#decorative wall panels price | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

on-a-lucky-tide · 18 days ago

Note

Your ask made me remember the request I was going to send it to you but forgot

hard to pick one to ask out of my drafts (very tempted to ask a PriceGhost omegaverse thought) BUT I decided to go with this cliché ask:

During a mission it snowed in, trapping Price and Nikolai in the safehouse, maybe one of them is experiencing hypothermia and needed to be warm up...in one way or another ( ͡º ꒳ ͡º) you can decide if they go 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 or not!! I'll eat up anything you write either way

love yo stuff, stay hydrated! also manifesting max grains and zero pain for ya gym days 💪

Nik has to save Price from hypothermia, but with their bodies pressed so close, they can't resist each other.

cw: omegaverse, alpha Nik, omega Price, dubious consent in the sense Price is embarrassed by his body's reaction, clearly has some trauma, and it's kinda a stressful situation, and Nik gentles him? But they're into each other. Uncertain/open ending as Price clearly has a lot to work through. Sorry, Gomz, this got a whole 7k away from me...

The snow had come in so quickly. That was the problem with operating this far north; the weather was unpredictable, and when it turned it took no prisoners. Nik had managed to get them to an old house he knew about just on the outskirts of a small town. One of many old estates once owned by a soviet officer, its wine cellar, opulent decorations, and sprawling grounds all that remained of the bloated symbol of hypocrisy. It had long since been abandoned by the locals; too much trouble to repair, and everything of immediate value had been gutted.

While Nik had tried to get one of the old radios they found to work, John had been shovelling snow around the generators in an effort to get close enough to crank them up, but the storm had eventually defeated him and driven him back inside. Not even the legendary Bravo Six could overcome nature when she dug her heels in.

Nik wasn't immediately worried when John stepped into the study where they'd set up a temporary camp, shaking the snow from his carrier vest and coat like a dog clearing its fur. He was walking normally, placing his rifle down against the wall as he shut out the howling wind. Nik had loaded a fire in the hearth and found a heap of animal furs and blankets in one of the bedrooms upstairs to supplement their sleeping bags, so the room was warm enough to shed their coats and hang them to dry. He sat hunched over the desk by the window, one side of the headset pressed to his ear as he adjusted the antennae.

The radio whirred and buzzed, but there was too much interference from the storm and all he could coax out of it was white noise and whining. "There is only static," Nik said. "It is working, but we will only get a communication through when the snow eases. For now, we must wait."

"Thas'good," John said, and then proceeded to knock into a dusty coffee table, his boots clumping heavily as he tried to steady himself.

Nik paused, his hand stilling on the dials. "Captain?" He looked over his shoulder, picking John's shape out in the gloom as his eyes adjusted to the dim light created by the fire. A sharp contrast to the almost radioactive yellow of the dials. He could see John slouched over by the door, his hand against the wall.

"Nik, I fink... Fink 'm..."

Nik abandoned the radio in the next breath and was there to catch John when he staggered, his body falling heavily into Nik's arms. There was no mistaking the signs of hypothermia; John looked confused, his eyes dilated, and when Nik yanked his glove off with his teeth and shoved his hand just on the inside of John's collar where he should be warm and dry, his skin was cold and clammy.

"Nik, 'm... S'somethin'..."

Nik dragged John towards the fire, his boots scuffing on the old wood panel floor as he struggled to find his footing. John's clothes were wet, inside and out; a combination of relentless snow melting through and the sweat from exertion meant that much of his gear's insulation had been rendered useless. Exposed for too long in adverse conditions, even the most expensive military kit couldn't keep up.

Nik peeled John out of them, tearing off velcro and unclipping buckles, swift and efficient. His palms passed over pale skin spotted with freckles, blue in some places where it should be flushed and pink. Despite its pallor, John's body was truly beautiful; strong and athletic, with its defined musculature dusted by downy body hair. If the situation wasn't so desperate, Nik might have lingered to admire every new inch he revealed. He had fantasised about it long enough in private moments, his eyes closed and his hand inside his underwear.

John tried to help. Even dazed and shivering, he knew what was wrong. Knew what the process was. But his clumsy hands only slowed Nik down, numb fingers unable to grip or feel their way over the fastenings. "Let me. I have you," Nik said gently, pushing John's hands away from his belt. He was naked for barely a handful of seconds before Nik was wrapping him in a sleeping bag, laying him down on top of the pile of furs before the fire.

There were warm packs in their Bergens and Nik cracked a few of these as he kicked off his own clothes. Sleeping bags needed actual body heat to work well, and that was something John was lacking; on their own, the heat packs wouldn't work quickly enough. This wasn't how Nik had wanted to hold John for the first time, not what he had dreamed about in those quiet hours before dawn, his hand clutched around his knot, but he didn't have time to lament fate.

Nik shivered as he grabbed the last of the blankets, a little musty, but a maid had clearly laundered them before storing them away for the final time. He draped them over in layers before sliding into the sleeping bag at John's back, large arms encircling his quivering chest and drawing him close, John's freezing body fully ensconced in life-saving warmth.

Only in the stillness that followed did Nik realise his own heart was hammering in his chest, his ears muffled by the pulse of his blood as he allowed himself the momentary grace to feel fear. What if John had stayed out only five minutes longer and collapsed in the snow? What if Nik had searched for him, his body already covered over, and hadn't found him until the morning? Frozen solid, his beautiful eyes empty of life. It could have happened. Fate had been close to stealing John away. Too close.

John's laboured panting evened out and Nik felt his body go slack as he slipped in and out of unconsciousness. It was fine, as long as he was warming, breathing, his body relaxing out of its tense alarm, then Nik could stop his useless panicking.

Nik swallowed, tilting his nose down into John's hair to inhale a lungful of him, seeking comfort from the soft scent of a mature, fertile omega; a guilty pleasure, but one he allowed himself to calm his fear.

He had never been this close to John. Brief embraces, shoulder to shoulder in the back of a Hercules, sharing a drink and whispering conspiratorially in a bar, passing a cigar back and forth in the back of Nik's Black Hawk. So many intimate moments where Nik had fallen slowly, irrevocably in love with this fierce, bad-tempered, feral man with scruffy facial hair and cunningly intelligent blue eyes. But none like this. None where he could taste John's musky, soft smell in the back of his throat, feel the pulse of his heart as if it were beating under his own skin.

Nik knew he was torturing himself. John’s scent curled through him like rich cigar smoke in an expensive bar, winding down his spine until it coiled in his belly and stoked at his instincts. Nik was so very aware of the firm line of John's body in his arms; the plush curves of his full arse, the strong muscles of his thighs and the quiet strength boasted by his broad shoulders. How soft and inviting his body hair was, how kissable the freckles, scars and moles across his skin, like constellations mapping a lifetime over John's body. The thought of spreading John's legs, sinking into his tight heat and making that gravelly voice break with pleasure was driving him insane.

"Blyat..." Nik muttered, the heat coiling in his hips, his cock twitching. Nik flattened his palm against John's chest and felt the strong, valiant thrum of his heart, defiant in the face of the cold. He used it to ground himself. He had to stay calm. For John's sake. While Nik could forgive his body its natural urges around such a handsome omega, he could not forgive any loss of control because of them.

Nik stayed vigilant as the minutes ticked into hours. He tried to remember his training about the different levels of hypothermia and their recovery times, but all his damn mind could latch onto was the scent and feel of the omega in his arms. Nik ached in a way he never had before; a deep, humming discontent at his very core. It was a combination of desire and terror; the cold had nearly snatched John away, and now here he was, so close, so vulnerable, and yet he had never been so off limits. Nik burned with need and it mocked him.

Nik held John a little tighter and closed his eyes. As long as he could feel the slow rise and fall of John's chest, feel the flutter of his breath over his bicep, he knew John was still… here. Alive, and safe. If Nik stayed still, taking each minute as it came, he would not slip. Not allow himself to indulge in his weakness.

Nik must have dozed off to the lullaby of John's heartbeat, his face tucked into his hair, because seemingly in the next moment John was writhing in his arms, his arse bumping back against the hard length of Nik's cock, which had only stiffened further as Nik had grounded himself in the strength of John's body. A poor method of quietening his libido, as it turned out, with John's scent now fogging every breath, melting into his hot skin like settling snow.

Nik loosened his embrace a little and John rolled over, the cold tip of his nose pressing between the mounds of Nik's tits. Nik felt the bristles of John's beard and then the soft vibration of a contented hum, followed by the softest roll of a pleased purr; the noise of a receptive omega looking to mate. It gripped in Nik’s chest like a closing fist and he drew in a stuttering breath. Nik stroked a palm down the curve of John's spine to settle at the small of his back, and John's hips pushed forward, teasing himself against the thick bulge in Nik's boxers. Nik did nothing to stop him, paralysed by the noise he never thought he'd hear John make.

One of those strong legs lifted to drape over Nik's hip, drawing him closer until Nik could feel John's wet slit dampening the cotton over his cock. John was reacting favourably to his scent, judging him worthy as he flexed against his strength, instinctually reaching for him. Nik's entire body ached with desire and sordid lust, his teeth on edge, as the man he yearned for offered himself up in a poisoned chalice. To take advantage now would be beyond redemption.

"John?" Nik croaked.

John's lashes fluttered against Nik's skin and he pulled back a little, a stitch between his brows. "Nik, I..."

"How do you feel?" Nik bit out, intimately aware that he could feel the throbbing heat between John's legs pressed against the length of his cock.

John's cheeks reddened and Nik felt his weathered hands press to his chest. "Fine... Good, I... Sorry, 'm... I didn' mean..."

"Is ok," Nik said softly. "It is warm. Your body is reacting naturally."

John swallowed and Nik felt a deep breath shudder the length of his back. Noticeably, John didn't draw his hips away; he tensed and then relaxed, like he was fighting an internal battle, his body warming further in Nik's arms as his hips squirmed, rubbing the swollen bud of his cock against Nik's with a soft gasp of surprised pleasure. His skin was warm, flushed, the first beads of sweat gathering across his shoulder blades, slick between their bellies and chests. The miasma of pheromones and arousal made Nik dizzy, and beneath it he could smell the telltale sweetness of heat.

John wasn't due, he knew that much. The captain organised his heats fastidiously. His body had been thrown off kilter by the cold, perhaps, or even the proximity and availability of someone his subconscious deemed a worthy mate to protect it while vulnerable; a virile, strong alpha. The thought that John's primal self would offer him for mating, assured that Nik would be strong enough to protect him while he recovered, and the resulting pups from their union, stirred something feral and possessive in Nik's gut. He pushed it down, shoulders bunching.

John growled low in his throat, flashing his sharp canines, his fists bunching against Nik's chest, perhaps sensing the shift in Nik body. "Don't know wos fuckin' wrong with me," he snarled, and Nik felt the graze of those teeth against his clavicle.

Nik knew John fought his biology. He chafed at it, saw it as a failing. Nik could only imagine what had been done to him in the past to make him feel that way. Like any omega, John was more than capable of tearing him to pieces if he felt threatened, but there was something so rawly vulnerable about John now as he clenched and growled, fighting something that he should view as a nuisance more than a crippling inadequacy.

"Nothing," Nik said. "There is nothing wrong with you. You are... velikolepnyy."

"Fuck, Nik..." John's fingers splayed over his chest again, the cool tip of his nose warming in the hollow of Nik's throat. "Haa, hnn, I think.. ahh, I think ‘m..."

"Da, I can... smell it in your sweat."

"Fuck, fuck..." John snarled, letting out another soft gasp as his body cramped for the first time.

"It is ok. You are safe. We can manage it until help arrives."

John shoved his face into Nik's chest and groaned, pained. “Yer so fuckin’ hard, Nik.”

Nik swallowed. That didn't sound like anger or disgust. But desperation and desire. “Da, you… smell very good,” Nik said, somewhat lamely. “It is ok. I can… I am in control.”

“Oh, fu–” John tensed in Nik’s arms, and Nik heard his jaw creak as he clenched his teeth through another spasm of discomfort. “Need t’ get out of here or I won't be… ha-ah.”

“Nyet, you… John, you must stay in the warm.’

“All the bloody blankets smell of you. S’only gonna… get worse. Fuck, why fuckin’... now?”

Nik swallowed and slid a hand from John's back to his hip. “A panic response. You were in danger–this is not your fault.”

John said nothing. He faded into silence, his body wound tight in Nik’s arms. His previously calm, deep breaths that had inhaled lungfuls of Nik’s scent, soothing his heat into a deeper lull, now hitched in short, sharp pants, trying to avoid the lure of comfort and surrender. Nik wished they were home, in John's bed, or even the snug bunk he used in his office when he couldn't be bothered to drive back to his flat. At least there, surrounded by familiarity, John might have felt safe enough to tentatively explore the desire sinking its hooks in.

But then, Nik thought with only a hint of bitterness, it was the sheer desperation of the environment around them that had panicked his body enough to shake up the clock. Without it, John would have always remained in absolute control of himself to the point of guarded repression. He would have never fallen into Nik's embrace.

“God, fuck,” John growled, his body rigid, like if he moved even an inch he might lose some invisible battle. Ground lost to an encroaching enemy. Nik wished he could roll him into his back and scent him until he relaxed. Every instinct sparking in his brain roared with distress at the discomfort of the omega in his arms, demanding he do something, anything. He laid there uselessly, as frozen as the fish in the ponds outside, caught in the storm of competing needs; to satiate John, and to respect him. It hurt that the two things were in opposition when they should be one and the same.

John shifted, his broad shoulders rolling a little, his head tilting back. Nik could practically hear the cogs whirring in John's mind. When he finally lifted his chin far enough for their eyes to meet, John's were red and watery from stress, pupils dilated. Nik could see a deep sadness, a kind of resignation; bright blue dampened to a faded grey. “I, uh… would ya help me, Nik?”

Nik’s mouth opened and closed, each breath drawing more of John’s deep, saccharine scent to the back of his tongue. His body was tense in Nik’s arms still, occasionally shuddering as another muscle spasm worked its way through his core, a grunt snorting through his nose as he swallowed down his groan of pain. Nik couldn't find his words. “I…”

“C’mon, know you want it, can feel ya between my legs,” John said, huffing softly with amusement, face crinkling in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Would jus’ be, mm… quick, y’know? So they don't find me in a state. I'd make it up t’ ya, on my word.”

“You would offer me something I have wanted for years as if it is a burden,” Nik said, trying to keep the edge of sadness from his voice but failing rather miserably. “This is not how I… hoped it to be.”

John swallowed, his eyes dropped, expression hazy. It wasn't how Nik had hoped his confession would be either. He had pictured an expensive dinner, perhaps a trip to Duxford so he could look at the planes and John could look at the tanks, and then Nik would have told him as they strolled through the countryside towards a pint, wrapped in scarves and heavy coats. Warm, safe. Comfortable in each other’s presence as they had always been. Like this, John would feel under duress, vulnerable and like he needed to be on the defence.

Another shudder, another pant of breath, the soft gasp not quite bitten back in time. “Please, Nik… can’t let them see me like this, I… I'll be good.. ahh, for ya. No funny business.”

“Funny business?”

“Yeah, not gonna bite, or… mm, won't… won't fight ya.”

“John…” Nik said, his chest pulling tight; his teeth ached at the back of his mouth and a miserable knot formed in his throat. “I am not a rapist.”

“I know, I know… Nik, 'm… ahh, ‘m not thinkin’, didn't mean it like that, I…” John's face dropped to Nik's chest for a moment as he gathered himself. “Jus’... Don't bite me, don't mark me, no’... no’ ready. I… no’ like this.”

“I promise I won't,” Nik said. It hurt that John couldn't meet his eyes. Someone had hurt him badly in the past. Nik had always assumed as such, but that was all the confirmation he needed. The harm was so deep, still raw, that John couldn't even trust a man that had served him loyally for so many years.

Nik lifted the hand from John's hip and cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing over his cheek. Those blue eyes flickered and John tilted into his palm, the softest purr breaking through the tightness of his jaw, so low, like a glass marble rolling across an old oak table. Nik couldn't be sure John wasn't forcing it for his benefit, but it had the desired effect either way; the alpha part of his biology ruffled happily, and he responded with a soft chuff, pressing his lips to John's forehead. "Ya tebya obozhayu."

Nik couldn't resist any longer. If he was gentle, if he took his time, then that apprehension he could see in John's eyes, the tense fear rigid down his back, would melt away. John was watching him, sad blue eyes glistening, part in shame, part in barely disguised fear, and Nik wanted to hold him until all he felt was comfort and pleasure.

Their first kiss was tentative, as tender as Nik could be as his hands shook. John's mouth yielded to his tongue, soft, chapped lips parting with a low moan as John's body arched against his once again. Nik slid his palm beneath John’s thigh to lift it further over his hip, grinding his hard cock against the wet heat between his legs, slow and leisurely. Even the soft material of his boxers would begin to feel coarse against John's heat sensitive skin, so they needed to go.

When Nik pulled away, he sucked gently on John's lower lip, before pressing another kiss to his forehead creased with tense lines. He wriggled away enough to shove his boxers off his hips and down his thighs until they passed his knees. When John pressed back against him, soft skin of his inner thigh sliding over the outside of Nik's, Nik's cock head slid through his wet folds, bumping up against the swell of his cock.

“Oh fuck, Nik… yer so fuckin’ thick…” John bit out, grinding himself against the underside of Nik's cock, slick and precum making filthy, wet noises as John groaned into Nik's chest, hands clutching at the meat of Nik's body as he took his pleasure. Nik let him, mouth hanging open, the soft, wet slit of John’s cunt hot and perfect around the underside of his shaft.

He cupped John's arse with one hand, spreading it open a little so his fingers could dip towards the fluttering muscles of John's holes. The softest brush of his fingertips appeared to be enough because John’s moans hit a peak after only two passes, his body seizing, pushing hard against Nik's cock. “Oh, fuck, Nik, Nik… ha-ah.”

John tucked his face away as if ashamed at his eagerness, pressing his nose into the centre of Nik's chest as his orgasm rattled through him. He was on a hair trigger, sensitivity heightened, receptive to a potential mate’s touch. The thought made something warm and heavy curl in Nik’s belly, and he allowed himself a fleeting moment of excitement. Nik nuzzled a kiss in his hair and chuffed softly, stroking his hands up and down John's back before lifting John higher against him, his cock flicking free of the press of John's body.

It was awkward like this, wrapped tightly in the blankets with John half draped over him, and Nik didn't want to risk rolling on top of John and panicking him. There was a risk instinct would overcome reason in the haze of heat and John's fear, and those sharp teeth would rip through his jugular in seconds. Perhaps later, when he had realised Nik wasn't about to hurt him, Nik would drape over his back and appease the deep need in his gut to blanket his omega as they mated, to fully encompass his powerful body as it presented and guard it with his own. Instead, Nik reached beneath John's thigh, hitching it a little higher, to steady his cock just long enough to sink the head inside.

John gasped, his back arching, his walls still tingling from his orgasm bore down, spasming in renewed pleasure as Nik slowly thrust inside. He couldn't quite get fully seated, not at this angle, but it was enough. His eyes flickered shut at the sweet, soft heat sucking around his shaft as he drew back, thrusting back in with a slow roll of the hips, feeling John press against him with a strangled grunt of shock.

“John…” Nik kept hold of John’s thigh but the other hand slid up his back into his hair, urging his face away from where it had buried against his chest. His eyes were red-rimmed, dull, and there was a crease of concentration doen his face. Nik's heart ached. “I am sorry… you are… tight.”

“S’ok,” John croaked. “Don' be, s’fine, feels good… please, move… ‘m–haa.”

Nik kissed him gently on the lips, no more than a brief brush, before rolling to ease him on top. As John slid down Nik's full length, his knees splaying over the blankets, he choked out a soft gasp. “Nik, fuck, so much… haa, mmm, n-no, give me a moment, need a moment…”

John was so tight, bearing down on the thick girth pressing him open, resisting, anxious. Nik had a slight height advantage, and he used it to press gentle kisses to John's face; over his brow, against a flushed cheek and the creases at the corners of his eyes. He chuffed, stroking warm palms up and down John's broad back as it flexed and quivered.

With each caress, John relaxed, sinking down against the plush warmth of Nik's body; the give of his belly, the cushion of his chest, the downy black hair of his torso that trapped the scent of his sweat and pheromones, rubbing both into John's skin.

John tucked his nose beneath Nik's chin and purred, rough and craggy, like someone had rubbed sandpaper down his throat. Not the silky trill of a young omega, but the worn, tired purr of a mature one that has torn his way through life with his bare hands, snarling and growling, so used to roaring with fury that gentler noises were unwieldy. And yet, it was the most beautiful sound Nik had ever heard.

Nik responded with soft huffs and murmurs of his own, hands sliding down to John's thighs as he slowly rocked his hips up, dragging his thick cock out until only his crown stayed notched inside, the slick dripping down his shaft, soaking his balls, further assurance that John was finding pleasure in their mating. When John tilted his head and started to lick at Nik’s chin and neck, his tongue rasping over Nik’s stubble in long, indulgent laps, Nik tilted his back to submit himself to his omega’s affectionate grooming. I trust you, please trust me.

His. His omega. John was his. Handsome, fierce, strong. Every inch of him wrapped in corded muscle, with a soft layer over his belly and tits, his slim waist and the dip of his back perfectly shaped for Nik’s hands, the firm curves of his arse and thighs, built for explosive strength, agility, for riding an alpha’s cock and taking their pleasure. If only someone had nurtured John's confidence rather than destroy it.

Nik pushed his heels and upper back into the floor, and bounced John’s hips against his, fucking him down onto his cock with increasing pace.

“Oh, Nik, Nik… mmm, yeah, tha’--ah, ah, fuck,” John panted, breath hot against the wetness he had left on the underside of Nik's chin.

“You are perfect, John. Tell me, tell me what… mm, tell me what you want…”

“Ahh, ahh, I nee’, ah, Nik, yeah…”

“That's it, solnyshko, take what you… ahh, take what you need. I am yours.”

Nik could feel John taking agency, tentatively, his hips moving without guidance. He slid his hands down the back of John's thighs and held him behind the knees, giving him something to brace against as he began to grind and roll with increasing urgency, chasing the pleasure coiling in his hips, tensing in his thighs and his lower back.

“Ahh, yer… ahh, yer gettin’ harder… feel, ahh, feel bigger, mm… ahh, yer knot, fuck!”

Nik's knot was beginning to swell, popping in and out of John's hole, gaping him wide with each pass. His back arched, hips thrusting up to meet John, a firm platform for him to slam himself down and grind against. Under the cover of the blanket, the sweat eased the glide of their bodies together, intensifying the scent of heat and arousal in Nik's nostrils. His balls pulled tight as John's desperate noises, broken and gravelly, hit a new, urgent note, and his knot swelled, grinding into John's hole until it locked them together.

Nik released John's shaking legs as his body responded with a deep, overwhelming orgasm that milked Nik’s knot, and Nik grabbed John's face, arching him back to lick the sweat up the curve of his throat. So close to his scent glands, it was saturated in heat pheromones and Nik sucked desperately at the soft, vulnerable skin just above the hollow of his throat as his prick filled John with his seed.

Those strong thighs clamped around his hips, shuddering and weak from exertion, and Nik whispered gentle praise until John went limp against him, melting into the cradle of Nik's body and relaxing around the bulge of his knot.

Nik had never felt satisfaction like it. A soft, comfortable calm settled deep in his bones. His omega smelled satiated, content, the heave of his shoulders calming as his heart settled into an even rhythm. Neither of them spoke. Nik thought perhaps they were both listening to each other's bodies. Nik could feel John's heartbeat; against his chest, wrapped around his cock. Defiant, strong. And Nik wondered whether John could feel his, beating deep inside him, whether it made him feel content, whether the intimacy made him feel as content as it did Nik. Nik kissed John's neck and received a soft rumble in response.

They dozed. Nik's knot went down and he eased John into the softness of the blankets, kissing his chest, his throat, his mouth. Desperate to taste him, to please and comfort him. He was sucking a pebbled nipple when John tugged at him again, gladly spreading his legs for Nik to climb between them. Nik gathered John's hands and pressed them above his head, their fingers wound together, and watched his eyes, kissed his lips, made love to him as gently as he could.

Muscular thighs spread wide as Nik ground deep inside John's eager cunt, alternating between agile rolls and circles of his hips and deeper thrusts that let John feel the heavy balls ready to breed him. The second knot was as intense as the first, and Nik fucked his spend deep into John's body, his tongue in his mouth, their lips locked together. John pushed himself up into it, legs wide in wanton and beautiful submission.

The ebb and flow of John's heat stretched through the night, the storm howling relentlessly outside. They slept between bouts of sex, with John curled into the safety of Nik's arms. After his first turn on top, he was too weak to take the lead again; drained by his brush with the cold, exhausted by the anxiety of an unplanned heat, he relaxed into Nik's care because he had little choice. Nik cradled him, kept them wrapped in the blankets, now rich with the miasma of their mating, their bodies slick and pliant. Every time John demanded, Nik provided.

When he left the impromptu nest - for that is what it had become, soaked in the scent of their mating - it was only to check the radio, feed the fire and arrange John's clothes before it to dry. Each time he returned, John curled back into his embrace with a contented purr, drawing Nik back between his legs.

As dawn creeped closer, John's scent changed, so full of Nik now that he was ready to be claimed. John rolled onto his front, too exhausted to fight his natural desires, and tilted his hips up. Nik writhed between the blankets to taste between his legs, warm tongue lapping slowly over John's puffy, sore cunt, so sensitive and wet, giving into his own instincts to taste the fertility and readiness of his omega.

It was dizzying, intoxicating; Nik pressed his tongue inside and felt John squeeze around him, heard him sigh softly in pleasure, and ground his hard cock against the furs in excitement. He had done this. He had satisfied this strong, indomitable omega to the point he would relax, present, accept a deep and thorough breeding. Nik had been deemed worthy once again.

Nik licked John until his jaw ached, his face soaked in slick, reaching to play with John's engorged cock, squeezing and rubbing until John’s hips were rocking, his moans low and filthy. Eventually, John squirmed, a softer orgasm making his walls flutter in search of a knot as his fingers snagged in the furs. His heat would break in the next few hours; this was their final coupling.

Nik draped over his back, up on his hands and toes with John's hips tilted up. John swallowed him so easily, snug heat sucking Nik’s cock down until Nik’s heavy balls were flush to his body. Nik groaned, the silky soft wetness somehow more divine than it had been the first time, and John echoed him, pressing back, demanding his alpha.

“Nik…”

It was the first word John had said in hours. He had been mostly moans, gasps and growls, completely delirious. That was it, wasn't it? The tension, the resistance, it had melted away, John wanted him, wanted to feel his knot, to take his seed.

“Da, solnyshko. I am here…”

John twisted, arching back, and they kissed, John licking into Nik's mouth. No hiding his face, no delirious submission, but seeking affection as Nik slowly rocked into him. Nik's chest ached in a different way; relief, love, a deep need to protect, to serve his omega's every whim. The soft noises John made through their kiss as Nik dragged every inch of his prick in and out of his body made Nik want to stay there forever, trapped in this moment of bliss. So in tune with John, their heartbeats in tandem, bodies joined as one.

When John broke the kiss, he turned to press his chest into the furs and lift into Nik's thrusts. “Breed me proper, Nik… fuck, I need it… need yer knot, mmm, please, please… harder, wanna feel ya in my damn womb.”

Nik's nostrils flared, his lips rolling back to show his teeth. He dropped to his elbows and tucked his arms beneath John's chest, pressing his own into the sweaty plain of John's back, and began to rut into him harder, faster. The blankets fell away with the pace of Nik's movements, but the fire was stacked high, the room warm enough that it didn't matter. John moaned and gasped, slick hole bearing down on the relentless pump of Nik’s prick into it, hands kneading at the furs.

It was instinctual to lean down and mouth the gland at John's neck, rolling it between his teeth, the sweet taste of unmated omega soaking his tongue. John moaned, more slick dripping down his thighs, his mind unthinking in a soft haze of instinct and heat. He didn't resist, didn't fight.

It would be so easy to claim him at that moment. They would be bonded for life. This beautiful omega would be Nik's and Nik’s alone. Every heat, his body would call for Nik, and Nik’s rut would answer. The intensity of their mating would leave them both sated, and Nik would have a lifetime to show John how much he deserved to be loved. Perhaps even a pup or two, with John's beautiful blue eyes and round cheeks and lopsided smile–

Nik moaned, teeth tightening, as his hips pistoned harder, cock throbbing, so close to release. John's body was so open, so wet, the noises filling the room alongside their moans completely obscene. The filthy pleasure of it roiled in Nik's gut, the thought of pumping another load deep inside his omega, of it quickening as his teeth rended through freckled skin to claim what was already his by fucking birth right, and John had said no, but what if–

He growled low in his chest and forced his jaw apart, pressing his open mouth to John's shoulder, as his knot popped and his balls emptied in powerful pulses.

He didn't bite down.

Wouldn't.

Couldn't.

John had said no and Nik's love for the man was greater than his desire for the omega, even in the heat of the moment. A well of self disgust formed in Nik's chest as he pressed his face to John's back, the fevered, possessive internal rant fading into an echo in the back of his mind.

John moaned and flopped into the furs, his hips shifting only with the occasional stutter of Nik's as he ground his spend as deep as he could. Nik relaxed some of his weight onto John's back and felt him vibrate with the depth of his contentment; a low, croaky purr, only stoked a little louder when Nik lapped at the sweat on his neck, his biceps, and nuzzled into his hair and beard. “Am I too heavy?” he asked, his voice soft beneath the crackle and pop of the fire.

“Naw, feels like yer crushin’ my soul back into my body,” John murmured, his muscles squeezing a little around the swell of Nik's knot. “Feels… good.”

Safe, Nik thought.

The way John was relaxing into the furs, his scent sweet and doughy, blue eyes drooping closed. Nik continued to groom him while they were knotted, licking at the rough at the edge of his grey-speckled beard, nipping his ears and kissing the slopes of his shoulders.

When Nik’s knot faded, he sat back on his heels and watched his cock pull free of John's body with a filthy little slurp. He pressed his thumbs into John's thighs to spread them, admiring the glisten of slick and cum dripping out of John's used hole. Something primal wanted to push it all back in, to make sure not a single drop was wasted. With John so relaxed, Nik gave in to the desire. When Nik slid two fingers in slowly, watching John's soft cunt swallow them so easily, he groaned. It was enough to make his cock twitch with interest again, despite the ache in his lower back and thighs.

“Nik…” John whispered, his hips lifting. “‘m knackered, c’mon… oh, fuck.”

“You are just so perfect… krasivyy. I want to make you feel good. Just once more.” Nik slid his other hand beneath John's body, two fingers rubbing back and forth over the lovely swell of his eager cock, matching the pace of the two thrusting into his cunt.

“Oh, ah, Nik… it's… too much, ‘m too… ah.”

Nik curled his fingers, finding the sweet spot that made John's back arch, and it was so breathtaking the way his muscles bunched, rolling beneath sweat slick-skin, following each pulse of pleasure as it passed up his spine. John's knees spread out, agile hips grinding his cock against the rough pads of Nik's fingers. Even exhausted, wrung out, John’s body sang like a finely tuned instrument under Nik's touch. Like they were meant to be, even without the chemical bond of a mating mark.

John came with a broken moan, his thighs shaking as his cunt clenched around Nik's fingers, slick and cum soaking Nik's palms. The alpha in Nik rumbled with pride and he pulled his hands away to watch John flop, powerful body twitching in the aftershocks.

Nik drew the blankets over their backs and bedded down at John's side, pressing his lips to the back of John's shoulder. In the soft afterglow of their mating, Nik made the silent promise to wait as long as it took for John to be ready. Even if their bonding was his final act as he drew his last breath.

Nik woke some hours later to a crackling voice through the radio. This is Bravo 7. Come in, Yankee 7. He dragged himself out from beneath the blankets and stumbled over to the headset. “This is Yankee 7. It is… good to hear your voice, Lieutenant.”

Copy. And yours. Sitrep?

“We are secure. The captain requires… medical assistance, but it is non-urgent. Hypothermic but stabilised.”

Roger. Location? Over.

“Figures,” Nik yanked his notepad towards him and read out the coordinates.

Rog. Hostiles? Over.

“Just the storm.”

ETA two hours. Sit tight. Out.

Pulling John from the nest felt cruel. Omegas needed time to recover from a heat, and prepare for the next stage. A stage that John would not get to experience, Nik realised, with no small pang of disappointment. They had little time to talk, focusing on packing up camp and covering evidence of their presence.

John's clothes were rough where they had dried before the fire, and Nik held him as he climbed awkwardly back into them. By the time they were making their way towards the drumming blades of a helicopter, Nik's arms around John's back to help him across the uneven ground, they smelled more of woodsmoke and musty damp than sex.

Ghost’s eyes lingered on John when he snapped at the attempt to help him into the Heli. A recently mated omega was aggressive to any alpha that wasn't theirs, and the lieutenant knew something existed between his captain and the pilot that arrived to snatch him from frying pans and fires across the world. Nik dipped his chin once when Ghost glanced at him, and that was enough for the lieutenant.

They gave John his space on the flight home, listening to him growl over the Comms, updating Laswell and Mac on the relative success of the mission. They had secured the intel they needed, even if the storm had nearly scuppered them.

Rog. Ye broken?

“Naw, caught a cold, nuffin’ a rest won't fix.”

Copy. See ye when ye land. Oout.

Nik watched John chuck the radio down and drop his face into his hands, and had to grip his own knees hard to stop from moving over to comfort him. All he felt for the entire journey was a burning desire to blanket and scent the love of his life until he could sleep peacefully. John dozed fitfully the rest of the way, startling awake where he felt unsafe, unguarded.

The base nurses kept him in for a night for monitoring after Nik had accurately relayed John's symptoms, omitting the heat when John had cast him a stern look. So it wasn't until the next day that Nik had a chance to speak to him without prying eyes and ears encroaching on their privacy. Nik caught him just as he was heading into his office.

“John.” Nik felt a stab of pain as John’s shoulders lifted with tension. He couldn't help but reach for him, fingertips stroking the inside of his elbow.

“You olrigh’, Nik?”

“Da,” Nik said, his hand dropping away under John's scrutiny. “Did… did they clear you?”

“Yeah, they said… uh, ya saved my life. Again. Quick thinkin'.”

Nik swallowed, his palm pressing to the door by John's head, desperate to touch him. “And yet, you cannot look at me.”

John’s breath hitched. “I, uh… what you saw… I had no right t’ demand that of ya, Nik. I was arrogant t' think I didn't need spare suppressants for a quick jaunt. Fuckin' irresponsible. Won't 'appen again.”

“You demanded nothing I was not willing to give.”

Somehow, that was the wrong thing to say. John drew in a stuttering breath and tilted his head away, like Nik's scent, even dull beneath shower gel and cologne, was too much. “Yeah, I… thanks fer no’ bitin’ me. I woulda let ya… at the end.”

Nik felt a prickling at the backs of his eyes, a tight knot in his throat. “I do not wish to be thanked for common decency.”

John huffed. It was a sad, resigned noise from deep inside his chest. “Not as common as ya think, mate. Listen, I need time t’ process… come back tomorra?”

“John, I…”

“I need bloody space, Nik,” John snapped, and Nik heard an edge in his voice usually reserved for people stupid enough to try clawing their way under John's skin. “Tomorra, olrigh’?”

Nik blinked quickly, drawing back and inhaling a deep breath. It only served to carry the scent of distressed omega to the back of his tongue, and he wanted nothing more than to curl around John until he smelled just as content as he had in their makeshift nest. “Da. Tomorrow then.”

John pushed down the handle beneath his hand and disappeared inside his office, leaving Nik in the corridor to stare forlornly at the door.

He would wait, he reminded himself. Wait for John to be ready. Even if it took ‘til his dying breath. Nik placed his palm gently on the door before he departed, heading for the familiar comfort of his Black Hawk and her myriad of mechanical issues to occupy his mind.

If Nik had pushed the boundary, he would have found John Price, Captain, peerless leader of the 141, the indomitable Bravo Six, curled up on the floor on the other side of the door, his face buried in his knees as the tears fell and his shoulders shook. He had said he needed space to process, but the truth was, he had no idea where to even start.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #prikolai #omegaverse #spicy

117 notes · View notes

aisquaredchoco · 8 days ago

Text

Advent gifts out in the wild! Thank you everyone for participating!

To the ones who missed out the 12-day event, or just wanted to revisit the goodies, here's everything under one post. Enjoy! 🎅

More info below the cut..

🎄 DAY 1: 2to3 Kitchen & Bath "Tres Rugs by Sleek Sensations"

This rug actually has five presets (I said only four in the advent post *facepalm*), where one preset has only one channel, three have varying color channels, and another one that is not recolorable. Found in Decor > Rugs, costs §430.

🎄 DAY 2: Cozy Patio Table

I made this table using the legs from the "Deluxe Cozy Terrarium" from Outdoor Living, then put a glass top and voila! A cozy patio table. Five slots as with any 1x1 dining table with one channel. Found in Surfaces > Dining Tables, costs §200.

🎄 DAY 3: 4to3 Snowy Escape "Bamboo Forest Fence"

Yep, we are still lacking various fences in TS3, hence converting this gem from Snowy Escape. Three channels, costs §25. Found in Build mode > Fences.

🎄 DAY 4: 4to3 "RAW Utensil Holder"

For the clutter lovers, here's something for your kitchen, if you also love the industrial accents from TS4 like me. Four channels, costs §430, found in Decor > Sculptures, Misc.

🎄 DAY 5: 2to3 Kitchen & Bath "FaceBowl by Sleek Sensations"

This conversion took almost a year in the making and thought would never get finished, but here it is, finally ready to conquer your bathrooms! Four channels, costs §670, found in Plumbing > Sinks.

🎄 DAY 6: Outdoor Living "Class-E Dining Table" Unornated

I love the stuff from Outdoor Living, but why didn't EA make un-ornated versions of the furniture for variety? And so I did the work. Same channels and slots as the original, only differs in price which is now §825. Found in Surfaces > Dining tables. Outdoor Living not required.

🎄 DAY 7: 2to3 Apartment Life "BLOK Jr. Block from COGnition"

I miss the industrial/gearhead aesthetic from TS2:AL and this wall is one of those, so I converted it. Three channels, costs §11, found in Walls > Panelling.

🎄 DAY 8: Outdoor Living "The Poet's Respite" Unornated

Another un-ornated piece of furniture from Outdoor Living (I just couldn't stand the cursive elements sometimes @.@). Lowered the price to §300, everything else is left intact. Outdoor Living is also not required.

🎄 DAY 9: 2to3 Kitchen & Bath "Pots Descending from Ceiling"

I hate repeating myself, but yeah it's nostalgia that's the main reason why I convert 2to3 items. Especially from this stuff pack, I'd love to convert everything else left unconverted from it (but the counters stop me from doing so). Two channels, costs §160, found in Decor > Sculptures, Misc.

🎄 DAY 10: 4to3 Max20 Shark Plush Toy

I've been pondering if I should put this one up for download, because I couldn't find the original cc post to link. But having seen this 4to2 conversion, I figured I should also share it. Two channels, costs §100, found in Decor > Misc, Kids > Misc. Credits to Max20 for the original TS4 creation.

Fun fact: I own a real life counterpart of this plushie (I got this as a secret santa gift), and now my cat has already claimed it as his property. 🐱🦈

🎄 DAY 11: Ambitions "Le Sconce" made fully CAStable

I hate it when EA decides to make an object part unrecolorable when there are actually many ways to redesign it, like in this default replacement I did on a mirror. This wall lamp now has the emblem CAStable, and also edited the mask into three channels for a more versatile recolorability. This is a default replacement, so you need Ambitions for this to work properly.

🎄 DAY 12: 4to3 "The Centurion"

Need something to fill your dining room but too lazy to decorate it using shelves and clutter? Say no more! This pre-decorated hutch from TS4 is now also available for TS3! Three channels, costs a hefty §1880 (why EA?), found in Decor > Sculptures.

POLYCOUNT INFO:

Tres Rugs by Sleek Sensations: 80 (hLOD)

Cozy Patio Table: 526 (hLOD)/220 (mLOD)

Bamboo Forest Fence: 44 (main)/48 (diagonal)/12 (post)

RAW Utensil Holder: 250 (hLOD)/220 (mLOD)

FaceBowl by Sleek Sensations: 1356 (hLOD)/877 (mLOD)

Class-E Dining Table Unornated: 750 (hLOD)/257 (mLOD)

The Poet's Respite Unornated: 994 (hLOD)/360 (mLOD)

Pots Descending from Ceiling: 2122 (hLOD)/1190 (mLOD) (!!!)

Max20 Shark Plush Toy: 750 (hLOD)/444 (mLOD)

The Centurion: 420 (hLOD)/360 (mLOD)

DOWNLOAD FOLDER: Simfileshare | Mediafire

*All converted items contain catalog descriptions from their respective original games.

**I would also like to thank @simlicious for her wonderful selection of Christmas themed patterns, one of which I used on the wall in the previews, found here. Please check out her website if you haven't yet..

#ts3cc #download #dl:buy #dl:build #dl:defaults #sims 3 #ts3 #4to3 #2to3 #ts4 to ts3 #ts2 to ts3 #simblr #sims 3 cc finds

115 notes · View notes

loganlermanstanaccount · 2 years ago

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 1)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Prologue, Part 2

summary: After the breakup, you move into a new place.

warnings: no warnings! cheeky bit of angst at the end

a/n: this is me admitting that realistically, miguel would be sick of our shit.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here <3

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

or in the cold, crisp morn:

"These are the keys," Your new landlord hands you the copies, clinking against each other as you transfer them to a dish by the door. Your first thought is that there seem to be too many for this modest apartment: of varying shapes and sizes, and at least half a dozen. He steps through a wide archway to the kitchen, eerily clean. It's not modern by any means, the top half of a hulking brownstone some time away from college.

It’s been… a trying summer. Moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend had seemed like a great idea at the time. Younger you (barely 2 years ago) had been enamoured with the promises of city life: fast-paced, bustling, and never a dull day. Naivete and big ideas that you'd been too stupid, or maybe too desperate, to let go of. After being locked in a loop of the same 3 or 4 places, the same dozen faces - in a place as big as this, mind you - maybe your ex-boyfriend had freed you. Forced you from that halfway-home; as cold and empty as it had become; and back out into the world.

The reality was less than ideal - apartment hopping across the city for the past 4 months or so. You’d seen it all: glorified shoeboxes, fancy duplexes, viewing sublet rooms that were at least a little illegal. A box within a box within a box; coat closets rented out for double your monthly take home; and you had just about given up.

So this place seemed like a godsend: a brownstone, tucked away. Its interior is dated, but gorgeous. It had character: quirks and rich history in the brick and mortar. A fireplace tucked into the corner, window alcoves, wood panelling. Yes, the wallpaper was slightly warped with damp but it’s affordable - a reasonably priced gem that had made you jump when you saw the ad. With the overexposed and pixelated images, they didn’t do it justice.

You pad into the kitchen, running your hands on the smooth countertops. They’re bare and spotless - suspiciously so. Not many personal items, no fridge magnets, photos; nary a blanket on the sofa or half eaten plate of toast on the worktop. It’s so clean it feels staged, and it makes you squint. Isn’t there meant to be…

“I let Miguel know… he must’ve cleaned up the place-”

“Miguel?”

“The other tenant.” He pauses, boots clicking on the grain of the floorboard. “I don’t think he’ll be back until later tonight. Should give you some time to settle in.”

Nodding, you give him a small smile, and he steps out of the apartment. Your apartment.

~~~

You fill the rest of day with unpacking, putting some life into the place. You’d visited not long ago, fantasising about how you’d decorate. Something about sharing an apartment with your boyfriend for the past 2 years had done something to you: flattening and squeezing into a space not built with you in mind. How Jamie didn't like things on the walls, or how he needed the space for his textbooks, so why don't you find somewhere else to put your little stories? If his desk took up half the front room, then that makes sense, he needs it for work. But God forbid you needed a quiet space to study; what if the guest bedroom has your shit everywhere when his friends come over? A million compromises that didn't seem much like compromises: you'd give an inch and he'd take a mile. And so, the space to spread your wings without knocking over a gaudy plaque or two was very much appreciated.

You want to walk around the neighbourhood, map out the convenience stores, bodegas, community hotspots and hubs. Where's the best place to get a drink? The cheapest meal? Your usual haunts were a fair distance away, so maybe you'll make the trek and pick up waffles from Pam's, as a treat. Tired already, you slump on the sofa - a tattered old thing that can clearly take a beating. Looking around the place, something settles solidly at your chest. Contentment, maybe, a strange feeling considering the past few months. This will do, you think. This will do.

Perhaps it's not a very feminist thought, but you're not thriving . Thriving felt presumptuous, and yet coping seemed too complete a word - its implication too tidy, too neat. A mess, before; better, now…? And it didn't quite span the width and depth of the past few months; how long it had taken for the numbness to make way to anger, hot and intense - its flame fueling many a long night. And yet, maybe coping was just the way to describe your foray into this new chapter: a new year, new apartment, and whatever that brings. You had forgotten what it felt like to be alone; not lonely, but with only your own self for company. Without the ache of another person, for the first time in a while.

…except, you had a roommate. Which you had known when signing the lease, of course, but it's taken some time to sink in. What that means for you - a new person to tiptoe around and appease - you're not too sure yet. What is he like? He's out late, so maybe a chronic partygoer - sloppy drunk and vivacious, the life of the party. He might clatter into the apartment, chattering and bubbly. What do you know about him? From the apartment, as is, it doesn't tell you much. At first glance, it had looked too clean, but not unreasonably so if he had anticipated your arrival. No, it was the lack of personal effects that confused you. How long has he been living here and there aren't any pictures or knick knacks? To clutter is to be human, you think. And with the front room as blank as it is, you wonder just what kind of man he is.

It's getting late. Naturally, you do some snooping, lazily padding around in search of life. Onwards and upwards, to new frontiers: the cupboards and drawers in your new apartment.

He likes coffee, you learn. There's a fancy machine on the kitchen counter, glossy and shiny and clearly taken care of. Little packets of beans and filters line the cupboards, all with names you can't quite pronounce. The fridge is similarly well-stocked, with none of the junk food you've gotten accustomed to in the past few months. Its innards are leafy green and plush; labelled tupperware with leftovers notwithstanding. All the spices in a tray above the oven and fancy knives on the wall tell you he likes to cook, or rather, he likes to eat well. The lack of junk would take some getting used to - maybe he's a health nut? The type to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, to blend oddly coloured smoothies, and "reflect" after a long day of… dog walking or something.

You move on to the living room, running a light hand over the deep walnut of a side table behind the sofa. Again, it's oddly bare. When you tug at the drawers, it's brassy handles are solid. Locked. Kneeling, you run a hand across the larger cupboard door at its base. You pull at it, and it pops open with a click. Inside, it seems empty, save for a dusty box nestled in the back corner. With your top half almost completely inside its depths, you move it into the light.

It's old, a battered shoebox adorned with coloured sharpie - shaky drawings of flowers blossoming from its sides. The cardboard crackles when you open it. It's full of junk, mostly: half-dead pens, broken crayons, dried flowers, and little plastic toys - the kind you get from cereal boxes and happy meals. And, there's something peeking out. Confused, you dig a little deeper, to uncover a pair of… soccer cleats? They're tiny, clearly for a kid but seem barely worn, with minimal scuffing on the plastic blades.

"What the fuck are you doing?" A voice from above rumbles, and your head snaps up like a rubber band. You hadn't noticed the door open, and you are met face to face with, who you assume to be, your roommate.

He doesn't shout: tall, broad, and back straight by the door. He's got a backpack slung over his shoulder, dressed in a crisp white shirt and slacks. His name was… Miguel? Miguel crosses his arms, brows furrowed in quiet rage. Fuck.

"I was just looking for.. uhh…"

You know how it looks. It's the worst time for your brain to go blank, and you're left holding the hypothetical bag. You stand up a little too quickly, and smack your knee on the lip of the table. Half of the box spills onto the floor and you dart downwards, embarrassed.

" Shit. Sorry, let me-"

He leaps towards the floor, and you're forced behind him, as he scrambles to put everything in its place. You start to help and he stops, stock-still. As if in slow motion, his head turns to the side and he gives you a look that could kill thousands. Retreating, you shrink back, only able to watch helplessly.

" Chica tonta... ¿se crió en un rancho? ¿qué clase de persona entra en casa de alguien y toca todas sus cosas?" He's muttering something under his breath - too fast and not saying anything you can understand. Pausing, he throws you a look. "...y luego me ve como si yo fuera el que está mal- ojos grandes y bonitos como de perrito pateado...oh dios mío.-"

[silly little girl… was she raised in a barn? what kind of person walks into someone's house and touches all of their stuff? // and she looks at me like I'm the one in the wrong - big, pretty eyes like a kicked puppy… oh my god-]

He's gentle with the box, the way he puts it in its place contrasting his mood a couple of seconds before. He closes up the door and you stumble to your feet. In the glow of halogen bulbs, he follows, arms crossed like a mother hen.

"I think… I think I'm your new roommate?" You say your name and stretch out a hand, but Miguel doesn't move. You watch as his eyes sweep over your body, shameless.

"Are you asking, or telling me?" He sighs, pinching at his temples.

"...Telling?" You offer him a weak smile, and he cracks.

Softening, ever so slightly, he grumbles. "I know. I know. Mr Estévez said you would be in tomorrow, though."

"I like to be early."

"Right. Well… don't do that. Again, I mean." He clears his throat. "Don't touch my shit either. It's too… fuck , it's too late for this. I'm going to bed."

He kicks off his shoes, and all you can do is watch as he saunters off; the door to his room shutting with a resounding slam .

~~~

His name is Miguel O'Hara - not that he told you that, or anything. He hasn't spoken to you much at all, leaving you to figure out who he is and what he does from vague clues around the apartment. You don't go snooping , learning quickly from previous mistakes; but his full name on a letter slotted through the mail was fair game, you think. The most you've gotten out of him were grunts and frustrated requests to keep to your shelf in the fridge.

Passive-aggressive wasn't in his vocabulary, you’re convinced. A plethora of dirty looks in his arsenal? Sure. Plenty of vulgar swears in Spanish? Absolutely. Miguel was not, however, passive-aggressive. Just… aggressive. Not angry, of course. Upfront. Abhorred any passivity and indolence: umm-ing and ahh-ing for the sake of it.

So naturally , you were sent to kill him.

You tiptoe around the apartment, avoiding him at all costs. At first, it wasn’t on purpose, just the awkwardness of your first meeting bleeding into the next week. But you dodge and weave like an expert boxer - particularly impressive in the small space. Miguel’s in the kitchen? Suddenly, you’re not very hungry. He’s curled up on the couch for a movie? Wow, look at the time: and you're heading to bed. You can’t read him very well, and don’t trust yourself enough to look him in the eye without fear of melting under his gaze. The few short interactions you have, you crumble; a brush against his shoulder in the kitchen, or legs against his on the dining table. Not that Miguel offers a peace branch, pursing his lips when you’d make eye contact, somewhat frustrated at your theatrics. Call it cliche: you’re avoiding confrontation at all costs. It manifests itself in peculiar ways: the Shower Incident being the most memorable.

The Shower Incident, aptly named, happened not too long ago. The apartment is old , as you soon learnt, coming with its own plethora of quirks. What you had first taken as character and charm - window seats and wood panelling - also came in the form of a building half falling apart. Creaky floorboards, leaky pipes, and a distinct lack of central heating. The discounted price, that had seemed like a bargain before, clearly lacked some creature comforts… like heating. And a working shower.

As you’d been in a rush, you clattered into the bathroom; stripping in no time at all. Bare feet on the tile, and you turn the knobs at the base of the shower unit. You’re not going to pretend you know how it works, just yet, but… it’s not rocket science, is it? The brassy spout sputters; but with no luck. Groaning from the pipes makes you jump, before huffing in frustration. This is not the time; late to yet another 9.00am? You want to be different this year: organised, put together, and on time to your lectures. On your tiptoes, you peer down the shower head hesitantly, like it’s the barrel of a loaded gun. With cruel irony, it sputters to life, sending a face-full of ice-cold water your way.There’s a scream, as you scramble at the handles, scurrying out of its brunt; desperately trying to turn it off.

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel leaps out of his room towards the shouting, with a fumble and clunk of his feet on wooden floor. He’s quick , hand hovering on the bathroom door before you can register it; his voice echoing outside.

“Are you…” There’s scuffling, which you can just about hear over the pounding of the water against tiles. “Are you okay, in there?”

You wince, stepping out of the shower – legs shaky like a baby deer – as you gurgle. “...Yeah?”

“Can I –” He clears his throat. “Are you.. clothed ? Can I come in?”

You scramble for something to cover yourself, settling for a plush towel on the rack. Wrapping yourself up, you brace yourself for the grimace that's sure to be on his face. Tentatively, you crack the door open. There Miguel is, face knitted with worry.

There's a flash of confusion at the scene, and then, what you think is relief. Relief you haven't cracked your head open, most likely: the blood would be hard to clean from the grout. You feel guilty, as you've probably broken it, or touched something you shouldn't. The shower is still on; sputtering, starting, and it becomes a strange sort of background music to your silent exchange.

"I don't know how to use the shower." You say with a small voice, guiltily.

" No me digas…" No shit, he mutters, face back to the furrowed brow you're starting to become more familiar with. He sighs, easing up. "You hurt?"

You shake your head, and swear you see a small smile on his face. You looked like a waterboarded rat, probably: big watery eyes and shaking with the sudden cold.

A mess , he thinks. But not a bad view.

He's still in workout clothes from his morning run, compression shirt and lazy shorts that hug his ass on; as he turns towards the shower. With some sense of shame, you try not to stare, to not watch the muscles of his back and arms flex as he angles the shower head away from his face. It's not enough that you've embarrassed yourself – twice, in the space of a couple of days – but the fact it was in front of your roommate, who is maybe the most beautiful person you've seen up close. Which, granted, narrows the field; but Miguel is gorgeous, a flash of pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates, wide palms toggling the dial.

"You need to be careful… push it in slightly when you turn the-" You crane your head towards his movements. "Come closer, or you won't see what I'm doing."

You move towards him, half naked and shivering, trying not to buckle with the heat of his body next to yours. This is what you get for not having spoken to a man since your ex: a tight coil at the base of your stomach for someone that you've done nothing but unwittingly terrorise for the past week.

He explains, patient and even-tempered; how to use the shower and you half-zone out to the low tone of his voice. There's no malice, or pomp in his words when there are a million things he could make fun of you for - that Jamie may have made fun of you for. You look up, at the sharp lines of his face, and chew at your lip, deep in thought.

"...and this side is for hot water. Next time, just ask me – instead of almost drowning."

You nod, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"...For what?" He says, softly. "Place is falling apart, anyway. It's not really your fault." You're convinced everything you touch in this house breaks, but with the way he looks at you, you believe him.

"Just ask me, next time." He echoes and makes for the door, stopping to drag his eyes up and down your frame. Oh… oh. You like that, the way he looks at you shamelessly, practically undressing you.

He smiles, amused at your deer-in-headlights expression.

"...I think that's mine."

He nods to the towel wrapped around your body and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. " Fuck , I didn't realise-"

He shrugs, noncommittal.

"...Seems like you need it more than me, anyways."

~~~

It's a rough first couple of days, and then a week, and then two. The rhythm is all off: like the jerky stop and start of an old car. He wakes up early to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, and you stay up late to finish papers and assignments. He has a job, you think, darting out at the same time once or twice a week in smart clothing and a backpack. Sometimes, you catch him hunched over a laptop or scribbling something in a beat up old notebook. Maybe, he’s a student - even if he doesn’t seem quite like the fresh-faced 19 year olds you see around campus. Although, you suppose it’s not implausible; you were one of the older people in your classes, after all. It’s hard to imagine O’Hara, stony-faced and serious, at a… dorm party, or something. To be that carefree, he’d need to get rid of that stick up his ass, first.

You’ve got a day off from lectures, using the time to catch up on the reading you should’ve done over a hectic break. The list seems to go on and on, already, this early into the year. Internally, you’ve made a promise to be on top of it all - the little hiccup with Jamie, notwithstanding. You’d knuckle down this morning, reading ( scanning) and summarising ( liberal use of the copy-paste function) in preparation for the rest of the semester. Miguel’s locked up in his room, somewhere, so you use the opportunity to spread out onto the dining table.

There’s a knock at the door that makes you look up from the muddle of words on your screen.

When you open the door, there’s a woman there with a notebook in hand. She’s pretty, in a classic sort of way, ginger braids cropped to her shoulders and lips slathered with gloss. Her outfit is relaxed, but carefully curated: a tight jumper and long brown legs stretching out from a black skirt.

“Hi.” She says, visibly keening. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting you, but she quickly recovers and gives you a blinding smile.

“...Hi,” Honestly, you’re a little confused. You haven’t seen her around the complex before; so who she was, you hadn’t a clue. Too pretty to be a door-to-door salesman, and too hot to try to convert you to Mormonism, you think. Whatever that means.

You wait expectantly, as a beat passes.

“Oh!” She laughs, and it sounds like puppies and rainbows, much too bright and airy considering the time of day. It makes her next words even more of a shock. “I’m looking for Miguel.”

With her last words, she steps a little closer; scanning the apartment from her vantage point. Something in you bubbles up, but you try to choke down the laughter.

“You’re looking for...Miguel?” Even out of your own mouth, it sounds absurd . The man had no friends, as far as you could tell. He seemed like the type to lock himself away in his enclosure, only stepping out for work, school, the bare minimum. In the short week that’s passed, his ‘enrichment time’ had consisted of a dry documentary on spider mating cycles - which had been a shock to walk into, the first time.

So someone here, at the apartment? Looking for him? Fidgeting, you scratch at your neck. “Uhh, I ca-”

“Sorry about that, Jia. You can have a seat.” His voice comes from behind you, and Jia breezes into the apartment, perching on the sofa. Legs crossed, she reaches into her bag, taking out a laptop and a pen and paper. He’s changed out of his workout clothes, donned in a loose white sweater and casual trousers - relaxed, for once. With a limp thud, you close the door. There’s an odd feeling as you look around at the scene: tension, and you feel like you’re interrupting. Miguel clatters around in the kitchen, fumbling for mugs and coffee filters and God knows what else.

“...was it two sugars, or three?”

“Three!” She throws over her shoulder, tapping away at her open laptop. “I like it sweet, Miguel.”

You squint. He laughs : a small chuckle that comes with a heat at the base of your stomach. Your head almost aches, trying to recalibrate; reconcile with the version of the person you’ve barely seen around the apartment to now - present, engaged, and personable. Exasperated is the only word for it. Miguel O’Hara was, in fact, capable of joy. Dickhead.

He barely acknowledges you, but Jia does; batting her wispy eyelashes in your direction, curious. The tapping stops, and she curls the corner of her mouth up with a hint of a smile.

“You gonna introduce me?” She calls out to Miguel, and then smiles to you; warm and genuine. It makes you feel a little more at ease. You catch the end of a sigh coming from the kitchen.

“Jia, this is my roommate.” He glances up to gesture towards you. “...this is Jia. I… help her out with work, sometimes.”

From the couch, she rolls her eyes. “He’s too modest. He’s my tutor, technically.”

With that, your eyebrows shoot up. Of everything you’d imagined him doing, tutoring students wasn’t one of them - especially considering he seemed barely out of college himself.

“...Technically?”

“He doesn’t like to advertise it, because he’s picky with his clientele.” She giggles and he scoffs. You get the feeling there’s a joke flying over your head, just out of reach. “Word gets out on campus that Miguel’s tutoring again…”

“ Vale, vale ,” He grumbles, but his tone is good-natured and light. “S’enough, Jia.”

She gives you a wink, before turning towards her work.

You walk towards your things, still on the dining table. He’s got his head buried in a kitchen cabinet and you look on, wanting to ask a lot of things. The words seem to die in your throat: too big, too small, not the right shape. She's a stranger; that knows where the coffee’s kept and the best spot on the couch. That makes Miguel laugh . You want to ask him about the stranger in your home; but you’re too scared he’d turn and point the finger at you.

He walks to the couch, balancing two cups of coffee. You look back. Next to him, her presence is an oddity - a blip in his carefully crafted universe. With the warm sheen of familiarity, she nudges his shoulder. Taking careful sips, he pointedly ignores her, tapping a finger at her screen - as if to say, pay attention. She smiles, wide; an asteroid across the depths of space, dazzling and brilliant in the night sky.

The exchange… it makes you think. If Miguel is the Sun, and Jia, a bright body in orbit: what’s your place in this four-walled cosmos? Where do you belong?

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@teacoffeeflavored @chuuyara@qiapia@rotten-zombi3@bonbyon @tianyhi @noelsilly @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @peachsteven @thesquidni@fatenpara @verr-uckt @kurakasabe @kamiko32 @mushy-mushroom04@izzys-hawttea@theandromedastar @wicked-futures @truthuntolddd @prettygirlpattinson @hellokittylover202 @angel-eyes05 @lacedinweb22 @starguiders @buggiecrawls @eugeab @tarjapearce @whoreloll @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @ancientbeing10 @shartythefarty@royalhearts

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #eventual smut #angst #kat_writes😼

1K notes · View notes

supernova2205 · 15 days ago

Text

Mistletoe Shenanigans

Summary: After finally convincing price Task Force 141 rents a cozy winter cottage for the holidays, filled with laughter, team bonding, and Soap’s relentless attempts to catch someone under the mistletoe.

The cottage was picturesque, like something out of a winter postcard. It was nestled in the middle of a snow-covered forest, its chimney puffing out soft curls of smoke into the crisp December air. Strings of warm fairy lights lined the roof, casting a soft glow against the early twilight. Through the frosted windows, you could see the twinkle of a Christmas tree and the flicker of a fire dancing in the hearth. It was everything a holiday getaway was supposed to be.

Inside, the cottage was just as charming. The wood-paneled walls and overstuffed furniture gave it a cozy, lived-in feel. Garlands of greenery adorned the mantle, and the scent of pine and cinnamon wafted through the air. The place was perfect—and filled with the unmistakable presence of Task Force 141.

“Oi, Soap, stop messing with the thermostat!” Price’s gruff voice echoed from the living room as he fiddled with the firewood.

“I’m not messin’ with it!” Soap protested, though his mischievous grin said otherwise. He was perched on a stepstool near the doorway, adjusting a small sprig of mistletoe he’d apparently decided was an essential part of their holiday décor.

“Then what are you doing, Johnny?” Ghost drawled from the couch, his tone dry but amused as he flipped through a book he’d found on the coffee table.

“Enhancin’ the holiday spirit,” Soap replied, hopping down and admiring his handiwork. The mistletoe dangled precariously from a crooked nail above the archway. He rubbed his hands together, clearly pleased with himself.

You exchanged a knowing look with Gaz, who was lounging in an armchair near the window. He raised an eyebrow, and you both stifled a laugh. Soap’s antics were nothing new, but they always managed to add a layer of chaotic charm to any situation.

The first evening in the cottage was a blur of activity. Price, ever the team dad, took charge of unpacking supplies and organizing the kitchen. You helped him, chatting as you set up the space with mugs for hot cocoa and a stash of cookies you’d brought along.

“Thanks for organizing this,” you said, glancing at him as you stacked plates in a cabinet. “It’s nice to have everyone together like this.”

He grunted, but there was a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We’ve earned a bit of a break. Thought we could use some proper downtime.”

Meanwhile, Soap had roped Gaz into helping him string more lights around the living room, the two of them bickering good-naturedly over the best way to hang them.

“You’re makin’ it crooked!” Soap exclaimed, gesturing dramatically at Gaz’s handiwork.

“Maybe it’s crooked because you keep yanking the other end!” Gaz shot back, rolling his eyes.

“That’s the artistic touch, mate!”

Ghost, true to form, stayed out of the fray, content to watch from his corner of the couch. He’d swapped his usual mask for a black balaclava, and though he wasn’t participating, the faint shake of his shoulders suggested he was quietly laughing at their antics.

By the time the tree was decorated and the fire crackling, the group had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Soap broke out a deck of cards, declaring it was time for a game, while Price brewed a pot of tea. You found yourself sitting on the rug by the fire, feeling a sense of warmth and camaraderie that was rare in your line of work.

The next morning, Soap’s mistletoe scheme began in earnest. You found him lurking near the archway, his expression a little too innocent as he waited for someone to walk by.

“You’re up to something,” you said, crossing your arms as you caught him red-handed.

“Who, me?” he said, feigning shock. “I’m just enjoyin’ the holiday ambiance.”

“You’re literally standing under the mistletoe.”

“Just thought I’d, y’know, spread a bit o’ holiday cheer,” he said with a wink.

Before you could respond, Gaz walked into the room, his eyes on his phone. Soap lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Gaz, mate! Fancy seein’ you here!” he said, stepping forward to block his path.

Gaz looked up, immediately clocking the mistletoe and Soap’s hopeful grin. He raised a hand and sidestepped smoothly. “Not a chance, Johnny.”

Soap groaned as Gaz walked off, leaving you to chuckle at his disappointment.

“Better luck next time,” you teased.

“Oh, there’ll be a next time,” he promised, already plotting his next move.

Over the next few days, Soap’s attempts to catch someone under the mistletoe became increasingly elaborate. He moved the sprig to different doorways, tried to redirect foot traffic, and even attempted to casually dangle it from a stick at one point. Each time, his target managed to evade him, much to his chagrin.

“Why’s everyone so bloody fast?” he lamented one afternoon after Gaz ducked under his outstretched arm with the ease of someone who’d been avoiding Soap for years.

“Maybe they just don’t want to kiss you,” Ghost deadpanned, not looking up from his book.

Soap clutched his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Simon. Truly.”

The rest of the team took great delight in watching Soap’s schemes unfold, offering running commentary and occasional sabotage. Even Price got in on the fun, deliberately walking in the opposite direction when he saw Soap lurking near a doorway.

“Not even under threat of court-martial, Sergeant,” he said with a smirk as he passed.

Despite Soap’s antics, the week at the cottage was full of laughter and relaxation. There were snowball fights in the yard, long walks through the forest, and plenty of shared meals around the table. Ghost turned out to be surprisingly good at baking, and you all took advantage of his talent by requesting everything from cookies to mince pies.

One evening, you all gathered by the fire for a game of charades. It was a predictably chaotic affair, with Soap hamming it up and Ghost refusing to participate unless forced.

“Come on, Simon,” Soap said, practically dragging him off the couch. “Don’t be a Grinch!”

Ghost sighed but relented, standing stiffly in front of the group. His performance as “a snowman” consisted of standing still with his arms at his sides, much to Soap’s dismay.

“You’re terrible at this,” Soap declared as the rest of you laughed.

“Or maybe you’re terrible at guessing,” Ghost replied evenly, returning to his spot on the couch.

It wasn’t until the last night at the cottage that Soap’s mistletoe plan finally worked. You were all gathered in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, when you noticed him lurking near the doorway again. This time, he seemed more determined than ever.

“Don’t tell me you’re still trying,” you said, shaking your head.

“Patience is a virtue,” he replied with a wink.

Just then, Gaz walked through the doorway, not paying attention as he carried a stack of plates. Soap stepped forward triumphantly, blocking his path.

“Ah-ha! Gotcha!” he said, pointing upward at the mistletoe.

Gaz sighed, clearly resigned. “Fine, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Before Soap could move in, you reached out and tapped Gaz on the shoulder. “Actually, you owe me for skipping cleanup duty earlier.”

Gaz shot you a grateful look and immediately handed off the plates, slipping away while Soap gaped in disbelief.

“Not again!” Soap groaned, slumping dramatically against the doorframe.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Better luck next time, Johnny.”

But as you turned to walk away, Soap grabbed your arm gently, his expression shifting from playful to hopeful. “Wait a second.”

You froze, suddenly hyper-aware of the mistletoe hanging above you both. Soap grinned, a little sheepishly this time, and tilted his head toward it.

“Rules are rules,” he said, his voice softer now.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine. Just this once.”

Leaning in, you placed a quick kiss on his cheek. Soap’s face lit up like Christmas morning, and he practically bounced on his heels.

“Finally!” he declared, pumping his fist in the air. “Took all week, but I got one!”

The rest of the team burst into laughter as they watched from the doorway, Price shaking his head in mock disapproval. Ghost, of course, looked entirely unbothered.

“About bloody time,” Gaz said with a smirk.

Soap turned to you, his grin as wide as ever. “Best holiday ever,” he said, and for once, you couldn’t argue with him.

Authors note: hi guys I thought I’d make a little Drabble for Christmas my gift to you more fics are coming if you guys have any suggestions on what you’d like me to make next please leave a comment

#cod 141 #ghost #soap mw2 #task force 141 #captain price #gaz cod #mw2 141 #tf 141 x you #141 x reader #cod x reader #ghost cod #price cod #soap cod #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare

95 notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 3 months ago

Text

A little stone home of your own. 2bd home in County Cork, Ireland features a variety of faux brick/stone wallpaper. They are calling it wallpaper, but it looks 3 dimensional, so I think that it's a series of adhesive panels. The price is £161,608 / $209,676 by Private Treaty (meaning a sale where the buyer sets the price he wants for the property and negotiates w/a buyer and an agent.)

Cozy living room with a new modern fireplace. Actually, there are 2- one is on the wall.

The kitchen looks fairly roomy.

You can see the variations of brick and decorative stone, right down to the little table that the plant next to the fridge is on.

Cabinets and backsplash are covered.

The stair well.

Upstairs and the doors are even covered.

The bedrooms are so tiny, but they have skylights.

The bathroom. It's a single bath house.

This one looks a little bigger- it has 2 wood burning stoves, a little light overhead and room for a TV.

https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/weird-news/two-bed-house-makes-peoples-32544347

#faux brick #small homes #homes for sale ireland #houses #house tours #home tour

120 notes · View notes

atomtanned · 1 year ago

Text

🌼 4t2 AggressiveKitty Decor Essentials: Urban Wallpaper

This was a request made by @grilledcheese-aspiration on Simscord, and since I already had my eye on them for my game I went ahead and converted them! I also made a few add-ons - I gave black baseboards and some paneling to my favorite floral wallpaper (shown in preview), and since the textured concrete seems really versatile, I made 29 recolors in my Academia+ palette.

The pattern with the vases in the original download post wasn't showing in S4S, so that's not included. The black paneling is a little bit pixelated - I'm not sure why, that's how the textures exported, but I still think they look nice!

19 wallpapers by @aggressivekitty - 16 original and 3 add-ons

All patterned walls can be found in Walls > Wallpaper - Plain wallpaper is §5, paneled wallpaper is §10

The single concrete wall is in Walls > Poured, §3

29 additional concrete recolors by me are also in Walls > Poured, §3

Files are compressed; choose from merged or unmerged

The merged files I made for my own game and they have had the filename strings changed - they will be sorted together in the catalog, not by price. If you don't want that, choose the unmerged version.

Not Mac-compatible - sorry, I made a mistake and had to fix via SimPE and didn't want to go through Homecrafter again. If someone really wants them for Mac, let me know and I'll find some time to fix them.

✨ DOWNLOAD: SFS / PATREON / MF

--------------------

Credit: @aggressivekitty for the beautiful original wallpapers!

#s2cc #ts2cc #dl: build #atomtanned.package #the sims 2 #4t2 #sims 2

368 notes · View notes

inevitablysomber-dark · 25 days ago

Text

The Price of Success 4

Dark! Peter Parker x Clementine! Reader

Summary: Clementine has fought tooth and nail to achieve her dream of attending a prestigious university. Balancing her demanding workload, a suffocating home life, and financial strain, she’ll do whatever it takes to stay afloat. Enter Peter Parker: wealthy, charming, and unexpectedly fixated on her. When he offers a proposition that could solve all her problems, Clementine reluctantly agrees—unaware she’s stepping into a carefully constructed trap. What begins as a transactional relationship spirals into something far darker as Peter’s true intentions come to light.

Warnings: This story contains dark themes, including manipulation, psychological and emotional abuse, unhealthy relationships, non-consensual elements, obsessive behavior, gaslighting, loss of autonomy, familial neglect, and power imbalances. Please read at your own discretion.

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Series Masterlist

Peter’s place wasn’t at all what I had imagined—not that I’d given it much thought before. The two doormen at the front should have been my first clue that this wasn’t your average apartment. When he opened the door and led me inside, it felt like I had stepped into one of those homes featured in Architectural Digest. The kind reserved for the ultra-wealthy, not for a regular college student.

The entryway alone was impressive, with sleek marble floors and modern art hanging on the walls. As we walked further, I found myself surrounded by so much space that it was almost unsettling. This wasn’t just an apartment; it was a penthouse.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Peter asked, pulling me from my thoughts. “I’ve got tea, coffee, soda, juice... water?” He gestured toward a hall that seemed to lead to the kitchen.

“Water’s fine,” I said, following behind him, unsure whether I felt impressed or out of place.

“Make yourself at home. The living room’s just through there,” he said, pointing to an open space before disappearing into the kitchen.

The living room was intimidating in its own way. Sleek leather furniture and glass tables gave it a bachelor pad vibe, but the carefully curated touches—plush throw pillows, elegant vases, and soft lighting—hinted that an older woman had been involved in decorating. Maybe his mom or grandmother.

Massive windows overlooked the city skyline, offering a breathtaking view that felt surreal.

“Your place is huge,” I called out, still taking everything in. Did he really need this much space? It felt excessive, even for someone like Peter.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping out of the kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and a mug in the other. “My parents insisted. They were worried about my safety and comfort.”

I raised an eyebrow as I took the water from him. “Comfort? What do they think happens in dorms, survival of the fittest?”

He laughed lightly, settling into the couch, placing his mug onto the coffee table and motioning for me to join him. “Something like that. They wanted me to have my own space so I wouldn’t have to deal with, you know, the usual college stuff.”

I couldn’t help but scoff. “You mean other people?”

“Exactly,” he said with a smirk.

I sipped my water, my eyes wandering around the room again. Everything about this place radiated wealth, from the subtle branding on the throw blankets to the polished wood paneling lining the walls. It was impressive, but it was also a stark reminder of the enormous gap between Peter’s world and mine.

I couldn’t even get my parents to call a plumber to fix the leak in the basement they dumped me in, and here was Peter, living a life of luxury at his parents’ insistence.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, watching me carefully.

“It’s... a lot,” I admitted “Not what I expected.”

He tilted his head slightly. “And what did you expect?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Something more lived-in. This feels like a catalog.”

Peter chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “You’re not wrong. My Aunt May and her decorator had way too much fun with this place. I’m usually always out, so I haven’t really marked this place as my own.”

I nodded, unsure of what else to say. This world he lived in was so far removed from mine that I couldn’t even begin to relate, but at least he seemed self-aware.

As I sank into the couch, I let myself relax for the first time in months.

"Would you like to watch a movie?" Peter asked, his voice casual but his expression anything but. The look in his eyes told me he didn’t want the night to end, and if I were honest with myself, neither did I.

Tomorrow was Saturday, my usual routine of leaving early for the library, attending an afternoon class, and then tutoring Peter himself. For once, the thought of lingering felt more appealing than rushing back home.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, meeting his gaze.

Peter shrugged, flashing an easy grin. "I’ve got Netflix, Hulu, HBO, Disney Plus, anything you want. And if I don’t have it, I can get it."

I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself. "Your house, your pick."

"Ah, but you’re the guest, so you have to pick," he countered, his grin widening.

I chuckled softly. "Seriously, I don’t care. I’m just happy to finally relax for once. Whatever you put on is fine with me."

Peter nodded and scrolled through Netflix before selecting something from the top picks. He stood to dim the lights, the glow of his massive TV illuminating the room as he settled back onto the couch, this time a little closer.

I took a sip of my water, setting it on the small end table beside me. For a while, we sat in silence, the sound of the movie filling the space. I felt his arm shift behind me, casually resting on the back of the couch.

I wasn’t oblivious. I knew Peter had an interest in me, it had been clear for some time now. But I also knew it would be in both our best interests to keep him at a distance. Yet, as I glanced over at him, something was different. Maybe it was the soft glow of the screen highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline or the way his smirk tugged at the corner of his lips when he caught me looking.

“What?” he asked, his voice teasing.

I hesitated, my mind racing. Was it the vulnerable place I was in mentally, after months of unrelenting stress? Or was it the fact that, for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel entirely hopeless?

I decided to set the bait.

And if he didn’t take it, I’d leave.

Leaning forward, I pressed a quick, soft peck to his lips. His eyes widened in surprise, confusion flickering in them as he searched mine for an answer.

I leaned in again, this time lingering a little longer. He hesitated at first, his posture stiff, but then he leaned in too.

Just as I started to pull away, his arm moved from the back of the couch to cradle the back of my head. He deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding to my waist as he pulled me closer. The warmth of his touch contrasted sharply with the cool indifference I’d been holding onto for so long.

For the first time in weeks, I let myself stop thinking.

Peter’s hands slid to my hips, guiding me over him until I was straddling his waist. The shift in position made me acutely aware of the hard bulge pressing against me through his jeans. A mix of nerves and curiosity shot through me, but I didn’t stop. Instead, I shifted slightly, pushing against him experimentally.

Peter broke the kiss with a sharp hiss, his head falling back against the couch. His hands tightened on my hips, holding me still as if he was trying to rein himself in. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath me.

"This feels like a dream," he murmured, his voice low and filled with awe, as if he couldn’t believe this was happening.

Leaning forward, I brushed my lips against his ear, my voice a soft whisper. "Then let’s try not to wake up."

His hands gripped me a little tighter, and before I could pull away, he tilted his head back toward me, capturing my lips in a kiss that felt more intense, more consuming. It was as though he was afraid the moment might slip away if he didn’t hold onto it tightly enough.

Carefully, Peter stood, still holding me in his arms, and gently laid me back on the couch, positioning himself over me. His eyes searched mine, almost as if asking for permission one more time without words. I answered by reaching up, pulling him closer, and reconnecting our lips.

Clothes began to come off in a flurry of hurried hands and nervous excitement. When we were finally bare, Peter paused, breaking the kiss to look down at me. His expression was soft, almost reverent, as he traced a hand lightly over my cheek.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice low and steady, but the slightest tremor of vulnerability cracked through.

I nodded, my breath hitching. "Yes."

He let out a deep, shuddering breath, his body visibly relaxing as if he’d been holding in the weight of the world. Then, with deliberate care, he aligned himself and slowly entered me. A gasp escaped my lips, a deep sigh of pleasure as the sensation of fullness took over. His lips found mine again, soft and reassuring, before moving to trail kisses along my jawline and down my neck.

He held me close, his movements tender but deliberate, each stroke sending waves of pleasure rippling through my body. The Netflix movie we’d been watching was now just a forgotten hum in the background, white noise to accompany the symphony of our breathing and soft moans. Peter moved with an unhurried rhythm, his confidence smooth but not overbearing.

I wrapped my legs around him instinctively, drawing him closer, urging him to go deeper. He responded immediately, his pace quickening, his control slipping as his movements grew more erratic. The heat between us built steadily, the pressure mounting with each thrust.

I could feel it. The end creeping closer, a tantalizing edge calling me to leap. My breath came in shallow gasps, my body trembling under his as Peter’s own resolve began to waver. His grip on my body tightened, his head dipping to press his forehead against mine as we both climbed higher, lost in the moment.

When the climax finally hit, it was like a tidal wave crashing over me, leaving me breathless and weightless all at once. My fingernails dug into his back as a sharp cry escaped my lips, my body arching into his. Peter followed seconds later, his own release washing over him with a deep, guttural groan. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his body trembling as he shuddered through the intensity of his orgasm.

We stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, letting the aftershocks subside. Peter lifted his head, his eyes searching mine with a softness that made my chest ache.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle but filled with genuine concern.

Still dazed and recovering from the high, I gave him a dopey smile. "I’m perfect."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm as he leaned down to plant another kiss on my lips. "Yes, you are," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face before pulling me into his arms.

The next morning, I woke up in Peter’s arms, both of us completely nude. The events of the night before had stretched well into the early hours, culminating in us finally crashing in his bedroom.

Peter held me close, and I found myself focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, listening to the light rhythm of his breathing. Outside of the pleasant soreness in my body, this was easily the best sleep I’d had in weeks.

I turned my head toward the clock on his nightstand. I’d already missed my morning study session, but if I hurried, I could still make it to my afternoon class. Groaning softly, I shifted to sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and stretching to shake off any lingering exhaustion.

The movement roused Peter. He stirred, blinking at me groggily before giving me a lazy, lopsided smile.

“Hey, you,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. “How are you feeling?” He stretched his arms overhead, letting out a satisfied yawn.

“I’m feeling great, actually,” I replied, smiling despite myself. “Better than I have in a while.”

“Good to hear.”

He leaned in to kiss my temple, his lips warm against my skin, before pulling back the blanket covering him and hopping out of bed.

“So, I was thinking,” he started, standing stark naked in front of me without a hint of self-consciousness, “we could order in for breakfast. Maybe have a chill morning?”

It was then I remembered my plans for the day. “About that,” I said hesitantly, still clutching the blanket around me, as I stood to face away from him and his nudity. “I actually have to go home and get ready for my afternoon class. And…” I added, pointing toward his general direction with my finger, “we still have a tutoring session later, don’t forget.”

Peter moves to stand in front of me, an amused grin on his face as he stepped closer. “You don’t need to go home for that.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He placed his hands lightly on my hips, making it impossible not to look at his face. “I had Gerald pick up a Plan B pill for you this morning—”

“Wait, who’s Gerald?” I interrupted.

“My butler,” he said nonchalantly. “He’s from a legacy of butlers. He handles the house and anything else I might need.”

I blinked. A butler? A legacy of butlers? How absurd.

“Anyway,” he continued, as though he hadn’t just dropped that bombshell, “he also grabbed some clothes for you, so if you want, you can stay here, take a shower, and head straight to class. The university’s only twenty minutes away on foot, but I can drop you off myself if you’d prefer.” he starts rubbing his thumbs into my hips “Save you about 15 minutes or so.”

“I still need to get my laptop from home.”

“Do you use cloud storage for notes and texts?” he asks

“Well, Y-yeah, b-but.”

“I have iPad’s, laptops, and tablets. Take your pick and just login.”

How convenient. I hesitated, trying to decide if I was comfortable with this level of generosity.

Peter leaned in closer, his hands still firmly on my hips, his face softening into an imploring expression. “Please? Stay for breakfast.”

“I don’t know,” I said, biting my lip. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” he said smoothly. “You were invited.”

When I looked up, he was giving me the most ridiculous set of puppy dog eyes. I sighed, feeling my resolve crumble under his gaze.

“Alright,” I relented, laughing softly. “I guess I can stay a little longer.”

“Perfect,” he said, his grin brightening as he leaned down to kiss me, warm and lingering.

The kiss caught me off guard. It wasn’t like we hadn’t been intimate all night, but something about the softness, the casual affection of it, left me feeling... awkward. Maybe it was because, for all the physical closeness we’d shared, this moment felt unexpectedly intimate in a way I wasn’t used to.

Peter moved toward a drawer near the corner of the room, rummaging through its contents while I stood there clutching the blanket to myself, unsure what to do. He pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, walking back to hand them to me.

“Here,” he said with a small smile. “Figured you wouldn’t want to walk around the house naked.”

I nodded, taking the clothes from him. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he replied, turning back to find something for himself in the same drawer.

“Uh, Peter?” I started, hesitating.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I added quickly, not wanting him to misinterpret my question. “I need to use the bathroom,” I clarified, hoping to wipe away any doubts about my comfort. I didn’t need him thinking I was regretting anything.

The uncertainty on his face disappeared instantly, replaced by that easygoing grin. He pointed to a door adjacent to the bed. “Right there.”

“Thanks,” I said, shuffling toward it, still clutching the blanket as if it were my armor. I stepped inside, shutting the door firmly behind me and making sure the lock clicked into place before exhaling deeply.

The bathroom was massive, sleek, and impossibly clean—practically showroom-ready, save for a hamper overflowing with clothes in one corner, a toothbrush and toothpaste perched on the counter, and a half-filled garbage bin. The cool marble tiles underfoot and the sheer size of the space made the bathroom look like a utopia.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the sink, running a hand through my disheveled hair. For a moment, I let myself take in the surrealness of it all. The previous night, I was curled up on a couch in my parents’ home, dreaming of a way out. Now, I was standing in a bathroom big enough to fit my entire makeshift room in the basement.

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts aside. Dwelling on it wouldn’t change anything. After relieving myself and tidying up, I grabbed Peter’s t-shirt and boxers, slipping them on. They were far too big, but the soft fabric and faint scent of his cologne were oddly comforting.

When I emerged, Peter was sitting on the edge of the bed, now fully dressed in a fitted shirt and grey sweatpants, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when I stepped out, his smile warm and immediate.

“You look good,” he said, gesturing to his clothes on me.

I laughed lightly, tugging at the hem of the oversized shirt. “Thanks. Not exactly high fashion, though.”

“High fashion is overrated,” he quipped. “You pull it off.”

His casual compliment left me a little flustered, but I quickly changed the subject. “So, breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” he confirmed, standing and offering me his hand. I hesitated for a second before taking it, letting him lead me out of the room.

I walked out of my afternoon class and headed toward the campus café to grab a Gatorade, still marveling at the outfit I was wearing. Luxury from head to toe—Prada dress, matching purse, and even a pair of designer shoes that felt like walking on clouds. It wasn’t that I’d never worn or seen luxury items before, but having them bought for me, on a whim, was something else entirely.

When Peter’s butler, Gerald, handed me the bag this morning, I half-expected to find something generic from Macy’s—a simple one-size-fits-all dress. Instead, I’d been met with pure couture, along with a small assortment of fancy shower items, as if I were a visiting dignitary.

Compliments followed me all day, even on a relatively empty campus. A few lingering looks from passing students, nods of approval, and whispered envy. It was new, and while part of me enjoyed it, another part felt a little exposed.

Gerald, for his part, had been exactly what I expected from a butler: stoic and professional. Yet, he had this warmth to him, calling Peter "Master Peter" and me "Miss Clementine," which took me completely by surprise. Hearing someone older and wiser address me so formally was jarring, but oddly, it didn’t feel patronizing. Just... proper.

As I left campus, heading back to Peter’s place for our tutoring session, I heard a familiar beep. Peter was parked at the curb in his car, waving me over.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said as I opened the passenger door and slipped in.

“Of course, I did.” He grinned, his boyish charm on full display. “Aunt May would’ve killed me if she found out I made a girl walk all the way back to my apartment.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, by the way,” he added, “the frat guys found Nikki’s keys. Turns out they were in the punch bowl.”

I wrinkled my nose. “How unsanitary.”

“Tell me about it. But don’t worry, Gerald and I got her car back to her safe and sound. I also grabbed your things.”

He gestured to the backseat, where I saw my bag and some books neatly stacked.

“What about Carrot’s stuff?” I asked.

“Got hers back to her too,” he said nonchalantly.

“How?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, Nikki’s address was on her car insurance card. As for you and Carrot, I... might’ve snooped a little to figure out what belonged to who.”

Weird, but practical.

I blinked, unsure how to feel. “I guess I’m just not used to people going out of their way like that.”

Peter’s smile softened. “Well, you should get used to it. Gerald’s cooking steak tonight, by the way. Any chance you’d want to stay for dinner after our tutoring session?”

How odd but steak sounded good. I shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

The tutoring session went smoothly as usual. Gerald busied himself in the kitchen while Peter and I worked through the material at the dining room table. When we finished, I couldn’t resist asking a question that had been lingering in my mind.

“Why do you keep requesting tutoring sessions with me when you clearly don’t need them?”

Peter’s face flushed pink as he fumbled for an answer. “Well—”

“Because of me, Miss Clementine,” Gerald interrupted, appearing with two plates. He set them down in front of us before continuing. “Master Peter is the heir to a very important company, and I believe that no matter how much he may already know, nothing beats consistent practice. In fact, I’m the one who hired you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Tony Stark didn’t finish school. He seems to be doing fine running, at least half, of the company without all this extra tutoring.”

Gerald placed his own plate at the table and sat down. “What works for one may not work for another, Miss Clementine. Mr. Stark had to step into his role prematurely after the tragic demise of his parents. Had they lived, I assure you, he would have completed his education.”

Peter’s blush deepened, and I couldn’t help but smirk at his embarrassment.

When dinner was finished, Gerald collected the plates, and I packed up my things, returning a tablet I’d borrowed from Peter earlier.

“Why don’t you stay a bit longer?” Peter asked, his voice tinged with something hopeful.

“I need to get home,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

“Gerald made banana pudding? ” Peter teased, his grin widening.

From the kitchen, Gerald called out, “Best banana pudding you’ll ever have, Miss Clementine.”

I hesitated. Banana pudding was my weakness, but I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.

“I don’t know...”

Peter’s expression softened. “Look, I don’t mean to pry, but you seem miserable at the idea of going home. Stay here for a bit. You’re not doing anything tomorrow, right? And honestly... I really like the company.”

I raised an eyebrow, pretending suspicion. “Is it just my company you like?”

He flushed again. “Among other things,” he admitted with a sheepish grin, “but yes, your company is at the top of the list.”

I chuckled. “Fine. I’ll stay a little longer.”

The truth was, I didn’t want to go back. After a glimpse of comfort and care, home felt like the last place I wanted to be. And if Peter was offering me an escape, even just for one more night, who was I to turn it down?

22 notes · View notes