#Stay strong out there soldier.............

[froody]

Imagine you hired an obscenely drunk Union soldier in a saloon to kill your husband. He manages to accomplish the deed by removing the bullets from your husband’s gun through a sleight of hand trick before challenging him to a duel. This is somewhat impressive but what is more impressive is his strong work ethic, ingenuity, Irish accent, subtle chivalry and big brown eyes. You marry him and move onto the 15 acres of semi-arid land on the edge of the Chihuahuan Desert he stubbornly wants to farm. He wants to name your firstborn daughter after his cavalry horse in the Civil War and your firstborn son after his commanding officer. He calls you widow woman as a term of endearment. He’s a good shot, he’s a good cattleman, a great husband and a subpar father. But what else can you ask from a man who lost his entire family in the Famine and came to this country alone at the age of 14?

Imagine you are a former Union soldier. You are 22 years old. You were only 19 when you enlisted, an Irish immigrant who worked in a livery stable in Cleveland until the outbreak of the war. You fought valiantly. You survived. In lieu of wages, you accepted a parcel of land in New Mexico territory. You’ve never had anything that was truly your own. Except for, perhaps, your horse. You arrive in New Mexico for the first time in your uniform, your horse goes lame the second you step onto your parcel, it’s so dry and rocky and red and you do not think it’s arable. You have to put down your horse. She dies with her head in your lap and you cry so hard you think you’ll die with her. When you’re done giving her a wake, knowing you have no ability to bury her, you begin walking in the direction of Las Cruces. Maybe you can sell this cursed land. Maybe you can get a job. First, a toast to Lula, the mare, the closest thing to family you have had in this country.

You’re seeing double by the time a little woman with an appraising expression approaches you. She is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, perhaps even better in double. A little older than you. Long, dark wavy hair that cascades over her shoulders, a perfect round face, a warm brown complexion and the most troubled eyes you have ever seen on a woman. What is most miraculous is that she wants to talk to you. You, drunk, sunburnt, covered in dust, the blood of your horse soaked into your pant leg. She motions to your pistol. She says she will pay you to do a job, pay you handsomely, enough to buy another horse. She says her husband is rich, he enticed her away from her family when she was very young, he holds her captive in his hacienda, he hurts her. He must be killed so that she can return to her sisters and live without fear. You will do it, you must do it. You do not care how much of the story is factual. You do not care if she intends to have the sheriff string you up after the deed is done. You do not care if she cannot pay the money she promised. You would do anything to remove the sorrow from her eyes. You kill her husband and sleep fine afterwards.

You do not buy that horse. You stay in the hacienda while she is out selling the bits and pieces of her husband’s life. You meet her sisters when they come, you help her pack away the pieces of her life so that she may start anew. You tell her of your own plans to start anew, of the patch of rocky soil that is your own. She tells you she grew up on land like that, tells you that it has always been her dream to work it. When her sisters leave for the mountains, she leaves with you.

[ink-perfect]

together.

during battle, zoro takes a hit for you, causing him a serious injury. when the fight ends, a heated confrontation between the two of you ignites, forcing you to confront the fear of losing him for good. (vv angsty, but i can't bear to have a sad ending so some extremely cute fluff at the end!)

the battlefield was a blur of steel and screams, the air thick with smoke and the sharp tang of blood. your body moved on instinct, every step calculated as you cut down the enemies that surrounded you. but you were getting tired - too tired. your limbs were heavy, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts. still, you pushed forward. you had to. your crew needed you.

in the chaos, you felt it before you saw it - a chill making its way down your spine. turning your head, you saw him. an enemy soldier, his eyes locked on you, his sword raised and aimed straight for your heart. you were too slow. you knew it. nobody had expected the fight to go on for this long, and you felt the last of your stamina draining, legs threatening to buckle on the spot. there was no time to block, no time to move.

you were done for.

the glint of his blade caught the light as it arced toward you, and you couldn't even find the energy to flinch. 

but before the blade could strike, something blurred in front of you - a flash of an all-too familiar green.

zoro.

his back was to you, his swords already crossed to block the enemy’s strike. the force of the blow sent sparks flying as their blades clashed, a few landing on your legs and imprinting a constellation of maroon across your skin. once again, you barely reacted, instead just adding the burns to your sprawling mental list of battle scars you had gotten in the last few hours. it was only when you mustered up the strength to look up that you realised how strong the enemy’s attack really had been. his sword had broken through zoro’s guard, slicing deep into his side.

“zoro!” you screamed, your voice breaking with panic as you watched the blood stain his shirt, bright and vivid against the chaos around you. without hesitation, he pushed the enemy back with a snarl, cutting him down with a single, vicious strike.

you stumbled toward him, your hands reaching out, but your legs gave out as soon as you moved. the adrenaline was gone, and your body was failing you. zoro was there before you hit the ground, his arms catching you, consequently taking the brunt of the fall.

“you’re...okay, i got...you...” he rasped, his voice strained but steady. his breath was hot against your ear as he pulled you close, and you could feel the tremor in his body as he struggled to stay upright.

“no,” you choked out, your hands gripping his shirt, feeling the warmth of his blood soaking through. "you’re not okay. zoro, you’re-"

“doesn’t matter.” his voice was low, rough, as he pressed his forehead against yours for the briefest second before lifting you into his arms. “you’re safe. that’s what matters.”

you wanted to argue. to scream. to cry. to kick that stupid attacker's ass. but most of all, you wanted to sleep. this urge overpowered all the former ones, and your world tilted, darkness creeping into your vision. you could acutely feel firm hands running along your back and through your hair, then elevation, and finally a slow but steady movement forward. zoro was carrying you. carrying you with a massive wound in his side. you wish you could tell him to stop, to wait, to let you carry him, but the strength and warmth of his grip made your body feel heavier by the second. the last thing you felt before slipping away was the steady rhythm of the swordsman’s heartbeat beneath your cheek, constant and comforting even as blood pooled at his side.

you woke up in a daze, your head pounding and your limbs aching. the familiar sway of the thousand sunny rocked gently beneath you, the soft creak of wood and distant sounds of the crew murmuring outside the door. but you were alone, tucked beneath a heavy blanket. the infirmary was dimly lit, the faint salty scent of the sea mingling with the sickening one of antiseptic.

suddenly, it all came rushing back - the fight, zoro stepping in front of you, the sword slicing into him. you bolted upright, body sore but heart racing. where was he? was he okay?

“zoro…?” you tried to yell, but your throat was so sore and dehydrated it came out as a silent croak. shit. you couldn’t even call for him.

before you could gather your thoughts, you heard racing footsteps and the door subsequently creaked open. zoro stepped in to fill the frame of the infirmary doorway, panting from the run down there. speak of the devil, you thought to yourself, but as you took him in, light filtering in only from behind his figure, perfectly chiseled features morphed into a face of concern, you couldn’t help but think he looked more like an angel. 

“how’d you know…i woke up?” you mumbled, still very much disoriented. he couldn't have possibly heard you.

“i didn’t,” he came over to sit at your bedside. “just had a feeling.”

you swelled at the sweetness of the coincidence, but deflated almost immediately as you caught sight of his injury. from this angle, you could clearly see his bandaged side, a massive crimson spot already formed on the gauze. the sight of him, alive and standing, had filled you with relief at first, but now you felt something else: hot, sharp anger that twisted in your chest. 

“what the hell were you thinking?” you snapped, throwing off the blanket, wincing as the cold air bit at the burn marks scattered along your thighs. you moved to swing your legs off the bed and stand up, but zoro immediately pushed you down in concern, lightly tracing around the scars with his fingertips. his eyes darted back and forth on each one, furrowed brows morphing into raised ones of guilt as he realised their source. 

“fuck,” he groaned, eyes snapping shut as soon as he felt tears lining the bottom of them. “i did this to you.”

you jerked upright, causing you to scrunch up your face in pain yet again. “what? no, that’s not why i’m mad…”

he blinked, his brow furrowing. “then what...?”

his cluelessness made the fire inside your chest burn brighter. how unaware was he?

“you could’ve died, zoro!” your voice cracked, the weight of what had happened hitting you all at once. “you took that hit so mindlessly…if you had been even a second slower-” your hands trembled as you clenched them into fists, frustration and fear boiling over.

he frowned, his arms crossing over his chest, clearly confused. “you were in danger. i wasn’t gonna just stand there and let you get hurt.”

“no, you could’ve let me handle it,” you shot back. “you can’t keep throwing yourself into the line of fire like that! it’s reckless! i mean, do you realise how that feels? knowing someone could’ve died because of you? i didn’t ask for you to put your whole life on the line for me-”

“ask? baby, the fuck do you mean by ask?” he interjected, voice sharp now, eyes narrowing. “i am never letting you take a hit. not a chance. i don’t care if you ask or not.”

you couldn’t help but admit that the pet name paired with the bold statement made you melt a little, despite the circumstances. after regaining your composure, you continued. “that’s not the point!” your chest was heaving now, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i don’t want to lose you, zoro. don’t you get that?”

he scoffed, his tone dismissive. “you’re not gonna lose me, sweet. you should know that by now.” his lips quirked up in that cocky, familiar smirk. “i’m gonna be the world’s greatest swordsman, i can’t die before that.”

something in you snapped the moment those words left his mouth. a strangled cry tore from your throat as your fists clenched at your sides, your chest tight with frustration. "listen to me!" you shouted, louder than you intended, your voice breaking with emotion. “i don’t care about your fucking dream, zoro. i care about you."

his eyes widened, momentarily thrown off by your statement. you didn’t care about his dream?

but you didn’t stop. “why are you being so selfish?” your voice cracked with the weight of it all, tears stinging at your eyes.

his face hardened, defensive. “it’s not about being selfish-”

“then what the hell is it about?!” you cut him off, fully getting off the bed and stepping forward, your hands trembling. "you’re willing to risk your life for your dream, but have you ever thought about the fact that i need you? that the crew needs you? we’re a team - you don’t have to carry everything on your own!" your voice dropped, softer now, the anger giving way to fear. “and i don’t want to keep wondering if the next fight will be your last. keep living in fear that my incompetence could be the reason for your undoing. do you think your dream’s more important than your life? than us?”

he looked up, at your last sentence, a blind rage, similar to fire coursing through him. “are you…saying…i have to fucking pick?” his voice came out beat by beat, sharp and venomous, like the very idea of it was an insult.

your heart pounded in your chest, panic rising. "no, obviously not-" you backtracked quickly, your eyes darting to his, desperate to get him to understand what you had meant. but the matter was too far gone. his fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw tight.

"it’s only been a few months of us anyway," he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and far too cold. "if you can’t respect my dream, i don’t know if this can work out anymore." 

you felt like you had just been punched in the gut. you let out a massive gasp, stopping in your tracks as a numbness started to make its way through your body. what did he just say? 

your breath caught in your throat, your mind reeling, unable to comprehend the weight of his words. this couldn't work out anymore? it felt like the ground had fallen out beneath you. you looked up at him, tears welling in your eyes, but he refused to meet your gaze.

his jaw clenched, his muscles tight with frustration, but you could see it - the way his hands shook, the storm raging behind his eyes as he fought against his pride and your words. he was hurt, too. you didn’t know how to continue anymore, so neither of you spoke for the next minute, tension in the air thick and suffocating. then, without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room, the door closing with a soft thud behind him.

that night, you lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, your thoughts spinning endlessly in circles. the room was dark, but it wasn’t the kind of darkness that comforted you. it felt suffocating, like it was pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe. the silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint creak of the ship as it drifted through the night.

your chest still ached with the weight of everything left unsaid. the words you’d both thrown at each other replayed in your mind, over and over, like a broken record. his cold tone, the harshness in his voice - it had felt so unlike him. and yet, you couldn’t stop hearing it. “if you can’t respect my dream, i don’t know if this can work out anymore.”

the pit in your stomach grew heavier. your heart twisted painfully every time you thought about it. how could he say that? your hands clenched the blanket as if holding onto it could somehow anchor you.

you couldn’t sleep. you didn’t want to sleep. the image of zoro taking that wound for you kept playing in your head - him throwing himself between you and danger without hesitation, the way his body had tensed, how he’d barely flinched even as blood poured from his side. each time the memory replayed, it sent a confusing mix of emotions through you - anger, fear, sadness, and something else. something you didn’t want to admit.

he’d saved you. but at what cost? why did he have to be so damn stubborn, always putting himself on the line without thinking about how it made you feel?

you felt torn apart by conflicting emotions, your thoughts a tangled mess. you were furious with him - for being reckless, for acting like his life didn’t matter, like your feelings didn’t matter. but at the same time, you couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at you. had you been too harsh? had you pushed him too far? you hadn’t meant to make him feel like his dream wasn’t important. of course, it was. it was everything to him.

and you hated the thought of zoro out there, alone, nursing his wound in silence. was he thinking about you? was he still mad? but this wasn’t just about his pride. this was about you two, about something bigger than just a fight. what if he meant it? what if this really was the end?

the thought sent a cold shiver through you, the possibility more terrifying than any battle you’d ever fought. your heart clenched painfully in your chest, the fear sinking in deeper now. 

you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block it all out. but the harder you tried, the clearer everything became - the memory of his blood on your hands, the fear you’d felt when you thought he might be seriously hurt. and now the fear of being alone, because that was what you officially were.

“zoro…” you sobbed quietly to yourself, for what felt like the millionth time that night.

suddenly, the door creaked open, so soft you almost missed it. your body tensed, but you kept your eyes shut, your breath steady, pretending to sleep. footsteps padded quietly across the floor, and it was these that gave away the fact that it was him instantly. god, he had to stop doing that, arriving as soon as you spoke his name.

zoro came over to stand over you, his breathing heavy and uneven. he’d probably been training. that’s what he always did when he was angry or frustrated - push his body until the physical pain outweighed everything else.

“i know you’re mad at me,” he began to whisper, his voice rough and low, almost too quiet to hear. “but i couldn’t - i couldn’t let you get hurt.” 

there was a pause, and you could hear him sigh, the sound full of exhaustion and something else - something more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before.

“and i’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking just a little. he clenched his jaw. “but i’d rather die than lose you.”

your heart soared at his words, the weight of them sinking deep into your chest. you wanted to move, to say something, but you stayed still, your breath caught in your throat. his words from earlier came back to haunt you, sharp and biting. “it’s only been a few months anyway.” the comment had hit you hard at the time, like he was dismissing everything between you, reducing it to something temporary. you’d felt crushed, like you didn’t mean as much to him as his dream.

but the more you thought about it, the more you realised - he hadn’t meant it like that.

zoro wasn’t someone who spoke about his feelings easily. you knew that. and when he did, it often came out wrong, guarded by his pride and that tough exterior. “months” wasn’t a measure of how little you mattered. it was the opposite. it was a measure of how little time it had taken for him to realise that you weren't something fleeting. that you weren’t just someone by his side for a few months. that you were way something more significant, so fast.

it hit you like a wave - the way he looked at you, the way he protected you without a second thought, how he stood by you not just because you were part of the crew, but because you mattered. in his world of unshakable dreams and ironclad will, you were one of the few things that could make him question himself. and that scared him.

he didn’t have to choose between his dream and you. that’s what you had been so afraid of, but now, hearing his words, you knew - he’d never been choosing between the two. you were already part of his dream. the fact that he was terrified of losing you, more than anything, was the reason behind his biting words from before.

currently, you could hear his breathing even out as he came to lay down beside you in force of habit, worn out by his own thoughts. in the silent darkness, the weight of his presence was palpable, the tension in his body easing as sleep began to claim him. just before surrendering to it completely, the memory that you were no longer together surfaced - but he didn’t leave. he couldn’t.

you turned your head slightly, your eyes tracing his slumbering silhouette. seeing him like this, unknowingly exposed to you, made the wall of anger and fear between you begin to melt away. you saw him, who he was, and what you had was. it wasn’t just a few months of something casual. this…was something real. something zoro had never said out loud, but something you knew now, somewhere in your heart. it couldn't end this fast.

you stayed still for a few minutes, listening to the steady rhythm of the marimo's breathing as he slept beside you. his presence was heavy, comforting in a way you hadn’t expected after the intensity of the day. but his newer words began to replay in your head, replacing the harsh ones from before. they sunk deeper with every passing second.

“i’d rather die than lose you.”

goddamnit, you couldn’t pretend anymore.

with a shaky breath, you shifted under the covers, turning around toward him. “zoro…” your voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it was enough to stir him from the edge of sleep. his eyes snapped open, his body tensing for a moment before he realised it was you.

“you’re… awake?” he muttered, blinking in surprise, his voice still rough from exhaustion.

“yeah,” you said, sitting up slowly, your heart pounding as you braced yourself for the conversation that had to happen. “and i, uh…i heard everything.”

the swordsman’s eyes widened slightly, his usual stoic mask faltering for just a moment as the weight of what he’d said sunk in. he sat up as well, avoiding your gaze at first, his hands resting on his knees as he stared at nowhere in particular.

“i didn’t mean for you to hear that,” he finally murmured, voice gruff, a mix of embarrassment and regret. “i-”

“no,” you cut him off, reaching out to place a hand on his shaking arm. “i’m glad i did. because i need to say something too.”

he finally looked at you, his dark eyes searching your face, unsure of what was coming next, but oh so ready.

“i’m sorry,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “for what i said earlier. i didn’t mean it like that. i never wanted to make you feel like your dream didn’t matter. it does."

you frowned as tears welled in your eyes, guilt hitting you like a tidal wave.

"your dream is so important. especially to me.”

zoro’s expression instantly softened, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. but you could see the conflict still lingering in his eyes, the pain that had been eating at him since the fight.

“but you matter more to me,” you continued, your voice steady, even as your heart pounded in your chest. “so i was scared. i am scared. of losing you, of watching you get hurt because you’re always so willing to throw yourself in front of danger for everyone else. but i know now that it’s because you care, not because you’re selfish and i’m so horrible for saying that.”

his jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might argue, but instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i’m sorry too,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “i shouldn’t have said what i did. about us.”

your breath caught in your throat, the memory of his words from earlier still stinging. “did you mean it, at all…?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

he shook his head instantly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away. “no. of course not,” he rushed to say, his voice firm, but still gentle somehow. “i was pissed and... i didn’t know how to handle it. but this - what we have? it’s not just a few months of something. i care about you more than i’ve ever said.”

your heart clenched at his words, your suspicions, or rather, hopes, confirmed. you could see it now - his struggle, the way his pride had gotten in the way, but more than that, the way he felt. this wasn’t just about his dream anymore. it was about the two of you, and everything you’d built together, piece by piece, in those months.

“i love you,” you whispered, tears stinging at your eyes again, but this time they were different - they emanated less from fear and more from an overwhelming sense of relief. “i really hope you know.”

his eyes softened even more, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of vulnerability in them, something raw and unguarded. “i know. and i love you too,” he said, his voice low but steady, like it had been true for a long time. “way more than i’ve been able to say.”

and before you could think, before you could process the weight of it all, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him, burying your grinning face in his chest. he tensed for a moment, then slowly, his arms came around you, holding you close.

“i’m so sorry, baby…” he murmured into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. “for making you feel like you weren’t important. you are. you are so goddamn important to me, to the crew, to everyone.”

you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your fingers brushing the side of his face, heart flooding with affection. “we’ll figure this out,” you whispered. “together.”

zoro nodded, his expression serious but soft. “together,” he agreed.

you smiled, the tension between you finally lifting as you leaned into him again, resting your head on his chest. the sound of his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear the same way it was when he saved you, grounding you in the moment.

and as you sat there together, wrapped up in each other, the weight of everything that came before melted away, leaving only the quiet certainty that what you had wasn’t temporary. 

it was real.

it was forever.

and you would grow it, together.

-- ౨ৎ

masterlist

[epic-kotlc-crossover]

Survive

This is the second chapter of the Cyclops saga!! Hope you enjoy :)

(or cry. i did when I read this.) -cricket

Tags: @myfairkatiecat @ham-cheese-toastie @bookwormgirl123 @thesfromhms @justalunaticfangirl (let us know if you want to be tagged in the future!)

Fitz hadn't had his adrenaline so high in ages. He'd fought in a war, but this felt more... real. Instead of a bunch of people trying to kill each other—over a woman, even—he and his men were fighting against a cyclops.

A real life, hungry, cyclops.

"The rest of our crew wait for us!" Fitz roared out over the commotion. "If we get killed, they're as good as dead."

He lifted up his sword to the cheers of his men. "How great is your will to survive?"

600 lives to save. No backup. Fitz thought, narrowing his eyes and trying to think of a way to defeat the cyclops. I only have to kill him.

At the word "kill" he faltered, thinking of the infant. If he kept taking lives, how long would it take for him to become a monster?

This is different, Fitz reminded himself. But... instead of killing, maybe we can just maim him a little.

He reminded himself to reach out to Sophie as soon as this was over. She always helped.

Anyway.

"Don't die on me now, not when we're so close to coming home!" He charged forward, and managed to nick the cyclops on the leg, eliciting a howl. Fitz grinned, satisfied.

"Surround him!" The chorus of soldiers cried out. "Attack him from behind!" As they constantly stabbed and slashed at the cyclops, Fits was scanning for any way to take Polyphemus out.

He came up empty every time, and soon the thrum of frustration set in. Blood was flying everywhere, and he saw with grim satisfaction that the source of most of it was the cyclops.

"How great is your will to survive?" Fitz didn't know who said that, but it reminded him of why he was trying to survive.

Sophie.

Marella.

Ithaca.

Stay in his blindspot! Strike his heels! Fitz transmitted out the orders.

He's strong, but he's slow, he thought to himself. How could they use that to their advantage?

"No dying on me now!" He yelled. "We just need to take one life and we're free!"

He must've jinxed it.

A scream pierced the air, and Fits instantly realized that it wasn't the roars of Polyphemus that he'd been hearing for the past minutes.

No, he realized in horror, it was one of his men.

"He's got a club!"

That was....Dex. No. No, no no, no. Not Dex.

"He's got a club!" Someone screamed again.

"Captian, what are our orders?" Keefe asked urgently.

"Captian?"

"Captain!?" That was Dex. Fitz rushed over to where his friend lay on the trampled grass. Dex looked like he'd been stepped on, which he actually might've.... His torso was bleeding from several gashes, and his legs were totally crushed.

"Dex..." Fitz started, tears burning in his eyes

"Captian--" he said, then coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Please don't forget to--" he coughed a little more-- "greet the world with open arms. For me?" Dex pleaded.

Fitz nodded shakily.

Dex's chest fell still.

Fitz vaguely registered tears streaming down his cheeks as he stared at his best friend.

Dex was dead.

Six people were dead.

He was snapped out of his trance as another one of his men yelled for him. Seven. Sven people died under his command. He stood up, shifting his sword around his hand. The cyclops was going to pay.

Only, before he could do anything, Polyphemus collapsed, a cloud of dust rising from where he lay.

Fitz grinned sadly. He'd forgotten about the lotus flowers in the wine. At least not too many people had died, yet.

We have to do what it takes to survive.

[natsmagi]

LURKER ANON: I JUST SAW THE REPLY its so late at my timezone i watched the video i think i choked a bit because ive seen the natsume dancing to the blue worm on a string thing ages ago and it just rebooted me; my brain has shut off due to responsibilities crawling over my dead body however my concluded reaction is i now have my mind jogging about due to the sheer effect of that video on my braincells thanks a lot i really need to finish a project and i was getting eepy hwhwhwhd

ALSO THE SCOUT THING youve reminded me of a very terrible time from last last year when they just dumped switch back to back to back on events and gachas im not surprised theyll do it again just to fuck with the switchPs. i manifest with you that they end up with 2wink bcos i like the lil orange guys

LOGGING OUT AGAIN unfortunately ive only had a few days of rest and have to be mindful of Tasks i have bcos uni is a terrible thing to go through always remember ur in my mind and brain and bloodstream ill be back in 2 weeks for my latest lurker updates and greetings<33 it would be so convenient if i just revealed myself but i wanna commit a little bit more to the lurker anon persona shifting through your asks.. but maybe one of these days..

GOOD LUCK WITH UNI LURKER ANONNNNN shit can get super tedious and exhausting so remember to take care of urself!!!

and maybe it would be more convenient to reveal urself but i also think the lurker anon bit is funny. makes me giggle a little. lurker anon reveal would hit harder than being a dream stan on october 2nd 2022. it would shake my whole world

[batboopp]

they’re always homoeroticly fucking strangling each other man

also random tender embrace

[nimrism]

i was staring at this gif and it occurred to me that lena's blatant mistreatment of her hair when she's stressed might eventually (accidentally) be directed towards her daughter and this is the product of that thought process :)

Lena's staring out the window at the waking city below, but her mind is elsewhere. Today is her first human test trial, she'll finally get to see the Harun-El in action, and the inside of her brain is akin to a nightclub if it was set on fire and everyone inside was screaming as ten different speakers malfunctioned and played ten different songs while top-shelf scotch rained down from the ceiling that was quickly caving in. She shakes it off in favor of watching civilians begin to fill the streets below, off to do whatever mundane, normal-people tasks they did every single day. She sometimes wonders, if she weren't a Luthor, would she be content just waking up every day and going to the same 9-5 job until she retired? Her position at L-Corp gave her incredible opportunities to make a difference, to better the world. This project was no different.

It's still pretty early; she's the first at the office, as usual. Her hair is down and her heels are off, and there isn't anyone there to see her, but she still feels exposed. She hears her mother's voice at the back of her mind, critiquing her outfit, commenting on her hair, on her posture. She sets her jaw and pulls out a hair tie.

Running a hand through the dark locks atop her head, she turns back to the window, unseeing. She's too busy considering the possible outcomes of today's trial. She pushes her hair away from her shoulders and lets her head fall back as she gathers the loose strands of hair, making sure none of it stays on her neck. She's quick, and she's efficient, running long fingers through dark tresses, taking out any tangles, and pulling her hair higher. She swallows as she gathers every last strand of raven black hair into a fist – a little too aggressively, mind you, but her head was used to the forceful tugging by now – and she wrapped the hair tie around them, securing them in a tight ponytail on top of her head.

She finally pulls her heels on and straightens her back. Business mode. And just in time, because Eve comes strutting in, announcing the arrival of the test subject.

It wasn't something she wasn't used to – pulling her hair up into a tight ponytail or bun that threatened to rip her scalp clean off – she did it on an almost daily basis. It made her look professional. Strong. Intimidating. Jess had voiced her concern for Lena's hair follicles, warning that she would look like her brother soon if she kept at it, but the CEO had paid it no mind. She didn't even feel it anymore.

It wasn't until Kara came waltzing into her life that Lena had dialed down the tight hairstyles, going for more relaxed ponytails and sometimes even keeping it down. If her hair could speak, she knew it would worship Kara for saving it.

The blonde complimented Lena on her hair – and everything else – especially when she wore it down, and so it wasn't like Lena lacked incentive to do it. Kara loved it. And Lena loved Kara's compliments, so the brunette's hair began to enjoy longer periods of freedom.

___

Six years later

Kara's busy with something that came up at the DEO, and Lena's glued to her laptop, working from home to keep an eye on their little girl. Lori wasn't so little anymore, she was five now, she didn't necessarily require the amount of supervision she did when they'd first had her, but she had insisted her mother stay with her, and Lena could never say no to that adorable little pout.

An email from a particularly misogynistic business partner makes Lena want to pull her hair up in a bun, pull on some heels, break into his house, cross her arms and glare at the man until he surrendered and fell at her feet. They all do, she thought to herself as she began to type out a reeling reply.

She's halfway through spelling out a sincerely nasty word when she feels a little finger nudge her arm.

"Mommy?" The child has Kara's eyes, a deep blue so painfully beautiful you'd sell your heart and soul just to stare into it.

Not even her daughter can take Lena out of her mood, but she sets her laptop aside and looks at her. "What is it, darling?"

"Mommy, my ponytail fell," the kid pouts. She resembles Kara so much it actually physically hurts.

Lena's ready to shut her laptop and spend the rest of the day with the literal sunshine that is her daughter, but another email arrives from the same misogynistic asshole.

Lena bites her lip as she glares at the screen as if, out of sheer force of will, it would shatter and send a shard of glass straight through the man's heart.

"Mommy?" The pout still hasn't left her face.

"Come here, baby," Lena shoves her laptop onto the coffee table and hoists the little girl onto her lap.

She takes the hair tie from her chubby little hand and begins to gather her hair together, gentle at first, then she catches a phrase from the email out of the corner of her eye and her jaw is working again, her grip tightening in the child's hair.

She quickly runs her fingers through it, flattening the curls at the top, then she tugs at it with one fist, intent on pulling it up and securing it with the hair tie in her hand.

Kara zooms in through the open window, taking in the sight of Lena with their daughter on her lap, immediately recognizing one of Lena's worst habits.

She superspeeds to the couch, gently prying Lena's hands away from the small child's hair, who immediately throws her arms around Kara's neck.

"Lena," Kara gently whispers as she picks her daughter up and sits down next to her wife. "First of all, stop grinding your teeth. I could hear it from the DEO."

"Shit, I'm sorry," Lena relaxes only the slightest bit. "I'm sorry, darling, did I hurt you?" She cups her daughter's cheek apologetically.

"Not really. I just felt my hair follicles being ripped out." the little girl mumbled.

"Hey! Where'd you learn that?" Lena narrows her eyes at Kara, who's suddenly found great interest in the ceiling lamp.

"I haven't said that in a while! Last time we talked about your hair, it was about how it was finally gaining volume because you stopped pulling it!" The blonde raises her hands, palms facing Lena, a perfect picture of innocence. Lori is giggling in her lap.

Kara shoots Lena a blinding smile, mirrored by her daughter's own, and it's enough to make whatever anger Lena had been harboring dissipate. Hell, it was enough to end wars, as far as she was concerned.

Her rage turned into laughter that bubbled up her throat as she tackled Kara, making sure her daughter was safe before bombarding her two girls with kisses. Misogynistic asshole #968796 would have to wait.

[amipenthe]

alright guys, much like dgm and bigfoot I appear every four months to wax theory and scream into the abyss. it’s time I return to the backwoods.

see you all here in October 🫡

[codecicle]

a single caffinated drink is going to kill my boyfriend we're in code red lockdown i thjnk pups having heart palpitations

[knifearo]

bro amatonormativity and relationship anarchy needs to be like common knowledge for shippers because I literally got like drawn and quartered for critiquing people for shipping a certain ship romantically when it was closer to a qpr. lemme tell u. i awoke some DEMONS. and the responses I got were allos but also OTHER aromantic/aroace people telling me I was 1: making a qpr romance-lite. or. 2: them just saying "oh but.. they had a kid! they said I love you." like HUH

MAN. fandom culture is kind of uniquely intolerable for all the focus on shipping and for all the ways that people invent to get people together they never seem to get around to anything aspec... genuinely you cannot win. if you're romance-repulsed you're inundated with it and if you're romance-favorable you get erased and if you're just trying to aro-fy it you get yelled at by everyone... i stand with you i hear your struggle 🫡

that's so wild though. i will personally say that i have not particularly liked the way that qprs have been framed/discussed in the popular conversations around relationships because of the way that it's usually presented as "you can have a romantic relationship OR a qpr!" which is what i think is people presenting them as romance-lite (the aspec alternative to a romantic relationship rather than something entirely different that exists outside of those frameworks). saying that a romantic relationship should be/is a qpr is. not that. i feel like a lot of this results from the fact that other people's understanding of our community's terms is so limited, so every conversation we have for allo benefit is baby's first relationship anarchy, and then well-meaning aro people jump into conversations with an understanding that's borne from a very basic set of concepts and definitions that isn't equipped to engage with more complex conversations. which isn't their fault really but. imagine a beautiful world where we all actually knew what a qpr was...

anyway i think we have to start eating people. and then we can have the real actual cool conversations about relationships and the different ways in which they appear without people popping up to add unhelpful and uninformed comments </3

[bishie-in-azeroth]

Seeing a lot of people suddenly reblogging/liking my Khadgar posts and I'm sitting here like *oof* because I know exactly why

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

I should have. Stayed home today. So frustrated that I can't ever realize if it's better if I'm at home for the day UNTIL I'm already at school and can't leave.

[napsaps-archive]

all of you analyzing the things written on the cd like kudos to yall i cant see shit 😭

[toastsnaffler]

this assay is so fucking fake......

[goldenstring6123]

HIIIYAAAYAYA I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH AND I LOOK FORWARD TO EVERY SINGLE PIECE YOU RELEASE!!! YOU HAVE ME CHECKING YOUR PAGE 24/7 IM OBSESSEDDD 🫦🫦 ANYWHO ignore my fawning but how do you think the lads boys would react to a suuuuper clingy gf??? idk but if i were mc i would NOT be leaving their side and would literally be glued onto their body like mc is a strong soldier for resisting (especially rafayel my HUSBAND 😩) literally wanna just curl up in their lap and carve myself into their ribcage so they can never escape from me tehe. ALSOOO U DON’T GOTTA RESPOND IF UR BUSY OR UNCOMFY!!!! JUST KNOW I LOVE YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS WRITING 🫶🫶

Lnds: Sticky little lover

Warning: vaguely suggestive, mentions of hickeys, fem!reader, clingy!reader, reader may or may not be the mc, there might be spelling mistakes, I haven't proofread yet.

Author's note: Awieee thank u sm pookie! I understand the feeling of wanting to latch onto the LIs~

Zayne:

Zayne wakes up with you on his chest, your leg over his crotch, and your arm across his stomach. To him, you were like a weighted stuffed toy and a weighted blanket, all at the same time. He wasn't complaining; maybe it was an excuse to stay in bed for another half an hour.

The bathroom is big enough for the two of you, with two wash basins, a separate shower, and a bathtub. There are three bathrooms in the house, but you always choose the one he uses. He's complained once, but you said you didn't like the interior design of the others. Side by side, you brush your teeth and comb your hair while he shaves and flosses. If you wake up earlier than usual, maybe he'll let you moisturize and exfoliate his face. It's no surprise Zayne leaves the bathroom door open for you. It's just normal for both of you to cross paths in the large bathroom.

When he leaves for work, you never miss a day to kiss his nose and give him a quick peck. You embrace him with two arms, but he hugs you back with one, the other hand holding his bag. You don't mind.

Your message gallery is filled with pictures of your mundane life: a snapshot of a book you're reading, the new coffee you tried, the little teacup Maltese that reminded you of him. Even though he's busy, he always finds time to react, and if he doesn't, he brings up the picture when you pick him up at the end of the day. He never forgets.

Calm days are spent in each other's presence. You always cling to him in one way or another. While he's reading a book, your feet are on his lap, and his fingers unknowingly knead your ankles. While watching a movie, your shoulders touch, and your hands are intertwined. When you react to the film, his hand, still holding yours, follows your movements.

Dates are always fun. It doesn't matter where you go or what you do as long as Zayne's in your company. Cafe dates are cute, but Zayne always calls you out for staring at him with a weird look in your eyes—you were admiring him. Whenever you walk, you cling to him, wrapping yourself around his forearm while playfully weighing him down. He stumbles for a second but smiles.

You love leaving hickeys on him, even bite marks if he allows, but the rule is never above the collar of his shirt. You oblige 97% of the time. The other 3%, you sneak in a light hickey that passes off as a mosquito bite, just peeking through the collar of his dress shirt. Sometimes, there's one behind his ear, barely visible. He never knows, but the doctors and patients at the hospital do.

When you're apart, you always call him and go about your day. At night, you video call and try to stay awake, only to snooze off. Zayne chuckles at your attempts to wash the tiredness away, but sometimes, he falls asleep with you. In the morning, both of your phones end up overheating and out of battery.

Zayne loves your company, to others it may seem trouble some but with you, it was adorable. It's through your clingyness that he experiences feelings he never once did before, and those little things always brighten his day. You actions with him makes him feel more loved and he knows he has a hard time expressing them but with you around, it had become more and more easier.

Rafayel:

They say opposites attract, but you and Rafayel are the universal exception.

Rafayel doesn't like it when you're late. Even for a home-date, he fusses about being left alone too long and feeling abandoned. You laugh at his whining over text and enter his door. When he sees you, he jumps off the couch and pouts, "Finally, it took you long enough."

You're like magnets to each other. Wherever one goes, the other follows. If you're cooking ramen in the kitchen, Rafayel sneaks behind you, hugging your back and sniffing your hair. If he's watering flowers in the greenhouse, you sit nearby and watch a ladybug on a leaf. If he's painting, you're reading on a nearby couch. Rafayel's residence is too big for one person but just enough for two.

Rafayel whines when you do something without him, especially if it's something he wants to do. You once took a flower arrangement class without him, and he sulked, "Wow, you didn't even think to tell me? I wanted to do that with you." Even watching movies is hard because you need to pause and wait for him whenever he leaves the room. One time, you finished a mystery series without him, and he ate the tiramisu you were saving for dessert in revenge.

Matching clothes is a thing. He avoids tacky prints but opts for complementary outfits. Because of this, Rafayel buys clothes with you in mind, often choosing items with a feminine counterpart. His shoe closet and yours are practically the same, and you don't complain because Rafayel has good fashion taste.

You love cute matching items. You once bought a two-piece mug set with a heart design, and he took the other one without you knowing. He also took a keychain from your collection, matching the one you have in your wallet.

"Are you tired of me now?" he asks when you keep your distance, avoiding a hug. It's the middle of summer, and the AC is broken. You reek of sweat, and the last thing you want is to be touched. You sigh and pat his back, "After I take a bath, I'll give you all the hugs you want."

He asks about your plans every morning, almost as a ritual. You've gotten used to replying while getting ready. If both schedules permit, he joins you for grocery runs, laundry, or whatever mundane tasks you have. You make good use of him, letting him carry the bags even if you could do it yourself.

When Rafayel is at an exhibit, you bombard him with texts: jokes, articles, or random thoughts. He replies quickly, hiding from the audience, bored out of his mind. In return, he sends you pictures of his artwork, which you threaten to sell online as digital files. He blocks you for a good five minutes.

You're each other's wallpaper. Surprisingly, Rafayel asked to do it. You spent hours finding the perfect pose and recreating trending ones. Rafayel insisted on multiple retakes.

You were rafayel's missing piece. To him, you were the only thing that he has ever wanted in his life. He loved you dearly and a part of him was terrified that you don't reciprocate the same level of love as he does to you; but lo and behold, fate has given him a blessing after all those years of loneliness. His heart swoons at the very sight of your actions. You were clingy, that was factually true but the same goes for him. Nothing makes him more fulfilled than seeing you both think and love in the same wavelength.

Sylus:

His base has become your home. On days off, you often find yourself in one of three rooms: his bedroom, where you lie on his bed, tapping away on your phone or laptop; his kitchen, where the chef cooks whatever you want in exchange for listening to his stories from his little village; or the lobby, where Luke and Kieran update you on the most boring things in the building. Sylus doesn't mind at all; it's less work for Mephisto, and he can keep an eye on you.

Sylus's sleep schedule is the same as that of those in Linkon City. His days begin in the evenings, often leaving you lying in the big bed alone. Sylus is nearby or at his desk if he's not out on the streets. You like hugging his pillow because it smells like his 3-in-1 shampoo. If he's out on late-night trips, you selfishly steal his shirt from the closet, wear it on the pillow, and hug that to sleep, forcing yourself to be satisfied with what you got.

His lap is your chair. It doesn't matter where he's sitting; you always find yourself on him. Sylus sometimes complains about his thighs going numb, but when you leave, he yanks you back, positioning you between his legs, with your butt on the chair instead of his thigh. He goes back to his work as if nothing happened, occasionally sparing you a kiss on the forehead or rubbing his face against yours. If not, you shower his chest and neck with light pecks before snuggling into the crook of his neck.

His biceps are nice to the touch. On dates to the city, while waiting in line, you squeeze his muscles for entertainment, even through his thick leather jacket. He flexes for a minute before relaxing, amused at how easily you entertain yourself.

The boyfriend shirt phenomenon is common. You don't leave the base wearing his clothes, but you certainly walk around the area in them. Whether a turtleneck, a black blouse, or just a plain shirt, you're always wearing his clothes, even in his company.

You're an eccentric one, thats for sure. Sylus never truly got ahold of how you managed to change from being so distant to practically being glued to him. It was like he partnered up with a whole new different person. He wasn't complaining at all if anything, he found it admirable and a part of him was quietly relieved that time did all the adjusting between you and him. Despite being a bit too fussy at times, he'd be more than willing to compromise if that's what makes you happy.

Xavier:

You always steal his hoodies. They're big, soft, and smell like him, so you have two or three at home. Xavier scratches his head when he notices bare hangers in his closet. When you visit, he finally sees what's missing. No matter how many hoodies and jackets he buys for you, you always get your hands on his, almost becoming a problem. Now, he rotates his jackets, giving them to you on schedule.

Xavier's hair is too soft to be human. When he's on your lap, you massage his scalp and fidget with the ends of his silver hair. If you have hair elastics and a cute clip nearby, he ends up with his hair tied up or braided. He needs your help to take it off because it's too painful for him to do alone. Oops?

You prefer sitting beside him rather than across from him at a table. He didn't understand at first because he wanted to face you when eating. But when he's beside you, he slowly gets it. You like touching him one way or another. You enjoy your elbows touching or your thighs grazing each other. It's also convenient to lean slightly and rest your head on his shoulder.

Xavier loves bathing with you. The bathtub in his apartment is big enough for both. He likes the smell of your bath bombs and is sometimes fascinated by the toys or mini jewelry inside. Your back always presses against him, and he willingly holds you. On more stressful days, you light candles and open some cheap wine to enjoy in rose-covered water.

He's riddled with bite marks, even when not having sex. He's dozing off when you suddenly find his arm or leg appetizing. He jolts awake and tries to shake your grip, but it's too tight. When you've had enough, he stares at your work of art and wipes his saliva-coated limb. You grin, watching him wipe your fluids. Because of the frequency, he rarely lets his consciousness drift away when his bare arms and legs are around you.

When bathing alone, you use his shampoo instead of yours. It's surprising he doesn't use all-in-one shampoo and body wash; he uses baby shampoo. When confronted, he shrugs, saying it does the job, and recalls you like playing with his hair. His perfume and powder are also for babies.

In the eyes of Xavier, you were adorable even if your actions were questionable. You were cute, and he never once thought that your actions were a burden or suffocating. The things you do, the way you speak they were all precious in his eyes and Xavier understands that this was you way of showing your love for him. Because of that, he tolerates you every time you bite him.

Your gallery is full of his pictures. Candid photos you secretly take daily. Your favorite is when his cheeks are full of food, resembling a hamster. You take pictures when he's asleep, using you as a pillow. Sometimes, you're both looking at the camera, making random faces.

Author footnotes: I'm sorry if these were pretty general. I'm not the clingy type so I don't know how these type of people act but I wrote it with the things I observed from films and tiktok lol

Layout by me, using Canva premium | Do not repost |

[lenny-link]

TF2 x SU au fusions!

oof this took too long but i finally made it !

I kept @gracefireheart Andalusite (HeavyMedic) and @cariocay ‘s Turquoise (EngieSpy) (that i just realized their account got deactivated just a few days ago im sad now) fusion designs because i just found them perfect and whenever i wanted to try making my own designs i always ended up with making something similar to theirs since i was very influenced so i just kept them! They’re so awesome plz check the original artists!

my designs :3 :

About the fusions:

I tried to choose a theme for every fusion that suits the characters like Spessartite (DemoSolly) is a warrior i put Demo’s sword with Soldier’s shield thing well he doesn’t specifically have a shield but yknow the helmet thing i thought that could work.

He’s very powerful, strong and jump into action without a second thought, while he possesses immense strength and a love for loud and chaotic things, his battle prowess is a double-edged sword since his attacks lack precision. however, this unpredictability often leaves his enemies confused and scrambling to defend. he fights more efficiently when drunk lol

Lepidolite (MedicSpy) is a plague doctor, he is very inspired by Hannibal Lecter (nbc Hannibal lol shout out to that one Anon who recommended it for me to watch it lol) at first i wanted to give him a bistouri as a weapon, since it would suit Medic’s saw with Spy’s small knife, but then i felt the fusion was leaning too much towards Medic than Spy, so i put a cane instead to give that old idk gentleman look :P

He is polished and sophisticated, with a hint of underlying sadism and very precise in his movements, he meticulously analyzes his opponents, exploiting weaknesses with surgical precision before jumping into action and strike right where it hurts the most, the cane appears to be a simple walking stick, but inside is a hollowed core that had a retractable, poison-tipped blade, and his poison isn't fast-acting he enjoys toying with his victims, watching as the venom slowly takes hold, fueling his twisted sense of amusement. they are far from being the strongest fusion but they rely a lot on making their opponent weaker by their ability to attack precise hits as well as poisoning them!

Carnelian (SniperScout) his design was inspired by a equestrian outfit (he was the hardest to design tbh bc i wanted his design to be specifically different from the others since Scout is half human so i wanted this "human" aspect to show in the fusion).

He is a walking paradox, he's got Sniper's calm confidence with Scout's hyperactive energy, he loves a good plan but his execution is often fueled by pure adrenaline, he can zip across the battlefield with incredible speed, dodging attacks and flanking enemies. good at mid range and long range attacks but weak at close range, has internalized monologues with himself a lot, he appears calm on the surface however, his foot constantly taps, he fidgets with his slingshot, he cannot stays in place for too long. enjoys taking challenges.

Rubellite (DemoPyro) is a robot with a 50’s cartoon style but with like a creepy vibe to it, their voice sounds like a broken radio perpetually stuck on a laugh track, is both infectious and unsettling.

They just as powerful as Spessartite but just a bit more agile and lean more on the defense style than offense, their body stretches in a cartoony way and battles become a twisted playground for them, a child's game where they hop and blow things up everywhere. they’re very joyful and loves to have fun while making chaos, they usually make jokes but no one understands their muffled voice so they often laugh all by themselves lol the weapon actually expands where the ball and the shaft of the mace connects there’s a chaine (i didnt draw it cuz there was already too much going on in the drawing lol) which helps them reach target from close to mid range easily, they twist and turn their body in very flexible ways before swatting their weapon at their target.

♠︎ If you want to suggest a pair for the next fusion please just comment here DO NOT send it in my ask box plz !!

And if you want to make your own fusion designs/fanart go ahead ! id love to see other people’s interpretations could be ! just don’t forget to tag me and add the tag ( tf2 x su au) :D

hope you enjoy !

+ early designs :

[captainfern]

You Know You're Right

Captain John Price x fem!reader

["You Know You're Right" by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - an argument with your bodyguard ends a lot differently than you anticipated lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 6.6k • warnings - fem!reader, thick girl friendly ofc, bodyguard!price, protective/jealous!price, oral [f!receiving], angry!sex but not really, he calls you a slag once i'm so sorry but he doesn't mean it i swear, unprotected (obviously) piv, reader has a breeding kink but price is like babe chill, but he also has one, so uh yeah breeding kink (obviously), reader is on contraceptives tho x, dirty talk, praise, degradation, strong language, 99% porn 1% plot • also to note: reader is a wealthy woman in the english countryside. sorry to all my american cuties but you can be a sexy british heiress for a while x

and the uniform stays on 🙏

my contribution to @glitterypirateduck price writing challenge for this month. sorry for the lack of work recently. uni's a bitch. and sorry for any mistakes lol anyway enjoy x

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You don't know how long John Price had been your bodyguard for. You honestly couldn't recall the amount of days, weeks, months, years it had been since you had first met him.

Of course, you remember the day itself, the events, the moment you first met him. A crisp, autumnal morning with the trees around you alit with oranges and reds, and you stood on the front steps of your grand country estate as a couple of military-grade hummers pulled up in front of you.

You remember a few armed men spilling out onto your driveway, clutching M16's or AR15's or whatever the fuck they were because you weren't paying attention to them. You were paying attention to the man that followed behind them.

A man who, as the armed soldiers-of-sorts fanned out and scanned their surroundings, approached you with a warm smile that melted the early-morning chill from the air. With deep eyes that heated you more than the fuzzy housecoat you had bundled around you.

He offered his hand, and you shook it. His hand was warm too.

And the way he spoke– oh fuck, his voice. Flint striking steel and fire crackling from it's spark. A smoker. A man who, all so suddenly, sounded much too experienced to be the bodyguard of a wealthy woman in the English countryside.

"John Price," he had introduced. "S'a pleasure, miss."

You then smiled politely in return and introduced with your name. He chuckled lightly, commenting something along the lines of oh, I know who you are, miss which made your body grow even warmer.

You had looked up, ignoring the fact he was still holding your hand gently in his, and gestured to the three young men who were pacing around the front of your house, weapons drawn. "Will these gentlemen be staying with you for the entirety of your stay?"

He shook his head ruefully. "No, miss. They'll be gone within the hour. Just ensuring they know their way 'round in case they need to get here in a hurry."

You looked back down at him, arching a brow and finally removing your hand from his. He dropped his arm with a clearing of his throat, bringing his hands up to clutch the top of his vest.

"Will they need to get here in a hurry?" You challenged, almost jokingly, but John saw no joke. A joke about your safety is no joke he'd dear indulge in.

"No," he said sternly and quite quickly, you remember. "But it's just precautions. No, don't you worry, sweetheart. You're in safe hands. I assure you that."

Sweetheart.

Perhaps you remember the first meeting with John Price because it was the very first time he referred to you in such a way. Sweetheart. Now, a little over a year later, he still refers to you as such, but also–

"Morning, love. Sleep well?" He'd ask when you emerge from your bedroom in the morning.

Or,

"There she is. Rough night, pet?" He'd quip when you finally decide to show yourself about late-afternoon after a night out with your friends.

Or even,

"Need a hand with that, darling?" He'd offer when you found yourself struggling to carry the many shopping bags through the door.

Oftentimes, the way he spoke to you, the way he referred to you, was like you two had been married for years. And it wasn't only the way he spoke to you that had you going to bed giggling and kicking your feet like a girl with a crush.

Lingering touches and long hugs and kisses to the top of your head. John was always so warm and welcoming. His presence crackled like a fire in winter, lulling you to sleep or to a state of comfortability. If it was any other man, you wondered if you'd be weirded out by the closeness of him– but because it was John, everything just felt... right.

Riding horses in the springtime, and he'd assist you into the saddle with big hands running down your sides and legs, settling you onto your sturdy steed with a squeeze to your knee. He'd ride on a seperate horse if you wanted to canter through the forest; or he'd walk alongside yours if you were only taking a lazy stroll across the pastures.

Swimming in the summertime, and he'd smooth oils across your exposed skin. You'd revel in the way his large palms moved against you, such a strong man being so incredibly gentle. He'd watch you swim, his eyes occasionally darting up and around, before settling back on you again. He always declined to join you, angling that silly little boonie hat of his over his eyes to shield the sun's rays.

Keeping you warm in the wintertime, letting you snuggle up beneath furs and blankets on your couch while he chopped firewood outside, bringing the axe down again and again until he had enough kindling to keep the fire running for days to come. You'd watch him work up a sweat, muscles stretching and contracting beneath his shirt. Your entire body would flush with warmth.

But sometimes... sometimes the two of you didn't get along so well. And it wasn't your fault, you didn't think. You honestly found Captain John Price so confusing at times, especially now that the two of you had known each other for quite some time.

Partying with your friends, and you'd attract the attention of some poor man who didn't know what he was getting himself into. He'd smile at you, offer you drinks or a smoke or whatever you wanted, his hands beginning to wander as the music seemed to grow louder and louder and the colours around you blurred together. You'd laugh and dance and sing with your friends, this man actively engaging with you and–

It never lasted.

Price would swoop in. Sometimes before the stranger could offer you a drink, sometimes after. Sometimes the man never got the chance to even speak to you, with your bodyguard planting himself firmly in front of you and blocking your would-be pursuer.

You were never one to complain. After all, it was his job to protect you. But you didn't like when, after getting home in the early hours of the morning, he would roughly escort you to your room, ensure you wouldn't be sick, then leave without another word.

He'd be better by the morning.

And this became a cycle. A cycle of trying to combat the winds of a hurricane. Impossible, really. You just had to brace yourself.

But you were sick of bracing yourself. You were sick of getting fucking cock-blocked by your ex-military bodyguard. You were an absolutely gorgeous, rich woman living on her own in the countryside, and you fucking deserved to find someone. You, frankly, deserved to get fucked.

"I'm going out tonight," you told Price as you emerged from your bedroom. You were already dressed, looking impeccable as always.

Price lounged in one of the chaises positioned in the hallway outside your bedroom. He glanced up from his phone, glanced back down, and then did a double take. His eyes shot up again and he immediately pocketed his phone as he got to his feet, knees cracking with the speed of it all.

"I– you said you were just going out for a few drinks with friends?" He countered, eyes skimming up and down your frame. But not for any longer than a second, you don't think. Forever the gentleman, his eyes honed in on your face, his gaze already beginning to melt the icy facade you'd put in place.

But you steeled your nerves.

"I am," you said with a smile.

"You're going into the city? I'll have to organise a driver–" Price began, but you cut him off with a shake of your head. You didn't live too far from the main city, but it was still a significant drive for simply a few drinks.

"No, no, we're just popping into town," you said, referring to the small, quaint town less than five down the road. "Having a few drinks at the pub. Nothing big."

You and your friends were regulars at the pub. And John frowned. He knew that the other regulars– a group of men you'd become familiar with– would also be there.

You clocked his frown and your smile grew. "What's the matter, John? Am... Am I not allowed to go?"

He huffed. "No, you can go, but just let me–"

"Oh, no need," you said with a batter of your eyelashes. You told him you'd organise your own driver. "And you don't need to come. I'll only be a couple of hours."

John's jaw tensed, and you could see the muscles moving beneath his facial hair.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm coming."

Your smile faltered. "No, you're not. I'm fine, John. Have a break. If it makes you feel any better, I'll be back before midnight–"

"That doesn't make me feel better," John growled. "I... I have no problem with you going out, but I need to come with you. I– I am coming with you, end of story."

Your smile had disappeared completely now. You then looked him up and down. He was dressed how he usually did, even around the house. A suit complete with the trousers and white dress-shirt. But he wore his kevlar vest over top, and with a belt stocked with a couple of sidearms and ammunition, he didn't exactly look inconspicuous. At least he wasn't wearing his boonie hat.

"Price..." You began. "Please, just... I'll be fine, okay? Can you just let me do something on my own–?"

"No."

You frowned. "John–"

"It's my job to protect you, is it not?" He cocked his head, daring you to challenge him. "You hired me to protect you. You pay me to keep an eye on you since there are a couple of real fuckwits out there that would want to hurt you, right? So why the fuck would I let you leave here alone?"

He took a step forward, opening his arms in a gesture of so?

Your frown deepened. "I deserve some privacy, you know. I appreciate that you look out for me, but I want to be able to enjoy myself in public without..."

John waited, but urged a mocking, "Without...?"

You scoffed. "Without you hovering over me. I just want to... enjoy myself, okay? I want to meet people–"

"Oh," John suddenly said, and his tone was less of realisation, more of discovery. "I see."

You scowled. "What?"

"You want to get fucked, is that it?"

Your mouth dropped open. "I–"

"No, no, it's okay, sweetheart. It's okay," he tutted, shaking his head as you stood there, embarrassment suddenly festering in the pit of your stomach, as he appraised you like you were a whole new person. He sighed. "You want me gone so I don't stop the lads from flocking to you. Is that it? You want me to let you go out on your own so you can get one of those boys to fuck you?"

The shame in your stomach, pulling and pushing at your conscious, fizzled out and was instead replaced by a new flame of self-determination. You took a step closer to your bodyguard and jabbed a finger into the taut material of his tac vest.

"You have no right to tell me who I can and cannot fuck, got it? I can do what the fuck I want. I'm a grown woman, Price," you seethed. "Secondly, yeah, I might just get one of the guys at the pub to fuck me. I bet they would, you know. I bet he'd bend me over his knee and–"

"Stop talking," John rolled his eyes, and the gesture made you a whole lot angrier. But he continued before you could say anything else. "You're not going. You can throw a fit if that's what you want, but you're not going."

Throw a fit. You wanted to slap him for that. But you didn't. Even though you were growing angrier and angrier at the man before you, there was something inside your brain that prevented you from going that far. Maybe it was the fact that... seeing him so protective of you... made you feel...

You shook your head to send the thoughts away. You're meant to be angry at him, babe.

"Fuck you," you spat, since those were the only words that managed to come to the forefront of your mind.

He grunted. "Yeah, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Just a needy fuckin' slag looking for a quick fuck–"

You raised your hand to slap him. You wanted to strike your palm across his handsome face. A slag? Who the fuck does he think he is–

Price grabbed hold of your wrist before you got within inches of his cheek. And, quickly, you realised you'd made a huge mistake.

In seconds, he had your soft body pinned against the wall beside your bedroom door. He pinned you there with his body, hard and firm against yours, one large hand holding your wrist and nailing it to the wall, while the other grabbed your other wrist and held it by your side.

His face was close to yours. You could smell him. Rich oud, the warmth of some sort of spice note, expensive tobacco–

Your core fluttered.

Oh, fuck off–

Price shoved a knee between your legs, parting them and forcing a yelp from your throat at the way he dragged himself impossibly closer. The taut muscle of his thigh beneath you made you scream within your head, silently begging that the warmth of your clothed cunt didn't give anything away because-

You were fucked.

Fucked off, yes. Angry at him, yes.

But he was also turning you on in a way that no man has ever done before.

"D'you want'a try that again?" He whispered, the words ghosting across the heated skin of your face.

When you didn't respond right away, he pushed his knee up higher, shifting his hips closer to yours, humming out an impatient, "Hm?"

You shook your head.

"Didn't think so."

You frowned. "You're such an arsehole."

"I know," he said, words hushed. "But you fucking love it, don't you?"

The both of you paused. Breathing jaggedly, you looked at each other for what felt like an eternity, a storm passing between the two of you, complete with the crackling of thunder. You could feel him breathing against you, and you willed yourself not to look down at where your bodies were flushed together. Instead, you remained calm.

You watched the way his eyes darted across your face. How they lingered on the curves of your cheeks, or the part between your lips. His eyes scanned over your nose, your eyes, your everything. You could almost hear his brain trying to keep up.

You could feel your core growing warmer and warmer, arousal pooling and no doubt tangible. Without a doubt he could feel it against the material of his trousers, soaking through to his thigh. It was already drenching your underwear, and probably ruining his suit.

God, you loved him in a suit.

"What are you waiting for?" You whispered your challenge, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat between you.

Price groaned and he released his hold on your wrists. Instead, he grabbed the fat just above your hip in one hand and wrapped the other around your jaw, before he was pushing forward and slamming his mouth to yours.

•º•º•

John Price didn't know how long it had been since he fell in love with you. He honestly couldn't recall the number of days, weeks, months, years it had been since the moment he first saw you.

But of course he remembers what the day was like– how beautiful and welcoming and soft you looked, bundled in your expensive housecoat with a sliver of your leg exposed to the chilly autumn breeze. He remembers the bright smile, tired but bright, you had offered him as he walked up to you and extended his hand. He remembers the way your hand felt within his, and how he didn't want to let go.

He remembers how his heart lurched in his chest when you introduced yourself, and he recalls feeling nothing but sincerity for the fact a pretty woman like you needed to be protected by someone like him. Oh, but how gorgeous you looked when you thanked him for his service. The almost-guiltiness didn't last for long.

You were always so sweet to him. Even when he put you in your place, told you what you could and couldn't do for your own safety. You were constantly being kind to him. Respectful and polite and understanding.

You were such a good girl.

And as the days passed, as they blurred into weeks and months and finally a year-ish together, you got all the more sweeter. But–

But you now knew him. You knew what made him tick. You knew exactly what to do to get your way. Saunter through your home with a pretty, coy smile and a soft hand on his bicep and of course, sweetheart, we can go into the city today. Or a well-cooked meal of his favourite food, paired with a pint if you really wanted to get into his good books, and okay then, love, I'll call your driver to take us.

You knew how to deal with him. And he let you, of course.

But as the months went by, Price couldn't help but grow resentful. His pretty girl, being chatted up by some absolute mingers in a big-city nightclub. Or maybe even the village idiots down at the local pub. How dare they?

He found himself growing more annoyed that they approached you, instead of worried that they could cause you harm. Sure, they were still a threat, and Price was doing his job. But also, also, they were encroaching on what was his. What belonged to him.

His good girl.

And he supposed he should have seen this coming– an argument bubbling up and over about it all. About how he was always there when you just wanted to socialise and have a good time. How he was always turning guys away from you. It wasn't fear, and John understood that. But he was firm in his thinking– you were his.

Oh fuck, you even looked gorgeous when you were angry at him. When you were spitting and hissing like a feral cat, and even with your claws unsheathed and swinging right towards his face, he found you to be the most ethereal being on the planet.

His pretty girl.

He didn't mean to call you a slag. Of course he didn't mean it. His anger conjuring into stupid fucking words that he couldn't keep hidden in his head. And even then his anger wasn't to you, but to the local fuckwits who haunted the village pub in the hopes of spending time with you.

Delusional cunts.

When John caught your wrist and pinned you to the wall outside your bedroom, he didn't mean to escalate things. He was angry at himself, angry for saying such filth to you. But then–

But then he felt it. His heart hammering wildly against his ribcage and your chest rising and falling rapidly. He felt the way you squirmed against him, how you arched off the wall and how your barely clothed pussy seemed to throb against the muscle of his thigh. He could feel your warmth through his trousers, feel your need.

His needy girl.

And he was more than happy to indulge you. Hell, he was more than happy to indulge himself.

•º•º•

John's mouth on yours was hot. Liquid heat passing between you, sparks flying as he pulled you closer by the hand on your jaw. He split your lips with his tongue, pushing inside with just as much strength as you anticipated. His lips against yours smeared your gloss, sticky and sweet, mixing with the spit that threatened to drip as he licked into your mouth again and again, chasing the taste of you.

You moaned into it, eyes shut and hands wrapping around his neck. Fingers delved into his hair, tugging and pulling and angling his head to get yourself closer. He groaned in response, pushing his pelvis closer to yours, and you could feel him growing in his suit trousers.

Then, you began to move. You followed him blindly, your eyes still closed as you attempted to keep up with the languid rhythm of his tongue. He licked at your teeth, your tongue, your lips, committing your taste to memory.

You'd never been kissed like this before.

You were walking backwards, guided by Price's large hands. He had two hands on your waist now, holding you flush to him as he slowly edged you back, back, back until the backs of your legs bumped into something. Your bed.

You broke the kiss, surprised, and turned your head to the side to see that yeah, he'd navigated you both back into the warm, lovely-smelling oasis of your bedroom. As you looked to the side, your bodyguard continued his mission, dragging his lips along your jaw and then latching his mouth onto your neck.

He groaned, tasting more of you. He'd imagined what you'd taste like, imagined the saltiness of your skin his lips. He now knew what your mouth tasted like. All was left now was–

John forced himself away, grumbling to himself and gently pushing you back onto the bed and into a sitting position. You smiled up at him, and he shifted to stand between your parted legs, cupping your face in two hands. He bent down to place one last kiss to your lips, before slowly– with cracking knees and a shallow grunt of effort– he lowered himself to his knees.

His hands dragged down your body. They rolled over your shoulders and arms, skimming lightly over the curves of your breasts and stomach, running over the fat of your hips and thighs. When his knees hit the, thankfully carpeted, floor, he gripped your knees and gave you a couple of comforting squeezes.

"Alright, sweetheart?" He asked, voice husky and full of yen– desire and longing mirrored in his eyes.

His eyes on you, his hands dragged back up your thighs and to where your skirt sat bunched a few inches below your hips. He pinched the fabric, toying with it while waiting for your response.

You nodded at him. "M'alright."

"Can..." He dropped his eyes for just a second to look at your skirt, before raising them again. "Can I take this off, please?"

You nodded again, followed by a whispered yes, please. You then raised your hips for him to pull the fabric down and away from you, shuffling back to rip it down your legs and fling it across the room. You giggled at his enthusiasm as he returned to his original position.

Price groaned low in his throat and leaned forward, holding your thighs apart. Your underwear still on, he pressed his face against you, his beard tickling the softest part of your inner thighs. His nose pressed onto your clit, his lips placing a kiss to your clothed core. This forced a moan from your throat, and you gripped your duvet for some kind of stability.

He kissed at the patch of arousal that had bled through during your altercation in the hallway, his nose nudging against your clit as he decided to swipe his tongue against you. He groaned and you keened, a high pitched mewl, your legs twitching either side of his head.

"Pretty girl..." He whispered, the rumble hitting your clit and making you mewl out again.

He kissed at your clothed cunt again, tongue smoothing along the thin cotton fabric until the entire area was wet with his spit and your arousal. Your legs twitched beside him, pleasure sitting fuzzy in the base of your tummy, and you wondered– no, you knew that he could probably make you come in your fucking underwear.

But he didn't. Whether you were thankful for that or not, you weren't entirely sure. But he eventually, and rather torturously, pulled away for long enough to pull your underwear down your legs. He let it fling from your ankles, not caring where it landed, before he was pushing back between your legs once more.

This time, he licked a fat stripe up your cunt before latching his mouth to your clit and sucking. You cried out, a hand shooting down to grab hold of his hair, fisting it tightly as he laved his tongue over you. His mouth was hot, burning at your core, but your body had now been set alight– the flame of pleasure coursing through your veins, heating your body. Your legs trembled now, thighs flexing either side of his head, his facial hair scratching and tickling you all at once.

John's movements were quick. Quicker than you expected. He seemed desperate for it as he licked back down your cunt and stuffed his tongue into your hole– in and out, in and out– before curling and repeating the process. You moaned at his well-timed movements, never leaving you dissatisfied or overstimulated in the slightest. Price was amazing.

He kneaded the fat of your thighs as he ate you out, enjoying the softness of you around his head. His cock was hard and leaking in his trousers, and one of the reasons he wanted you to quickly come on his tongue was so that he didn't bust a fat load in his fucking briefs. He couldn't handle that today. Not when he'd been waiting so long to have you.

"John," you moaned, stretching the syllables. Your hips bucked, his nose catching your puffy clit. You ground against him, moans bubbling from your throat as you tossed your head back. You rode his face, locking your ankles together at his back and anchoring yourself with one hand on the bed and the other in his hair.

He moaned in response, eyes on the way your body writhed above him. He loved the way you bucked up, wriggling in search of your coming high. Fuck, you looked gorgeous.

John screwed his eyes shut and focused on curling his tongue in and out of your sopping hole. He felt his cock twitch. If he looked at you again, he was sure he'd come.

You moaned sweetly above him, orgasm building tight in the base of your tummy. You continued rocking your hips, the mattress creaking quietly beneath you. But the sounds from your mouth, coupled with the wetness of Price's mouth on your pussy, was all that rang true in your ears.

"John, fuck– oh fuck, please–" You mewled, edging on a whine. Desperation was creeping in. You hurtled towards your high.

Then, you felt deep vibrations rock through your core (unbeknownst to you, John had mumbled a that's it, come for me, baby against your hole). The band of pleasure inside you snapped, and with one last push of your cunt into his face, you came.

You moaned John's name, head still tossed back as pleasure fizzled through you. Your thighs clamped down on either side of his head, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you came on his tongue. John happily buried himself deeper into your heat, tongue licking you slowly through your orgasm.

He had looked up, chanced it, and watched you come. He managed to hold on and not come in his briefs, but he could feel the front of them growing tacky with his precum.

A few moments later, ensuring your orgasm had been well wrung from your beautiful body, John withdrew from your cunt. He unbound himself from your legs and got to his feet as you blinked up at him, dazed and fuzzy.

"Feeling good, sweetheart?" John asked, gently and carefully guiding you further up the bed. You crawled with him until your head hit the pillows at the top of the bed and John knelt between your legs, his hands rubbing circles over your bare thighs.

"Yeah... good..." You replied lazily, eyes dropping down to where you could see John's cock straining in his trousers. The sight made you moan, and you attempted to sat up, but Price stopped you.

"Hold on, sweetheart..." He murmured, placing a kiss to the top of your head before helping you out of your top. In companionable silence, he discarded the garment and went to work unclipping your bra, letting your breasts spill out as he discarded that too.

He groaned, happily to himself, reaching forward to roll one of your pebbling nipples between his fingers, his other hand groping the opposite breast.

"Fuckin' beautiful..." He muttered, and then leaned forward to kiss you.

You tasted yourself on him as he guided you back down. A soft tang, a subtle sweetness in his saliva. You moaned, fingers once again moving to card through his hair and stroke the back of his neck, just above his shirt collar.

While you kissed, Price slipped one hand between you and unbuckled his belt. He let the belt hang open while he deftly unbuttoned his trousers and peeled them open just enough for him to reach into his briefs and pull his cock out. He hissed into the kiss, his hand on his own achingly hard cock causing pre to dribble down his shaft.

"Fuck..." He muttered into your mouth, and you pulled back, shifting to look between you. The image of your bodyguard still dressed in his uniform, but with his thick cock hanging out, was a sight to behold. You moaned, hips bucking involuntarily, the heat of your cunt coming within centimetres of the head of his cock.

Price moaned loudly, immediately dropping his hand to fist the base of himself while positioning his hips against yours. He ran the leaking tip, ruddy and flushed red from his arousal, through your soaked folds. At the same time, you both moaned.

"Oh my god," you breathed, still looking down. Price, eyes on your cunt, continued to smear pre along your slit, running his cockhead up and down, revelling in the way your arousal leaked around him.

"S'alright, pretty girl..." He uttered, not looking up from where he circled his tip around your hole. "S'alright... I'll make you feel good. I'll make you feel good." Then, he finally looked up, eyes boring into yours. You felt your stomach flip as he smiled warmly. "That's what you need, isn't it, sweetheart?"

His words dripped mirth. You whined, knowing where he was going with this.

"Just so desperate for some cock, s'that it? S'that what's got you all riled up?" John poked fun at you, referencing your argument beforehand.

You gave in and nodded, shifting your hips and catching the tip of his cock against your entrance. It made both you and Price release sounds of pleasure, but he held strong, gripping himself at the base and pulling his cock away an inch.

"Use your words," he instructed, voice husky, ash-laced. "Use your fucking words, love. Tell me how desperate you are for my cock. How much of a fucking whore you are for it."

The unexpected degradation punched a moan from your lungs. You babbled, "Y-yeah, fuck– need your cock so bad, John, please."

"Yeah?" Price teased, running the head of his cock up and down your folds again. "You need this cock?"

He pushed the head of his cock into your hole, and you moaned, arching your back. But he stopped there, the flared tip of him laying dormant inside. Your cunt fluttered around him, arousal leaking down the curve of your arse. You whimpered, attempting to push your lips down onto him, but a firm swat to your thigh had you pausing in place.

"S'this the cock you need?" Price asked, voice dark. "Or 're you wanting t'get fucked by some stranger? Want one of the lads down at the pub to fuck this tight cunt? Eh, sweetheart? That's right, isn't it? Actin' like a fuckin' slut lookin' for a quick fuck–"

"No, no, no, please–" You said quickly, trying not to get distracted by the way Price's accent was strengthening as your cunt fluttered around his cockhead. "S'only you! Need you, John, please. Only need you 'n– fuck, only need your cock."

Price growled, pleased, having itched that jealous spot inside him. That's right, that's what he wanted to hear.

His good girl.

"That's fuckin' right, baby. Good girl–" John pulled out and then pushed back in, slowly parting your walls for the girth of his cock. You moaned and he leaned forward to kiss you, being as gentle as he could while splitting you open. He murmured against your lips, "That's a good girl. Yeah, that's it, sweetheart. Doin' so well..."

The buckle of his belt clinked as John picked up his thrusts, stretching you apart on his cock. You could feel the bunched fabric of his trousers and briefs against you with each of his thrusts, and when he curled over you to kiss you, the feeling of his dress shirt and tac vest against your bare chest had a shiver rippling through you.

He kissed you hard, just as he had done in the hallway. This time, a bit of saliva did escape your mouth, rolling from the corner as you parted your mouth to moan, Price's tongue licking over your lower lip as the head of his cock punched up against the base of your cervix.

Just like everything else about him, the sex was hot. Price radiated warmth. The space between your bodies was heating up, and you could feel the light sheen of sweat covering your skin. Beneath his beard, Price's cheeks began to burn read, a bead of sweat trickling from his hairline. His hips moved quickly, but with precision, shunting you deeper and deeper into the mattress, making it squeak and groan.

His cock hit all the right places, too. Your walls hugged him, tight and hot and wet as he plunged up against your womb. John could feel you squeezing him. Feel the sheer hold you had on him, physically and otherwise. He grunted and groaned to himself, his balls already beginning to tighten, his lower back starting to strain from the effort.

"John..." You whined, second orgasm already fast approaching. You felt yourself beginning to tighten up again, your muscles pulling taut as the band of pleasure in the base of your abdomen began to expand. The drive of Price's cock was pulling it further and further. You were so close.

And when you were this close, John always seemed to know what to say and do to push you off the precipice.

Expertly, your bodyguard moved his arm downwards to press a couple of fingers to your puffy clit, rolling it beneath with a gentle stroke. He drew gentle circles that made you spasm beneath him, a panting moan filtering from your parted, spit-covered lips.

He continued the drive of his hips, cock hitting the best spot inside you. Bursts of light, of pleasure, appeared behind your fluttering eyelids, the intensity of it all making it hard for you to keep your eyes open. But you did– you forced your eyes open, lids drooping. You locked eyes with Price, and he smiled down at you in a way that was probably meant to be comforting, but it only turned you on more.

"My sweet girl, just look at you," Price cooed, still slamming into you. "So gorgeous. Such a pretty girl, an' you look even prettier getting stuffed with my cock, don't you?"

You nodded, delirious now. You wanted nothing more than for him to come inside you and–

The thought made you moan loudly.

He chuckled. "S'that right?"

"John, fuck–" you moaned out. "Fuck, please–"

Come inside me, you wanted to beg him, but the tip of his cock at the plug of your womb and his fingers on your clit had your vision whiting out as the band in your stomach snapped again.

You came hard. Legs locked around his waist, the fat of your thighs and stomach rippling with his strong movements, you came. Arousal gushed out around his cock, the sensation forcing an unexpected whimper from you. The slick walls of your cunt clutched the girth of him, squeezing with each fluttering pulse of your erratic heartbeat. Fuzzy pleasure washed over you and, just like with his mouth, he stroked your clit through your orgasm and stopped right at the brink of overstimulation.

But you gained no mercy after coming.

John redoubled his efforts. With two strong arms either side of you, he rutted into you with renewed energy, now chasing his own high. His balls, almost painful at this point, smacked against the plush curve of your arse, with the head of his cock leaking inside you.

Oh fuck, he wasn't wearing a condom.

He knew you were on contraceptives. Of course. He knew almost everything about you now. But the thought–

"John–!" You all but sobbed, wriggling beneath him, becoming impatient. Not because you wanted it to end, but because you wanted him to end inside you. "John, please come inside me."

"Fucking hell," he grit out between clenched teeth, teetering on the edge of collapse.

Stuffing you full of him. Coming right up against your cervix, flooding your womb. Filling you out, watching you grow fat with his kid. Laying claim to you, how you were truly his. His pretty girl. His good girl.

Not today.

But the thought alone had Price coming.

"F-fuck, take it, sweetheart, jus'– fuckin good girl, take my cum, baby–" Price muttered, pumping his hips as he came. He filled you with the same kind of warmth he radiated. Comfort and security, maybe.

You moaned quietly once Price'd emptied himself inside of you, and you relaxed your legs so he could flop to the side. Cock still inside you, softening just a bit, Price curled you into him, his face resting in the crook of your neck, your legs entangled.

The two of you caught your breaths, breathing in each other's scent and the pungency of sex. Your eyes opened and closed lazily, the heat of Price's body lulling you to sleep. But you forced your eyes open when Price pulled back– only to change positions. His suit rustled as he pulled you in against him, and you wished you could run your fingers through the hair on his toned chest.

After a little while, you felt Price kiss the top of your head.

"Feeling alright, love?" He asked, and the sincerity in his voice had butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Yeah," you replied. "More than alright. I... thank you."

"Thank you," Price said, nuzzling into the top of your head.

•º•º•

The two of you basked in each others company for what seemed like hours before a buzzing broke the haze of whatever dream you were living. Peeling yourself away from Price for a moment, you reached over to your discarded purse and fished your phone out, finding it alight with missed calls and messages from your friends.

You almost felt guiltly.

"Cancel," John grumbled below you, seemingly already knowing what you were looking at. "You're not going out tonight, are you?"

"No, 'm not feeling up to it," you said, smiling.

John, burying himself into the crook of your neck once more, arms wrapped securely around you, smiled too.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

this was the first long-ish fic i've written in a while so forgive me if it wasn't my usual best lolol. anyway thank you for reading and make sure to go check out the other @glitterypirateduck submissions for this writing challenge

lots of luv <3