#John playing Its Been so Long

[fishiecomics]

There is something horribly horribly wrong with everyone in Beastlife /affectionate.

[good-beanswrites]

A drabble for an anon asking about the prisoners watching their music videos! This is focused on specifically Mikoto’s initial shock at seeing MeMe for the first time, but just know that Double comes with a whole new set of shocks as he truly listens to John for the first time ;-;

Mikoto was no criminal. 

He didn’t know how to break into locked rooms, or hack into complex prison security systems. He figured there was no way in hell he’d be able to see these so-called incriminating videos that the Warden was recording, and had resolved himself to an eternity of wondering what they could be. He was shocked when he didn’t need to do a single thing to gain access to them – Es simply adjusted the computer monitor and told him he could hit play when (and if) he wished. Then they left the room.

“A-are you sure?” he called, but they were already gone.

Mikoto blinked at the screen. It showed a stretched version of his apartment couch, near his bathroom wall, broken to reveal sky above. He thought he could spot his tarot cards at the bottom of the frame. Had Milgram broken into his home to film this? 

He scoffed, and hit play.

Distorted guitar started up. He flinched as his own face appeared for a moment – looking directly into the camera and making a wild expression he would never have made if someone was recording. His body tensed up more as he heard his own voice start to sing lyrics he’d never spoken before in his life. He wasn’t even a good singer, and here he was sounding like a professional. 

There were plenty of ways to accomplish all of this, of course. Software could mimic one’s voice, making him say anything these crazy reality hosts wanted. A team could easily add some digital effects to a stunt double and match his appearance perfectly. Knowing that didn’t make the experience any less unsettling.

He watched himself commit a nasty murder. He watched himself return home bloodied. But it was all ridiculous. How could Milgram even claim that this was him? He’d never raised a hand to anyone in his life. Were the other prisoners’ videos as outlandish as this one?

But then, a switch. 

The song shifted to a new melody. He appeared to wake up from his couch, and suddenly Mikoto got the sense that this was him.

He was struck with how familiar this new segment sounded. It simultaneously felt like a favorite song he must have played on loop not too long ago, and one that he’d never heard before. As it played, each new note and lyric felt right on the tip of his tongue. 

It ended as quickly as it began. The song returned to the heavy-metal-murder aesthetic it had started with, and once again he felt like he was watching a cheap copy of himself onscreen. He watched another murder, a shower scene (had the warden seen all that? How embarrassing…) and then he turned to his bathroom mirror.

At the same time as his musical counterpart, Mikoto leapt backwards in horror. 

His eyes remained glued to the screen. His hand flew up to grab the lower half of his face. It was fake, he told himself. AI and CGI and all that. It was fake. It had to be. 

Something deep inside of him said “no. That’s real. That’s me.”

Something else deep inside of him echoed the sentiment.

The video was less than four minutes of music, but by the end he was panting and tugging at his hair as if he’d endured hours of prison torture. He burst out of the room. He sucked in breath after breath. The melodies still played in his mind, lines repeating in his memory as he tried to put as much distance between himself and that little television screen.

He found the others in the common room. They gave him a knowing look, but somehow he knew his experience had been very different from their own. Es approached him.

They studied his expression for a moment. Thankfully, they didn’t ask anything stupid, like “how did it go?” or “what did you think?” 

Instead, they just told him, “if you ever want to watch it again, just let me know, I can get it set up for you.”

He would want to see it again. Of course, it would be better, then. He would take a moment to calm down. He’d watch it later and everything would be okay. He’d have a clearer mind. He’d pick out all the little camera tricks they used to make it. He’d be sure it was a fake, and laugh about how ridiculous he was being now. 

Of course. Of course. 

He nodded to Es, unable to produce any words. Es left him.

The rules in this prison never made any sense, but in this case, he was grateful. He wouldn’t need to figure out any snooping or hacking to get access to the video again. After all, he was no criminal.

… he wasn’t, was he?

[cerubean]

hi! just wondering when you were going live again?

hey!! i was planning on going live this friday and saturday since i had a long weekend but it turned out to be a total disaster with my power going out which made my computer start acting funny (it's fine now!) and dealing w/ bad cramps so ;-; im very sad abt that!

my goal is to go live next week and if i don't i'll make sure to let you guys know!

[starzwithapen]

what r solar's thoughts on brozone... the brozone brothers.... them.... 😈.

WAANXN TY FOR ASKING ABOUT SOLAR IM SO NORMAL ABOUT MY OCS . twirls my hair . I WROTE SO MUCH IM SO SORRY

Solar does not like them upon first meeting purely on the basis that there must've been a reason Clay got upset if he thought about them too long right? And she thinks Viva REALLY needs to do background checks before just letting anyone in- but he warms up to them ^w^

I think she'd get along most with Branch surprisingly- I'd assume they'd spend more time together when Viva and Poppy hang out, and he's familiar enough that it doesn't have Solar on edge, and she actually really admires him [don't tell anyone but Branch reminds Solar of his sister sometimes, and he finds that a little comforting]

Solar likes Bruce but is lowkey intimidated by him LMAO mostly because he was closest to Clay and the one Clay spoke of the most so Solar's like "oh my god this is the equivalent of meeting their parents since they dont have parents . I have to Impress Bruce constantly . Does Bruce think Im weird . If Bruce thinks I'm weird ill throw myself off a cliff . "

I dont think Solar spends much time with Floyd- Floyd doesn't initiate in fear of making her uncomfortable, and Solar would rather eat a car battery than initiate any interaction. Floyd's pretty okay in her book, and everyone's reaction to Floyd's hair being positive makes him feel better about his own hair

SOLAR DOES NOT LIKE JOHN DORY . number 1 reason Clay did not speak of him fondly so he's been on Solar's hitlist since before he even met him . Number 2 reason he also reminds her of her sister but in a Bad way and Solar doesnt wanna think too hard about that. I think they'd have a bit of a heart warming moment when Solar first reunites with his sister and their relationship kinda improves from there

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Been doodling in my notebook some of the lil blorbo guys and design ideas but my MP3 player is dead and the charger is gone so... Yeah that's the end of that. Devastating...

[writersdrug]

I need the bartender Simon having to escape upstairs for a few minutes just to control the monster in his pants just because of a more direct provocation from the reader

I was saving this ask and I think this is the perfect moment after Simon sees reader in his shirt, no?

Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, sex toy, pining, daydreaming about p in v sex

He doesn't dare go up to his room - even after the bar is closed, after you and Johnny are both gone, after his tasks are complete. His mind has been scrambled ever since you came down in his shirt, looking like you'd just woken up from having a nap in his bed. He knew that wasn't the case, but it was so easy to pretend. You made it easy, looking like wearing his shirt was just your typical Friday outfit. If he tried hard enough, sitting at the bar after hours, sipping on an Old Fashioned- he could imagine you were up there right now, lying stomach-first in his bed, wearing his shirt, with "LT RIELY" on your back - you weren't objective, he certainly doesn't think of you like that - but having his claim on you aroused the most primal part inside him. If only you could see what you've done. Did you even know it?

Price comes lumbering down the stairs. Simon doesn't bother to look at him; he sits at the bar, his Old Fashioned long gone, with an empty whiskey glass and the mostly-full bottle next to him. He was hoping to replace the thought of you with drinking, but he didn't have the stomach for it.

"I'm plannin' to see if Garrick wants to join the team." Price says, shrugging on his jacket. "I know he wanted to be his own man, but we could use him. Our girl's made this place quite popular."

Simon wants to spit out the words he'd just heard. Our girl. Whose girl? John's? Soap's? The entire pub? It was his name on your back. Not Price. Not MacTavish. He was the one you came to with all those receipts, numbers scribbled in the margins, trusting him to help you ward them off. Sure, you have fun with everyone, asking them all for help - but you go to him the most easily, whenever you need to feel safe. Bad customers, bad situations - you looked to him. Didn't that mean anything to Price?

He doesn't respond to his captain, choosing to stare at his empty glass instead. Price looks at him quizzically.

"Feelin' alright, there?"

Simon grunts. "Long day."

Price knows he's bullshitting him. He knows exactly what this is about. He sighs, pulling his beanie on and tucking the money pouch into his jacket. "If you want 'er, Simon, tell me to back off. Can't read your mind."

That has him pursing his lips, grip tight around the sides of his glass. He would have punched John, was he any other man. He knows exactly what Simon's thinking, yet he makes him work for it. Typical. His pride and his jealousy are fighting tooth and nail against each other, but he can barely say a word.

Price stands there a moment, waiting for Simon to speak - but he doesn't even spare the owner a glance. Bastard's always punishing himself... he thinks, sighing again.

"Bright and early tomorrow, lad." He says, heading towards the kitchen. "Lights off when you're done here." He knows Simon's capable of closing, but he repeats it every night regardless.

"Sir."

Price stops, halfway through the kitchen door. He looks at Simon, who's now staring directly back at him. There's a look in his face, something that reminds him of Ghost - the reason he became his right-hand man.

"Respectfully..." he says slowly. "Back off."

Price almost finds it comical. Like an animal staking its claim, staring at its rival - except they’re not rivals. The only reason Simon is bothering to play his captain's game, asking for permission to have what Price would happily hand over, is because he's his superior. Even if they're all retired from the SAS, no one ever really dropped the dynamics of the team.

He smiles, nodding his head once. "Understood." He says, shoving himself through the kitchen door. "But hurry up and say somethin' to 'er. I'm sick of you losing your mind during the rush."

With that, Simon hears him leave through the back door. He stays there for a moment, his mind reeling - he feels both satisfied and angry at the same time. It was a bit humiliating to tell Price to leave you for himself - you don't belong to him. But that was a problem he was going to fix. You had his name on your back-

For Christ’s sake, he’s got to give it a rest. You wore his shirt, that was all. You wore it – with no bra. Bare. Naked underneath the 141’s insignia, under his title.

And that damn bra is still in his room.

He can’t take it anymore. He unscrews the whiskey bottle and takes a few swigs, before slamming it back onto the bar top. He leaves the bottle and the glass there as he gets up, making his way across the floor, up the stairs, passing the office, and continuing up to his studio flat.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary. If you’d gone snooping, you either did a good job of hiding the evidence, or you didn’t really rifle through too much. His bed was untouched, his books and items where he had put them last – he goes into his drawers, checking to see if you had gone through anything other than his shirts. Considering everything is still where it should be, he assumed not. Though you did leave a mess in his shirt drawer – you’d been digging around in there until you found his old SAS shirt. Did you mean to do that? Were you looking for something with his name on it, just to drive him insane?

He goes back into his top drawer, muttering a curse as he pushes the contents aside. His cock is pulsing in his pants as he grabs his pocket pussy, slamming the drawer shut and heading towards his bed. He doesn't want to draw this one out - this is nothing more than a wank, just to get you out of his head. He sits at the foot of his bed and unbuttons his jeans, pulling his hard length out of his briefs – it bounces up and slaps against his abdomen, precum already smeared across the tip. He’s been hard for hours now, trying not to cum in his pants at the thought of your tits rubbing against the inside of his shirt. Do you have small, pebbly nipples? Or ones that are soft and pliant? He growls as he smears the tip of his cock against the lips of the toy, rubbing up and down the slit. He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You’re there, rubbing your lips on his cock, your hand wrapped tightly around his shaft as you stare up at him, licking and kissing his tip like a good girl…

He scowls and opens his eyes, sitting upright – he sees your bra hanging off the back of his chair, and he nearly passes out form how quickly the blood rushes to his cock. Pink lace, delicate and kinda skimpy… and your shirt, crumpled on the seat of the chair. You’d forgotten to shove them into your bag before you left. Or did you do this on purpose?

He's reaching out before he realizes it, slowly standing up and heading towards the chair. He wants to grab your bra, rub his cock in it until he stains it with his thick cum – but something in the back of his mind keeps him from touching it. One, it’s purely you, and he doesn’t want to ruin that. Two, he’s trying to cum. Not to cum to you. He’s doing this to get rid of your image in his head.

So, he goes for the next best thing. He grabs your shirt and sits back down on the edge of the bed. He lines himself up with his fleshlight and brings your shirt to his face; no wonder the drinks had turned it translucent, it was the thinnest fabric he had ever felt. Practically skin.

He presses it against his face and inhales: the scent of you, sweet, floral and spicy, fills his mind. It makes it all to easy to imagine that you’re sinking down onto his cock, and not that he’s stuffed it as far as he can into the toy. He groans, his eyelids fluttering shut as he pumps his hips once, then again… the tightness of the fleshlight slides over him easily, offering no resistance with the precum acting as a lube while he grinds up into it, heat knotting in his gut. The waist of his jeans hugs his thighs as he slowly and steadily pulses towards the ceiling, taking deep breaths of your scent.

He feels like an animal. Dirty, cheap, and desperate. He has to remind himself that it’s not about you, it’s about having a good wank and getting you out of his head. He drops your shirt on his chest and uses his free hand to cup his balls, groaning as he massages them. The schlick of the fleshlight around his dick is loud, the sensation borderline painful as he quickly fucks into it, curses spilling past his lips as he slams the thing down to the base of his length, catching on the Jacob’s ladder piercing on the underside, then back to the tip.

He shouldn’t, but he lets his mind slip elsewhere. What would you be doing? Would you have your hands on his chest, lips parted in a moan as you drop your hips onto his thighs, your cunt dripping and squeezing around his member…? What are you doing now? Are you still wearing his shirt? Are you lying back on your bed, playing with your breasts under the fabric and using your other hand to toy with your pussy? What do you sound like? Are you saying his name, or can you make any sound at all?

He falls back against the bed. “Fuck fuck fuck-“ he mumbles. He’s caught himself in a trap here – he can’t allow himself to indulge in the thought of you, begging him to take your hips and buck up into you – but it’s impossible to get you out of his head. Even if he could, he doesn’t think he’d be able to cum without you. He squeezes his fist around the fleshlight, groaning loudly from the pain, trying to drown out the sounds of your moans in his head… you’re always there, ever present, leaning over him and whimpering in his ear, need you, Simon, wanna cum on your cock, want it inside-

It's all too much for him, but not enough. He turns himself over, climbing up to his knees on the bed. He props himself up on his forearm, holding the fleshlight with his other hand as he ruts into it, stuffing his cock in as far as it will go, until the lips are smashed against the base. He pants and groans, mouth hanging open as he hovers over the bed; over you, holding one of your thighs up, touching his forehead against yours, watching as you’re covered in a layer of sweat, tits bouncing with each violent thrust of his hips. Both wrists secured above your head with one of his meaty hands, whimpers and whines spilling from your mouth as you struggle to remain coherent. Your cunt swallows him greedily, hugs him tightly, pulses around him, coaxes him to pound into you harder and harder, your walls twitching as slick gushes around him, your fingers digging into the back of his hand as you cry out his name, “Simon, Simon, Simon”-

He hisses through his teeth as his balls seize up, his abdomen going taut and his dick twitching in the toy. He rips the fleshlight off and grabs your shirt without a second thought, wrapping it tight around his cock and pumping it. “Gonna cum, gonna cum- fuck- oh, fuck-!” He mumbles to no one as his orgasm is ripped from him, hips canting repeatedly as cum spurts into the fabric of your shirt, leaking out around his thighs as he thrusts into it, thighs aching from the exertion. He bites into his hand and growls as he continues rutting, fighting through the overstimulation to chase what remains of his high – but he soon collapses on the bed, huffing and groaning into the mattress.

His orgasm fades slowly, his heart ramming against his ribcage and the fog clearing from his head. Realization sinks in as he’s hyper-aware of your shirt, still wrapped around his dick, now soaked in his cum. He'd have to wash it, now. Filthy doesn’t even begin to describe how he feels, but he doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He rolls onto his side, clutching your shirt in his hand. Fuck. One quick tug was all this was supposed to be, and now, he’s picturing you lying across from him. Face flushed, lips swollen and eyes hazy, smiling at him and panting. Telling him you love him. He’d say it back a million times. Listening as you breathe, as you talk about your silly little ideas for the pub, for redecorating his room… craving the moment where you drag yourself closer to him and snuggle into his chest for the rest of the night.

He hasn’t gotten rid of you, like he hoped for. He’s only made it more clear: he wants you. He wants his life to be threaded with yours, he wants to wake up next to you, he wants you to change his routine, to pick up his broken pieces and make a mosaic – and he wants to be there when you need someone, he wants to give you everything you want and more, whether that’s a life up in the clouds or down here, in his arms, in his small bed and lackluster apartment. You’d make it better; you’d make anything better.

He sighs, slowly sitting up and on the edge of the bed. Price was right – he’s got to hurry up and say something to you, or else he’ll be drowned in his obsession. You’d either agree to take this fucked-up giant on a date and end his misery, or you’d reject him, and he could force you from his thoughts and replace you with misery. It’s worked before.  

He pulls off his jeans and shirt and grabs the fleshlight, standing with a grunt and walking into his bathroom. He’s planning to clean the toy, but if he waits long enough, he might just be fucking it again in the shower.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Dead on main. No trick only treat.

~~Сhildhood friends and deals~~

The Justice League has to summon a ghost from another dimension to address the threat. They don’t know what price the Ghost King will take but there’s little time to bargain. Another spirit threatening them has already seized all the computers on their base. John doesn’t know what else to offer. A summoned ghost starts to look bored. Gold, jewelry? A favor from a member of the League? Like the Ruler of All Dead needs it. No one dares to make another offer, and the King is in no hurry to set out his demands. Maybe try to pull off a soul sale scam?

Suddenly, Red Hood breaks into the hall, walks up to Phantom and shakes his shoulder vigorously. Red Hood: You, get Technus out of here right now. I need access to the files and fast. Phantom: That’s rude, dude. Where did you grow up? in the cave? No "hello, no how are you, Danny", really? Red Hood: I’ll pay the usual price. Phantom: Deal.

What is the price? John sees Batman and gets in his way. The usual price, his guy said. Means Jay was already out of the deal alive and well. This hyperprotective bat would only piss off the ruler if he interfered.

The King quickly deals with his subordinate using a thermos and remains to watch working Hood. Red Hood: What do you want? I’m busy. Danny: You and I have a contract~ Red Hood: All right, all right. Jay throws M&Ms right in the face of the ghost. But king doesn’t look angry. He opens the package and starts sorting the candies by color. Phantom quickly eats up all the green ones and passes the red ones to Hood. Jason takes them without any questions.

Strange. John has never seen a summoned creature share its reward with a human. And the son of a bat looks too comfortable with it. Wait, since when do super-powered beings think that candy is a decent wage?John makes one of the most likely deductions using his experience. Constantine: Batsy, how long has your son been sleeping with the King of Ghosts? Batman: He…what?!

~~~~~~~

Dick *knocking at the door*: Little Wing, you hate ectoplasm and everything what is neon green, so why? He’s dangerous! Jason who turned on the music to not listen to his crazy family: ~He’s poison but tasty~

Dick: NoOOoo

~~~~~~

Jason: And now everyone thinks that I sold my virginity to you for a bargain or something, because interdimensional creatures like you aren’t supposed to help for nothing. Like you’re playing favorites. I’m gonna fucking kill John. Danny: Well, I wouldn’t say no to that. Jason: What? Danny: I mean, to k-kill John, yeah. How dare he.. Jason: Omg, you’re still so terrible liar, Fenton.

Danny: Sorry :(

Jason: No. Say it again.

~~~~Twelve years ago~~~~ Maddie wasn’t thrilled to learn that Danny was trying to make friends with Todd’s son. Their neighbor was terrible. And his son was definitely a street rat and probably a juvenile delinquent. Maddie: Danny, honey, there’s got to be a reason this boy is talking to you. Even kids from the crime alley are always looking for a bargain they can make or a fool they can fool. Danny: But Jason is so cool! He knows so much about books and alleys and.. Maddie: But you don’t want to be a fool, do you? Danny: Okay, Mom, I get it.

So, if Danny wants a cool friend, he’s got to offer a bargain.

He didn’t have a lot of pocket money for every month but Jason needed it more anyway. And his lunch that Jack was picking for him was big enough for two and only bitten on Tuesdays. Nice. Jason: Do I understand correctly? You will pay me and give me food, and I, what? Protect you from bullies? Danny: No! I’m not weak, I don’t need to be protected. Just..maybe we could sit together at lunch and walk each other home sometimes? Jason: Nay Danny: But why? You want something else? Jason: Money’s fine but your homemade food is…strange. Danny: I can bring sweets if you want. Jason: Deal. 3 pop tarts for a joint lunch, a party size bag of M&Ms if you waste my time out of school.

~~~~

Sometimes they share sweets when they hang out but more often Jayson takes them home to save in case his parents have money problems. Sweets have a long shelf life stored and he may not be afraid to poison himself. Over time, candy becomes their currency and a secret language for all occasions. Need help without unnecessary questions? M&Ms. Problems with learning? Skittles. The question is about family? Snickers. There will be a serious conversation? Pop Tarts.

Jason: One snickers and a pack of gum. Danny: Yeah, Jason? What do you want? Jason: My mom wants to meet my friend. Come to lunch on Sunday. Danny: Okay, you managed to pay for my expensive services. Jason:…and you just lost the gum from the deal.

~~~~~~

Jason threw a package at Danny: Three pop tarts. We need to talk. Danny: All right? Jason: Why are you avoiding me all week?! Danny: Well, it’s just..you’re Wayne now. Jason. Still Todd. And what about that? Danny: You can hang out with the cooler guys now, I didn’t want to embarrass you. Jason: Bullshit! I’m still the street rat, and you’re trying to avoid our contract. me. And I don’t even need money from you anymore. What the hell? I thought you are my friend. Danny: And I am!

~~~~~~

Robin: What’s a schoolboy doing in an alley at night? Danny: Um, I…nothing? Don’t tell my parents, Mr. Robin sir. Robin: It will cost you so many Chunky Bars, you have no idea. Danny:...Jason? Jason: N-no. Danny: Damn yes. What are you doing in green shorts on the street at night?! Jason: Cosplay. Danny: Oh yeah? Then I’m just your hallucination. Don’t hesitate to ghost me. I’m going home, Disgrace In Pixie Boots, bye. Jason: fu%&c$#u

[i-put-the-hot-in-psychotic]

John Price sucking on your nipples and playing with your breasts after having been deployed on a mission for God knows how long, thinking about the provoking photos of your glorious tits you’d send him driving him insane.

He buries his head in between them, flicking your nipple with his tongue just slightly as he pushes them into his mouth. Groans settle in his throat as he softly squeezes them, soft flesh pushing in-between his fingers. Both breasts given the same love as slowly kneading the other breast that its not currently in his mouth.

His cock so stiff, leaking precum just the idea of wanting to breed you, to have your tits full of milk so he can suckle on them any time of day, makes him rut against your leg. His beard softly scratching your skin as his lips never leave your breasts as he endlessly keeps his lips around them occasionally sucking whilst in his sleep.

[the-californicationist]

Bone Deep

AO3 Link -- MDNI -- TW: emotional hurt/comfort, make up sex

Your husband, John Price, has fallen into a pattern of behavior that seems to be moving him farther and farther away from you. But, you refuse to play second fiddle for long. 

You were drenched. It had been raining in such a way that made you think the Lord had gone back on his promise. Perhaps the rainbow had been painted just to placate you. Perhaps, you thought as you wrung out your hair on the porch, you would be drowned after all. 

It sure felt that way. Work had mounted up to the point of a fever-pitch. You had three projects due and one to revise. Not to mention, your husband had been home and yet almost fully invisible. 

John Price was back on something like leave, but he was never around. You saw evidence of his presence all over your floor and table and furniture. Socks, dirty plates, dead tablets, scraps of paper with Russian names scribbled on them... He was hunting Makarov in your kitchen and your hallway and your bathroom, and he was leaving that trail of breadcrumbs both literally and figuratively all over your house. 

You’d gone to bed alone for two nights in a row, and as you nearly tumbled over a pair of his sneakers in the foyer, caked in wet mud, you decided that it would not be three. 

“John?” You called out.

There was no reply, but a pale blue light shone under his office door. 

You popped open the latch and saw him hunched over the computer screen. 

“John.”

“Hm?” He responded, but he didn’t turn around. 

“John!”

“What?” He roared, spinning in his chair and glowering at you, shaming you for interrupting him.

“Okay,” you nodded, resigned. 

It would be a cold day in hell before you accepted that tone from anyone. You’d gone in there expecting to have a rational conversation, but your husband had raised his voice to you like you’d been a naughty dog. 

And you were absolutely not going to take that sort of treatment.

You made it to your bedroom in a quick three strides, pulling your overnight bag from under the bed. You shot your best friend, Cana, an SOS text. She lived two hours away, but you didn’t mind. You’d drive all night through the rain if it meant getting out of this prison that you used to call a home. 

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but you had boundaries. Clear ones. And he knew he had crossed them. He just didn’t care. 

You started to pack as you fumed, tossing in a few days worth of clothes, your toiletry bag, the essentials. Then, the bedroom door clanged open, its handle slamming into the railing on the wall. 

“What’s this?” John waved a hand over your bag. 

“When I married you, I married a partner, not a ghost. The only reason I know you’re home is because you leave your fucking laundry for me to finish all over my floor. I’m not going to clean up after you like some maid. Then, you raise your tone at me, disrespecting me? No. When you’re ready to be my husband again, you know my number.”

He scoffed,

“All this bloody drama over some dirty socks?”

You stared at him in a way that told him just how serious you were. The silence between you stretched on for eons, expanding in all directions. You smiled, 

“You know it’s not the socks.”

The look in his eyes said: yes, I know it’s not the socks. But, his pride wouldn’t let him say the quiet part out loud. 

So, you left. 

Starting up the car was hard. Backing out of the driveway was harder. But, every mile you drove simply steeled your resolve. You knew his work was important, but you were important, too. You’d always be his wife, but you needed some space. 

You texted your boss when you made it to Cana’s house; you were taking a few days off. A night of tears and comforting hugs (and strong margaritas) passed, then a morning. Then, a night… and in the middle of it, you saw your phone light up. Despite the million other notifications you received every day, you knew it was him.

John: hey

You: hey

John: can i call

You: one sec

You sneaked out of bed, untangling yourself from Cana’s lanky arms, and lugged your phone out to the front porch. You were about to curl up on her big patio chair when you were stopped in your tracks at the sight of a big black truck idling in the driveway.

You sighed, standing there staring at your husband. He killed the engine and stepped down from the cab. As he approached you, looking up at you from the bottom of the stairs like a wide-eyed disciple, you noticed that his blue irises were ringed in pink, bloodshot and puffy. He hadn’t shaven, and he looked pale. 

But, even though you were still hurt, and even though he looked a little worse for wear, it was hard to ignore the carnal ache in your belly when you watched the muscles bulge and flex in his immense forearms as he crossed his arms in front of himself. The way his chest stretched out his black tee shirt, a tuft of fur peeking out of the crew neckline, the sleeves struggling to contain his round biceps. The way he chewed his full bottom lip when he had something important to say. It was enough to test your resolve.  

“Hey,” you said in a small voice, holding your arms around your body for comfort. 

Suddenly, those sharp eyes focused on you with rapt attention, and he stared right at you, speaking in a low, gravelly purr, trying to keep his voice down,

“I’ve been a proper arse.”

You tried to hold back a smirk. He continued,

“I took advantage of you. I’ve been hunting this fuckin’ bastard for so many years, and I’ve got him cornered. It’s all I can think about. Every night I think if only I was a little quicker, or maybe just bloody braver, I could stop him from killing more innocent people. I let him into our house. Into your life. And I shouldn’t have let my work come between us,” John’s expression softened, and he uncrossed his arms, hooking his thumb into his jeans pocket, “And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, still waiting for his next step. Being sorry was only part of it. 

“When you come home tomorrow, it’ll be different. I’m gonna pull my weight again. You have my word that I’ll only work when you work, and when you’re home,” he squared his shoulders, rocking his hips forward, nervous energy coursing through his body, “I’ll be home with you. I promise.”

You nodded, shifting your weight, staring down at your feet. Then, he called your attention with a caught breath and words that hurt you bone deep,

“You are coming home, right?”

You tried your honest best to fight the tears, but your body shuddered through a sob and you gasped in a sharp breath of air. He moved to hold you, to ascend the steps and repent, to be forgiven, but you held up your hand stopping him in his tracks,

“I won’t have you speaking to me like that, John. I won’t…” You thought about your words carefully, “I can’t be treated that way.”

“I understand, love. Believe me,” he chuckled, “I never want you to feel like that again.”

The way he rubbed his thumb across his sternum made your own chest hurt. He tried to approach you again, stepping up the wooden stairs, creaking under his weight, and he angled his chin up as if to kiss you. But, you stepped away, guarding your own heart for just a while longer. 

The hunger in his eyes followed you like smoke from a fire, warming you with its heat. 

“I’ll be home in the morning, John,” you said, turning to go back into the house. 

The next morning, as you packed, you thought about his promise. You hoped that you were heard. Truly heard and not just for a week of good behavior. You deserved to be respected, and you wouldn’t let your relationship with him become so one-sided again. 

When you pulled into your driveway, you expected to be greeted with the same dark, empty house. As you moved to pick your feet up over the usual mess of shoes, you discovered the foyer scrubbed to a high shine, and there was nothing to stumble upon. All the shoes were shoved into their little cubbies, and there wasn’t a dirty sock in sight. The living room was bright, clean, and John was standing in the middle of it, waiting for you. He took your bags, and scooped you up into a long, tight hug. 

You thought he might try to kiss you, but he didn’t. He just held you against him, breathing in and out, not letting go. Your face was buried deep in his chest, and you could smell his aftershave mixing with the strong scent of his cigars, and a slight musk that was all him. You wanted to feel his fur against your cheek. 

Suddenly, he grabbed your chin in his hand, making you face him, and he said in a dark, warm tone, 

“I’m gonna be the me that you need me to be. From now on. I swear it.”

You felt his soft lips touch yours, kissing you chastely, then deeper, chasing your taste, finding your tongue, licking along its length, savoring your mouth like a treat, cherishing every suck and nip and bite. 

“I missed you, John,” you admitted, feeling hot tears staining your cheeks, not realizing you were crying. 

He wiped them from your temples, smearing them into your skin, cradling your head in his hands so carefully as if you were made of glass. 

“I’ve been away. But, I swear, love. I swear, I’m back. I swear…”

His lips met your wet cheek and took your tears with them. 

“I swear…” 

He kissed your neck, holding your head in his huge paw.

“I swear…” 

You ran your hands over his neck, encircling him, tugging at his shirt, needing to feel his skin. He hooked his arms over his head and rucked the shirt off his back, tossing it on the couch. He pulled you into his lap as he sat down, sinking into the cushions, kissing you like you might disappear again. 

“I’m so sorry, love. Please forgive me,” John growled darkly, his deep voice rumbling between kisses. 

“Forgiven,” you said, forcing him to look at you.

Then, he put his forehead to yours and let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes and simply rubbing your back, trailing his hands over your hips, pulling you in closer to him. 

Tentatively, as if testing the waters of a deep well, you rocked your hips against him, seeing if you could get him to take the bait. If you had your husband back, you wanted to seal that promise with more than just a kiss. 

He groaned,

“Mm, I don’t deserve that.”

You repeated the motion, feeling the twitch of his fat cock inside of his jeans, and you narrowed your eyes at him,

“Sex isn’t a reward. It’s our connection, and I need to feel you. I need my captain back.”

He smiled, nuzzling your jaw, peppering your skin with little, chirping kisses, 

“Pretty girl… I missed you so much. What was I thinking?”

You shrugged, playing coy as you slipped off your leggings and set to undoing his buttons, opening the fly of his jeans to see the shock of dark hair and the swollen prize nestled in it, 

“I dunno. Maybe you just needed a reminder?”

As you teased him at your entrance, letting his head play in your wet folds, you began to sink down onto his shaft, spearing yourself onto his length, rocking back and forth with a tantalizing rhythm. 

“Mmngh,” he sighed, his eyes staring, transfixed on where your bodies reconnected. 

Finally, after some effort, his girth was fully sheathed within you, warmed and cradled by your soft heat. You began to lift yourself on your knees up and down, dragging all the way to his rosy head and then sliding all the way back down to those brown curls, enjoying the faces he was making against his will. 

However, he didn’t put up with your performance for long. Before you knew it, you were laying on the couch with your knees on your chest, taking every inch of his cock as deep as it would go. He had a gentle curve that, in this position, rubbed exactly where it needed to, pulling you along from one orgasm to the next like you were a kite, fully at his mercy and high as hell. 

Your mind swam with murky, unintelligible thoughts, and he fucked you harder and harder, pounding himself into you like a machine. Sometimes you forgot his strength… and his stamina. 

You whined a bit, your timbre changing from other-worldly pleasure to mild discomfort, and he picked up on it like a hound. He slowed, inspecting you, looking for the broken pieces. 

“You alright, missus?” He said, kissing you, thrusting shallowly now, checking in with you.

“Can we sit?”

“C’mere.”

John pulled you into his lap and continued his efforts, rocking himself back and forth, holding your body like a toy. Then, he snaked his hand between you, giving your clit something firm to rub against, and you felt the tingles begin to build inside of your belly, a coil tightening, a dam under pressure, a firework ready to burst. 

He was facing you, so you began to kiss him in a slow, supple way, letting your mouth fall open and your lips meet his with the lightest touch. John matched your energy, getting lost in your ritual, sending out the tip of his tongue to play and taste you again. 

He pulled away and licked his fingers before returning them to your folds,

“Mmf-fuck. You are so bloody good.”

“I want you to come in me, baby,” you confessed, resting your forehead on his, trying to catch your breath. 

You saw the surprise dance through his expression. 

“You sure?”

You knew it wasn’t something you allowed very often. You’d been off of your birth control for a few months, trying to give your body a break from the hormones. And even though you weren’t trying for a baby, that was always a dream that you shared. For John, it was the ultimate dream. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you nodded, kissing his smiling mouth.

“Oh, fuck me,” he growled darkly, gripping you around your waist, changing the angle to something wholly transcendent. How did he do it? How did he know where your body needed him to be? It was absurd. 

Everything was bright and glittering as you came around him, and you felt yourself squeezing his cock mercilessly, coming down his shaft in hot, thick coatings of creamy slick, unable to stop it from flooding out around him. 

He, too, was erupting. He gasped for air, grunting in loud, animalistic shouts, his whole face contorted into a pleasure-filled rage, pumping you full of his soft, warm cream, frothing it with his rough movements. 

Eventually, he flung his head back, holding you to him in a tight hug, his entire body moving and reacting without his input, fully on instinct. You held him back, clutching him against you like a lifeline.

You thought he would slip out of you once he was down from his high, but he didn’t. He simply held you to him, sweaty and desperate, letting himself soften inside of you. It was as if he didn’t want to leave. 

“Thank you, love,” he kissed you again, shuddering yet powerful. 

“It’s nice to have you home, John,” you smiled, letting his soft laughter warm your heart, basking in it like the sun. 

[starsofang]

Get Well Soon john price x f!reader word count: 4.3k tw: MDNI, NSFW, jealous price, possessiveness, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, just a bit nasty ngl

Jealousy was a disease, and John was its desired host that it ravaged with an unfurling blaze of smoldering flames that scorched through the bloodstream like injected venom. It simmered at the bones and left him scathed, dissipating into bitter ash that filled the air around him with the pungent scent of his own distaste.

In other words, John really fucking hated seeing you wrapped around Soap like a damn boa constricter ready to sink your fangs into him like a feast.

The whiskey he’d been sipping on with tedious sips was now thrown back into his throat, sliding down to his stomach and leaving him with an acidic aftertaste. The alcohol only coaxed the fire into an uproar, the tips of the flames flicking its red-hot tongue in the flesh of his skin and scalding him with third degree burns from the inside and out.

He tried focusing on the emptiness that stared back at him from the bottom of his glass, fingers coated in the icy condensation where he gripped around it with vice. It prickled his fingertips, the force of his grasp causing his knuckles to go white and veins to flex uncomfortably in the back of his hand.

But the grim sight of melting ice wasn’t nearly as intriguing as the sight of you, the woman who’s been gnawing your way through his skin and bone for the past however-the-fuck-long that John’s been tongue-tied over you, smiling like a cheshire while Soap maneuvered you around on the dance floor of the dimly lit club, dipping his fingertips in the fat of your hips.

Your hips swayed in earnest, Soap and you sharing a laugh as he tried to replicate your pace and ended up stumbling around like a damn fool. The spark of amusement that shimmered in your irises was so bright, John could see it from where he sat at the bar. It blinded him, like a flashbang being hurled his way without a single ounce of warning, causing his ears to ring and his eyes to blink away the dryness that dusted his retinas.

He shouldn’t be mad, really. You weren’t his, and he wasn’t yours.

Soap was simply livening the mood after a grueling mission was deemed a success. John was the one that offered to take you out, allowing you a night free of suffocating peril, yet here he was, moping like a child who’d just gotten his video games taken away.

He wasn’t a jealous man. He’d never taken an interest in a woman long enough for it to tread into that type of territory, and his work occupied him like a slave to commitment – commitment to the job, and never to a pretty woman deserving of much more than him.

Yet, you had somehow begun worming your way into his brain, molding it to the shape of you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you chewed your lip when deep in thought, the plush skin reddening under its abuse and clashing with the tone of your skin. Everything about you was hardwired into his brain, filed away and hidden in the depths of his thoughts.

It was selfish of him, he knew.

You were his subordinate – if he could call you that, really. You worked with Laswell, which meant you worked with him. A package deal, one he had no choice but to accept when it came down to it.

He was playing a dangerous game, allowing the churlish spur of envy to grab him by the throat and choke him into submission. It darkened his vision with spots of red rage, lighting with a flicker of flames that illuminated in the reflection of his pupils.

But John was a fond lover of games, given his track record of coaxing enemy intel out of the lips of grotty men through the bite of his threatening words and the sting of his knife into their mangy skin. He knew how to play to get what he wanted, what he needed, but you were a puzzle with thousands of pieces that he just couldn’t figure out how to complete.

He clung to you like a moth to a flame. A dog to its bone. A bullet to a wound.

You were his ecstasy that he could no longer deny, and he was slowly succumbing to the addiction. He got high off of the very being of you, injecting you into his veins with guilty pleasure.

And John didn't know how much longer he could starve himself from his fix.

Unable to watch the way Soap embraced you with a feverish warmth that had your expression melted into content gratification, he stood from the bar stool with a lick of virulent hostility, the legs scraping against the floor like nails to a chalkboard. Gaz spared him a worrying look, and when he went to open his mouth to ask if he was okay, John sent him a dismissive wave of his hand, muttering a gravelly ‘smoke break’ before taking off.

The chill of the night air smothered him with a relieving shiver down his spine, nipping his cheeks that were warmed from a mix of club smog and alcohol firing in his bloodstream. He was far from drunk, far from tipsy, but the burning desire he harbored for you made him feel the buzz of a high that hazed over all thoughts of calm serenities.

Leaning against the old brick of the club, he sifted a hand through the pocket of his jacket, fishing out a cigarette. Cigars were much more his taste, but unenjoyable when having to shove them in the bowels of a cramped pocket.

Lighting it up and taking a thick puff, the burn of smoke did nothing to calm the hideous monster that dared to rear its head against the fabrics of his heart. It was hungry, vengeful, baring its teeth in hopes of sinking them into flesh and bone, tearing its victim apart limb by measly limb.

The music boomed faintly from the closed door of the club, pounding vexing notes through his eardrums and tainting them with a distasteful noise.

John continued his routine of inhale and exhale, dipping into the dance of wispy smoke that surrounded him and basked his aura in musk and pungency. It swallowed him whole, enough so that he didn’t hear the whisk of the club door opening from beside him, and a familiar voice sparking fireworks in his mind.

“Sir!” you exclaimed, and John felt his shoulders tense with wavering remembrance of the way Soap wrapped his tattered arms around you, his lips leaned in close to your ear to speak with you over the loudness of the music, the way he was the reason you were giggling like schoolgirl off her rocker. ���I didn’t see you at the bar. You feeling okay, Captain?”

The name left a tangy taste in his mouth. Bittersweet, souring.

“Thought I told you to call me John,” he grumbled with a ghost of a smile, tight and forced. It was more a grimace than a smile, as of course you would notice. Of course.

Keen eye, you had. It was one of the many traits John found himself falling into.

“John,” you corrected with a smile so bright, it practically laid out all of the stars in the sky in a shimmering blanket of wondrous light. “Why are you out here and not inside with the others?”

John had to hold back a lingering scoff that threatened to claw its way out of purgatory and fill the air with bitter irk.

“Got a bit stuffy in there, don’t you think?” he offered in place of spiteful words, but even at his attempt, the words came out clipped if your frown was anything to come by. “Needed a break.”

“You seemed bothered, Cap– John.”

“Mm.”

Your frown deepened and it only burdened him further. He didn’t want to be the reason for your upset, but that green little gremlin that coaxed him into anguished jealousy didn’t give two shits. It settled into his bones with enervating annoyance, paining him with ache.

“Don’t let me stop you from your fun with Soap,” he muttered dryly, uttering the words before he could stop himself.

Your eyebrows raised and you stared at him for a long moment, taking him in. His tense shoulders, tight lips pulled into a thin line, his firm grip on his cigarette that would’ve snapped it in half if he used an ounce more of strength.

“Something’s bothering you, sir,” you noted, and he gave you a taut smile.

“Look at that. Quite the brain on you.”

“No need to be rude about it, John.”

“Not being rude.”

“You are.”

John sucked in a sharp breath, nostrils flaring when he deeply exhaled. His eyes bore into yours like frigid icicles ready to pierce into you. It was chilling to the bone, sending an unsettling shiver down your spine. John noticed.

“It’d be best if you head on inside,” he hummed, his tone quipped with a hint of warning.

“Really?” you asked in disbelief and he snorted.

“Really.”

John knew he was being unfair. His envy was eating at him from the inside, bubbling its way out in molten poison that burned in his mouth.

“Something is clearly bothering you, Captain. Is it a crime to check on you?” Your tone began matching his own sour one, biting into him like a feral dog with its hackles raised.

“What’s a crime is you saddlin’ up with Soap like he’s your bloody suitor,” he hissed, and there it was, the bitter taste of frothing temper seeping out of his lips like red-hot lava. It scalded him, leaving him with third degree burns on his tongue. “Lettin’ him have at you like a fuckin’ dove for the takin’.”

“What?” you breathed, eyebrows knitting together in bafflement. “What are you trying to say?”

“What I’m tryin’ t’say, what I’ve been wantin’ t’say, is that I don’t like the way he was touchin’ you,” he declared in earnest. He stood straight from where he was leaned against the wall, glowering down at you with a look that could’ve pinned you to the gravel beneath your foot. “I’ve been patient. I’ve kept my distance. But enough’s a fuckin’ ‘nough.”

You didn’t cower under his looming glare, nor did you take a step back like you should’ve. You remained firmly rooted in your spot next to him, eyes flickering between the scowl on his mouth to the fiery eyes that threatened to burst into explosion any second.

“You’re jealous, Captain,” you stated, quite obviously. It tickled the little monster that was nearly bursting out of his skin.

“Rightfully so,” he muttered. “I don’t like people touchin’ what’s mine.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was yours to begin with, Captain.”

“John,” he reminded you. “I’d be happy to make you aware of it. Print it in that pretty head of yours so you won’t forget it.”

Warmth blossomed under your skin, spreading from head to toe and curling you into his burning embers. The words struck you like lightning, quick and sudden, leaving you dazed.

You could smell the faint cigarette smoke and whiskey in the fan of his breath as it settled over your face. You took it in, breathing through your nostrils and letting it settle to the core. It was musky and fragrant, stirring your brain into goopy mush.

“How’s that sound, sweetheart?” he mused, nearly sending you into an early grave. Fuck, you’d dig it yourself if it meant hearing those words on repeat.

“I–” You swallowed, mouth suddenly parched.

John stepped closer to you, a dangerous and brooding step. His frame towered over yours, head tilted down to ensure eye contact remained secured. He wouldn’t allow you to look away, wouldn’t allow you the chance to catch your breath. He knew what he was doing, knew what you were feeling.

“Just say the word,” he breathed, tickling your nose with his piquant scent. “Say the word and I’ll make it happen, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you managed, voice less confident than it had been before when you let your frustration get the better of you. Submissive, willing.

John’s lips perked into a pleased smile, eyes brimming with amusement and risk. He was taking the leap off of a daunting cliff, diving headfirst in a pool of unknown and uncertainty. But oh, he was certain of this.

You tasted the poignant flavors that melted from his tongue on to yours when he sealed his offer with a kiss. It was demanding, stern, his mouth molding into yours in the shape of a promise.

He traveled the shape of your jaw, rough hand entangling itself in the feathers of your hair. Tugging, wrapping it in his grasp, luring you into him with a burning desire to mark what was his. It was fire mixing with gasoline, burning scriptures in your skin, burning his name.

John swallowed every gasp and groan, eager and greedy. He captured your bottom lip with teeth, sinking in with a grueling bite, carving his indents into the plush flesh. He barely allowed you to gather air in your lungs, and it left you feeling dizzy, untrusting of your own legs to keep you steady.

“Do me a favor, love,” he grunted in the midst of your kiss, pulling back only to get a glimpse of the glossy look in your eyes. “Go on and tell the boys you aren’t feelin’ well and I’m takin’ you home. Had too much to drink, so I’m gettin’ you to bed, hm? Can you do that f’me?”

Your breath was shaky when you released a sigh, and nodded in tenacity, practically scrambling back into the club like a dog with its tail between its legs.

John stayed true to his promise of taking you home and tucking you into bed – just not in the way the boys were told.

He was like a predator pouncing on its prey the moment you arrived at your humble abode. His hands explored every expanse of your body, shedding you until you were bare with a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom in its wake.

He was famished, like a man starved for weeks on end, and the only thing that would satiate him was ravishing you to the bone.

You thought after agreeing that you were John’s and he was yours, it would feed his burning anger warranted from jealousy. If anything, it was the opposite.

He was firm and demanding, determined to etch every part of him into the plains of your skin. His hands were skilled in the way he practically shoved you into the mattress, lips remaining locked into place on your own.

He was a man on a mission, and you knew John to be one to never fail to complete it.

“M’gonna show you exactly what’s botherin me,” he mumbled into your mouth. His voice was raspy and guttural, laced with an undeniable wisp of arousal. “Been botherin’ me for ages.”

True to his word, his lips, chapped with a sheen of your mixed saliva moistening them, trailed down the column of your neck. They were neither rough or soft kisses, but rather balanced and precise. Teeth nicked the sensitive skin, taking it between tender bites and nursing the hissing stings with the point of his tongue.

Marking his territory, just as promised.

“You never said anything,” you acknowledged through a breathy sigh, lips parted and hazy eyes pointed at the ceiling as he worked wonders on your jawline.

“Didn’t have the gall to, ‘til I saw you cozied up with Mactavish,” he grunted, and as if the thought passing by in remembrance settled into his brain, he bit down a bit harder on the spot where your neck and shoulder met.

John peppered his kisses down from your clavicle, creating a trail to your sternum. It tingled with a feverish burn, spotting your skin with a faint flush. One of his calloused hands slid up your side, prompting a shiver along the way, until it grasped the mounds on your chest in a possessive hold.

His tongue darted out to circle a perked nipple, teasing, mocking. You couldn’t hold back the pathetic whine, and the rumble of his smug chuckle vibrated your whole body. Offering mercy, he enveloped the entirety of your nipple in his mouth, grazing his teeth along the sensitive bud and causing you to hiss in a mix of pain and pleasure – perfectly balanced, because John was a calculated man, and he never left a job unsatisfactory.

Your thighs rested limply on each side of his waist, and when he gave a particularly hard suck, they tightened around him, knees knocking into the thick of his ribcage. Instantaneously, his other hand that wasn’t occupied with holding your breast came to grab hold of your knee, carefully peeling it away from where it rested on the warmth of his skin, tugging you apart until you were spread and vulnerable.

That same hand slowly slipped down your knee, sweeping along your inner thigh and worshiping the smooth skin with a swipe of his fingertips. They were rough against your skin in comparison, and the sensation made you jolt.

They continued their downward exploration until you felt the subtle touch of a finger experimentally slide along your slit. You wanted to feel embarrassed by how wet you were from nothing more than kissing and him ravishing your breasts like he was feasting on a meal, but you couldn’t.

Judging from his muffled groan, he didn’t seem to mind it either.

“Fuckin’ soaked and I haven’t even touched you,” he observed, rearing his head back from your chest so he could gleam down at the sight of you spread out for him, glistening in the dim light of the room, forming a sheen over the tips of his fingers.

An embarrassed noise sounded in the back of your throat and you tilted your head to the side to avoid his smoldering gaze. He tutted, grabbing hold of you by the chin to force you to look back at him. His eyes were lit up with the same fire as before, yet this time, it burned brightly, illuminating his thirst for salvation.

“Don’t do that,” he said, tone dripping with the command of the leader he was and had always been. “You’re goin’ to look at me while I take you. Had no problem lookin’ at Soap when you danced with him, so you should have no problem lookin’ at me when I make you come on my tongue.”

You had to close your eyes to compose yourself, sucking in a sharp breath that pierced your lungs and filled your chest with an ache only he could soothe. They sent shocks through your body, lighting up like fireworks.

When John seemed satisfied that you’d listen, that you’d digested every word and command that slipped off his tongue, he let go of your chin, pleased to see you kept your promise of keeping your eyes on him.

He returned his attention to your silky cunt, dipping a finger in the slick that seemed never ending. His mouth was practically watering at the visual, and he was desperate for a taste.

John wasted no time in stooping down to be leveled with your cunt, breath fanning over it and causing you to squirm. He sent you a warning glare before poking out his tongue, gliding it over the sensitive nub before fully engulfing his mouth around it.

The sound you released was near inhuman, strangled and choked in surprise. His mouth was warm and inviting as he began devouring you, humming greedily at the tangy taste that smoothed over his tongue and filled his mouth.

It was intoxicating, addicting, surging through his bloodstream like a high he’d never come down from. Hazy, clouded. It disoriented him, smoothing over his mind with nothing but thoughts of consuming you until you were a puddled mess.

Your hand found its way in his hair, tangling in the mess of strands and tugging. Possessive in the way you pushed him deeper into your core, his nose digging into you as he inhaled the sweetness of your scent. The smell of you attracted him like hummingbirds to nectar, and he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck,” he breathed into you, and the gust of air mixed with warmth and a slight chill all at the same time had you whining. “Look at you. Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

He didn’t bother to wait for your answer before diving right back into you. He didn’t want to hear words, he didn’t want to hear smugness. All he wanted was to hear those sweet sounds filter out of you, like a soothing song playing on repeat.

He became more possessive in the way he took you, the subtle tenderness he was showing before melting into filth. Your slick soaked into the coarse hairs of his beard, chin dripping with evidence of your arousal that only became more pungent the more he sucked and prodded.

“John,” you whimpered helplessly, and he rumbled with a satisfied noise, so you repeated his name. It became pleading, desperate, voice turning into a shaky mess that only sent his mouth into overdrive.

The ghost of a fingertip brushed along the rim of your entrance, and when you took a breath, he seized the opportunity to sink it into you, all the way to the knuckle. It curled into you, before pulling out then pumping back in. It became a dance, the way his finger fucked into you with curious ambition, and it had you pooling into a moaning mess, writhing from stimulation.

His eyes fluttered up to meet yours with his mouth still wrapped around your clit, and you nearly gushed just from the look of him alone – beads of sweat already dotting on his hairline, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes dark and sultry with intentions of ruining you. They locked on to yours and never left for a single moment, not even when he stretched you open with a second finger, then a third.

It was all so fucking much. You could barely think with him filling you, curving right into that sweet spot of serenity that had stars bursting in your vision. Your body moved on its own accord, and to keep you still, he placed a thick arm over the plains of your stomach, holding you down while keeping the other occupied in the tightness of your cunt.

Too much, so much, all at once. It had your mind in the skies, floating on clouds of euphoria.

John seemed to map out your body language just from one taste of you on his tongue along, because when your stomach began to tighten and flex, legs trembling and quivering, he pulled his mouth away from you, fucking you with his fingers with a quickened pace.

“You goin’ to come, sweetheart? Hm?” he asked, and it felt as if he was teasing you. Mocking you, filled with overwhelmed smugness. “Goin’ to come from my mouth like I told you?”

You nodded vigorously, shameless in your own desperation. The squelch of his fingers dripping into your cunt with every shallow thrust was enough to leave you breathless. They filled you with a frantic need, shooing away the emptiness you once felt and submerging you in a febrile warmth.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praised, and it had you keening.

You attempted to lift your hips, pushing them in the direction of his mouth. He released a hearty chuckle, eyes crinkling from his bashful smile before he gave in to what you wanted, Mouth returning to your cunt, sinking into you like a feral animal, quenching his thirst and hunger.

You cried out, hand tightening in his hair. It was almost instant that you felt the coil of string ready to snap at any moment, tearing and tearing, bordering you on the edge of breaking apart.

His tongue flattened over your clit before circling his lips and giving it a hard suck, all while curling his fingers once more. That was enough to send you over the edge, your climax hitting you like a collapsing building, smothering you in its aftermath.

Your entire body shook, wetness gushing around his fingers as you clenched on them for dear life. You ground your hips subconsciously, fucking yourself on his fingers and riding out the seamless paradise and basking in the warm light. All thoughts blanked into nothing but your own ecstasy, and you selfishly drowned yourself in waves of rapture.

You were in heaven, you were one with the angels, singing godly praises with a halo over your head and a fluorescent glow that accumulated around you. This was what peace on Earth felt like, this was what it felt like to die and be reborn.

John’s voice was the gospel, embracing you with clarity and purpose, guiding you to the pearly gates to seek pursuit of happiness.

When John pulled away from you and carefully slipped his fingers out of you, he brought them up to your view, flaunting them with pride. His chin was soaked, glistening with sinful beauty, mangling itself in the hairs of his beard.

If you weren’t so high off of pleasure, you might’ve thought that John was God himself, smiling down at you from the clouds and showering you with loving conviction.

“See that, sweetheart?” he asked, referring to the sticky strings that stuck together when he parted his fingers. “That’s from me. And nobody’s goin’ to get a chance to taste you like I have. We clear on that?”

It was a silly thing for him to even state, given he had just taken you to oblivion, but you nodded anyway, going as far to even hum in dazed satisfaction when he brought his slick-covered fingers to your lips and you wiped them clean.

Jealousy was a disease, and you were the only thing that could cure John of the simmering rage that came with it. Now that he’d made it clear who you belonged to, the ugly monster returned to hibernation, and the sickening green that tainted his insides melted into worlds of color that only you could paint.

wrote this for my girly @ebodebo because i've been deprived of john and needed to write something for him asap, so i hope this met your needs (I need this man so badly it's unhealthy) <3

if you see any writing mistakes, mind you it’s 3am and i woke up to write this so no u didn’t

[gghostwriter]

Whispered Truths

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your weekly reading club with boyfriend, Spencer Reid, has never been as sweet and life-changing as this night Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 0.8k a/n: This is actually a request from @bloodredrubyrose and I really liked how this came out. I also used my favorite piece of fiction here as a prop so I hope you like it! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Couples, no matter how new or old, tend to create personalized dates as a way to strengthen the relationship. Some go on hikes together, some go on travels, while some stay in the comfort of their homes—under a blanket with a chosen book on hand.

You and Spencer definitely fall under the latter category. It was quite obvious from the first meeting that literature would be one of the strongest bonding agents between you and him. After all, it was how you were brought together—crashing into one another at the library with books and miscellaneous items scattered on the tiled floor. A few shy glances and bewitching dates later, you found yourself spending your Saturday nights in the presence of your boyfriend of six months, hosting an exclusive reading club with just two members, you and him.

“I never thought of it that way,” your left hand paving an aimless path through Spencer’s curly hair while the other held the book up high.

The pitter patters of the rain outside softly echoed through the walls. You were propped up on the loveseat sofa, his head resting on your lap as he looked upwards in question in regards to your statement.

“Never thought of which?” His voice low and soft, striking a resemblance to how he gazed at you oh so lovingly. As if you were the most riveting piece if art he had ever laid his eyes upon.

“How water played a big symbol throughout the whole book. It was really focused on during the first chapters but I—I just never quite connected the dots,” you clarified, bring the book to a close.

It was your choice for the week, East of Eden by John Steinbeck—a modern classic and had been your favorite work of literature since high school. Spencer had lent his copy to you last week and you vice versa—both turning brown from age, pages about to fall apart from its binding, annotations scribbled on the margins and any lengthy self reflections written on various notebook pages sandwiched in between.

“Your explanation on the empty pages at the end—how water is capable of bringing both life and death. Water being essential for the crops but at the same time, drowned victims. It’s such a poignant note that I think I just fell more in love with Steinbeck’s writing,” you added. “It also made me realize how water in his novel represents the dual capacity of the human soul for good and evil. How we are all filled with conundrums and contradictions and what makes us different from the other species on Earth is our ability to choose whether we are good or evil—” Spencer had sat up and leaned in, interrupting your musings. “—what?” You breathed out as his lips hovered on yours.

The once cozy atmosphere quickly charged with tension and desire that seemed to ooze out of Spencer. There was little space in between and you had no doubt that from the outside looking in, it looked like he was kissing you but he was not, rather a sliver of air was still given space to pass through. So close but so far.

You studied his features up close. How his long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings beating against the wind as his molten, darkened, hazel eyes flickered between your lips and eyes. How his nose lightly caressed yours in an endless Eskimo kiss. How his cheeks stained into a lighter shade of red. And how his pink tongue peeked out to wet his pillowy lips. 

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered as if it was some kind of national secret that he now felt right to expose.

Your breath caught in your throat. This was the first time he had said it. His love for you had been conveyed with every touch, with every action, and with every silence but this was the first time he had put it into words.

His lips caressed yours—the pressure almost non-existent. A ghost of a kiss to gauge your reaction and consent.

“I love you,” he repeated a little louder this time, eyes locking into the very depths of your soul. “You and your mind have enchanted me since the beginning—so beautiful, so captivating.”

The butterflies set free in your stomach caused you to viscerally shiver in reaction.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

A smile graced his face and it was bright and as blinding as the sun, like it had finally decided to stop hiding behind the clouds and show itself in all of its glory.

He leaned in once more. The pressure from his lips now heavier and headier, trying to stamp his everlasting mark on you and in between all these kisses were whispers of his utter devotion and adoration until there was no more space—until you both became one on his loveseat sofa.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[zvaigzdelasas]

[NewYorkTimes is Private US Media]

Over the past month, we’ve watched an astonishing, high-stakes global drama play out in The Hague. A group of countries from the poorer, less powerful bloc some call the global south, led by South Africa, dragged the government of Israel and, by extension, its rich, powerful allies into the top court of the Western rules-based order and accused Israel of prosecuting a brutal war in Gaza that is “genocidal in character.”

The responses to this presentation from the leading nations of that order were quick and blunt.

“Completely unjustified and wrong,” said a statement from Rishi Sunak, Britain’s prime minister.

“Meritless, counterproductive and completely without any basis in fact whatsoever,” said John Kirby, a spokesman for the United States National Security Council.

“The accusation has no basis in fact,” a German government spokesman said, adding that Germany opposed the “political instrumentalization” of the genocide statute.

But on Friday, that court had its say, issuing a sober and careful provisional ruling that doubled as a rebuke to those dismissals. In granting provisional measures, the court affirmed that some of South Africa’s allegations were plausible and called on Israel to take immediate steps to protect civilians, increase the amount of humanitarian aid and punish officials who engaged in violent and incendiary speech. The court stopped short of calling for a cease-fire, but it granted South Africa’s request for provisional measures to prevent further civilian death. For the most part, the court ruled in favor of the global south.[...]

The court was not asked to rule on whether Israel had in fact committed genocide, a matter that is likely to take years to adjudicate. Whatever the eventual outcome of the case, it sets up an epic battle over the meaning and values of the so-called rules-based order. If these rules don’t apply when powerful countries don’t want them to, are they rules at all?

“As long as those who make rules enforce them against others while believing that they and their allies are above those rules, the international governance system is in trouble,” Thuli Madonsela, one of South Africa’s leading legal minds and an architect of its post-apartheid Constitution, told me. “We say these rules are the rules when Russia invades Ukraine or when the Rohingya are being massacred by Myanmar, but if it’s now Israel butchering Palestinians, depriving them of food, displacing them en masse, then the rules don’t apply and whoever tries to apply the rules is antisemitic? It is really putting those rules in jeopardy.”[...]

The military campaign has “wreaked more destruction than the razing of Syria’s Aleppo between 2012 and 2016, Ukraine’s Mariupol or, proportionally, the Allied bombing of Germany in World War II,” the report quoted researchers as saying. The researchers, hardly some raving left-wing activists, are experts cited in one of the most respected news organizations in the world, The Associated Press.[...]

The International Court of Justice issued a nonbinding opinion in 2004 that the security barriers Israel was erecting in the West Bank violated international law, but that ruling has had no effect. The walls still stand.[...]

Indeed, what is a rules-based system if the rules apply only selectively and if seeking to apply them to certain countries is viewed as self-evidently prejudiced? To put it more simply, is there no venue in the international system to which the stateless people of Palestine and their allies and friends can go to seek redress amid the slaughter in Gaza? And if not, what are they to do?

For the cause of Palestinian statehood, every alternative to violence has been virtually snuffed out, in part because Israel’s allies have helped to discredit them. The most recent example is the boycott, divestment and sanctions movement that has, in many places, been successfully tarred as antisemitic or even banned altogether. Efforts to use the United Nations Security Council have drawn U.S. vetoes for decades. Is seeking redress at the appropriate venue for alleged violations of international law also antisemitic, as Israel’s defense minister said on Friday? Does no law apply to Israel? Are there no limits to what it may do to defend itself?[...]

The Biden administration has made the shoring up of the international rules-based order a centerpiece of its foreign policy but, unsurprisingly, has struggled to live up to that aspiration.[...]

Occasionally straying from your principles because circumstances require it is very different from being seen to have no principles at all, and that is precisely how much of the global south has come to regard the United States.

It seems especially shortsighted in these times that the Biden administration elected to wave away the carefully documented case prepared by South Africa. One of the biggest threats to the rules-based international order is the growing consensus in the poor world that the rich world will apply those rules selectively, at its discretion, when it suits the powerful nations that make up the global north, such as when Russia invaded Ukraine.[...]

As far as the rules-based order is concerned, when it comes to crimes like genocide and ethnic cleansing, it simply does not matter who started it. [...] The best way to shore up the rules-based order is to be seen, in word and deed, as committing to the institutions and moral commitments of that order.

28 Jan 24

[ceilidho]

The catfish price things is giving me vibes of “I’ll make her pay for daring to play with me like that, I’m a god damn respected man” and then just stalking her for a few days until he finds the perfect opportunity to make the pretty little thing pay, maybe take *real* pictures of her, after he messed her up pretty cute, filled up holes.

"Oh, you're fine," John clucks, verging on dismissive when she tries to twist out of his grasp again. He yanks her back by her hips before she's managed to wriggle even an inch away, relishing in the sound of her ensuing yip.

She squeals from where she's bent over the back of the couch, little feet kicking out, her painted toes barely grazing the floor. Her pleas come out garbled, muffled by the ring gag in her mouth. It's more than fair after what she's put him through. As much as John enjoys the sound of her pleasure, he prefers this, only the squelching sound of her pussy every time he fills it up and her pathetic little mewls.

He likes the way she looks like this. Hands bound at the wrist, toes curling and flexing every time he bottoms out, still a bit too tight to take him to the root. She clenches deliciously around his length, tighter than sin, hotter than hell. Everything he'd imagined she'd be like in the weeks since they started chatting online. The only thing he's thought about since the first time she messaged him unprompted and he laid eyes on the sweet thing smiling back at him from the photo next to her name.

"Miserable little thing," he murmurs, fingers squeezing into her hips hard enough to bruise. He'll have to tend to those later when they bloom. "After everything I've done."

John likes to think that he's a good man, but even his patience has its limits. He can handle being blown off once or twice, but five times in a month? While still brazenly asking him to send her another month's worth of rent? If he's going to be taken for a sucker, then he thinks some taking of his own is well deserved. Earned, even. He's paid three times over for the wet peach between her legs.

No one would call him the most technologically adept, but what he lacks in know how, he makes up for in resources. It hadn't taken him long to find her - or, more accurately, it hadn't taken the intelligence analyst whose shoulders John had held in an ever intensifying grip long to find her. After that, all he'd had to do was put in for his leave and pack an overnight bag before plugging her coordinates into phone.

"C'mon, 'nough of that. Can't push a man this much without expecting him to snap."

She wails something unintelligible behind the gag, but he's long learned to tune her protests out. She'd been full of them when he'd barged into her apartment earlier, steamrolling past her. The display of innocence would've been more impressive if he weren't in such a foul mood, in no right mind to hear the woman that'd been bleeding him dry for weeks claim to have never so much as heard his name before.

He lets go of her hip just long enough to pull his phone from his back pocket, sliding the camera open and framing everything from the line of her back to the soft curve of her ass. The soft shutter of his camera is loud enough for her to crane her neck back, eyes going wide at the sight.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," John tuts, tossing his phone away and bearing down over her until he can run his nose down the sweaty line of her neck. She shakes when he widens his stance, seconds from letting his mind go blank while he thrusts into her like a rutting bull. "You'll get yours too."

[lushrue]

thinking real heavy about phone sex with price while he’s deployed (afab!reader, nsfw under the cut, minors do not interact!!)

cw: mutual masturbation, very light breathplay, author has never written smut before 😅

you can hear it in his voice the minute he picks up the phone. he’s tense, frustrated, wired. he’s got this growly tone that you jokingly call his “grizzly bear voice.” it only comes out when too many somethings or somebodys have pissed him off, and that’s not uncommon when he’s out on a mission. he’s so passionate about what he does, one of the things that made you fall in love with him. so the least you can do is provide him with some relief, right?

“love,” you murmur into the phone, cutting off his rant about some recruit running off half-cocked and almost compromising their position. he sighs exasperatedly and you can almost hear him slumping back in his chair. “yeah, dove?” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest. you smile despite his sour mood, determined to set him right again. “it sounds like you’re in need of some stress relief, hmm?”

you swear you hear him perk up. it was the trigger phrase the two of you had adopted after you had gotten particularly spontaneous and john almost got walked in on by one masked lieutenant. now, those words meant he was rushing to lock the door and set his phone to do not disturb. “i could use some, yeah,” he said, his voice low and husky. he’d already begun to chub up in his cargos, his palm pressing down on the firmness between his legs.

you smile, getting yourself into position as well. after all, it was only fun if you both got something out of it. you slid your shorts off and settled back against the pillows of your shared bed. “i thought you might say that,” you purred, your voice lowering to match his. “you’ve just been working so hard, lovie. and the days are so long, aren’t they? just so pent up and frustrated.”

the telltale sound of his belt buckle clinking meets your ears, followed by the rustling of fabric and a low groan from your boyfriend. “mmm…yeah, doll, ‘m all pent up,” he replied as he thumbed at his head, pre already leaking from the tip of his hard cock. his breath caught in his throat and you knew from that little hitch that he’d started. so you did too, your hand sliding below the waistband of your underwear to find that delicious little bud.

your fingers pinched at your clit, eliciting a gasp and breathy moan from you. you imagined the look on price’s face, the longing he no doubt had to be with you and replace your hands with his. just the thought of having him home in bed with you made your pussy clench, your breathing starting to speed up. his did too, starting to stroke himself slowly. you loved how he dragged sex out when he was home, but with so much distance between you, you’d almost prefer he dropped some of his characteristic restraint. he was a military man first and foremost, and that meant almost supernatural control over his body and its urges.

“touchin’ yourself, pet?” he asked, which you responded to with a whine and murmur of assent. words wouldn’t come to you at the moment. his chuckle sent shockwaves through you, the wet shlick of his hand barely audible through the tinny phone speaker. “good. tha’s my good girl. just keep on like that, keep makin’ y’rself feel good for me.” even thousands of miles away, he still managed to control you. it was scary and exhilarating all at once, the hold he had on you. price shifted on his cot, the pace of his strokes picking up as he shut his eyes and let his own personal porno play out in his head. he’d been with you long enough that he had your body memorized. he could see exactly how you looked sprawled out beneath him, face flushed and so eager for him. the image made him stiffen harder, if that was possible.

you obeyed, of course. you were his good girl after all. the sound of his heavy breathing was enough to get you going good, your chest heaving as the pleasure built in you. your fingers traveled lower, gathering your own slick on your fingers before pressing two inside. it wasn’t the stretch you needed and you whined, scissoring your digits to mimic the width john provided. you heard him coo condescendingly, a blush rising to your cheeks. “what’s the matter, sweet girl? your fingers not doin’ the trick?” you shook your head in reply before remembering he couldn’t see you. “nuh-uh,” you mumble, thrusting in and out in time with the sound of his strokes.

price groaned at the sound of your breathy voice, the way you got all high-pitched and squeaky when you were horny. “need you, i need you so bad,” you continued, putting the phone on speaker so that you could have both your hands free. you laid the phone on the pillow beside you, your now-unoccupied hand coming up to circle your throat. if you went far enough in your head, you could pretend that it was price’s thick palm pressing against your windpipe, squeezing your neck to give you the head rush you loved. “feels so much better when you do it.” that stroked his ego good, his nostrils flaring as his hand worked more furiously at his aching cock. god, the things he would do to you when he got home.

“you can do it, dove. come on, curl your fingers the way i do. hit that pretty little spot for me.” the moan you let out was all he needed to know you obeyed him. his hand tightened around himself, cum threatening to spill out of him right then and there. but he choked it back. he wanted this to play out just a little longer. “tha’s it, good girl,” he crooned, focusing in on your breathy whimpers. your fingers worked furiously, the pressure in your belly building as you got closer and closer. “god, you sound like heaven. nothin’ sweeter in the world, love.” 

his words carried you closer to the edge, each press of your fingertips against your g-spot sending a bolt of pleasure through you. your back arched, the phone slipping down off the pillow to be closer to your hips. with this new position, he could hear how wet you were, the sound of you delicious in his ear. he groaned, deciding to just give in. he wouldn’t last long with those sounds in his head. “come on, dove, need ya to cum for me,” he breathed out, the wet sounds of him stroking his cock resuming. “wanna do it together. give it to me, baby, i know ya can.”

his encouragement helped, your arousal pulling taut like a rubber band. it was ready to snap, you could feel it. your fingers set a relentless pace, abusing your pussy as the heel of your palm pressed against your clit. “john! john, fuck, i’m gonna-” “i know you are, sweet girl. go ahead, cum for me.” and you did, hard. stars exploded behind your eyelids, low groans echoing in the empty bedroom as you worked yourself through it. the sound of your boyfriend, your captain, finding his own release reached your ears from where your phone sat against the plush of your ass. you picked it up, your breathing heavy as you came back down to earth together. price flopped back down on his cot, a hand over his chest as he willed his racing heart to slow. he was getting too old for this shit.

“good, baby? feel better now?” you asked, taking a moment to relax before cleaning up. you heard him sigh, the sound one of contentedness rather than exasperation like it’d been before. “yeah, dove. you always know just how to make me feel good.” that makes you smile, blinking slowly as you sink into the mattress. “miss you, john.”

“miss you too, lovie.”

constructive criticism greatly appreciated, i wanna write more of this type of stuff but i am very inexperienced when it comes to writing smut!!

[ariseur]

hi love!! i saw that your requests are open and im here to help🫡

can i request some red dead headcanons/blurbs? maybe what their affection/kisses are like? arthur, john, javier and charles are my pookies (especially charles oh my god i love him so so much) but i would love to hear your thoughts on anybody really!!

hope you’re doing well <3

AFFECTIONATE - VAN DER LINDE BOYS

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - for some reason i cannot post rdr2 with my manga headers or cutesy pink dividers it feels so off to me i have no idea why 😭 but thank you for sending this request in, i love it sooo much!’ it’s nice to see another charles lover in this fandom lolol— you take care as well!! 🫶

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - mentions of injuries in kieran’s and charles, kisses and kissing (?), intended lowercase, alcohol and drinking in sean’s, lmk if i missed anything!! 🫶

ARTHUR MORGAN who will put calloused hands around your waist when you’re alone in your tent at night, burrowing his nose in your hair as he lays behind you. you can smell his musk, the scent of the outdoors and faded linen, as it clings onto you with its tight grip and lingers. you don’t mind though, and neither does arthur; simply basking in your warmth as the crickets chirp in harmony with your soft exhales.

“‘ve missed you.” you say, your right hand crawling to interlock itself with his own draped over your waist as it fiddles with the soft skin there.

“missed y’too, darlin’.” you can feel his chest rumble with his voice, tone deep and gravelly from the lack of use. you let your eyes close as you savored the feeling of his hands caressing the small chub that gathered itself in his hands when he squished too much. you would give anything to have moments like these with arthur whenever you could.

JOHN MARSTON who’ll scoff as you pressed kisses along his face, sitting on his lap as the campfire graced your bodies with its warm glow. his affections held a more stand-offish tone to them but on the off occasional that he got a little too tipsy, you could never pry him off of you.

“if i’d’a known any better, i’d have thought you was in love wit’ me,” he huffed. regardless of his dumb comments, his hands never failed to find their way upon the dips of your hips, rubbing circles over the fabric of your clothes.

you bumped your head into his head as he chuckled, raspy voice rumbling throughout his chest as you halted your kisses and instead rested your head on his shoulder. your foot, bare and tapping against the ground in tune with the distant strums of javier’s guitar and karen’s drunken singing kept you grounded — kept you remembering that this was real, this was all real; and you were alive.

“why? you complainin’?”

you felt john’s cheeks widen with his grin. “naw,” was all he said.

two things that JAVIER ESCUELLA cherished most in this world were family and freedom; and he knew that he felt at peace knowing he had both of these things in that moment. you by his side, as neither of you had a care in the world. the sun glimmered and lazed around, taking its place on your backs and replacing the cool, dawn air with its heat. affection with javier is passionate and it’s scary, you never know what you’ll get or suffer the next day but it doesn’t matter — you persevere knowing you’ll find home in his arms a night more, you’ll live long enough to seek refuge and if you died in the process; it’d be okay knowing you died with who you loved.

deft fingers came to slide up and down the wooden fretboard along with his other hand plucking on the strings. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring until he peeked one eye open from under his bowler hat, a teasing smirk on his face as he mumbled, “no me miras con esos ojos, corazón.”

you rolled your eyes, “que quieres decir, javi?”

he hummed, he knew you knew what he meant — and you knew that he knew. but for now, you’d continue to stare, admiring your beloved that sat so prettily on that log; simply playing his guitar. he had his freedom, and he had his family right here.

loud laughs erupted from the obnoxious irishman known as SEAN MACGUIRE, a jug of alcohol in his hand and his darling in the other.

“i’m tellin’ ya, luckiest man alive—! they said they loved me, can y’believe it?” his accent only got thicker by the minute as he raved to everybody that walked by about how you had suddenly professed your love once more as you two sat on the barrel circling the rounded, wooden table. you smacked his arm to which he let out a rasping cackle. “shut up, will you?”

“ah, never. y’know ya love me,” he puckered his lips dramatically as you scoffed. giving him a chaste kiss, he groaned as you pulled away too quick before you went in deeper, seeing his eyes widen in shock before yours fluttered closed. he laughed out the side of his mouth before his hand, ever so gentle, buried itself in your hair. sean was a loud lover, one you’d typically be embarrassed by — but that only meant he loved you more than anything. a drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts and he had you on his mind all the time.

CHARLES SMITH who’ll treat your wounds silently, as he always did except this time would be different. a tense silence would fill your tent other than murmured hisses and apologies due to the peroxide and other various natural remedies he preserved for your care. charles would always keep a level head, warning you not to go on jobs that micah would egg you on yet charles would always wait for you to return.

he never said anything during these times, charles loved silently. instead of telling you he loved you every second or having you on his lap like others, he’d bring you a trinket you remembered wanting from a storefront window or he’d take you out hunting with him; teaching you how to properly set up bait ( not in the reckless way that sean or bill would attempt to mansplain about ). he’d take care of you and he’d listen to you. so when you’d gasp and bite your fist from how badly he had to stitch your leg up, his hand would grab yours and bring it down to rest on your thigh — intertwining fingers as his thumb grazed over the crescent shaped marks your teeth left.

you really did love KIERAN DUFFY, seeing the way he’d try to puff his chest out when the guys at camp would look at you when really, he’d get all shy and blushy when you babied him. he wasn’t so used to this sorta thing, you know, relationships. everybody in camp looked at you like you were crazy, but they knew better than to tell that to you ( or him ), knowing they’d only get an earful from you about how sweet kieran really was.

you’d dress his wounds and in return, you’d find your horse prepped and groomed all pretty in the mornings — already fed and provided with water. and when you’d ask arthur or tilly, they’d always shrug and say, “must be that o’driscoll boy.”

you treated him with care, like no one had ever had, and that was the greatest gift in itself to kieran. he saw you as an angel, he’d even try telling you sometimes although backtracking a bit just to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. kieran duffy’s affection was careful and nervous, stiff gestures presented to you although all of his worries melted away once he heard your sweet laugh. he didn’t know much about this stuff but that was okay, he’d learn just for you.

𐙚 taglist ; @ch3rryfiles @maskedteaser

𐙚 requests are closed — june twenty eighth, 2024

[hockeybabe]

Don’t Chirp My Girl | M. Knies

Pairings: Matthew Knies x gf!reader

Summary: Pastrnak say some not so great things about you to your boyfriend and your boyfriend isn’t having it.

Warnings: pastrnaks a dick, protective Knies, swearing, pure fluff, making out in a car, illusion to smut

Word count: 879

Note: saw this and was like yes sir 🫡

Out of all the people for Pastnak to go after he had chosen your boyfriend. The two of you had been dating for almost two years and you decided, as this being Matthew’s first full season, you’d go to as many games as you could. 

When they got into the playoffs, you made it your mission to be at every game. You were born and raised a hockey fan, knowing every single thing from wrongs to rights. And for the past two games, the leafs weren’t doing what they normally did. Auston wasn’t playing tonight, which meant Matthew would have more ice time.

That made you truly happy knowing you’d see your boyfriend more on the ice. As of now, it was the third period, and the game was still tied at 1-1. Things in the playoffs were another level. They were more intense, and the players weren’t having it with each other.

From the glass seat you were at, you could see Pastrnak staring right back at you with a creepy look on his face. The whistle blew and before you knew it; they were playing. Your thumbs twiddled with each other as you watched the two teams battle it out. 

Swayman was able to stop the puck before it reached the net, allowing the refs to stop play and just like always, Boston and Toronto were going at it. However, this time it was your boyfriend and Pastrnak. Pastrnak was pointing over at you while saying something, making Matthew lose his shit. 

You could barely make out the words Matthew was saying, but you could see him push Pastrnak before saying, “that’s what I thought.” You shivered slightly at the look on your boyfriend’s face as the game continued. He’d never looked so angry at someone’s words. 

It was common for chirping to go around in hockey, it what caused fights. But it was also wasn’t uncommon for rookies to have their loved one's being called out. 

As the game made its way to over time you sat at the edge of your seat watching as John skated fast to Swayman, attempting a shot, but it slid past him and two players, leaving the puck all by itself and an open net. You watched Matthew skate up to it, flicking the puck into the net, and the sirens blazed. 

You shot out of your seat banging on the glass and give high-fives to the little leaf fans around you as the Boston ones flipped you off and said random shit, making a smug smirk grace your lips. You had followed Steph through the crowd as you both made your way to the team's tunnel. 

You watched as Matthew came out of the change room first with a smug look. He was happy, but in his eyes he was clearly annoyed. You sigh knowing that it’d be a long drive home. He had greeted all the partners before parting ways with his team. “He’ll get over it.” Max said to you before you followed him to the parking lot. 

“So,” you started. “You gonna tell me what happened?” You asked, getting into the passenger seat. Matthew only bothered to give you a grunt as he continued to drive to the apartment. “Jesus Matthew! Are you really not gonna say shit?” You cried out as his silence drove you crazy.

Matthew’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as his knuckles turned white. You couldn’t lie, the sight turned you on, but he was mad and with mad came silence and built up emotion. “Matt, pull over.” You told him, sternly. Matthew looked over at you before pulling off to the side of the road. 

You unbuckled your seat belt, climbed over the console and sat yourself in Matt’s lap, your back resting on the wheel. You took Matt’s face into your hands, forcing him to look at you. “What’d he say?” You ask again. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He grumbled. “So what, you’ll bubble this anger up till Thursday and then what? Take it out on the guy! It’s fucking hockey, baby! Shit happens.” You cried out, hoping to get your words through his thick skull. 

“He said you’d leave me for someone better in the end.” He mumbled, making your heart stop. “I pushed him and told his to not start and he thought wrong for trying me.” He said, snuggling his head into your neck and placing a kiss on your collarbone. “Well, who the hell would be someone better?” You asked, making his head perk up. 

“Cause I’ve got the best guy I’ve met in a while. And he makes my fucking world.” You said with a big smile, making him smirk. “Oh, really.” He whispered, pulling you closer. You were pulled up into his bulge, making you whimper, shutting your eyes slowly. “Yeah, he’s got this goofy, uh, smile and he, um, he wears the number 23.” You breath out as he placed wet kisses on your neck.

“The number he’s going to ruin me in.” You moan. Pressing your lips onto his. His hands ran up your back, pulling you closer than possible. Your lips meshed as his tongue explored your mouth. “Get in the back.” He said in a husky voice.