was near Christmas now. More than one year since you met Felix, a few months since you realized you loved him, and a few weeks since the two of you were fully mated. Well fully… There was something the two of you had not done yet. It was… sex. For fuck’s sake, you were an adult, you could say the word sex! But… that did not erase the fact that you had basically no experience in dating. Felix was your first kiss… and would be your first lover. The thing was that he was not aware of it. How could you tell him! This man was cocky enough, if you told him, it would sign you way to a never-ending teasing! Fuck. Wait, that was the point! This man – or vampire – was going to be the death of you.

Your thoughts were a complete mess. You were sure than even Aro couldn’t understand a single shit if he were to read your mind. Which was why it was a good thing that he hadn’t asked for a while. But maybe it could actually help? Wait no! You couldn’t let him know you were desperately trying to get in the pants of his executioner. All of it was driving you crazy.

You tried to keep up with appearances with Felix, behaving as normal as you could with him, but you couldn’t help but let some touches linger more than necessary, brush against him every time you were close with him, dragging the kisses as long as you could without accidentally killing yourself from the lack of oxygen… All of it you thought Felix didn’t notice. But that was forgetting something: your mate was very much a predator. And as a human, you were very much prey for him, even as his mate.

Your heartbeat running faster when he was close, the way his low voice would send shivers down your spine, or how some kisses and touches could get you clenching your thighs… Felix noticed everything, and your asshole of a mate was reveling in it, your love like the thrill of the hunt. He took great pleasure in it, day after day, trying to drive you crazy until you would be your back against a wall, forced to tell him exactly what you wanted. And he would make sure you beg for it, dragging the thrill of the hunt as long as he could. But lucky for you, he loved you more than it. He would try to not make you beg, not too much at least.

Your Felix had become great at reading you, your expressions, your desires. And being as old as he was, it had not been hard for him to put two and two together: the way you returned his affection, always eager but also quite clumsily, always holding back afraid of going too far or doing wrong… That darker, possessive side off him was extremely satisfied of it, no one had touched you like that before, no one but him, you were forever his.

After a few weeks, your struggles were not funny anymore, he wanted you to feel desired, to not see your inexperience as a bad thing. You were so damn beautiful and desirable; he would show you how much he wanted you.

He would be off duty for the next few days, it was perfect. The next time he would get in your bed, you would not be sleeping for a good while.

For the past few days, it seemed like Felix was toying with you, always managing to get you where and how he wanted. He was slowly taking you out of your comfort zone, it was like he had something in mind as he would hold you close, soft breath in the crook of your neck sending shivers down your spine. He would let you back up if you were too uncomfortable, of course, but the bastard knew what he was doing, always taking you further and further of your comfort zone without crossing your boundaries, teaching you a few things about you in the meantime. Damn, did you always have that size and voice kink or was it of his doing? Fuck, you had no idea but did not care much, it was too good for the reasons why to matter anymore.

All of this led you to that very moment, your Felix towering over you, your back against the wall of your room. Voice low, whispering in your ear, driving you crazy.

“Aren’t you pretty like that, all flustered? Your blood smell so good I might just eat you…”

Of course, this led you to grow even more flustered, your blood rushing and tempting him even more. He took another step, and lowered his head even more, leaving cold kisses on your neck, his cool breath driving you crazy. You move your head to give him a better access, and let out a soft moan as his teeth scrap your neck.

“You like that don’t you? To be all helpless as soon as I touch you. My beautiful darling…”

He lifts you, claiming your lips and you can’t help but wrap your legs around his waist. He bites your lower lip, and you let out a soft gasp, your Felix taking advantage of it, his tongue meeting yours to explore your mouth. After a while the two of you part, soft panting can be heard from you. At this moment, you realize you left your stereo on, and as your notice what song is playing you send to hell every hesitation and kiss him passionately.

“I want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight

Lie still, close your eyes, girl, so lovely, it feels so right

I want to hold you close, soft breast, beating heart

As I whisper in your ear, "I wanna fucking tear you apart"

It drives the both of you crazy, leaving you only wanting more, more than everything you had already done. So when Felix carries you to the bed, you continue to kiss him. When he lays you on the bed, climbing on top of you, you drag him close and deepen the kiss. When he takes off your shirt, you unbutton his, hands roaming everywhere on the other’s body in a frenzy haze, kisses left everywhere.

“I want you” you pause. “No, I need you.” You let out a moan as he rips your bra and leave kisses on your breast, a smile oh so smug brightening his face as he finds your sensitive spot. You writhe underneath him, clenching your thighs together, left wanting more, needing more of him.

“Felix…” His name leaves your mouth as a soft moan, and he can’t help but chuckle at your neediness, he’s finally got you where he wants you to be, he’s going to drag on this teasing as much as he can.

“That’s my name darling, say it again…”

He’s so smug but you can’t help but do as he say, especially when his pants and yours disappear, and his hand slip in your silky panties. As he brushes against your clit, you can’t help but buckle your hips, trying to get more friction where you need him the most.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Always that smug expression, he knows he is driving you crazy and he revels in it: you’re his and he is the only one able to get these reactions from you. He leans over you, pressing his body against yours, claiming your lips once again. You whimper as you can feel his hard bulge against you, increasing your arousal to an extent you didn’t know was possible. But you weren’t the only one left craving for more.

“Please Felix…” “I need you to use your words tesorina. Tell me, what you want?” “You. I want you I need you!” “So greedy my darling… Is that what you want?”

You can’t answer him as he rips your panties, throwing away what’s left of them before making his own underwear meet the same fate. He’s bigger than you anticipated, yet the only thing you can focus on is how much you want him inside of you.

Not breaking eye contact with you, he strokes his penis a few times, making sure it’s slick with his precum and your arousal, and get on top of you, teasing your wet folds with his hard length.

“Are you sure you want this?” He looks at you with such seriousness, trying to read your face and be sure this is what you want, that he’s not going further than you’re comfortable with. “Yes Felix please” “You only have one word to say and I’ll stop if it’s too much for you”

You nod, and satisfied with your approval Felix thrust into you. You moan at the feeling; you feel so full of him. You expected it to hurt, being your first time, but it doesn’t, your love prepared you enough.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it my darling? My cock filling you up, bringing you more pleasure than you’ve ever had.”

You can only whine and moan, too lost in the pleasure you’re experiencing for the first time. Felix eats up every of your reactions, satisfied that only him get to make you feel this good.

“You’re so responsive to my touch” Felix praises you, and his words do something to you you weren’t aware of it being possible. Something good. Really good. Felix, attentive to all of your reactions, notice and whispers sweet praises in your ear, driving you wild. He thrusts faster, eliciting more moans from you. It feels so good, you can only focus on him and the pleasure he gives you, moaning his name.

“I love hearing you cry out my name, tesoro. It’s music to my ears.”

He finally finds an especially sensitive spot of yours, hitting it relentlessly, eliciting moan after moan from you. He growls in pleasure, getting you closer and closer. You feel something ready to snap inside of you.

“Please Felix I’m close so close!” “That’s it darling, come for me.” He kisses your shoulder. “Come for me, let me feel how much you love me. I’ll be right behind you, filling you with everything I have.”

The pad of this finger brushes against your clit, and with his dirty words it’s enough to make you snap, riding the first climax of your life. Your Felix follows quickly, his cool cum filling your cunt as he moans your name, “you’re mine all mine my [Y/N] forever mine never letting you go my sweet and beautiful [Y/N]”

You fall back on the bed, trembling with pleasure and exhaustion. Sliding out of you, Felix admires for a moment your mixed release dripping down your inner thighs, before laying down beside you and holding you close, whispering sweet praises in your ear. He kisses your forehead tenderly, and you snuggle closer to him.

“I love you” “I love you too tesorina”

Exhausted, you fall asleep, safe and spent in your mate’s arms, Felix never letting you go for a second, holding you tight against him the whole time. This is what eternity should feel like, and he will make sure it always is that way for you.

#volturi #felix volturi #felix volturi x reader #fem reader

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homeofthelonelywriter · 7 months ago

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Of Cupcakes and Skulls | Part 6

(A/N) This is a bit on the shorter side, but I honestly struggled with the description of the bakery. I hope that it's good enough that ya'll can paint a picture in your mind.

Pairing: single dad! Mafia! Simon x baker! Reader

Warning: kissies, fluff, angst, comfort, Simon is fucking smitten

Synopsis: Based on this post by @lunamoonbby

Simon chuckled quietly as he watched you stare at your shop. Your eyes were wide and your jaw hung open as he gently maneuvered you so he could get out of the car and pull you along with him. And once you were outside, you could see the entire storefront.

You didn’t know what detail to focus on first as you took in the changes that happened overnight. Until now, it had been a generic and rather boring exterior, something you always wanted, but never had the money to change. But now…it was beautiful.

The storefront was freshly painted in a dark green color, with metal accents decorating the usual plaster wall and a canopy overhead. The windows were sparkling in the sun, offering an easy view into the warm interior of the bakery, brimming with new furniture and counters. There were flowers everywhere, outside and inside, decorating and offering a sweet scent as you stepped closer. Additionally to the tables and chairs inside, there were a few scattered outside, in an area that was fenced off by wooden planters, and filled with tiny trees. Heaters hanging on the wall overhead, for the colder months.

You glanced back at Simon, who just smiled and gestured for you to walk inside. So you did.

As soon as you opened the door, a pleasant jingle rang through the air and the smell of the wood furniture filled your nose. You took a few more steps, hearing Simon following you inside, as you looked around. It felt warm and cozy, everything you ever hoped your bakery would feel like.

There were multiple showcases for your bread and pastries, as well as a whole nook for coffee and tea making, with brand-new machinery and cups. Just looking at everything, you knew it must’ve cost thousands of pounds. When you turned to look at Simon again, he was leaning against the wall next to the doorway that led to the kitchen. With a nod of his head, you walked through the revolving doors and entered…heaven.

You had already been happy with the equipment you had before, but now the room was filled with state-of-the-art machinery. Whether the giant mixer or the dishwasher, everything was brand new and extremely expensive. You knew that because you regularly gazed at them on the website, dreaming of the day you could afford them. And now you had them.

Suddenly, two strong, warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you against a hard chest. You relaxed against it, your eyes still flickering from one corner to the other, taking everything in.

“The windows are bulletproof, with multiple layers so they should be able to resist almost anything. And the door is a security door, it will lock automatically at a time you set and can only be opened by a combination of a key and code you have to enter into a keypad that’s beside the doorframe. I also went ahead and had the best alarm system installed, as well as cameras in the shop that are wired to the security firm, as well as to my people. If we see anything suspicious, we’ll be here within minutes.”

You turned around in his arms, wrapping yours around his waist, resting your chin on his chest as you peered up at him. He smiled down at you, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of the nose, before he straightened back up and spun you around, slowly walking you to the walk-in fridge. His grip on you tightened as he felt you tense up at the sight.

“We installed a new one.”

He was whispering in your ear, hot breath faning over your cheek.

“It almost functions more like a panic room than like a fridge. It can only be locked from the inside. The controls are also inside, so if something like last night ever happens again, they can’t play around with those. Also…”

He stopped in front of the door and opened it, gently leading you inside, where he pointed to a corner that was void of any shelves.

“This is a latch that leads into an actual panic room. Once inside, it locks down, and nothing except for maybe a nuclear bomb will be able to get in there. It’s outfitted with screens that show what’s going on up here, a landline, and a burner phone, as well as a bed and enough food and water to last three people two weeks. It has everything you could need in case anything happens. And as soon as it locks down, there will be an alert sent to my phone, as well to the phones of all of my employees.”

He spun you around again, gently cradling your face in his hands.

“Like I said, I won’t let anything happen to you. No matter where you are.”

You nodded, a soft smile on your face as he carefully wiped away the few tears that were running down your face. It had been so long since you felt so loved. Still, smiling, you watched as Simon slowly leaned down, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips ghosted over yours.

“Boss?”

Thanks to your proximity, you heard and felt him sigh, clearly annoyed, as he slowly pulled back, before he glanced toward the entrance to the kitchen. There was a tall, blonde man, clad in a dark suit. He glanced at you, before focusing on Simon.

“What is it, Graves?”

Simon’s arms remained around you as he glares at the man who just interrupted you two. The blonde man obviously felt uncomfortable as he kept glancing between the two of you before he finally spoke up.

“A call for you. It’s urgent.”

Simon nodded, pecking your lips before he pulled away and walked to the man, whispering a quick ‘I’m sorry’ as he was leaving. You just smiled as you watched him go, taking the opportunity to look around by yourself. You peeked into all the cabinets and every corner, finding new, amazing, and really expensive utensils. Even the cutlery was new, replaced by a set that had been designed by one of your favorite chefs.

The more you looked around, the more your fingers started to itch, wanting to try everything out. You walked to the wall, where you had installed a hook to hold your apron, and were pleasantly surprised when you saw that it was more or less the only thing that remained of your old bakery. As you were about to pull it on, Simon interrupted, clearing his throat as he leaned against the wall next to the swinging door that led into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

He looked at you, amusement swimming in his eyes. But you just shrugged.

“Bake something. I really want to try everything out.”

With a chuckle, he crossed the distance between you two, wrapping you up in his arms again.

“May I ask…with what ingredients?”

That’s when you finally realized that he was right. There was nothing here you could use to make something. Not even flour.

As you stood there, surprised and still, Simon squeezed you tightly, before taking your apron and hanging it on the hook.

“Come, that’s our next stop.”

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

Tags: @lunamoonbby @distinguishedprincesstrash @xanvasy @reader-1290 (thought you might like to be tagged, if not just let me know!)

Like what you're reading? Buy me a coffee!

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copperbadge · 5 months ago

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[ID: My shower, tiled in ugly but functional brown, with the shower curtain off to one side; fixed to the ceiling is an oblong LED lamp, shining brightly down into the shower.]

Forgot to post this yesterday! That's the new little lamp I've installed in the shower for better lighting, and actually it looks kinda cool.

It doesn't work, but it looks cool. :D

I shouldn't say it doesn't work because obviously it's lit up in the photo, but it's not serving its purpose. An overhead light in that space is too high up for me to easily switch on manually, so I bought one with motion detection. In theory, when you get in, the shower the light will flick on.

In practice, the motion detection only detects a change of light, not actual movement (it's meant, I think, for something more like a garage, where when you open the door to go in, the ambient light you've let in makes it go on). The result is that in order to get it to turn on, one has to perform a kind of magical summoning ritual consisting of flicking the bathroom lights off and on, and it won't stay on unless the rest of the bathroom is dark, which defeats the point.

It was a $7 lamp, so I'm not overly annoyed. The pricier option (all of I think about $20) has a remote control, so I might go that route, but I also know of a brand with better motion sensing, so I may order from there.

Today's cleaning was mostly a form of rearranging furniture. I don't want my laundry hamper at the foot of my bed anymore -- it crowds the room and looks ugly on my video calls. I've moved it to the hall closet opposite the bathroom, but that meant shifting the storage bins already there and the majority of the lightweight jackets hanging above them. The bins mostly went into the bedroom closet, replacing a shelf I moved out of the closet and may donate, except for one open bin with the camping supplies, which I need to repack and find a home for. Right now there's just a nook of my living room that's "storage staging"; sometimes you just gotta get messier before you get cleaner.

In any case, that took about 30 minutes of a Behind The Bastards episode (The History Of American Masculinity, Pt. 1) and I'm taking it easy because I'm still battling a sinus infection, which is the reason I didn't scrub the toilet instead because I felt okay to move things around but not to get up close and personal with cleaning products. I took a few measurements of the hall closet (which has no doors) and I'm going to spend the rest of my allotted cleaning time on the sofa under an electric blanket, shopping for an appropriate set of shelving to replace what's currently there and make better use of the space. (I was tempted to try and convert it into a micro-office like you saw in trendy magazines early in the pandemic, but I prefer my office setup with a little more natural light.)

#naclyoho #national clean your home month

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lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

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fine art

javi gutierrez x moviestar!reader - installment #1 of sparrow's spectacles

main masterlist - other spectacles - kofi

summary : you were an up and coming actress, javi is your biggest fan, he'd do anything to have meet you.

word count : 3.9k

warnings, tags : dead dove do not eat, !! dark fic !! mdni 18+, noncon, stalker!javi, kidnapping, capture, stockholm syndrome, m&f masturbation, sex toys, briefly mentioned periods, exhibitionism, voyurism, so much internal thought processing regarding readers situation, briefly referenced suicide, reader is undescribed other than briefly being mentioned as young in her acting career, in my head she's late twenties, probs other tags i missed sorry. tldr: you have spent so much time with javi against your will that you unwillingly start fantasizing about him and give in to destructive urges in an attempt to escape him, everything is bad here.

a/n : is this stupid and probably bad? who knows, i have a terrible sense of self judgement lately so i'm just gonna post this and hope it's good. also can you tell that i blatantly stole the set from You LMAO. anyhow this is the first installment of my little 'horror' series. but it's less horror and more just odd little stories i wanted to write tbh

Desk, bed, lamp, television, door, chair.

On days where you’re feeling particularly bored you list the things you can see. Unfortunately for you, your surroundings rarely change. Of course you could change that, if you asked him for something he’d give it to you, anything you wanted. Unless of course it was something he thought you could hurt yourself with or contact the outside world with.

You didn’t often ask.

Whenever you can have a conversation with him he always says the same thing.

“If you stopped being so stubborn you might actually be happy.”

“I would do anything for you.” “Then let me out.” “Anything but that.”

“It’s not as terrible as you make it out to be. It isn’t an actual cage, it isn’t so bad.”

So you don’t talk to him unless you have to.

But some days you’re just so painfully, agonizingly, bored and you can’t help yourself. So you scream at him, or you pound on the unyielding plexiglass, or you hold your hand up against it, hoping he’ll touch the other side and you can briefly imagine yourself having physical contact with another human being.

Sometimes you’ll even play his games.

You’ll read the scripts he slides through the small square opening in the cage that can’t be more than a foot wide, and act out scenes with him simply because it gives you something to do and for fucks sake you’re desperate for something to do. It’s so easy to get caught up in him, if it wasn’t so easy you’d probably let yourself do it more often, thankfully, it’s so fucking scary. If you spend too much time in the box you’re worried that eventually you’ll forget that you aren’t a doll and you'll grow to like your box. So you do your damndest to maintain a wall between the two of you, but when that wall is glass it is destined to break eventually. So you scream and you fight until you get tired, and then you let the walls down as you rest, before returning to your struggle. And everytime you let the walls down they take longer to put back up.

At the end of the day it never matters how you treat him, he loves you all the same.

Even on days where you scream your throat raw and throw your furniture against the walls, if you ask him to get you takeout from your favorite restaurant, or watch a movie with you, he always will. You asked him about it once. Why didn't he just make you do what he wanted? Why didn’t he just make you obey? He had looked genuinely offended, as if he couldn’t believe you thought him capable of such a thing.

And he told you that he loved you.

More than anything.

That you were his most prized possession.

That he would never do anything to hurt you, it would be like if he were angry and he threw a priceless vase, the only person it would hurt is himself.

You had nodded as if he was making any sense and you’d turned back to the movie he’d picked out.

You were a vase.

You were a collectible.

A priceless, collectable. He kept you in perfect condition and never took you out of the box. Not even to play with you himself. A small, rather demented part of you, is starting to wish that he would. Of course you don’t want him to force himself upon you, you aren’t that far gone. (Yet.) But it’s been so long since you’ve touched another person. You would give your left arm just to be held. If your calendar serves you well, it’s been just over two years since you last saw someone who wasn’t Javi.

And Javi wouldn’t touch you.

Not ever. You were too perfect to be defiled in such a way. He would sometimes hold his hand against the glass when you held up your own, he even kissed you through it once. (Although it had been rather awkward and neither one of you ever talked about it again.) But he never touched you.

Sometimes you can’t help but wonder what would have happened if you’d met Javi in a social setting. He is rather handsome, and though you hate to admit it, when he isn’t leering he’s almost charming.

Almost.

Everyday you slip further into the fantasy where Javi does something to break up the monotony. Is that his goal? To make you so desperate for human connection that you eventually snap and beg him to touch you? You shudder as you wonder how long that would take. After the first year you stopped wondering what would happen when he got bored of you. You know deep down that that will never happen. If anything his devotion for you only continues to grow with each passing day. If it’s possible he probably loves you more now then he did at the start of your stay here. Despite everything he takes care of you, in his own strange sort of way.

Like how he tracks your cycle, always making sure you have anything you need on those days. Sometimes he even knows it’s starting before you do, he’ll bring you baskets with blankets and candy and any other little trinket or gift he saw that made him think of you.

Jewelry, little plush toys, and books. Anything to try and make you feel anything other than the misery that constantly loomed over you as you waited for his next visit. He never goes more than a few days without seeing you and he always apologizes when he does. He returns with your favorite shampoo or lotion to make it up to you, but it never really changes how you feel about him. It’s nice to fantasize a world in which you enjoy your only source of company but you’re careful to never let that fantasy bleed into reality.

If he were actually your partner you’d have locked him down ages ago. A part of you knows that he doesn’t want that kind of relationship with you though. He doesn’t want a girlfriend, you’re much more than that. You’re more like a goddess in a cage to him than an actual human being. A beloved pet bird. It’s clear he feels something more than simple love for you. It’s a devotion, a conscious effort to worship you.

You are to be kept in pristine condition.

Of course that doesn’t mean he can’t look.

Two and a half years.

That’s how long it took for the looking to escalate into something more. You were watching a movie.

50 First Dates

You had picked it out, Javi liked action movies but would never complain when you wanted to watch a rom-com. You were on your bed, curled up under the blankets in a hoodie and sweatpants. You haven’t worn makeup since he took you, you rarely brushed your hair, you never put much thought into your appearance, and Javi wouldn’t give you a mirror.

You had one, a long time ago. Within the first week you’d smashed it, threatening to slit your own throat if he didn’t let you out. All that resulted in was you no longer being allowed to have breakables. Plastic cutlery and paper plates were wordlessly passed to you from that point forward.

You had been watching in silence, he sat on the couch outside the cage like he always did and it wasn’t until you heard a shuddering groan that you turned around to see him kneeling beside the cage, one hand pressed up against the glass, steadying himself, the other wrapped around his cock.

You were frozen in place.

What are you supposed to do in that situation?

You watched, slack jawed as he took his time. His gaze made you feel naked, like he could see through the layers of blankets and baggy clothing.

He had looked you in the eye when he finished. Briefly staring wide eyed before his eyes squeezed shut and with a long, drawn out moan and a strained cry of your name. His cum painted the glass and before you could form any sort of response he was already stuffing himself back into his pants and standing. You want to say something, anything. Something to hold him accountable for what he just did, but you can’t think of anything, and he’s already leaving.

Before you can even blink he’s gone, without so much as a glance in your direction. And you’re left alone, in the lamp light, unable to escape the sight of his filth on the glass. Covering your head with a blanket as you waited for it to be late enough for the power to cut out and leave you in a safe, and comfortable darkness.

A part of you hoped that the white speckles would be gone when you woke up but you weren’t that lucky.

You faced away from that wall, with your head buried in a book until you looked at the clock and knew it was almost time to face him again. When he returned he had an aura of shame around himself, his arms were full of grocery bags and his eyes were red rimmed and teary.

“I’m so sorry- I just- I love you so much, I don’t know what came over me.” If this was a normal relationship and the two of you had maybe gotten into an argument or something you would have forgiven him. After all he looked genuinely remorseful as he stared at you, going through the bags before setting down several takeout containers with labels you recognized. He had gone out and gotten all your favorites. Your favorite fast food place, as well as a high end chinese restaurant you loved for special occasions, and a clear plastic case with a slice of your favorite flavored cake from a small bakery near your apartment that you frequented. (You’d never asked him to get you anything from there before, you’d never even mentioned the place to him.)

Through his mumbled apologies he set down your favorite bubble tea flavor and a water bottle.

He had passed everything to you through the opening in the cage with trembling hands as he sniffled. Once you had everything he sprayed the drying remnants of his release with Windex, pulling several paper towels off the roll and wiping it until it was as if it never happened. By the time he was finished his cheeks were red and big tears rolled down his face.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Before you can stop yourself you’re comforting him, as if he’s the victim in this situation.

“It’s not okay, I don’t want you to think that that’s why you’re here.” He mumbles sadly, letting his forehead hit the glass. Through your disgust for your own words you sense something else.

Opportunity.

The only chance you’re going to get for escape involves him unlocking the door. Something he hasn’t done since he put you in here in the first place. You’ve tried in the past. Not often, there weren’t very many chances, you had everything you needed here, running water and a bathroom, any other sustenance was provided by him through the little opening. There was so rarely an opportunity, and when there were he always anticipated your plans before you got to put them into motion. But you’ve never tried deception. You think you would have, considering you’re an actress but it had never crossed your mind until just now. You can’t half ass this though. If you decide to do this you will get one chance to do it right.

Go big or go home.

“No really, it’s okay. It’s sort of… flattering.” His face drops the second you say it and regret starts creeping in. You’re going to die here. He’s going to keep you here until the day you die and no one will ever know what happened to you. A young starlight, taken out in her prime.

“It’s not, it’s disgusting.” He tosses the paper towels away, sniffling to himself as he stands with his hands clasped in front of him, swaying anxiously back and forth. You take a seat on your bed across from him, fighting the urge to put your hand on the glass. You don’t want to lay it on too thick, he’ll see right through that.

“It’s fine, it’s- it’s natural.” You’re struggling to find the right words that make it feel real. At one point you were a rather talented actress but you’re out of practice. “Seriously. Especially from you. It’s really sweet.” Fuck, are you doing too much?

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he chews his lip as he stares at you, you can tell he’s skeptical. He should be. You so rarely speak to him and when you do it’s never to be kind.

“Actions speak louder than words.”

Someone said that in a movie Javi picked, you had sat and let him read the scene to you afterwards.

He wants an actress, you can give him that. You can perform, as long as that’s all it is. If it’s a performance you can keep your wall up. You stumble off the bed, your legs feeling like jelly as you pull open the drawer on your nightstand.

This plan feels stupider by the minute but you need to commit.

He didn’t gift you sex toys the way he did with other little things to make you happier. But they were always just sort of there. In their original packaging, shoved in your nightstand drawer with a few batteries he’d left as well, they’d been here when you woke up in the cage. You doubt you’ll be able to relax enough to do this without a little help, and you have to be convincing. If you aren’t believable he’s unlikely to trust you in the future. If you fuck this up now you’ll never get another chance.

It’s a pale pink rabbit. You’d probably never buy something like it for yourself, it looks… expensive. The silicone is smooth against your fingers as you rip open the packaging, twisting the base open to pop in two batteries. Rushing in an attempt to not lose your nerve. When you gather your courage you risk a glance up at him, just fast enough to watch his tongue dart out and wet his lips.

So he does want this.

Good.

Pressing the button on the toy makes it buzz to life.

Okay.

This isn’t so bad. It’s just masturbating, if you do this for him you can take advantage of the obvious attraction he has for you. Even if it doesn’t work immediately, eventually this ends with him letting you out, or at the very least letting himself in, which is all you need.

So you get back into bed, and you lean on a stack of pillows before really focusing on him.

And you ask him the question he didn’t bother to ask you.

“Is this okay?” You hope the trembling in your voice comes off as endearing.

His throat bobs as he nods. Maybe he doesn’t mind that you’ve been laying it on a little thick. Maybe you’ve denied him your affections for so long that he doesn’t want to risk rejecting any advance from you. No matter how out of the blue it seems/.

You push your sweats down to your ankles before kicking them off the bed. No time for embarrassment or regret now, if he senses hesitation none of this will be worth it. He’s moved to be sitting on the couch directly outside the cage now. His knees pressed together as he sits with his hands in his lap, looking almost comically polite.

No sense putting off the inevitable.

It’s been a while, there’s a camera in the corner of the cage so you don’t masturbate often, and when you do it’s late at night, once the lights are off and you can hide under your blanket. You can’t do that now though, that would defeat the purpose.

You leave the toy off as you shove it down the front of your panties. Pressing the soft head of it against your slit, finding it surprisingly easy to tease your entrance with it.

Are you wet?

It’s been a while, that’s why.

Javi certainly hasn’t wasted any time. If he were sitting any closer he’d be fogging up the glass, his hand is shoved down his pants, his face already flushed red. His usual rigid posture is lost as he leans back into the couch cushions, refusing to tear his eyes off of you. Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth you push the toy into you, holding back a gasp as you swallow. At least it feels sort of good. Good enough to make you wish you’d swallowed your pride and used this before today.

Your body moves instinctually as your free hand reaches forward to push your panties down and turn the vibe on in one motion, the silicone attachment pressing against your clit as you press the toy deeper into your pussy. It’s a little too easy to relax suddenly. Javi now slowly strokes himself, his cock in his hand, looking painfully hard as he squeezes the base of his shaft, almost as if he’s scared of blowing his load too soon.

Good.

The less time it takes the better.

At least that’s what you tell yourself as you angle the toy, letting the tip of it brush against your g-spot and drawing an authentic moan from you. Fighting the urge to cover your mouth in surprise, you repeat the motion. The combination of sensations making your toes curl and your back arch into the mattress.

“Fuck-” Your voice catches in your throat, your fingers twitch against the button to turn the vibrations up a level.

Once you find your rhythm it’s easy to forget about the nerves and what’s at stake. It’s easy to get lost in the sensation and the sight of Javi shuddering as he gasps. It’s easy to focus on the attractive parts of him for a brief moment, to make things easier. And it’s easy to wonder if his cock would feel better than the toy that hums and makes your body tense up deliciously.

It’s actually terrifying how easy it is.

It’s enough to make you horrified for just a split second. He wasn’t lying when he said you could be happy if you stopped fighting. Twisted into the pleasure you’re feeling is something else. Relief. Relief for the peace you find when you stop fighting him. You could feel this good all the time if you wanted, you and Javi could have your favorite food for dinner, you could watch your favorite movies, and act out your favorite scenes.

You could feel good.

You could have nights like these where you watch him jerk off his pretty, thick cock and know that someone loves you enough to take care of you like this. You could let him buy you pretty things and toys that make you feel so so so good.

And that thought terrifies you.

If you stayed in this cage you would eventually become entirely complacent.

It might not be tomorrow, or next week, or next year, but eventually.

You will be happy to flutter about your cage once you’ve forgotten how to fly.

His pretty little bird.

It’s your orgasm that snaps you out of that living nightmare. You hadn’t even realized you’d still been fucking the toy, pleasuring yourself to that little daydream. This wasn’t a good idea and you shouldn’t have done it but it’s too late for that now especially when you’re groaning out his name as you remove the still buzzing toy, now slick with your wetness. Javi’s eyes are wide as he clearly can’t hold back any longer as he dirties his shirt and pants with his own release.

As you quickly reach for the toy, turning it off, you pull your panties up in a hurry. Maybe you should push your luck and ask him to come into the cage now. A sense of dread is settling in your stomach as you realize that you can’t be here much longer, who knows how quickly you’ll crumble if you keep letting yourself do this. It’s best to make this a swift process where you don’t have any more time to sink into the hell that is acceptance of these four glass walls.

You’re about to do it. About to tell him that he should join you, that it would feel better for the both of you if he was in the cage as well but you don’t get a chance to as he zips his pants back up.

“Go to bed, when you’re asleep I’m gonna leave you a gift.” He stands abruptly, giving you a reassuring smile before pressing his hand up to the glass. You don’t hesitate to crawl up the length of the bed and press your own to his, it’s brief but you can feel the connection here.

This is just the beginning.

After today you’ll put more effort in. You’ll make it happen and you’ll make it happen fast. You can put the time and effort in, it’s not like you have anything better to do. You’ll convince him that it’s real before you lose yourself entirely and when the day finally comes where he opens the door you won’t waste the opportunity.

You’ll leave your room.

You can figure out the logistics of it later but for now you take the sleeping pill he slides through the opening every night he visits. You don’t usually take it but you need sleep and this will be easier if he thinks you’re compliant. With a sip of your drink the little pill goes down and your eyes close.

And you dream that you’re a bird, flying through a blue sky.

You sleep better than you ever have before in the cage.

Until you wake, the lamp being on is the only indicator you have that it’s daytime. Your hair stands on end as you sit up. He was here. Things have been moved, little things, noticeable things. Your empty drink is tossed in the bin and it smells of cleaning supplies. He doesn’t ever come inside the cage, that goes against everything he tells you. Your head is spinning as you try to figure out what’s different. How long were you out? The pills have never made you feel this fuzzy before on the rare occasions that you’ve taken them, you do your best to focus but it’s difficult when everything’s so muddled. So you do the one thing you know will clear your head and you list the things you see.

Desk, bed, lamp, television, chair.

Something’s wrong, different.

He said he was going to give you a gift. What the fuck did he do? Did he leave it in here? Was it too big to fit through the opening? Is that why he came into the cage?

You don’t catch it immediately, but there is a note taped to the inside of the glass.

I knew you’d learn to be happy : )

See you tonight.

Love, Javi

You look back around the room, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Desk, bed, lamp, television, chair.

Oh.

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#lincolndjarin #javi gutierrez #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #javi g x you #javier gutierrez #javi g fanfiction #pedro pascal #dead dove do not eat #tw noncon

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captainjamster · 1 year ago

Text

Observation Duty

Pairing(s): Price x fem!Reader Warnings: Manipulation, stalking, monitoring and surveillance, obsessive behaviour, non-consensual voyeurism, non-consensual mutual masturbation, non-consensual recording and photos Wordcount: 3.2k Summary: John isn't quite the captain everyone thinks he is, but he knows just how to act like it. No one would ever believe the things he does behind closed doors. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: PLEASE LOOK AT THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ MORE! This is the first part of what should be two chapters, because I can't stop starting things without finishing them <3

If I miss any tags you think should be there, please let me know!

Full fic under the cut <3

John’s line of work has taught him that people are so, so easy to play with. Know the right person, the right place. Know what to say, who to say it to.

Keeping you safe, under his ever-observant eye, is easy in the barracks and on the field. You don’t make a single move he doesn’t see or hasn’t approved. But when you go home, away from him and his control, he just can’t help but worry. Are you safe, alone in that big, empty house? What do you get up to? Are you eating and drinking? Taking care of yourself? Who do you see? Do you invite anyone around? The idea of another man in your home makes him shudder, and in your bedroom isn’t something he even entertains. John needs to do something about it.

He’s been thinking for a while. Some way to watch you, every waking moment. A permanent eye on the wall. He knows your address; it’s right there in your files. There isn’t a single legal document or piece of information about you that he can’t obtain if he wants to. Every place you’ve lived, your parents, extended family, even your friendship circles. Your school results, community hobbies, bank purchases, every doctors trip – especially your birth control and fertility, he paid very close attention to those details. He knows how to play you; he listens to your grumbling, observes what makes you happy. Notices the moments where you’re less resistant, records what makes you flare up in defensiveness or fury. John is a well-educated man, one who could’ve been a scholar in another life, and he’s decided his favourite topic to study is you.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

“Remember to fill out your forms, lads. New policies coverin’ house insurance and maintenance, let me know if y’need any fixin’ at home.” He hands out the papers, carefully keeping yours separate without being too obvious. Soap’s head bobs up, glancing at you and taking the bait John has set out perfectly. “Oi bonnie, weren’t ye chattin’ ‘bout fixin’ a light o’ somethin’?”

Your face lights up at the mention, a bashful smile gracing your lips, and John would be mad that it’s not in his direction if he wasn’t so satisfied with himself. “I can’t believe you remembered that, yeah! I was going to wait until I got home.”

Gaz hums, hunched over his own form as he signs it. “Maybe Ghost can buy a piece of furniture this year.” His sentence is rewarded with a pen smacking into the side of his head, bouncing off him and onto the table as Ghost snorts in amusement, answering gruffly. “Fuck off, Garrick.”

It never goes wrong, but he still feels smug at how effortless it is to orchestrate an entire conversation before it starts. Getting your signature is as easy as an extra sheet, you can’t even tell the difference. No one reads terms and conditions, and he’s made extra sure you don’t - a couple of edited test forms a few months ago - to rule out the chance.

With the paperwork completed, he contacts the company and gives them a boring, digestible cover story. “Yeah, her husband. Installing cameras, yeah. Keepin’ it safe while we’re both on deployment. Just a light out the back to fix, cameras to install in and outside.”

They’re so quick to listen to the man playing the big, strong head of the house, not a single question about why everything but the payment would be in his ‘wife’s’ name instead. Lying, John finds, is easiest when others do the work for you; give vague details that seem right, and let them come to their own little conclusions. Let them assume you’re some kind of military wife who doddles along behind him, just an obedient little civilian pet while he organises the household. If only they knew what you were and what you did, he thinks. Though still, an obedient little pet is how he would like you. It just takes time to get there.

They come over and install the cameras in less than a week. John’s antsy the day he gets the call that they finished, waiting for it to be over so he can experiment with his new toy. He ignores the questioning looks from his inferiors as he dismisses his last evening meeting early, pushing out the door into the stream of soldiers heading for dinner, only departing from the pack when he reaches his office door.

John prepared a room for this in advance – the moment he set the plan in motion. A room at home, his central control that he could run unmanned and long-distance, circumnavigating his occupancy at the base. It’s almost undetectable; no pesky windows to peek in from the outside, entry hidden behind a locked door in his office. The numerous screens flicker to life, illuminating the room in a blue glow. The cameras are perfect; detailed quality, blur-less zoom. Every angle. It quickly becomes his favourite room to be in, despite only being in it once when he headed home to initially set everything up.

At the base, all he needs is an electronic device and an app to access the command. His favourite to use is his phone, flicking through each screen to take in the rooms, committing each detail and decoration to heart. Though to keep up all professional appearances, he often settles for his laptop, flicking between reports and gazing at the screens with every spare second. John takes the weeks leading up to break to memorise your house, seeing each room flickering on the back of his eyelids as lies in bed, tracing each path you’d take morning and night until he falls asleep.

He protects it. Types your address into his maps app, virtually scouting the neighbourhood to make sense of all your outside cameras, memorising every surrounding street. Plans escape routes, recording positions of defence and any weak spots he could reinforce, windows or vents that are just too easy to wrench open by perverse men like him. Within a month, he knows your house plan like his own; enough to contemplate how he would reorganise it if you wanted him to move in, how many little ones it could hold, tiny feet pattering up and down its hallways.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

When the last week before leave finally comes around, he’s beyond ecstatic. John is a carefully controlled slate around anyone else, but his boys know each twitch of his eyebrow and quirk of his lip. They clue you in to his unusually excited behaviour with teasing jokes and remarks that have him rolling his eyes, gruffly ordering them back to work. Soap is betting on a secret missus, making a point to sneak up behind Price when Soap catches him texting away on his phone.

When he finally arrives home, he’s delighted to see your house is still empty. It gives him time to unpack, running loads of laundry and showering. He keeps an eye on his phone, monitoring the screens until he finishes, bringing a cup of coffee and dinner to his little surveillance room.

The screens fill the wall, a 3x3 set-up that basks the room in a pale glow, yet still isn’t enough to display every camera hidden around your house. Everything is silent, the occasional rumble of a car getting his hopes up, but nothing happens until a few sips of his coffee and an article later. Movement from one of the screen catches his attention, his head straightening to watch your front door swing open.

A bag is the first thing that comes through the door, flung down the hallway with a dull thud. Your figure follows it in, heaving another heavy bag behind you. John frowns at the sight, mindlessly tutting as he crosses his arms. He could be there to do that for you. None of this silly straining yourself.

Leaning back and settling in, he watches how you unravel from your long absence. It pleases him that you’re practical in your return, taking the time to wash your laundry, circulate and dispel all the stagnant air (although Price dislikes seeing your windows open, so unattended), and give the place a general tidy up. There’s a ping from your phone a few times that puts John on edge. Who’s texting you already, when you’ve been back for less than a day? His prominent guess is family and close friends, excited to have their beloved child home and safe, but he can’t help from worrying that he’s wrong. Maybe you’re so pent up that you just can’t help it, using those silly dating apps you talk about with Gaz, eager for someone to unravel all that need within you. Maybe it’s an old friends-with-benefits situation you already have that’s eager to climb back in your bed. Maybe – maybe he should bug your devices.

His deliberations are disrupted as you reward your productivity with what Price thinks to be a party in your bathroom. The small haven of what should be privacy isn’t free from his omniscient gaze, either. He doesn’t care if it’s disgusting; there are no boundaries to him. There isn’t a single side of you he doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to know.

The music comes through his speakers, some songs he recognises from the long travels spent in transport together. Melodies echo through your room as steam slowly gathers, whisps streaming in and out of his lens view as water slowly fills the bath. You trail from the room, meandering down the hall and grabbing some snacks from the kitchen, filling a glass with a carbonated drink you grab from the fridge. Snug in the corner above the entryway, paired neatly with the fire alarm, his camera catches the way you bend yourself over the counter, distracted by scrolling through some app.

He feels himself throb at the sight, fumbling to take a screenshot of the image. You tease him, staying bent like that as you wait for the bath, your ass swaying occasionally when a trendy song hums from your phone. Disappointment washes through him when you stand up, though he basks in the sight of your stomach peaking from under your shirt as you stretch, but his excitement is quickly renewed when you gather your snacks and head back to the bathroom.

The room has filled with a thick fog that blooms out into the hallway as you open the door. It clouds his vision, leaving him cursing for not considering the possibility. Your darkened figure is hardly visible as you move throughout the room, but from the soft, metallic clicks and flickering of light, he assumes you’re lighting something. Two lights blossom in front of you, remaining behind you as you crouch at the bath and start flicking the lighter again. The cloud has dispersed enough to let John see the fuzzy details of your face, watching as you bring a third candle to your face, inhaling with a hum of delight before you light the flame and return it to the bath’s edge. You strew the candles about the room, leaving a large one to glow on your vanity and putting the other one on your closed toilet lid.

You fiddle with the taps – running cold water, he guesses – and sit on the floor, sorting your snacks onto a long tray as the last of the mist spills from the room. He’s been lucky this time; had you not been treating yourself, taking the time to create a small sanctuary, the fog would’ve concealed any chance of John seeing you at such a vulnerable time. A flaw within his system that requires refinement. Perhaps a flaw he can turn into an excuse to visit you.

His thoughts fall flat when you stand up, slotting the tray into its position over the bath and silencing the taps with a few sharp turns. Finally. The point he’s been anticipating.

The captain waits with bated breath, eager to salivate over his uninvited striptease. It’s far from the first time he’s seen you undress, though it’s the first time you’ve been so beautifully unaware. Close proximity (and the resulting lack of privacy) is just another test of comradery – he’s showered next to you in just underwear and ripped your shirt or pants off to treat a stab wound more times than he can count.

But this time you undress, you don’t stop at your underwear.

There’s no to palaver or parade to your performance – there’s no real performance, just a one-sided show, and that alone has John’s cock aching. Capturing you without filter, pretences or social expectations, no song and dance of captain and soldier. You’re clumsy pulling off your underwear, catching the elastic on your toes and throwing it haphazardly onto the floor with the rest of your clothes through curses and grumbles. Inspecting yourself in the mirror, catching up on each new scar and burn, bending over and peering around to see the state of your backside and between your thighs. This is a side of you he can never glimpse on base, despite all his attempts.

The buzz of your phone distracts you, straightening up with a right, okay! and grabbing the small device, unlocking it to peer at the content as you gingerly slide a foot into the hot, soapy water. Bit by bit, you emerge yourself within the sudsy liquid, minding the tray as you let out an audible groan. John watches you melt into the bubbles, arms resting along the tub as your head falls back.

For a while, the two of you remain like that; John sat comfortably in his chair, ignoring the heat flickering in his lower stomach as he works through some papers, keeping an eye on your relaxed form as you decompress within the hot, sudsy water, picking at the tray of food and drink. His attention slips as the minutes go by, becoming more focused on his work – pushing the aching need between his legs further to the side - as he checks the screen every ten minutes.

The swishing of water becomes a tranquil ambience as you scrub at yourself, low voices from your phone that John doesn’t currently care to make out keeping you entertained through the process. You luxuriate in the tub for much longer than the barrack would ever allow, taking your time to scrub the build-up of product and dead skin that you give little concern during deployment.

A paper absorbs his attention, keeping his eyes occupied as he grumbles through writing. His concentration is only torn away as he finishes scribbling his signature, a sharp, unexpected moan filling his ears that has him looking up so fast his neck cricks. Scanning the screen, he quickly determines that it’s not coming from you – rather, your phone, and is now accompanied by a deep, masculine groan.

Your expression is clear on his screen, a flush to your cheeks as you gaze at your device, hand running along your chest teasingly to tug at a nipple. Whether it’s from the pornographic material playing on your phone or the heat of the water, John can’t tell.

The tent of his pants is already insufferably tight, and he swears there’ll be a zipper print against the red of his aching cock when he pulls it out. He wants to relish this, commit each moment of this first time to memory without the taint of his lust, but he can’t help the growing need between his legs. Ignoring it to finish paperwork, merely bask in the company of your unwinding routine, has been a challenge even for his steeled resolve.

As he watches your hand trail down the soft pudge of your torso, dipping into the bubbly water to follow the rise and dip of your stomach, he breaks. His cock springs out of his briefs like it’s gasping for air, bouncing angrily against his stomach with each haphazard tug at the elastic around his hips. He can only imagine how your fingers work between your legs at that sensitive skin, how you orchestrate your undoing.

The tray holds your phone conveniently, allowing both hands to roam your body, and John thanks his luck for at least the opportunity to watch you pinch and roll your nipples between your fingers. You tug at the sensitive buds with whimpered moans, water sloshing as your hips buck against your hand, teasing John with actions that he can’t see.

He’s damp to the touch as he grips his shaft, fingers immediately sticky with precum that’s been smeared throughout his briefs. Pearlescent beads drool from his tip in a lazy stream, lubricating his motions as he tugs lightly at his foreskin, already teetering the edge of climax. The slightest stimulation has his stomach tightening, listening to your gasps and whines grow in urgency.

You chase your orgasm eagerly, working with a pent up need that comes from the absence of full privacy within the miliary. Convulsions rack through you in synchronisation, moans combining in a harmony he wishes wasn’t separated by the screen. He wants to time it perfectly; fuck up into his fist and release as you reach your own peak, as if a flawless synchronisation is key to unlocking some phantom sensation of being buried between your thighs, clenched down around him.

It doesn’t take much more teasing before you catch up, your tiles wet as water breaches the rim with each careless thrust. The video in front of you has ended, long forgotten as your head lulls back, lost in the sensations that envelope your consciousness that prove to be too much. They push you over the edge with a ragged cry, your knees peaking from the water as your thighs clench around your hand, and John loses himself too.

All it takes it a few weak thrusts into his hand before his balls are tightening, seed spilling in enthusiastic spurts, striping his shirt and pants before it dies down to a dribble that John coaxes out with a groan. He sits there, watching your breathing even out as you wipe away at your mess, spent and catching his breath as the cum dries on his clothes. You’re quick in cleaning up the mess, pulling yourself up on unsteady limbs as you pull the plug, bending down to rinse your hands one last time for John to relish.

He's almost heartbroken when you step out the tub, droplets cascading down to drip from your form, only to reach for a towel to wrap around yourself. The fabric is a slim cover, leaving glimpses of your behind and chest as you dry yourself, humming a tune with a note of content John wishes he brought instead. John tucks himself back into the soiled briefs, shucking off his shirt and pants to wash momentarily, but not before he glimpses you one last time getting changed.

Before you can reach for the underwear placed in advance on the sink and discard your towel, the camera barely picks up the vibration of your phone, catching both his and your attention. Leaning over to the tray, your process is halted by a text on your screen that makes you smile, and whether it’s the drunken, post-orgasmic haze that clouds his mind, or the way it makes him more vulnerable to the surge of jealousy that flares up at your giggle, John finds himself fumbling through the lockscreen and pulling up your contact before he can stop himself.

If you’re not going to think about him during your masturbation, he’s sure as hell going to make sure you think of him after.

Dividers by cafekitsune

#READ THE WARNINGS ON THIS ONE BABIES!!!!#price x reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price x you #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #jams writings #cw: noncon #cw: dubcon

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