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nothomegal · 11 months ago

Note

HIII I MISS YOU :(( straight to the point, I need a yandere pyramid head fic!!

I´m sorry for the disappearance ;v; Can't post much due my studies.

Anyways, I ADORE your suggestion! And boy if our little (Y/N) is going to have a rough time with a yandere creature like Pyramid Head ._.)

Welp, let's start the story!

"Innocent lamb"

(Yandere!Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Summary: the entity's realm was hell for some, heaven for others, and an inconvenience for the rest... But when one of the creatures encountered you, he made it everyone's problem, even the entity's that brough him there in the first place. But he meant no harm to you. He likes you. He wants you. He needs you. And he wͦ̀ͯi̸ll̩ͩ have Y̛̗̰͇͚͓͈̣͕̰͓̗͛ͤ̀̇̍ͥ͒̓͝Ơ̵̔_̰̅U̵̷̡̧̡̨͖̟̹͙̙͓̥̗̫̣̙͉͕͉̣̬̇ͭ͗̉͂̅̍͗̇̇́́̈͟͞

Warnings: yandere/obsessive behavior, violence and violent acts, quite angst(y) mood in general, (understandably) terrified reader darling :(.

Word count: 4.2k

The moment they entered the trial, all four survivors knew right away who the killer was. Either its the dread they all felt as soon as their feet made contact with the ground that gave it away, or the fact that the entity had placed all of them in the same spot next to two generators just to have any chances to make it out alive.

But they know it's in vain, they know they're doomed for a long long death by bleeding out.

They know it... Because (Y/N) is with them.

Said survivor had to bite their lip to avoid crying, as guilt and terror embraced them. Just because the monster had this unholy obsession with them it didn't mean they were okay with it, if anything it scared them more.

He, Pyramid Head, the Executioner... Or however you want to nickname him, is said to be one of the most powerful creatures the entity had the pleasure to bring, so powerful in fact that the spider-like being had to make a deal to bring him.

So it's not surprising that they are absolutely horrified, but who wouldn't? This monster, an embodiment of pain and punishment, almost a god, has been hunting them relentlessly ever since he laid his gaze or... Helmet? On them.

At first it was all jokes and gags;

'Aww look, (Y/N) has a boyfriend!'

'Watch out, here comes your crush (Y/N)!'

'Uh-oh, the triangle man seems jealous, look how pissed he is at Nea for healing you!'.

But the jokes stopped when it got clear how truly messed up and sinister said 'crush' is.

They still remember it, it was a regular match against that one masked knife wielding guy that runs a lot, he's called 'Legion' they think. The trial was going relatively well, just like many previous ones. Until it suddenly got an 180° turn when one of the walls to the realm was literally destroyed by a hulking mass of muscle and a giant knife. To say both (Y/N) and the killer nearly had a cardiac arrest was an understatement, things got so ugly that the entity had to intervene and cut the trial short.

That incident could be a fuel for a new wave of jokes, could... If it didn't happen again. And that next time was even worse, the beast nearly made his way into the survivor side of the realm, somehow bursting through the barrier the entity had created to keep the survivors separated from the killers to avoid any pity fights after trials.

Ever since that event, Pyramid Head was strictly kept in 'his' realm, aka Midwich Elementary School.

Sometimes, after escaping through the gates and running back into the camp through the fog, (Y/N) could swear they can hear the monster roar in the distance. Loud, distorted and fierce howls resonating somewhere behind the dense fog, as if the creature was desperately trying to yell out their name. Either to let them know how badly he wants them or a promise to break free and get them... Both possibilities giving them chills.

The entity of course wasn't okay with this, it was pissed! But it also could do so little... The great deal now had turned into a major curse. If the deal is broken, the Executioner won't hesitate to damage the realm to get what he wants. But if it remains, the monster will find new ways to bend the rules and make it everyone's problem.

Why the entity doesn't just give (Y/N) to the beast or gets rid of them ones for all? No one really has the answer. Some think it's due the entity's pride, or the possibility of the executioner going ballistic. For now, it's more of a silent (and petty) battle between two stubborn beings, each of them refusing to back away from their goal.

Goal. The entity's goal, though still confusing, is more or less clear; force people and creatures to play these twisted games and feed on those who get sacrificed. But the executioner's goal? It's straight up a mystery. (Y/N) know it has something to do with them, but... Why them exactly? Why not Cheryl? Didn't she come from the same place as that beast? What the monster even wants them for?

What will he do when he finally gets his hands on them? Wh-

A rough shake snapped (Y/N) out of their internal break down.

They blink a couple of times, tears of fear nearly sliding down their cheeks as their body shivers. They were scared, more than the other three survivors combined.

The survivor holding them by their shoulders, David, sighs when he finally notices them react.

—"Look, I know you're scared..."— he starts talking, his voice surprisingly calm.

—"I'm-... I- I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry-..."— you choke out in a weak wobbly voice, guilt eating you from inside.

—"No no. Just listen for a sec. I... Well, we all can tell that you aren't enjoying it neither. So, let's not break down into a soap opera, okay? Don’t think of this as hopeless match, but as another chance to woop that asshole's ass and escape."—

—"And also leave him empty handed!"— Feng announces from her place while already working on a generator.

—"Yeah, screw that triangular piece of shit! Let's try out Dwight's strategy this time. You remember it, do you?"— he asks you, not letting go of your shoulders yet.

The surprisingly positive and reassuring words of their teammates towards them really soothed and even cheered (Y/N) a bit. With a small smile they quickly wipe their eyes before nodding.

—"Good, see? We're already starting on a good note!"— he lets go to then pat your back, basically pushing you forward. —"Now go help with a gen before putting the 'plan' into work."—

Though the push hurt a bit, (Y/N) didn't care at all about the pain, too focused on keepings all the negative and pessimistic thoughts away.

For the first minute and a half everything was going well, (Y/N) and Feng were working on one generator while David and Jonah were working on the other one. The four of them were dead silent, straining their ears for any of the sounds the creature makes, such as heavy footsteps, the scraping of his gigantic knife or their own heartbeat. Weirdly enough, everything was calm... Too calm.

(Y/N) nearly choked with air when a cold chill ran through their spine.

Spine Chill. The beast... Is watching them.

They attempt to subtly alert Feng by carefully tapping her leg, but as soon as their fingertips touched the other girl’s skin, their heartbeat started to get louder and louder, until…

—“WATCH OUT!”—

(Y/N) exclaimed as they pushed Feng, just in time to dodge a bunch of sharp and rusted metal pieces coming out the ground.

—“Holy-...”— she mutters.

Now that the monster is here, the four survivors decided to put in action the mentioned strategy.

They all let go of the generators and run away in different directions, (Y/N) being the most desperate while running since they know exactly who the beast is targeting.

His pattern is always the same; chase after until sending them into a cage to then down all of their teammates and then come straight back to all caged and helpless (Y/N) and then… Stare or touch them until the others bleed out or the entity has enough.

The difference in the current case, is that (Y/N) is not playing just cat and mouse. In fact, chasing them is the worst the killer can do. All of their abilities are chase oriented, another teammate lurking around has all the boon ones, while the last two have all is needed to rush through the generators. If everything works out, the monster will get himself in a situation where he's be forced to leave (Y/N) alone.

The chase was intense, at least for (Y/N). Despite never catching a clear view of the Executioner, they could feel him close behind, following them methodically like a wild animal on a hunt, waiting for the right moment to strike while keeping up the tension.

It was hard to maintain the focus, every single hallways in The Game looked the exact same. Did they vaulted that window already? Didn't they pre-dropped that palled over there? Did Feng placed it up again? Are the other two working on the generators? Have they taken this left path before?

So many questions where swarming their mind as their legs kept carrying them on, only momentarily relaxing when two generators finally made that distinguish noise.

Two done! Tree left.

A breathless laugh escaped from them. Great! This is already going better than all of their previous encounters with the Executioner, which would always end with the first generator barely reaching 30%.

However, their smile was quickly swept when they realized they no longer hear their heartbeat or thundering footsteps tailing behind. It was silent, dead silent, with no other sounds that their own breathing.

A wave of anxiety flushed through (Y/N) like a tsunami wave and started to drag and drown them deeper into their own worries.

What the?... Okay, this was not part of the plan. The Executioner had never left the chase with them, never. So the fact that he finally did, and apparently a while ago, made them shake.

With nothing else to do, they gather the courage to start moving again. Where? Somewhere! Anywhere but to stay in place and be an easy target to the beast that so desperately wants them.

They keep running, stopping only for a brief moment before turning a corner, making sure they don't hear any muffled breathing that at times resembled growls. They learned the hard way with the Shape that some killers like to wait around corners, and they don't want to commit the same mistake right now.

Their heart jerked when they heard a scream resonate from their left, and a faint reddish aura in the shape of a human gleamed for a second before disappearing.

David is down.

And it seems like he's not getting picked up, which could either mean that the monster is setting up a trap or chasing someone else. Whichever the case is, they shouldn't go-

They hear a bunch of footsteps come their way, and in a set of panic they crouch behind a bunch of boxes, silently praying that their disguise is mildly good.

They can't see much from their spot, but they can clearly recognize the shape of Jonah running away from something massive.

As soon as the two figures passed by, (Y/N) gets up and takes off running towards David to check on him.

After some wondering around the labyrinth-like place, they finally reach their injured teammate, who was still on the ground and groaning from pain.

—"{David!}"— you whisper-yell as you start running towards him.

He weakly lifts his head just enough to see them. When he recognized who it is, he starts to frantically shake his head.

—"NO! GET THE FUCK OUT!"—

Huh? What-

As (Y/N) is about to reach David, a path of sharp metal pieces and razor wires had emerged right in front of them, just when they're about to make contact with the floor again, making in impossible to dodge.

The second their leg got tangled into the sharp metallic mess, everything went too fast. They don't even have time to pull away as something sliced them on their side, sending them directly on the ground.

They send a guilty and ashamed glance to David, who had an frustrated expression.

—"{Sorry...}"— you mouth.

(Y/N) has no chance to see David's answer as a massive hand suddenly curled around their throat and forced them to look away from the other man.

Their eyes wide at the sight of the beast menacingly hovering over their helpless form, holding their body in place between him and the ground. The muscles of his extended arm were tense, his breathing heavy, almost like he's holding back the anger and displeasure caused by them giving attention to someone else.

Their heart skipped beats, their breath uneven, their eyes watered as they tightly closed them, not wanting to witness whatever this thing was about to do. They can feel the warmth coming from his body, his breathing slowly stabilizing, as if staring at them and watching them slowly submit was enough to calm the monster. Ironically, it did the complete opposite to (Y/N), as their own heartbeat raised from the anxiety of having to face the unknown, attempt to predict the unpredictable and prepare to witness another massacre unfold around them at any second... Just to then end up caged and at the mercy of this-

—"LEAVE THEM ALONE ASSHOLE!"— David angrily yells from his place, struggling and trying to stand up. —"You're fucking terrifying, of course they don't want to look at you!"—

They can feel Pyramid Head's hand tense and start shaking, his fingers twitching and pressing further into their skin. (Y/N) was beyond terrified now, just a little bit of pressure and the creature could crush their throat like a cardboard tube.

David, though clearly using all of his strength, ended up falling back on the ground, as if some invisible weigh is actively pushing him down.

—“You freak! Absolute sick fuck! Let them go already!”—

As the waterfall of profanities continues, (Y/N) slowly places their hands around the monster’s wrist to attempt to push his hand away, unfortunately he didn’t budge at all.

Suddenly, David’s stops screaming and the very next second (Y/N) feels something warm and slippery press against their cheek.

They jerk in place at the uncanny sensation and shoot open their eyes, a breathless gasp escaping them at the sight of a… Wh-What even is that? A freaking tentacle? A tongue?…

The dark pink muscle wiggles in front of their face for a moment before licking another stride, wiping some of their tears and blood in the process, making (Y/N) shiver in discomfort.

They shoot a confused glance to David, desperately wanting to know if he’s witnessing this too. The man had an expression of pure ‘what the fuck’; eyes narrowed, brows furrowed and mouth slightly gaping.

This eye contact was brief though. (Y/N) got startled for a loud growl that reverbed from the beast's chest and helmet. The hand finally leaves their throat as the beast stands up to his full height and starts making his way to David, leaving them alone, as well as his knife?

(Y/N) throws their teammate a scared look, but David responds with a forced smirk.

—"Ah, now you decide to drag your big ass towards me."— he mutters through gritted teeth.

The monster seem to not react to his taunts. With each step that he takes towards David, his mask of confidence seems to crack.

Nevertheless, the man didn’t back out from his insults, he never does.

—“What’s wrong? Why so pissy, huh?! Jealous that (Y/N) prefers us?!”—

Saying their name was a sore spot to hit, and the way Pyramid Head reacted confirmed that.

The monster roughly grabs David by the neck, completely ignoring the fact that he’s not even holding his weapon. Instead he uses his bare hands to silence him.

Nasty, wet and crunchy sounds resonated through the room and hallways as the creature began to tear the man’s body limb by limb, piece by peace, unbothered by the pained screams of his victim or the low groan of displeasure that resonated from above for again not playing by the rules.

(Y/N) froze in horror at the sight in front of them. Blood, chunks of flesh and bone pieces where flying everywhere, never before they’ve witnessed this type of gore, not even during the ‘mori’.

Though it felt like the massacre lasted hours, it was actually second. The monster threw the whatever remaining he had in his hands and slowly turned back to (Y/N), who was still frozen and unable to look away from what was left from David. They know they will meet again in the fire camp, in one piece and alive, but god they felt sick...

Their shock breaks only when the thundering footsteps began to resonate again, shaking the ground underneath them with each the creature took. He grew closer, and closer, with them being able to do absolutely nothing aside from attempting to crawl away.

But that pity attempt was stopped when the same sharp wires and rusty metal pieces emerged from the ground and wrapped around their body, pulling them slowly underneath and sinking them further into the ground. And before they realize it, their body is already trapped in that rotten metallic cage.

Cold metal spikes just inches away from their flesh, so close to penetrate their skin, a wrong move and they would undoubtedly get hurt. But even if they wanted to move, they couldn't really. The space in the structure was small, claustrophobic even, each spike perfectly adjusted to keep their form in place. In some twisted way, it felt like a hug, a very cold, unwelcoming and unnerving hug.

They flinch when they hear a scream resonate from somewhere, which was cut by a loud slam.

Feng was caught.

It seems like the Executioner didn't bother to down her, rather getting rid of her directly, most likely because he's aware that Jonah is not keen of going for rescues...

And speaking of the man, there is his aura flashing before (Y/N)'s eyes as his body fell on the floor.

He's down... Which means that-

Before they even finish their conclusion, the tall figure of the monster appeared. Just by looking at them his behavior seemed to change; movements more erratic and pace uneven, almost like he's hypnotized.

He makes his way to them, slowly, as if purposely building up the tension.

(Y/N) wanted to look away or close their eyes, but whenever they did so the cage felt painfully small. It hurt, literally, so they stare at that beast grow closer with wide shaky eyes that struggled to keep their focus on him. This is something Pyramid Head was always good at, he could always make you fear, even the toughest bravest ones would inevitably succumb to the terror his presence brings.

Ones in front of them, the creature stops in place and simply stares, like he always did.

(Y/N), though still scared, was a tiny bit relieved that this is what the rest of the trial would be; them being pinned like a butterfly with the monster observing.

It would be just that.

Just this bizarre staring contest.

...Right?

WRONG.

The creature suddenly let go of his weapon and grabs the edges of the cage with both hands quite violently.

Now the little hope and comfort (Y/N) had was thrown out the window, as now they realize they no longer have any idea of what will happen next.

And by what it looks like, the entity is not planning to intervene, as if curious itself to see what will happen next.

Pyramid Head remains like this, his big hands tightly squeezing the imperfect metal bars, bending them slightly and making the already miserable looking material groan from the pressure he was applying.

It looked like he wanted to destroy that cage, rip it apart and get to them, but didn't do it by holding himself back... Why? What's even the point of this build up? What's even the point in wanting them?!

—"{Wh-...Why?...}"— you choke out in a very quiet voice. —"{Why a-are you d-... doing this?...}"—

(Y/N) knows is stupid to ask, Pyramid Head can't even speak! But they can't help themselves, they're too scared, their anxiety is unbearable and their thoughts are too out of control. They need answers, anything that could even hint for a possible explanation of the killer's intentions.

They began to second guess their decision to speak when the creature froze in place, even his breath was now inaudible. This was the first time (Y/N) spoke directly to the monster, but they didn't expect him to react at this fact, not like this, or at all.

But he did, he did acknowledged that little detail, and he will make sure they acknowledge it too.

The creature soon moves again, by slowly leaning closer and slightly tilting his head to the side, almost like trying to get a better look at them.

His breathing got heavier, low huffs and growls resonating from that metallic helmet of his. It really looked like he was actively holding back some major urge or desire, but what it is?

(Y/N) wanted to ask again, but decided against it as there is little Pyramid Head could do to answer, and even if he could, why should he? Maybe it's more amusing to him to see them helplessly wondering in the dark and unable to comprehend what's going on.

Or maybe, there is simply nothing to explain?... Maybe he does what he does just because? Human mind is way too used to seek for reasons and explanations for anything and everything, often forgetting that sometimes the answer is way too simple or straight up null, could that be the case?

The same groan coming from the cage bars pulled (Y/N) out of their thoughts. They forget how to breathe at the sight of the structure slowly collapsing as the monster starts to rip the bars with his raw strength.

A scared yelp escaped them as they try to back further into the cage as much as they can, ignoring the sharp edges that scratched or pierced their body. They barely felt pain, none at all actually, the adrenaline and basic survival instincts keeping their body resilient and ready to run. The sad part is, is that there is nowhere to run, nothing to do. It's sweet that their body tries so desperately to keep their hopes up and reassure their survival, but their mind is more than aware of the cold desolated reality...

The front part of the cage was eventually ripped off and thrown against the floor violently. (Y/N) can only cover their eyes with their hands and quietly sob as they wait for whatever the monster had planned to do next.

Even when no further actions are made, they refuse to look. They no longer want to face this thing, they no longer want to suffer this torment. Regardless if they believed in any religion or no, they mutter silent prayers under their breath, but not no save them, but to make it end and to know how sorry they are for any evil or harm they've did in their life that leaded to such tragic conclusion.

But this is where the catch is... They've committed none. At least from the Executioner's perspective.

Despite their whispers being so silent to a non-existent point, Pyramid Head heard them loud and clear. And the more he heard their voice, the more he felt the inside of his chest burn and the desire for them grow even more. (Y/N) is not perfect, they're human after all, and all humans have their fair share of flaws and defects... But unlike the rest, (Y/N) has the ability to acknowledge said imperfections and genuinely try to make up for them, to fix them... Regardless if they get something in return or not.

This, this is the true purity in a human being. An innocence and kindness so genuine that it would be a sin not to worship and protect... And who is a best fit to take care of it other than the fearsome Pyramid Head?

(Y/N)... So pure... So innocent... So kind... He must keep them save.

He must keep them...

He wants them...

W̴͕̳͈͔̭̝͠ͅ a̶̩̰̲̎̓͊̈̓̕ ǹ̴̢͇̬̘̗̯̜̍̋͊͠͝͠ ṭ̶͇̃̔͝ s̶̭̩͔̹̝̼̅̍̆̉͌͝

As the monster is about to reach them, a spider like legs burst out through the floor and wrap themselves around (Y/N).

The trial... Is over.

And while the absolutely livid roar gets overshadowed by the groans of the entity as the black fog surrounds the whole place. (Y/N) only keeps quietly sobbing as they cling to the spider leg sticking out of their chest. And though they knew the entity is the main responsible of their current torment, they were too overwhelmed with emotions to properly process their actions.

Surprisingly, the spider-like being didn't disappear right away, probably feeling pity for their situation and allowing them to cry for a brief moment, most likely to compensate this unplanned mess they have to deal with.

To everyone's surprise in the camp, when (Y/N) finally arrived they where unconscious, either passed out after such emotional roller coaster or the entity wants them take some genuine rest. Whatever the case it, it didn't matter, what matters is that their fellow friend is back save and sound, right?

As one of the survivors decided to take them closer to the bonfire for warmth and comfort, they could swear they heard some weird noises from afar.

It resembled a demonic cry filler with rage, so distant yet menacing. Everyone instinctively shivered.

And though (Y/N) successfully 'survived' yet another trial with the executioner, almost everyone had the gut feeling that the next encounter they have with the beast, it will not end good...

They all take a glance at their still unconscious form.

Poor (Y/N)...

#nothomegal ask reply #nothomegal fic #nothomegal oneshot #pyramid head #pyramid head fic #pyramid head x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #gn reader #dbd fanfic #dark romance #dbd x reader

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phie04 · 28 days ago

Text

CW: death, angst, war etc

no thoughts just how 141 comforts dying!teammate reader

(tired to make it as gn as possible but if you’ve got any advice pls send it my way xoxo)

Price: cradles your head with both of his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, half brushing away your tears, half trying to comfort you, as the others still fight outside, trying to secure the perimeter. Whispering gently, telling you how good you’ve been, how many people you’ve saved. “What about-“ “Don’t worry ‘bout the others luv,” he’ll say gruffly, setting your head in his lap. “they’ll take care of things for now.” He‘ll whisper sweet nothings in your ear, telling you how lucky heaven is that they’re getting another angel, how he’ll make sure to behave from now on, to ensure he’ll join you when its time.

For once, he takes his boonie off and sets it on your head, and tearily says “suits you, i think I’ll let you keep it.” When he leaves the half bombed building to provide cover for the others, they don’t have to ask, they just know, from how Price rains hellfire down on the bastards that got you.

Gaz: He’s in denial himself, but it’s not fair on you, so he swallows his grief and kneels next to you, trying, needing to find a quick fix to your injury, but its not enough. you gently pull his hands away, setting them on you, one supporting your neck, the other in your hair. “S’okay, you’re gonna be okay yeah?” he says thickly, his fingers gently combing through your hair. After a couple of minutes, he realises the horrible truth, and tries his hardest to make you feel comfortable. “You were always my favourite,” he’d mumble into your hair. “always. thought Price was a nutter bringing you in, but god was i wrong. You were absolutely phenomenal love, and I’m gonna stay with you, just you and me yeah? yeah, just the two of us, like it should be.”

His eye’s would water as he feels you begin to slip away, begging in his mind for you to hold on, but his stupid rational empathic mind will remind him it’ll just prolong your suffering, but the stubborn ass inside of him is screaming to find a way to fix you. But he holds it back, holding both your hands in his as you go. “Thats it love, I’ve got you, you don’t need to worry anymore, the boys’ll take care of me, you don’t need to worry anymore, you’re safe, you’re safe with me.”

Soap: is trying to hold it together for you, but he’s a crying mess as he holds you in his lap, stroking your hair, pressing kisses to the back of your hand. “ye, your the strongest o’ all of us aren’t ye? Fought so well, protecting us all.” He’d mutter, brushing the dirt and dried blood from your face, smiling sadly as he looks at your weary expression. “Feelin’ tired? Aye, yer look it.” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, his heart sinking at the sight of your drooping eyelids. “Don’t yae worry, i’ll hold yae whilst yae sleep. Don’t worry, Johnny’s ‘ere, Johnny’ll stay by yae side ‘til the end my love.” His hands shake as they pass over your body, gently soothing you, his head only glancing up when the sound of gunfire gets closer, but it always stops. Ghost makes sure of that.

As your breathing starts to slow, as your tears start to flow, he’s there, shushing and soothing you the best he can. “S’alright darlin’ Soap’s ‘ere, I’ve got yae.” he hums, kissing your forehead as you still, squeezing your hands tightly, closing your eyes with the lightest, most revered touch.

Ghost: grunts, pulling your weak frame against him, sitting you in his lap, his hands circled around your waist, as your head rests on his shoulder, gazing up at him. He takes a deep breath, and pulls his mask off. “M’ a right ugly fucker eh?” “nah-“ “Nah? C’mon Sergeant, don’t lie.” He mumbles, knowing you’re telling the truth in the way you gaze up at him. His grip tightens around you, not enough to put a strain on your injuries, just enough to try and reassure you that you’re safe, he’s got you. “S’alright luv, s’alright.” he mutters, a hand coming up to brush the hair out of your face. “Gonna be in a better place yeah? Gonna feel a lot better too.”

He rocks you gently, staying quiet as the two of you gaze at each other, pressing a kiss to your hand or forehead whenever you whimper in pain. “Don’t need to hold on fo’ me, yeah? Don’t stay in pain, just to be with me yeah?” He murmurs, internally cursing at himself at the sight of your eyelids immediately drooping. “There ye go, tha’s it, you’re safe.” He murmurs, feeling you get weaker and weaker. Just before your final breath, he mutters, “say ‘ello to Johnny for me? Take care of ‘im for me love, he’ll take care of you.”

i woke up and chose violence apparently

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the-californicationist · 16 days ago

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Cali Cali bo-bali banana fana fo-fali me my mo mali! Cali!

I'm three Budweisers in and got an itch for alpha Price with a sudden need to breed (yay! Surprise rut!), and there's his sweet smelling omega neighbor who he's been keeping at arm's length because he's a professional dammit and has complete control of his urges, thank you very much.

Honestly, I just wanna see Mr. "I'm Married to My Job" lose it and show back up on base abashed and mated, and also ridiculously proud of his lil omega's claiming bite, because "she turned into a wildcat, lads. I couldn't stop her." *wink-wink*

Or not. I'm happy with any smutty Price fic you bestow on us, really. I'm just being weirdly specific because— alcohol = horny thots. 🍺😏🥴🫠

Drunken hugs 🫂 from Random Thot

RTG!! You are the most amazing person, and every time I see your pfp on AO3 or tumblr, I just get all gooey inside. Thank you for the ask! I wrote (and fully deleted) this fic three times because I wanted to get it right. I just pray that I could deliver. <3 <3 Hope this is what you were hoping for!!

MDNI/NSFW -- TW: damsel in distress, ABO dynamics, knotting, fuck-or-die scenarios, CNC, fluids, PIV sex, female OC

Glory, Glory

It was his last beer of the night, and he was ripping it apart. Curling, soggy shards of the torn label were stuck under his thumbnail, darkening the translucent edge and making it look dirty. They littered the sticky, lacquered bartop like ugly snow, falling in a tiny, chaotic mess. His hands were more than just dirty, the captain thought to himself as he used his wide thumb to itch at the glue-covered glass, rolling little, paper shards away from the smooth surface to reveal the amber liquid swirling within. The captain’s hands; they were covered in blood. Not innocent blood, but blood all the same. They’d never be clean again.

But, that was the job, and he was good at it. His hands were a direct reflection of his hard work. Killing evil bastards kept the world safe. Some poor sob in a factory could clean out the glue-painting machine that pasted these fuckin’ labels on all of these bloody beer bottles because of one unshakable truth: John Price was good at killing evil bastards.

Unfortunately, the killing would need to wait until after the mandated leave window closed again. His argument with Kate still grated inside of his head. He could almost hear her harsh, Yank accent in his ears.

“What do you want me to tell payroll, John? You can’t be here. You’ve got too many days. Go home. See your mom.”

“I see her plenty, Katie. Let me run that ops gig with Keller. C’mon. I’ll do overwatch,” he tried his best to weasel his way back into a bit of active duty.

“You’d be the world’s most expensive overwatch. Hell no. Here’s your ticket,” she shoved an envelope in his hands, “...and your money,” another envelope, “Go the fuck home, Captain. That’s an order.”

An order. More like a toothless threat.

But, alas, here he was, staring at a freshly shaved, buzzcut version of himself in a filthy pub mirror, undressing bottles left and right.

“Another, mate?” The barkeep pointed to his almost-empty drink, making a slight grimace at the paper graveyard that was sprinkled across his bar.

“No,” John sighed, pulling out a few notes from his wallet, “I’m off.”

“Happy Christmas,” the barkeep took the bills and didn’t bother to look up again, setting himself to sweeping the torn strips off of the surface, preparing for the next paying customer.

“You, too,” John muttered, tugging his black wool beanie over his ears before braving the classic cold, wet, and windy Liverpudlian night.

He didn’t live far. John’s mum had kept up his loft down by the docks, but it certainly didn’t feel like home. Home wasn’t real. Not anymore. As he walked along the Mersey’s edge, he peered into the black water, wondering if he’d ever truly go home again.

All of a sudden, he heard a shrill scream. Every sense that had been dulled by his lager was now as sharp as a blade and set on its edge. Again, a high-pitched shout pealed through the night air, beckoning him back to his heroism. That keening was the sound of some evil that needed stamping out, and he was hungry for it.

He sprinted through the warehouse district, chasing the noise of scuffling, ducking behind alleys and abandoned garages, looking for the source. Finally, there was a flash of red that caught his eye, so he ran towards it, his mind making sense of the scene in front of him.

Voices were jumbled and mashed up together, barely registering in his mind.

“Out here in a fuckin’ heat. Dumb bitch! C’mere.”

“She’s got a knife!”

“C’mere, you little slag. Get –”

In the middle of three huge, stinking Alphas, a tiny Omega was struggling, arm outstretched, brandishing her knife at them to keep them at bay. John came up behind the biggest one, some bald fuck with a dirty coat, and dropped him, cracking his spine in two places with well-placed fists, and breaking his jaw on his way down to the ground, leaving him groaning on the concrete.

One of his mates, a older man with thick, black eyebrows, lunged at Price, a look of indignant surprise on his face. The Omega screamed, her red coat yanked back over her face by the third man, her knife clattering to her feet. Price focused on Mister Eyebrows, dodging a lazy haymaker before popping him twice in the nose, drawing out his blood and knocking out at least two of his front teeth. Then, John grabbed him by the collar, pulling his jaw into his raised knee and listening to the satisfying splash as he fell into a murky puddle.

Finally, he set his sights on the last Alpha of the pack whose ropey arm was looped across the Omega’s neck, choking the air from her lungs. He growled at Price, his scent turning to rancid fear,

“Stay back! She’s mine, you big bastard.”

The captain had nothing to say. With a practiced ease, he side-stepped her assailant, breaking the elbow that controlled her throat, making him release her immediately. The evil bastard stumbled back, hand outstretched, bargaining for his life,

“Wait, wait. I’ll share her with you, how’s that? I’ll even let you have first go!”

A deafening howl came out of his mouth as Price’s boot heel made contact with his kneecap, forcing it to snap at a terrible angle. John’s hand shot out and grabbed the man by the hair on the crown of his head, tugging cruelly at his scalp. Without mercy, John slammed his face into a nearby bollard, and the howling stopped.

It was quiet again aside from the Omega’s trembling breaths. She had recovered the knife and was now pointing it towards John with shaking hands and wide, determined eyes.

“You alright, love?” Price asked, holding his hands up in a sign of peace, edging towards her in gentle, predictable steps.

“Y-yeah… Stay! Stay right there,” her voice was bright and clear, and he could hear her strength laced through her words. He stopped in his tracks, respecting her wishes.

“What are you doin’ all the way out here, darlin’?”

“They dragged me over here from Baltic Fleet,” she straightened up, getting her bearings, wiping the blood from a small cut in her cheek, “Fuckin’ bastards. Thank you, by the way.”

“Jus’ doin’ my job,” Price shrugged, waiting for her to lower the knife even further before he continued his approach.

“Police?” She asked, a little confused.

“Not exactly,” Price smiled, offering a hand out to her, “John Price, Captain of His Majesty’s RAF service.”

“Oh,” she studied him for a moment, and then her eyes fell to the hand, ready to bite but deciding to shake it instead.

When he touched her skin, Price felt her fever. Shocked, he tightened his grip, not meaning to startle her but too surprised by her temperature to ignore it.

“Christ, love. You’re burnin’ up.”

As quick as a flash, she yanked her hand out of his grasp and retreated back towards the wall of the warehouse behind her, scooting her way towards the corner to get out of his range, ready to bolt. She didn’t respond, but John watched as she wiped her brow, dotted with sweat and covered in concern.

“Hey,” he moved forward again protectively, “You can’t be out here alone. Not like this. At least let me walk with you. I’ll stay ten paces behind. It’s not safe.”

“I’m fine,” she said with more strength in her voice than what she was ready to produce.

“You’re not. You’re in a bloody heat. When did it start?” He watched as her knees began to tremble, and against her obvious wishes, he helped her sit on the warehouse deck, letting her keep the knife so she could feel safe.

“Yesterday…” She closed her eyes, trying to shake it off, “It’s… I’m fine. It’s never this bad.”

Now that he was close to her, Price was smothered by the scent of her body. The Omegan glands in her neck smelled like thick, wild honey, and her heat was mixing with her aroma, turning an already sweet smell into a lucious, decadent gourmand, pulling him in like quicksand.

“C’mon,” he helped her up, “Where’s your place? I’ll get you close.”

The clang of her knife made him glance up to see her eyes closed and her mouth slack. She was out, too weak to withstand the fever and the physical exertion.

Price felt his body react to her need. He was filled with rage, white and hot, at her situation. Those goddamn monsters were trying to take advantage of her in this vulnerable state. She should be home in her nest, being taken care of by her Alpha, covered in soothing oils and cool compresses, her needy little cunt stuffed full of his knot, staving off these symptoms and enduring them for her. Instead, she’d been hunted, chased, made to fight for her dignity out here in the middle of the docks. Something else inside Price’s chest curled around his anger.

Possession.

He tried to shake it off, knowing it came from being unmarked, but it had been so many years as a lone Alpha that he knew how to control it. Or, at least he thought he did.

Now, though, he found himself pulling at the neck of her coat as he held her in his arms, invading her privacy to check for a bite. He felt the shame wash over him as he covered her skin back up. He had no business searching for a mating bite. She was not his Omega, and he was not her Alpha.

After a few minutes out in the chilled wind, he made it to his apartment. Thankfully, it was late enough that his neighbors weren’t outside to witness what looked like a literal kidnapping, and he shuffled her inside without much trouble. Price lay her down on his long, leather sofa, careful to rest her head on the soft arm. He went to the kitchen to retrieve a cold rag and pressed it to her forehead, hoping to hold back the fever for as long as he could.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Wake up,” he whispered, trying to gently shed her coat and sweater, peeling her layers off to bring her temperature down to a more manageable level.

She moaned, her eyes wrenching shut even tighter, her face twisted in pain,

“My head…” She sighed, desperate for some relief.

“I know, love. C’mon,” John propped her up a bit, moving the rag so that the coldest parts would be against her skin, “What’s your name? I can find an address. Do you have your purse?”

“They… took it? I don’t… I dunno…” She muttered, obviously having a hard time stringing her thoughts together, “I don’t feel so good.”

This was not ideal. Price knew what came next. A high fever, exhaustion, fatigue, nausea, increased heart rate, and then…

“Alpha?” Her eyes were open, glassy and dark, the pupils fully blown, looking up at him with an outpouring of unfathomable need. Her scent rolled off of her in mind-altering waves, shoving Price’s carefully-built walls out of the way and sending shocks of desire straight to his heart and his fat, growing cock.

“No, baby. I’m not your Alpha. Who is he? Can you give me a name?” John asked, checking her coat pockets in a rushed panic. He was running out of time.

“Alpha, please… I need… Help me, please,” her shaking hands reached under his jacket and shirt, her knuckles rubbing against his furry belly, her strong fingers digging around for his belt buckle, getting right to the point.

Price felt the room flex around him, and he tried to breathe in air that wasn’t saturated by her vanilla spice, searching in the deepest recesses of his mind for some semblance of his self control.

“Easy, love. I can’t m–mmngh!” Her mouth slotted over his as he tried to protest, stopping his heart and his words at the same time.

She was heaven. Her smell was making his skin tingle all over his body, down his arms and up his legs, rushing to his central, sacral core. And her taste was even better. His little cinnamon roll, so sweet and warm, burning for him like a flame, hot and ready to scar him for life.

“Mngh… Love, mmm… Wait…” Price held her back, using more force than he thought he should need, surprised by her sudden power.

“John…” He met her eyes and found a particular clarity within them. She was coming out of her haze. But, it wouldn’t last. This was his final chance to keep her from doing something she would regret.

“Darlin’, I can’t. I’m not your Alpha.”

“You smell like you are,” she mewled, rubbing her wounded cheek across his engorged neck gland, spreading his scent all over herself.

“I can’t,” he moved away from her, trying to hold her in his arms for comfort rather than to bask in her expressive heat, “My work… I can’t leave you here, pretty girl.”

She sobbed out, trying to hold back from writhing against his body, doing everything she could not to make it harder for him to turn her down. Her eyes were rimmed red and pink from exhaustion, and she was staring down at her own hands, vibrating with tremors, slurring her words,

“Just lock me in the bath. I’ll run cold water. I’ll be fine…”

Something ancient and feral snarled in Price’s mind.

No.

“No,” he said, involuntarily, the voice in his head escaping from his throat.

“Please… I can’t stop myself… I want your knot, Alpha. Lock me up before I do something to you… Something you don’t want…” She could barely put two words together. Every thought was a struggle. He was losing her again.

He grabbed her and held her to his chest, clutching her like water in his palm, using all his strength to keep her with him,

“I want you, love. I want… Fuck, I need you.”

All of a sudden, the energy around their bodies stilled. That cracking, sparking electricity that bound them together was roiling just beyond John’s consciousness, ready to surge. But, he stayed perfectly still, waiting to see what she did next. She locked eyes with him and leaned in close, as if she would kiss him. But, she didn’t. She dipped her head down until she found his Alphic gland, swollen and bruised purple from him holding back his lust, nuzzling at it with the tip of her nose, rooting against him, testing his patience, checking to see if his temperament was true. Then, when he let her sniff him in his most potent spot, when she knew his soul was as pure as his scent, that he was true, she sucked his flesh between her lips, drawing his musk onto her tongue.

She’d accepted him. He reeled from it, unable to hold back a groan, his cock jerking against his zipper, thrashing to escape, flooding with hot blood and threatening to fill his knot before he’d even had a chance to taste her.

John pulled her mouth off of him and stared at her eyes again, in awe of her beauty, his mind swirling and yet perfectly sharp, begging her darkly,

“Give me your neck, Omega.”

The ritual had begun, and as she swept her hair away from her shoulder, pulling it around her back, she bent for him, arching her head down in a submissive bow, revealing her Omegan mating line. It looked like a keloid scar, the raised skin swollen and painful, like a pounding vein that ran from below her earlobe down to the top of her shoulder, full of her hormones and thick with her magic. One bite, and he would be in her thrall, pliant to her every whim, beholden to her needs until her heat had run its course.

Price had never given his bite to anyone. It had been easy to abstain. In fact, in his youth, he had a hard time understanding his mates’ commitments to their Omegas, scoffing at their lack of duty to their stations, doubting their commitment, and - moreover - doubting their loyalty. He remained a captain through and through, and he’d never made room for anyone or anything else. But, here he was, his teeth aching in his jaw, bigger and sharper than they should’ve been, his every sense heightened and taking her in like a drug, compelling him to punch through her delicate flesh and suck her nectar deep into his belly.

The feeling of her skin against his lips was enough to send a chill through his body. He was cooling from the inside out, and his body needed her heat. She was forcing a rut to take hold in him, and he could feel himself changing for her. Then, he bit down as hard as he could, breaking the thin seal of her mating line with ease, feeling the searing mixture of her oil and her blood filling his mouth and throat like a ripe plum, wet and sweet, and promising pleasure if he chose to swallow her.

He drank from her for as long as he dared, taking her in long, slurping gulps, letting her essence coat his throat, feeling the hot fluid burn inside of his chest and down into his stomach where it pooled and lingered, warming him up from the inside out.

“Alpha…” She moaned, raising her hand to cup his cheek as he sucked her life into himself, rubbing her thumb so softly over his shut eyelashes that he barely felt it.

John pulled away from her, his eyes fluttering open, her bright orange blood iridescent with her mating oil, making the red cells burn bright like a fresh-cracked yolk, gleaming, trapped between his teeth like gold. He watched it drip down her chest, staining her clothes, and he began to tear them off of her. She let him, limp and mute as he peeled her open, making her naked and pulling her into his arms.

He carried her into his bedroom, kicking open the door and busting the bolt through the strike, splintering the wood and not giving a shit about the damage. John lay her in the middle of the mattress and set to surrounding her with whatever softness he could find; his shirts, his blankets, even his scarves. Anything warm and comfortable was added to the nest, giving her as much support as he could before standing back to admire his work.

She eyed him from her recumbent throne, commanding him with her gaze. John stripped off his shirt for her, raking it up his back and over his shoulders, feeling as if he was moving his body for her and only for her. All of his motions, even his ragged breaths, were only escaping from his lungs because she wanted them to. His buckle clattered apart, and he popped open the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper in a sharp, metallic rip.

Once free, his heavy prick flagged, leaping forward and pulsating for her, proudly showing her his gleaming head. He was drooling an unrelenting stream of iridescent precome, his balls tight and full of Alphic oil, ready to coat her warm insides with his shining sex.

John climbed onto the bed, his face focused on her wet mound, admiring the plumpness of her, imagining her - in every delicious way - like a tender peach. He crawled to her, his mouth still stained neon orange from her gland, and he smeared her wet quim all over his lips and tongue. He wasn’t licking her so much as he was wearing her like warpaint, moving his nose and cheeks through her to ensure he was soaked in her heady slick, his body making wild, unbridled choices purely on instinct.

“Yes, baby, please…” Her voice went straight through him like a bullet, tightening his cockhead to an uncomfortable degree, and it jerked against the mattress in protest. Her hands were in his hair, scratching through his scalp, encouraging him to sink his tongue deep inside of her hole.

John obeyed, helpless to her desire, his mind wiping clean and being rewritten by her will. He was swimming in her scent, drenched in her slick, and gasping against her pussy, his eyes fixated on her form as it writhed above him. When she met his eyes, she bit the inside of her lip, crying out for him, rewarding him for his prostrated fealty. Then, she began to rock her hips against his jaw, fucking herself on his face, and he let her use him to her heart’s content, staying strong and sure, allowing his body to be used, objectified and glorified by it.

When she began to come, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He followed his tongue inside of her with two of his thick fingers, pressing against her walls, pushing her over the edge. She bolted upright, wrapping her thighs around his face, smothering him with her body, trapping him breathless between her legs. Her whole being trembled for him. He could feel the shimmer of her very soul, rattling and writhing with her siren-like keening. And just when he started to see spots in his vision, needing air just a little less than he needed to please her, she lay open for him, blooming outward like a flower, releasing him from a limbo he longed to return to, oozing with a stream of rainbow-tinted come, the Omegan oil within her womb escaping to advertise its promises to her mate.

Without knowing why, John found himself lapping it up from her pulsing hole like a hound, swallowing mouthful after mouthful and grunting with each pass of his broad tongue.

“John, I need... Please, put your knot inside me. I’ll be good…” She begged, tears shining at the corners of her eyes from her come-drunk bliss, her hands plucking at her nipples and trying to soothe herself down from her high.

“My pretty girl wants this knot, yeah?” John grinned devilishly, dipping his finger into her over and over and licking it clean like she was a jar of endless honey, “Wants me to breed this gorgeous cunt…”

At that comment, she spread her legs even wider for him, opening up for him like a blossom for the sun, ready to take whatever he had to give her. It was mesmerizing for John to see her like this. Everything about her was filled with intoxication and need. He was just a vessel for her pleasure, pouring himself into her to make her full again. Dizzy and drunk with adoration, he notched his girth at her entrance, struggling to fit even his cockhead within her.

“Fuck… so bloody warm…”

Her body was burning him with every millimeter he sank into her, the heat of her tight sex in such high contrast with his cool rut. It felt like he was swimming in a roiling pot of sugary caramel, clinging and cloying and sticking to every part of him, and yet it was not enough. He needed more. His hips thrust forward, savage yet steady, reaching deep inside of her like an anchor, rushing to settle himself within her darkness.

The way his Omega cried out this time was different, and it snapped him to her attention, his mind immediately sensing a new need.

“Love, tell me what you need.” He purred, his mouth kissing her lips and her neck, lapping at the now-healing wound his own fangs had made, talking to her between long licks of his tongue, “Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“You’re so big. I’ve never…” She sounded ashamed.

Price slowed to a creeping pace, focused fully on her face,

“Never had a knot before?”

She shook her head, her eyes full of worry. John wrapped her up in his arms, dragging himself out of her slowly before filling her up again as carefully as he could.

“Tha’s alright, baby. You’re mine, and I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“Feels like I’m burning alive,” she sighed, her brow furrowing with distress, “John, I need… I don’t know how…”

“Look at me, alright?” He helped her focus her eyes on his, “Don’t… Just stay with me, right here. You’re gonna come for me, and then… I’ll give you what you need.”

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice so small.

Price set himself on a path with a purpose. He used his hand to rub small, rhythmic circles beside the rigid body of her clit, coaxing her pussy to drop even more slick around him, using every ounce of willpower he had left not to let his knot slip inside of her prematurely. His thrusts were jerky and restrained, but he felt her begin to rock back and forth with his hand’s movements, bringing her closer and closer to her glowing joy.

“Good girl,” he praised her, watching her as she began to fall apart around him, “Tha’s my good little Omega. Come for your Alpha just like that. Just… mmf-fuck! Like that! Holy fuck.”

The feeling of her slick pussy clenching and twisting around his cock’s tugid body was enough to make him see stars. He felt almost sick with pleasure, his whole core lighting up like a roaring fire, spitting and aching to bury himself within her.

At the end of her crescendo, he felt himself let go of the chain, and he rutted his knot inside of her, humping himself forward ruthlessly, his body contorting itself to fit her needs. His knot sealed him within her, and although he was not yet orgasming, he was filling her with his come, the creamy flow of it spilling out of his tip, filling her hole and coating his prick from inside of its hungry little sheath.

“Your come… I can feel it inside of me. Oh, my God,” she sighed with some sort of relief, her eyes rolling inside of her head, her arms losing their strength, and her back arching towards him, lifting up as if she would float right into Heaven.

And just like that, her fever began to abate. With his knot stuffed inside of her, locking his seed within her hole, his Alphic oils could soothe her heat, bringing her back to the realm of consciousness and delivering her from her wild state.

“John,” she lay back, her hand pressed to his cheek.

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he bent forward on his elbows and kissed her mouth, chastely at first, and then languidly, exploring her taste. When he did finally pull away, she was awake and alert, sated and happy. He smiled down at her,

“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispered, wiping her hair back from her face.

“Hey,” she smiled back at him, wrapping her ankles around his back for comfort, not knowing that it was just enough to set his cock on edge again, his Alphic instinct rejoicing at the feeling of being trapped by his mate.

“You alright?” John asked, a tinge of worry at the edge of his voice.

“I am now, thanks to you,” she sighed, tucking herself in beneath him, rubbing her hands along his ribs and the soft fur of his back and arms, feeling every bit of him as if she was seeing him with her touch, “You saved me, Alpha.”

“Aye,” he nudged her jaw with his nose, asking her wordlessly to give him the vulnerable softness of her neck. She obliged, and he spoke to her between sucking kisses, “All mine. My Omega. Innit that right, baby?”

She was practically lambent beneath the scrutiny of his possession, rolling in it like a wave in the sand, captured by it and surrendering to the riptide of his unbreakable grip. She nodded, humming her ascent, her expression turning a little rueful right at the end of his kisses. The sorrowful timbre of her voice broke his heart,

“I’m grateful. But, I know this isn’t what you wanted, and I’m so sor–”

“No,” he kissed her words away, feeling his length throb inside of her, urging him to kiss her again, “No, love.”

“I won’t bite you,” she promised, her gaze still full of apology, “You won’t be stuck with me.”

“Bite me, Omega,” he bent his head and buried his face in her shoulder, giving her his gland in total surrender, “Go on. I’m yours.”

“John…” She hesitated, but he could feel her body flood her hole, excited beyond measure at the thought of binding him to her as her mated Alpha.

“Go on,” he commanded in his smoky growl, holding her tighter and bracing for the ecstasy of her teeth.

He felt her lips first, and his balls tightened, ready to fling him into a messy orgasm as soon as he felt his gland shatter in her mouth. Her Omegan teeth wouldn’t break the skin, but he knew she was strong enough to crack the shell around his swollen node. The anticipation of her bite was wrecking his mind, and he was gasping for breath by the time he felt her jaw set itself against him.

“Baby, please…” He whined in her ear, his hips thrusting in short, jerking thrusts, unable to move much with his knot still trapped up inside of her, holding his gushing come in her hole, pushing it into her womb from the sheer volume of it.

Her teeth connected, and he could hear his unbroken shell give way beneath her strength, the hormones inside of it rushing through his system like wildfire, burning through his veins and making him scream for her. At the same time, John felt his core throw him into a raw orgasm, his whole body trembling above her, wringing himself from the inside out.

“Alpha,” she sighed, licking his neck to comfort him, “My Alpha…”

“Yours, baby. All yours.”

— — — — —

The new trainees filed out of the gym, sweaty, bloody, and eager to be out of the captain’s sight. Price had run them ragged, forcing them to spar with practice weapons, pitting them against each other in a strained, exhausting competition. Ghost and Soap sat with Gaz as they eyed their commander, their eyes glued to the fresh bite mark on his neck, shocked into a silent stupor.

“I cannae believe it. Mated? To which lassie?” Soap asked, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think he’d ever take a mate,” Gaz marvelled.

“I thought he was savin’ himself for marriage,” Ghost quipped, earning himself a scuff from Soap.

Price made his way across the mat, pulling his sweaty shirt off his back to trade it for a clean one. The red welts and nail-marks across his shoulders and down his belly made Gaz let out a low whistle. But, his commander’s glare stopped him mid-note.

“Wha’s that, Garrick?”

“Nothin’, sir. Just… admirin’ your battle scars,” Gaz smiled, wishing his two teammates would stop snickering so loudly.

“Looks like a hell’uva fight, Cap,” Ghost added, looking everywhere but into Price’s icy eyes.

“Wha’s her name?” Soap asked outright, skipping over the double entendres and going right for the point.

Their captain sighed, zipped up his gym bag, and stood in front of his three officers, glaring down at them with a look that was on the border of dead-seriousness,

“If I told you that, lads, I’d have to kill you.”

320 notes · View notes

call-sign-bambi · 23 days ago

Text

🤍𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬🤍

info: john price x female reader | inspired by 🎧daddy issues / the neighborhood🎧

category: angst, fluff

warnings: negative self talk, dd/lg themes, petnames (sweetheart & doll), lmk if i missed any.

a/n: excited to finally post something of substance on here, i have a million ideas i'm gonna try to write over holiday break.

You let your head fall to the steering wheel, huge, ugly sobs wracking your body. Your chest coiled in pain, constricting around the giant, empty hole of nothing, where something should be. Where you needed something to be. Or someone.

You felt disgusting as you blew your nose once more, adding the rough napkin to a pile of its snot-covered brethren littering the passenger floorboard. You’d been trying not to cry for an hour, all to no avail.

Rolling down the window, gasping for fresh air, something, anything…

The sky, dark and cold, offered no comfort, the moon and stars, no light, and the breeze gave only a bitter chill. You needed to not be alone tonight. You couldn’t be alone tonight. Dear god, I’m so tired of being alone…

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Three ti-

“Evenin’.”

“John-” you choked out, tears streaming at the sound of his voice. “John, it hurts.”

“Darlin’, what-”

“Can I come see you?” A pause. “Please.”

“Come on,” he said quietly. “I’ll leave a light on for ya’.”

You threw the car into park, yanked your keys out, and slammed the door. You weren’t gonna make it. He lived on the ground floor, no stairs, that was good. Your head felt like it would float away if it weren’t for the pounding ache. You slumped against his door and knocked as loudly as you could.

A moment passed, and you wondered if the light had already been on for someone else. You ruin everything.

Footsteps. Bolt sliding out of place. Move. You gathered your weight and stood, lip trembling, in front of John Price.

He wore a simple tee, worn with age, and faded track pants. Nothing fancy. You couldn’t look him in the eyes.

He made a soft vocalization and beckoned you inside. You stepped in quickly, skirting past him, afraid to get him contaminated. He closed the door behind you, locking it with surety, and turned to you with a tilt of his head. “What happened, doll?”

That did it. You crashed into his chest, crying nigh uncontrollably, hands gripping his shirt, hair a mess.

John let out a small uff and it took him a moment before his arms very gently crossed behind your back. You didn’t care.

“It fucking hurts, and I hate it, I hate this shit, I just want it to go the fuck AWAY!” you wept into him, tugging at the fabric he wore, hoping the clench of your palm would take away the clench of your heart.

He sighed. In an instant, his arms had slipped down and around, scooping you off the floor and letting you curl into his torso as he walked to his room.

“No, John, no, I’ll fuck up the bed, I can’t stop cr-”

“Hush,” he grumbled. His voice sounded thick but you didn’t have the capacity to wonder why. “Y’can’t stand right now. I’ll worry about the bed.”

He nudged the door open with his foot and you did your best to bury your entire head into his shoulder. Something, anything to take it away, to go to sleep, and feel nothing for a while…

John set you down and the mattress cradled your body. His bed smelled like him. Everything smelled like John. He lifted you up by the back and slid a few pillows underneath you, handing you a box of tissues from the nightstand. “Easy, now.” John stepped to the door, but you audibly cried.

“Please don’t…please don’t leave.”

His eyes rested on you for a long beat, softening by the second. He stepped back to the bed and cupped your tear-damp face in his hand. “Okay,” John said, tucking your head into his stomach. “I won’t leave.”

Those words set you off again, and your body shook from the weight of the heaviness on your shoulders. “I can’t keep living like this, John, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-”

“I know,” he murmured as he began to stroke the back of your head, “I know.” Still keeping you tucked into him, John moved over your body and sat next to you, his back against the headboard. “Come here, doll.”

Sniffling, you scooted closer to him and pressed your head into his chest. His arms wrapped you once more, and he touched his rough lips gently to your skin. “I’m here. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

Your head pounded again, in cadence with your heart, your breathing, your chest, your pain, your everything, and it was all too much-

“Please make it stop, I can’t do it anymore, John, please, please!” you begged, nails carving moons into your palms.

“Gotta breathe, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Gotta breathe.” John took your wrists in his hands and lifted them above your head, brows creasing at the way your torso still tried to cave on itself, like the implosion of a star. “In…all the way…atta girl, out…easy, now…in…out…there y’go, in…out….” You gradually came down from the high, hiccuping less and seeing more clearly. John sighed again. “Come on, you.”

“Where?” you said, voice cracking.

“Shower. Warm water’ll do y’good.”

You nodded numbly and held onto his index finger as he stepped around the bed to the bathroom, afraid that he would vanish into the dark. He clicked the lightswitch, and a soft, warm glow illuminated the cool tile room. “Up y’get,” he grumbled, taking you by the waist and planting you straight onto the counter. John leaned into the shower and turned the water on, letting it run over his hands. You let your foot dangle on his leg. You didn’t want to stop touching him. Ever.

“John?”

He stood, flicking the water from his fingertips, and motioned for you to lift your arms up. He began to peel your shirt off your body with heartbreaking gentleness.

“Yes, doll.”

“I’m sorry,” you said through tee-shirt cotton, pulling your arms out of the entanglement.

“Don’t be.” John lifted you from the counter and crouched, unbuttoning your jeans.

“I am.” You stepped out of the awful denim as he pulled it down your legs. “I feel disgusting and I made a fucking mess of you.”

He stood once more, stepping around you, pulling the fastens of your bra apart. “‘Boutta clean it off.” He moved to face you once more, pulling the straps down your shoulders and away from your skin. John’s eyes found the angry red line underneath your breasts from the combined too-small band and heaving sobs. He thumbed them softly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely audible over the shhhhh of the water.

John knelt again, tapping the inside of your thigh. “Gotta get these off.”

You obliged, stepping out so he could hook his fingers around the elastic of your panties and take those off you as well.

You stood in the pile of your clothing and reached out, tugging at his own. “Can I?”

John nodded, his eyes never once leaving your face as you worked his body out of his shirt and track pants, hovering over his boxers before he stroked the shell of your ear. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice thick again. “Won’t hurt ya’.” You mimicked him, crouching to the floor and tugging the waistband down to reveal his naked body. He was soft, not an ounce of arousal present. Something in your stomach twisted, and tears prickled at the edge of your eyes again. You moved the boxers over his foot and put it on the growing pile of clothes.

John’s knuckle traced your cheek. “Come on, doll. Into the water with ya’.”

You stood and shivered when his hand came to rest at the small of your back, guiding you slowly into the warm water haven. Stepping over the rim of the tub and into the shower stream, you let the water engulf you, flowing over hair and neck and face and chest.

John stepped in after you. He didn’t move for a moment, and you opened your eyes to meet his gaze. “What?”

“‘M sorry you’re in s’much pain.”

“...thanks.”

“Let me make it better.” You stiffened. His eyebrows knitted together in alarm. “No, not like that. Easy. Just….” John picked up a dark bottle of shampoo. “Just let me help.”

“Okay,” you whispered, turning to face the water, trying desperately to keep from crying, if only to stave off another headache.

John’s fingers laced through your hair then, working down to your scalp, through your roots all the way back to your ends. “I know it’s not what you normally use…”

“It’s okay. Thank you.”

John put his palms on your shoulders and turned you gently, gathering you into his still-dry chest and rinsing the soap from your hair. “Not a problem, doll.”

As the shampoo ran down your back, you lifted your arms ever so tentatively, and put them around his neck. John went still for a moment, but only just a moment, and soon his fingers were back to scrubbing your head.

You opened your mouth to the smell of his shampoo on your hair and the bare skin of his chest in front of you. His heart, thumping steadily, beat right below your cheek, and you instinctively pressed into him.

John’s hands slowed and he began stroking your back, gathering any hair fallout, smoothing over your skin, and breathing in your scent the same as you inhaled his. “I got ya’. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

The tears came again, unbidden, but not fighting their way out as they had earlier - now they simply flowed. As you cried, John turned you back around, applying conditioner, body wash, scrubbing your body for you, tapping gently when he needed you to lift an arm or move a leg. He never stopped touching you, never lost contact with your skin. And he didn’t take advantage.

When John tapped your thigh, you wondered vaguely if he would attempt to rile you up, making the excuse of “just cleaning”. But he didn’t. A soft wash cloth lay between his fingers and your folds, and he worked the soap over your mound just the same as he had the rest of you. He lathered your breasts gently, without an ounce of boyishness, simply soaping and rinsing. John’s own body got wet in the process of cleaning you, but you found yourself too exhausted to care.

As the last of the conditioner was washed out of your hair, John let the water run over your back, holding you between the heat of his body and that of the shower.

“Thank you, John.”

He nodded, muscles squeezing almost imperceptibly tighter around you. “Let me know when you want to get out,” he murmured.

“Okay.”

Minutes passed and you simply stood in his arms, letting every emotion that once filled your ribcage to the point of breaking flow down the drain with the water. And John stood with you, stroking your hair when the sniffles and hiccups returned, pulling you to him when they subsided.

You spoke up, quietly telling him you were ready to get out. He shut off the water, reaching out to grab a towel for you and helping you step out of the slick tub.

“Atta girl, doll. Slow. Good.”

John wrapped you in the plush cotton, using another towel to dry off your legs, crouched before you once again. You managed to get to your arms, but it wasn’t long before he made his way up your body and met you there, his eyes soft as he took over. “I got ya’, darlin’. I got ya’.” You looked up at him with still-teary eyes as words failed you. The ghost of a smile passed over John’s features. “I know. You want a shirt?” You looked at your own tee, covered in snot, and nodded profusely. John took your hand and led you back into his darkened room. Switching a lamp on, he opened a dresser drawer and produced an almost-identical faded, age-worn tee, indiscernible from the one on the bathroom floor. “Here you go, doll.” John turned to see you right on his heels, feeling small in the unfamiliar territory. He really did crack a smile then. “Come on. Arms up.” You obeyed, your chin sinking to your chest. His eyes never strayed from their task, even as the towel covering your body fell to the ground and fluffled around your ankles. “I got shorts or pants,” he said, “You got a preference?”

Your skin prickled in the post-shower chill. “Pants, please.”

He nodded and did the same as before, dressing you with quiet comfortability, slipping soft material up over your calves and thighs. Without asking, John also produced a pair of black, thick socks, pulling them onto your feet with ease.

“Do…do you want me to…?” You gestured to his bare skin. “I…can. If you want.”

He met your gaze, gentle eyes making you feel a bit less hollow. “Just stay next to me.”

“Okay.” I can do that. You settled onto the bed’s edge, feet not quite touching the floor, and watched him pull a shirt over his huge back and another pair of pants over his massive legs. “John?”

“Yes, doll,” he replied as he shook the water from his hair into a towel.

“Can we…can I, I mean, you don’t have to, can I, um…take a nap?” When he didn’t answer immediately, you tripped over yourself to explain. “Just-just for a bit, I’ll drive home tonight, I won’t stay, I just thought maybe-”

“Sweetheart.”

You sat stock still. John’s hand came up to your shoulder. “Breathe, kid. ‘M not gonna kick y’out. Stay as long as y’need.”

You stuffed your hands in your lap. “Thanks.”

He tilted his chin to the headboard. “Get under the covers, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Your body moved before your brain caught up, and you were snug as a bug in a rug before you processed the full extent of his words. He’ll be here in…does he think we’re…what the fuck-

As the confusion set in, John returned, leaning on the doorframe, phone in hand. “Y’like pizza?”

You blinked. “Yes.”

He padded toward the bed, clambering onto the mattress - the added weight made your body fall towards him as an uff escaped your lips. You smiled, the first one tonight, and curled under his arm.

“Y’wanna order it?” John asked, showing you the screen. It’s cracked, but you can still easily make out the Domino’s online ordering menu.

“Yessss.” You kicked your feet out in his soft sheets. Making your selections, you handed it back to him and watched his face for any sign of displeasure. He showed none.

“Looks good, doll. You can sleep while we wait for it.”

You sat with that for a moment. “No.” You twisted your head up to look into his eyes. “Thank you, John. I would have driven off the road if not for you.”

He cleared his throat. “‘M glad y’came to me. Thank y’for lettin’ me take care of you.”

“I…like you taking care of me.” Your heart pounded and you became acutely aware of his hand on your shoulder, large palm and splayed fingers.

“Yeah?” John’s voice rumbled in your ear, low and full and delicious-

“Yes,” you said earnestly, propping yourself up to look at him properly. “John, I…I…” He had the nerve to look amused. “...I…”

John chuckled. “Just stay. Stay and I’ll take care of you.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“I…don’t know what to say.”

His features softened even more, if that was possible. “Don’t have to say anythin’. Just tell me what you wanna watch.” John nodded toward the tv atop his dresser.

“John…” you sniffled, squeezing his shirt in your hand once more. “Can I just…lay here for a while?”

“Course.” And without a further word, he plucked a pair of reading glasses from the nightstand, opened the faded western they laid on, and began to read.

A few moments of silence pass, and they are un-fucking-bearable. Your thoughts begin to race again - He doesn’t want you here. You’re a burden. You take up more space than you deserve. What happened to looking out for yourself? You can’t, can you? Fucking pathetic, you are. What happens when he gets tired of you? What happens wh- “John?”

He looked at you over his glasses, brows raised. “Yes, sweetheart?”

You felt small again, but safer. Safer than you had in a while. “Would you mind…reading to me? I don’t think I can sleep otherwise.”

“I’m that tedious, eh?” John grinned when you flicked him on the arm.

“No! No, I…I want you to.”

“Yes,” he chuckled, “I’ll read to you.” He turned the page back (“Can’t start right in the action, can we?”) and began, his voice flowing in its same gravelly cadence, filling your brain with soft warmth. The story was of a merchant’s daughter and the cowboy she fell in love with, and John had just gotten to the part where her father finds out. “‘-and they came to blows, fists flying through the dusty air, the world fallen silent save for the sound of knuckles on bone, and-’ Are you asleep?”

You blinked, still very much on the verge of unconsciousness. “Nuh-uhhhh…” You stretched out under his comforter, nestling your face back onto his warm thigh.

“S’okay,” he said. John laced his fingers through your hair once more. “Y’need the rest. Take it. I’ll wake y’up when pizza’s here.”

You needed no further encouragement. As sleep overtook you once more, you managed to mumble out, “Thanks, Daddy.”

John was very still for a very long time.

Then, “...You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

a/n: if you liked this, please let me know with a like, reblog, or comment 🤍

all dividers courtesy of @saradika

#call sign bambi #call of duty #john price #john price x reader #john price x female reader #john price x fem reader #captain john price #john price fluff #john price angst #cod men #john price cod #john price call of duty #john price tf 141 #tf 141 #task force 141

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deanstead · 2 months ago

Text

Worth It

Pairing: Matt Casey x Reader

Requested: no

Summary: Y/N struggles with demands from a friend, and Matt solidifies the fact he will always be in her corner.

Word Count: 2.6K+

Warnings/Tags: toxic friendships

A/N: something bugged me recently so here’s a fic! This can be a bit of a controversial take based on the context but didn’t want to go full on in the fic so anyway~ just needed to get this off my chest.

“Baby, I’m…” Matt’s voice drifted off slightly before he completed his sentence, “…home.”

You could only imagine being Matt and coming home to this sight.

You were seated in the middle of the living room in the apartment you shared with Matt, surrounded by yarn, bits of fluff stuck in your hair, sheets of sketched designs strewn across the floor.

You could feel the panic rise even more as you took in the look on Matt’s face. Especially since you couldn’t read his emotions as the anxiety clouded your brain.

“Matt, I…”

You couldn’t continue as you felt your chest tighten just a little, the anxiety and panic clawing its way to the surface and rearing its ugly head at you.

This had all started with Amy.

Amy.

She was a friend you’d known for almost your entire life. You’d laughed together, cried together, dreamed about the future together and talked about those dreams. Along the way, you both had stumbled, you saw less of each other, and Amy reached out less, sometimes forgetting to respond to your messages. Despite what everyone told you, you convinced yourself that it was just how life was and you made excuses for Amy’s growing absence in your life.

Then, she’d reached out to tell you she was getting married.

You felt the excitement first, remembering it like it was yesterday, how you had both talked excitedly about how you would be each other’s bridesmaids. It wasn’t a conscious memory, but it was like your brain had pulled it up, triggered by the words Amy was saying.

You didn’t even feel any apprehension when she asked if you would make the flowers for the bridesmaids. You weren’t too confident because crocheted flowers weren’t really your thing. In fact, you’d only tried it out once. So you’d told Amy you’d give it a shot, make a prototype and see how it went.

You could tell Matt hadn’t been thrilled with the idea but he didn’t say much, only offering opinions when you asked for them and keeping most of his comments focused on the task rather than Amy. Yet, you knew he was holding back. You knew Matt didn’t feel great about Amy, mainly because of the things he’d witnessed, in particular, the way she blew back into your life when it was convenient for her.

But things had been going downhill ever since you’d made the first prototype. She kept changing what she wanted, and even you were getting a little frustrated, mixed with a desire not to disappoint her.

So, having Matt stand there with a surprised look on his face in the middle of an extremely messed up living room only added to your current panic.

You felt your breath quicken and very soon, Matt’s figure was clouded by the tears you didn’t realize had pooled behind your eyes.

Without saying anything, Matt dropped whatever was in his arms, heading straight for you and folding you nice and tight into his arms.

“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Matt whispered quietly, and you felt the rumble of his chest before your breathing slowly evened out once again.

Matt didn’t move immediately, but his fingers brushed off the residual tears that were rolling down your cheeks.

“Sorry, I don’t…”

Matt just tightened his arms a little and pressed a kiss firmly to the top of your head.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, scrubbing off the remnants of tears on your cheeks before glancing up at him.

Matt shook his head and leaned down for another kiss and you leaned into his embrace, temporarily forgetting about the mess in the living room.

By the time you woke up the next morning, there was barely a trace of the mess last night. The yarn was back in the boxes you had in the corner of the room and the half done flowers were laid out neatly on the kitchen counter.

No one else would have guessed what had happened the night before.

Matt was almost on his way out, draining the last sip of his coffee and smiling as you walked into the kitchen.

He didn’t ask but just studied your face for a little longer than usual.

You smiled back at him and nodded. “Go on, I’m fine.” You assured him, even though you stepped toward him and nuzzled your face into his shoulder.

Matt pressed you lightly against him and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You know where to find me if you need me.” Matt whispered gently into your ear.

You smiled into his shoulder with a small nod before both of you pulled away and you let Matt go before he was late for shift.

Even as the door closed behind Matt, you felt it rear to the surface. This time, the feeling was different. It wasn’t even residual anxiety from the night before. You couldn’t put your finger on it but it was bugging you.

Deciding that it might be good to have a change of pace, you grabbed the materials you needed, slung the tote bag over your shoulders and left the house, figuring you’d find a nice cafe to work out of.

So you did and you had been right. A change of environment had done wonders for you and you finally had a final prototype for the new flower idea Amy had had.

You snapped a photo and sent it to Amy, quoting as reasonable a price you could for the materials and stitches. You even gave her what she called a ‘friend discount’.

But for someone who sometimes took days to respond to you, her response was quick now.

It’s a little out of my budget.

Thereafter, she proceeded to give you a price she was willing to pay that was such a lowball, you almost dropped your phone.

It took you a moment and another few breaths to register that feeling bubbling up in your chest now. You recognised it as a more intense version of what you had been feeling that morning. Now, you could indeed put your finger on it - Disappointment.

It was disappointment that raged within you. Especially when you’d always treated Amy like a sister.

You felt it swell as you thought about the effort you’d put in all these years, even just the effort in designing flowers she would want for her wedding, and then you remembered the many times she’d blown you off, and when she’d been dating that toxic ex of hers and had cut you out of her life for more than a year until the break up.

Resisting the urge to send her a scathing reply, you stuffed the rest of your belongings into your bag and headed out the cafe, only realizing where your legs had taken you when you looked up at the firehouse in front of you.

The trucks were all parked which meant everyone was around.

Now that you were here, you had second thoughts and you were about to retreat, thinking you’d talk to Matt during breakfast the next day when you heard an all too familiar voice call out to you.

“Y/N?”

Of course today would be the day Kelly came to get something out of his car.

“Hey, Kelly.” You greeted back, your voice sounding weird even to you.

Kelly either didn’t notice or chose not to mention it. He just smiled and nodded. “Come on, Casey’s in his office.”

You didn’t protest, letting Kelly lead you in as if it was your first time visiting the firehouse.

Everyone called out toward you with smiles and you waved back at them as you made your way through the common room and toward Matt’s office.

“Look who I found,” Kelly called with a casual rap at Matt’s door.

Matt sat up, glancing at you before smiling. “Thanks, Sev.”

Kelly winked, more at you than him, before leaving the both of you alone.

Matt got up to close his door and glanced at you. “Everything okay?”

After all, you rarely came to the firehouse without a call beforehand. Usually, you were worried about being in the way so you only came to bring them some food, especially when you’d heard it was a difficult shift.

You nodded. “Nothing big, I just…”

You held back a heavy sigh and just handed him your phone.

Matt’s eyes moved across your phone screen as he read the message and you could see the slight darkening of his expression, even though he was trying to keep it under control.

Matt looked back up at you and handed your phone back to you. “So what are you thinking?” Matt asked.

You shouldn’t have been shocked by Matthew Casey’s complete focus on your feelings, but you couldn’t help the little jolt of warmth that still filled you even though you and Matt had been dating for a long while.

You shrugged and Matt gave you a look, which just made you smile.

“Fine, I’m annoyed. It’s like every single moment with her has been flashing in my head since I got that message and the annoyance has been piling. That’s why I haven’t responded.”

“Go for it, babe.” Matt said, matter of factly.

You glanced at him with half a smile.

“You deserve to be treated with respect and I think it’s high time someone told her. And if you don’t want to do it, I’d be happy to.” Matt said, his voice laced with a subtle protectiveness.

You pulled him toward you, just so you can lay your head against him and smiled. “Thank you.”

The conversation had gone about as you’d expected.

You tried your best to keep your side as light as possible while remaining firm, and ultimately, the decision had been for you to try to do little flower wristlets for Amy’s flower girls, instead of a large order of flowers.

You weren’t too thrilled to do it anymore, but a part of you felt obliged to, so you’d agreed.

It was only two days later that you had run into Amy when Matt had taken you out for dinner.

“Hey, I…” You greeted her even from a distance, trying to keep things as normal as possible.

But you didn’t miss the look on her face as she turned away, as if she was pretending not to see you.

Instinctively, you glanced up at Matt, your expression one of disbelief.

Matt just squeezed your hand but you could see the strain lines on his face which were a clear telltale sign he was using all his effort to hold back.

Matt was trying to reassure you, but the only thing you felt now was anger.

There was no more second-guessing on your part about whether you had been too harsh or too mean. You knew the answer.

You were about to open a small side business for your crochet. All your friends, including Amy, knew that.

In fact, anyone who tried to ask you to make something for them had always offered you more than what you quoted, reminding you that friends didn’t take each other for a ride.

Amy was the exact opposite and what really grinded at you was the fact that she thought she was well within her rights to be angry at you.

You were a little confused but the anger had swallowed it all up.

“You want to go elsewhere?” Matt offered.

You glanced up at him.

If this had been anyone else, it might have made you avoid the situation altogether. But right now, the indignant feeling had turned into anger.

“Why should we? You put in so much effort into trying to get a reservation here. Let’s just have a good dinner.” You answered.

This felt like a huge breakthrough moment for you, even Matt felt it - you could do anything you had set your mind to.

You sat down with Matt in a corner of the restaurant, pretty sure that Matt had used one of his superpowers to get the both of you a great table and you turned your back on Amy, focusing all your energy and attention on the one person who was worth it.

Once the appetisers were served, you’d thrown Amy to the back of your mind, sinking into Matt’s company and enjoying the date night that both of you deserved.

It was just as the both of you had stepped out after paying the bill when someone grabbed your arm.

“Food’s great here, isn’t it?”

You blinked back in disbelief at Amy, who was smiling as if nothing had happened.

It would have been much better if you hadn’t met her in front of the restaurant earlier. Now, you were just wondering what the hell she was doing.

Matt didn’t say anything, just stood by your side and waited.

“What are you doing?” You asked, unable to hold it back any longer. There was a slight tremor in your voice that no one but Matt picked up on.

The saddest part was Amy used to be able to. Now, she just didn’t care.

That realization hit you hard but also allowed you to look her straight in the eye.

Frustratingly, Amy was staring at you as if she was confused by your question.

When you didn’t offer her any explanation, she swallowed and spoke, “Come on, Y/N. I told you I was on a budget. You’re my friend, I didn’t expect you to try and profit off my wedding.”

You glanced up at Matt just a little and he merely nodded in encouragement.

“Profit? Amy, you agreed to pay! You are literally the only person that has lowballed me for anything crochet related. I’m not even asking you to pay me for the prototypes or the materials used for it. Have you looked up the prices online? I’m profiting nothing.” You paused and looked her directly in the eye. “Look, I think this isn’t a good idea. “

“What are you saying? You don’t want to talk about it?” Amy asked, and you could hear the tone in her voice change slightly.

You sighed. “I’m saying I don’t think I can make anything for your wedding, or be your bridesmaid. I’ve said everything that needs to be said.”

“Y/N, you… What am I supposed to tell my family?”

You couldn’t hold back the chuckle that escaped your lips. You shouldn’t have expected anything else but the fact that she was more worried about having to explain what had happened to her family members who had always treated you as one of their own, spoke volumes.

“You can tell them what happened, Amy. Just remember that if anyone calls me, I’m telling the truth.”

Matt smiled and slung an arm around you, turning to lead you away before he paused.

He glanced back at Amy before he spoke, “She cared. She really cared and you threw it back in her face. She deserves someone who treats her as a friend.”

You tugged at Matt’s arm and Matt sighed before taking you away with him.

The journey home had been pretty silent and Matt only broke it as he closed the door behind the both of you and hung both your jackets by the door.

“You okay?”

You glanced up at him and nodded before you pulled back again and shrugged. “Kind of, you know? I’m upset but like it also feels lighter? If that makes sense.”

“It just has to make sense to you. The only thing important to me is how you are feeling right now.”

You stepped into Matt’s embrace and smiled against him.

“With you? Matthew Casey, I’m on top of the freaking world.”

Matt smiled, leaning back enough to take a look at you before pressing his lips gently to yours in a deep kiss.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

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Character taglists are open, hit me up if you would like to be added!

#resa.fics #matt casey x reader #matt casey #matt casey fanfic #matt casey x y/n #matthew casey #chicago fire #chicago fire x reader #chicago fire fanfic

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pedge-page · 10 months ago

Note

can you write something where pregnant reader has trouble holding her bladder and joel messes with her a bit? 🫶🏻

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife drabble - Hold It

Notes: This is NOT Piss kink, just a little Joel and Preggo reader torture amusement. I have separate PK x preggo wife request coming up soon

The one thing that women aren’t best at as they get older is holding their bladder. When you gotta go, you go.

And the number one thing that having a fat ass baby shoved up your uterus and pushing aside every organ and pressing the full weight of their tiny bodies on—is your fucking already-terrible-to-hold bladder.

Bumping up and down in Joel’s ugly ass truck with suspension that feels like shit because you can feel every single crevice from every single crack in the road does NOT do well for anything except stir up the amount of liquids inside you.

“Joel,” you whisper warningly, legs scrunched together.

Joel knows the difference between your “Joel” with legs scrunched together and the other “Joel” with legs scrunched together.

“You better not have to p—“

“I have to pee!”

He shakes his head with hearty laugh. “I told you to go 30 minutes ago when we were at the stop.”

“I did go,” you retort venomously. “But now I have to go again.”

“We’re 30 miles from the nearest exit. What do you want me to do?”

“Drive faster?!” Are you fucking dumb?

“We’re an hour late as is. I told you—“

“Don’t you dare fucking scold me like a child Joel Miller, this bitch needs to piss and she needs to go right fucking now.”

“You going on the side of the road?” He suggests with half hearted venom.

You whimper and shake your head. You do NOT want to squat down for a piss next to the highway on the road. You wouldn’t do it not pregnant, but definitely definitely not WHILE pregnant.

“Just—just drive faster. And shut up,” you rasp. You hold your hands between your legs and close your eyes, focusing on willing your baby to help you squeeze that lemon for once. “And don’t breathe. Or cough or just —just don’t exist.”

Joel has to wipe his face to hide the smirk on his lips. Your sheer concentration right now, all burled up and shaking side to side has him holding in a laugh.

He checks his rear view for any signs of cops, then begins to lean into the gas more. You would pay for the turmoil you’re putting his poor truck through—not in any type of obvious payment of course, but in a more satisfying transaction.

Joel balances the wheel with one knee as he opens a bottle of water set on the dash.

He keeps his eyes on the road and makes the loudest, most grating, obnoxious slurping sounds known to man.

Your head slowly rotates towards him as if a killer hawk were seeing prey landed right next to her. He only peeks over and see the absolutely thinnest lined lips on you, and your exceedingly horrifying wide eyes ready to murder him.

“MMmMM,” he moans, gulping down the bottle with big swallows so you can hear it sloshing down his jugular with each bob.

“You—you shithead,” you snarl.

He raises his eyebrow. “Do you want some?”

You shake your head, neck bowed low because you can’t concentrate on a scolding your asshole husband and holding your urine at the same time.

“M’ gonna ruin your seats.”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be so bad. Got all kinds of your juices on here already, what’s another variety to the blend—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

“Okay okay, I’m pulling off.”

You tumble out of the car before he’s even fully parked, crouching low to the ground begging to God as your last resort to keep. it. In.

Joel just puts his hands on his hips. “You gonna do It through your pants?”

shutupshutupshutupshutup Ohfuckfuckfuck.

He can hear your tiny whimpers, looks down upon his poor little wife and her even tinier bladder about to make a fool of both of them and piss yourself all over your stretchy pants—

He decides you've had enough torture.

“Gas station is 7 feet away, honey.”

You look up and lo and behold, you’re crouched in a parking lot right outside the quaint convenience station, its glowy neon signs and cigarette flyers and “2 for 3” signs illuminating like you had just won the lottery.

“OOHHHH” you gasp, sitting up and holding your vagina in your palm as you wobble into the quaint store like Road Running and down the alley to the bathroom.

Joel comes in afterwards and does the courtesy of buying a few snack for the trip.

“Pregnant wife,” he muses to the clerk as he slams a few jerky sticks on the counter.

The two of them are startled by a very loud, satisfied moan coming from the women’s toilet room.

The clerk just chuckles and rings up the items.

He checks his watch again, tapping his fingers on the wheel impatiently. What the fuck is taking you 20 minutes?

Its not until the gas station door chime goes off outside as the door swings open, and you’re coming out with a 32 oz Big Gulp cup of Frozen Pepsi ICEE while happily waving goodbye to the clerk as you waddle back to the car.

You settle your bumbum into the seat with a little wiggle and slam the truck door closed, sipping away happily with two hands fisting the styrofoam cup.

Joel has one arm over the steering wheel, facing you with a frown and deadpan eyes glancing between you and your cup the size of Africa, your annoying slurps filling the silent car.

You don’t pick up on his silent aggravation at all, offering him a chipmunk smile. “M-ready now,“ you chirp.

He grits his teeth while looking at the cup you can’t even wrap your fingers around. Holds his tongue and doesn’t say anything, faces forward and turns the key into ignition.

25 minutes later, with your empty Big Gulp cup rolling around on the floor mat:

“Um, J-Joel,” you warn again, this time voice wavering timidly. “Joel, I have to—“

“NO!”

- - - -

Permanent Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee

#joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fluff #tlou fluff #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #joel dealing with preggo wife

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bellarkeselection · 1 year ago

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We’re All Family Here

Reader is Carter’s younger sister and she has a prosthetic leg and the reader is worried that Rip and Beth will kick her off the ranch if they found out. Wattpad request from - @Quackity_bwead

Pulling down the Jean of my right leg I sighed staring at myself in the mirror that was in my room in Rip and Beth’s house. My brother Carter was already up for work in the barn but I got to sleep in this morning which was rare. Walking out of the house I headed to the barn with large Y above the doorway. The sun had just started to rise above the mountains and everybody was busy already working. Taking my horse out of the stall I climbed on feeling my fake leg hanging over. “Alright boy, let’s go.”

Kicking my horse we rode off towards the sunset with the wind running through my hair. I was wearing a tan dark cowgirl hat and my hair was tied in a braid. Riding through the fields I saw my older brother Carter who was trying to rope a cafe but it started running at me. “Y/n, watch out!” He cried when the cafe got underneath my horses leg and it spooked causing the horse to throw me off its back.

“Sis I’m sorry. I just couldn’t get a good hold on it.” My brother apologized coming over on his horse while Ryan rode past me to go grab my horse that had ran off somewhere else.

Rubbing the back of my neck I winced feeling some pain but it wasn’t as bas I have normally been through. Shifting my gaze away from my brother I saw that Rip was riding over to us. He dismounted his horse quickly dropping himself on a knee in front of me. “What the hell happened, kid. You can’t be injuring any of our guys!..are you hurt Y/n?”

“No just sore a little.” I shook my head not understanding why his deep brown eyes seemed to be filled with concern.

Rip moved closer to me touching my right leg and he pulled up the fabric of my pant. Once he saw something odd sticking out of your pant leg he knew something must be wrong. “Then what exactly is wrong with your leg here?” He questioned me where I finally noticed that he had seen my fake leg.

“I….uh….” I yanked my leg back feeling my face turn red being embarrassed over this. Carter wasn’t with me the night of the accident. I was just driving back to our place with our dead beat dad until someone rear ended me harshly.

Rip saw that I wasn’t going to answer him so he called to Ryan who had brought back my horse. “Ryan, take her back to the ranch.” Getting to my feet I climbed back on my horse and followed the ranch hand back to the ranch then he went back to work like Rip had asked him.

Laying on my bed inside my room I stared at the ceiling in silence and a pit of nervousness. Sitting upright I knew I had messed up or more so my brother had. I had done my best to keep the fact that I had a prosthetic leg a secret. In fear that if they knew I would be removed from the ranch. Someone came down the hallway and I lifted my head up seeing it was Beth. “Hi mom….uh what’s up?” I nervously asked since she had just started letting me call her that.

“I heard about your fall today from Rip. I’m happy you shook it off but we need to talk about something.” She entered the bedroom before I saw that Rip was also walking in behind her heels.

Playing with my thumbs in my lap I avoided their gazes when they came to sit down on the bed. Well Beth did leaving Rip standing directly in front of me. “So are you going to tell me about your leg or no?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it…” I gulped trailing off in my response already knowing the answer they would give me.

It was hard enough for Carter to prove that he would be a good worker. I already was a good hand but the fake leg wasn’t a good look. John Dutton had the greatest ranch in Montana and that means he should have close to the best people working for him. “You better tell us otherwise things will get ugly.” Beth warned me with her annoyed look and I froze knowingly.

"It's...it's about my prosthetic leg..." Rolling my pants leg, I made it visible to their gaze, and I didn't dare make eye contact with either of them. "I didn't want to tell you about it because I've been sp terrified of what you would say. Even though I get my work done, nobody else on this ranch has one. So I....just assumed that you would kick me off the ranch over it."

Rip put his hands on his hips, tilting my head to the side slightly. "That's totally ridiculous, Y/n. We would never do that."

"This family may be complicated, but we don't abandon our family members." Beth shifted on her spot on the bed, grasping my hand in hers.

Hanging my mouth open I couldn't believe it. "Really but I thought that-"

"That what us having some cowboys from the prison and others in debt wouldn't have given you the message that we take in the trouble so they can have a home." Rip declared, coming to sit down beside me, tucking hair behind my ear.

I parted my lips without thinking I fling my arms around his neck hugging him tightly. Rip stiffened up at the embrace but calmed down after a second and wrapped his arms around me with the same comfort. “Thank you….I didn’t think you would let me stay.” I sniffed against his chest.

“Anyone who has a problem with that will have to deal with me.” Beth responded after I hugged her and she actually hugged me back too to my surprise. I smiled at the pair knowing that Carter and I were gonna do really good here. This wasn’t just a rnhc, it was a family for everybody.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler #beth dutton #rip x beth #carter yellowstone #yellowstone series #yellowstone #yellowstone imagine #yellowstone masterlist #yellowstone season 4 #Wattpad request #ask box is open for anything #comments really appreciated #cole hauser #kelly reilly

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mochalate · 9 months ago

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[intro] new notification!

msby!atsumu x reader || w/c: 560 Atsumu discovers that the only thing worse than online dating, is dating advice online. a/n: oh look at that, another atsumu fic!! this one is less stressful for me though. its pretty short, with a cute little plot that won't cause me planning paralysis. making edits for atsumu is always so fun <3 i hope you'll read it!!

[chapter 1->]

r/relationship_advice • 3 hours ago

u/fattytuna95

I want to ask out my twin brother's girlfriend.

It's not as bad as it sounds. She's not really his girlfriend.

I'll try to explain.

We're colleagues, sort of. (Me and her— I'd rather starve to death than work for my brother.)

Last month, someone took a picture of us leaving the office. I was only walking her to her car but the person who took the picture wanted to imply that we were dating.

And that wouldn't have been an easy rumour for her to handle, so I got my brother (identical twin) to post a picture with her on his socials.

Obviously, just one picture wouldn't work to convince anyone, so they've been meeting up a couple times a week (they have similar interests, so they were friends already) to be seen together.

Now here's the issue— I never saw her like that before, and I thought it was just fucking annoying to watch people be lovey dovey, fake or not... but one of my other colleagues said it sounded like I was jealous.

And fuck, I am.

Do you think she'd be mad if I asked her out? I reacted pretty badly to the original picture. And I'm worried my brother likes her for real (those photos they're posting are kind of convincing...)

Edit: for everyone asking, no, I can't ask my brother. he'll know why, and if he really does like her I don't want to mess with it. and if he doesn't he won't let me hear the fucking end of it. i can hear the best man speech already.

↑ 25 ↓ •••

u/unicornpoodle • 2 hours ago

lol dude (I'm assuming you're a dude, unless you're a girl who unfortunately is built exactly like your brother) are you sure you like her and aren't just jealous of your brother being happy? fake or not

↑ 50 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • 2 hours ago yeah i'm sure. I cut out a picture of one of my teammates and pasted it over his ugly mug and it made me even angrier. ↑ 35 ↓ •••

u/msbygirlie_13 • 2 hours ago

Oh hey!! I recognise you from the atsumu miya subreddit!! That's so cool you have a twin just like him!! And his brother got a gf recently too!!! (I think they're fr tho lol.)

Okay hmmm this is a tough one. wdym when yuo said 'reacted badly'??? and what was so bad about the rumour in the first place if it's an option for you now???? this is kinda weird ngl.

↑ 42 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • 2 hours ago do you really they're the real deal??? I kind of laughed. And now that I look back at it, I think I might have looked way too eager to put it out there that we weren't dating. like I was disgusted or something. :( I wasn't, I just didn't want her to have any trouble. :( :( I'm sorry, I can't explain the situation any more for privacy reasons. ↑ 20 ↓ •••

u/guiltyassassin_ • 1 hour ago

well you don't have to talk to either of them... you said someone took the original photo. maybe they're still stalking?? ask them what they think?

lmfao you guys are either celebrities or highschoolers with this kinda drama

(also you keep calling your brother ugly, but then say you guys are identical? huh????)

↑ 5 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • 55 minutes ago This is kind of an insane idea, but it does make sense. Maybe I'll do it. (and you wouldn't get it.) ↑ 2 ↓ •••

first chapter tomorrow! please like/reblog/reply/send me an ask if you enjoyed it :) it keeps me going lol [my other fics->] divider: @/cafekitsune

#atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #fluff #my fic

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pparacxosm · 3 months ago

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hunger is ugly

(blue-eyed son 3 !! which, as any third and final installation of a franchise ((back to the future and spiderman withstanding !!!)), is obviously the best one; i’m only half kidding; homeless era!patrick zweig x jaded businesswoman!reader; see parts one and two; tw eggnog; tw coworkers; cw smut but nothing crazy; if you’re seeking closure don’t hold your breath; i’m sick of these two; they clearly don’t know what they want; and i refuse to take blame; tw fitted sheets; tw cocaine talk)

He once told you he couldn’t wear a suit. I couldn’t, he’d said, I’d look ridiculous in a suit. But he cleans up quite nicely, actually.

In fact, he looks good, and you’re not above admitting that. He looks better, actually. Healthier. And he looks handsome in his casual blazer and charcoal linen slacks. Oh God, are you gonna look frumpy beside him?

“I’ve always wanted to go to an office Christmas party,” he says.

You’re on the floor before him, straddling your full length mirror, and all your tumbledown, halfway gutted makeup products are strewn wildly about you.

Your bed, behind you, is a skeleton state, too. When he’d come over, he’d nearly laughed at the fact that you’ve apparently been so busy, your clean bedding is still sitting in a laundry hamper in the corner of the room, and you’ve been sleeping in the inserts on a bare mattress for who knows how long.

Patrick doesn’t pass judgment on the mess in your apartment. He still feels he owes you in some weird, kiss-the-hand-that-fed-you sort of way.

You’re not a slob. You always look put together when you leave the house. You’ve just had to focus on work. You can’t stumble at the finish line. Or… the glass ceiling. Or the penultimate rung on the corporate ladder. Whatever. If you can successfully execute this next product launch, who knows what other doors might open for you. Probably doors in buildings very similar to the one you’re already working in. But that’s nothing to sneeze at. Every morning, you see your reflection in those immaculate windows.

So anyway, it shouldn’t matter. Things just get away from you sometimes.

Patrick’s standing above you pensively reflecting how many undone buttons says Corporate Shindig Eyecandy (Please Give My Date That Promotion) as opposed to Reformed Tennis Heartthrob. His shins are sort of bracketing your hips.

“Well, it’s half an office Christmas party, and half—like—a congratulatory… thing. For Deirdre’s successful proposal,” you murmur, leaning forward, tugging your temple to flatten your eyelid and flick on your liner.

“Aw, what?” he frowns, “Deirdre? We fucking hate Deirdre.”

You laugh. You try not to delude yourself, not to let these moments exist in some flowery vacuum in the eye of your mind, not to ask him to fix your bedding for you. But it’s hard.

Whoever let Sam replace the DJ halfway through the party was either a genius anarchist or too drunk to care.

You know it’s probably the latter. You down the cognacheavy eggnog from your glass and make a disgruntled face. You don’t know what you expected. Shania Twain is belting from the speakers while Sam wiggles his headphones in a dumb, awkward dance.

He’s pretty funny, all things considered, but you’d still like nothing better than to whack him up the head with an ink cartridge.

One of the blousy interns from your department is haplessly flirting with Patrick, pretending he bumped into her and made her plash some eggnog on herself, but she’s trying to be selfaware about it.

“Oh gosh, isn’t this such a cliché: the boss’ plus one wiping a dairybased drink from the subordinate’s—… oh no, I know she’s not technically my boss, but she’s sort of my senior within the company, like on the general corporate ladder, argh, I know, I hate it!”

She could’ve said superior, you think, instead of senior.

You’re feeling too pissy to go and save him from that failed interaction. You turn your back to the crowd and look out of the glossy black windows. That chorus keeps stomping its pointed heels over your fragile nerves.

The best thing about being a woman is the prerogative to have a little fun!

Do you have a little fun? Are you a Good Time? You have to laugh. It’s just a stupid song. But you need the validation.

That’s why Patrick picks the wrong moment to come and talk to you.

“Hey, this chick is chasing me with a napkin around the room.”

You snort. “Not my problem.”

Patrick leans against the buffet, delivering a wry salute when Sam points at him from the DJ booth and winks. “That guy’s something,” Patrick chuckles, “He asked me to sign his dick.”

“Did you?”

Patrick hums like he’s ambivalent and places a large hand on the small of your back. “Would that be good for you, if I did?”

“I’m fun, right?”

You swirl the remains of eggnog in your glass. You ask the question like he’s been holding out some big secret from you.

Patrick blinks. He scoffs in disbelief, but also smirks pointedly at your glass. “You’re asking me?”

You stare at him through the briar lace of your eyelashes. Everyone who’s met him today has had their own lashes drenched in laughter. You hadn’t realised it first. You’d figured those were mutually exclusive things, downandout charm and the breathing room of comfortable success. But no. He’s charming, anyway. It’s just that he’s not haggling for scraps of generosity anymore so much as he’s lapping at the fleeting dregs of likability. And you hate that you notice that, and you hate that you notice him, that you know him, in a sense. Because what are you supposed to do about it?

“Everybody loves you. Just… be objective.”

Patrick still laughs. He rubs his stubble. He should’ve shaved this morning. He thought he was doing something for you, something nice, by coming with you to this thing and wooing everybody’s pants a little tighter, but maybe he’d missed the mark. “You know I can’t be objective.”

“Why not?” You sound petulant, leaning angrily against the buffet. You’re old enough to know what he’s saying, of course. He’s being nice. He’s telling you he thinks you’re fun, that the rest shouldn’t matter, but then he doesn’t need anything. Even when he had nothing. So he wouldn’t get it. He wouldn’t notice.

Patrick tilts his head and narrows his eyes in that way he does when he’s vivisecting you, then clears his throat. “You’re drunk.” He laughs again, a little gratuitous. Then, after a while, “I have fun with you. You’re engaging.”

“Engaging?” you echo, frowning. “Seriously? What am I, an essay?”

“No, I just— Jesus, what do you want me to say?”

You clench your jaw. Okay, you are drunk and you’re at this office party from hell and a hard rain’s a-gonna fall, so goddamn it, he will call you fun.

So you get right into his face. You’re good at that, even if you barely reach his shoulder. “Tell me I’m fun, because I am, and you think I am.”

You try to swat his hand away, but his palm stays put, a hot magnet just above your tailbone, and he doesn’t even look like he’s doing it on purpose. It’s just that he feels an emptiness in his stomach, depressing but also thrilling. Like taking a hit. Like you’re a little bag of white powder. Beyond the dark windows it starts to snow. He used to do a bit of coke, when everything around him dropped dead and started to rot, and he couldn’t stomach the smell. He doesn’t seem like the poster kid for moderation, but the coke was good, and he didn’t let it be any more than that. In fact, at times, the coke was great. The coke was fun. But he couldn’t live with the coke. You understand? He couldn’t settle down in New England and raise a cat with the coke.

“I don’t think I can win with you,” he murmurs, and, for his part, he at least sounds like he needs to change that.

It’s supposed to be a comfort fuck—and you call it fuck in your head dismissively—but it’s too raw and unknown. You’ve spent so much time in this questionable relationship with existence in his life. In and out. You thought you’d learned him, or at least learned the both of you, but his hands on you, his mouth on you—it’s frightening, finite, foreign. Somehow divorced from this man who, for all his egofueled casual mania, doles out intimacy like free samples.

This is what it feels like to watch him unravel, but it’s not just beggar’s desperation. No, he’s making room for someone else beside him in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

He keeps touching every part of you, frantically, trying to feel all of you, sinking his head between your thighs with a groan of relief, immersing himself in another body. But not just any body, because he keeps mouthing your name. As if to remind you that he is here, and you let him in. Because it matters that it’s you, that someone who knows him is letting him in. He’s humming to himself as you come against his fingers and mouth.

... hunger is ugly... souls are forgotten... I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it...

You like his full weight on you, sinking you into your undressed mattress, trapping you, suffocating you under his bottomless gloom. He has one hand on your thigh. He lifts it at an uncomfortable angle, sinking his cock deeper into you, making it ache. How does he know you like that, anyway? He doesn’t. He noticed.

You want to resent what he’s doing here, which is trying to ‘win with you’. Because he’s been on a winning streak, and you’re not about to spoil that.

And these demeaning, mechanical thoughts probably aren’t reflective of his inner monologue at the moment, but it’s easier to believe he doesn’t respect you than to contend with this whole thing.

You want to tell him, you don’t know what I like, but he starts talking about this tournament. There’s a match in Boston, for real this time. You’re having trouble paying attention.

You fall asleep with him still inside you, head on your chest, and you, crushed comfortably by his weight.

You wake up before him. He must have rolled off you in the middle of the night. He’s sleeping next to you, one hand stretched towards you, head on the pillow at a strange angle.

You turn away quickly.

You sit on the edge of the bed, breathing in and out, staring at the heap of his cocktail wear on the floor. You feel sore and stupefied. You feel cramps in your muscles. You feel weak in the best and worst way possible. You keep breathing in and out, hoping you’re keeping quiet.

But he wakes up anyway.

You can feel his gentle eyes on the slightly hunched line of your back.

“Hey.”

“Morning,” you mumble, throat dry. Why does it have to be morning? Why does it always have to be morning?

“Come back here,” he says, as if it weren’t morning.

You shake your head softly.

His silence is edifying. It goes on for too long.

“You’re not gonna stay, are you?” you ask, serious and formal, gripping the edge of the mattress. You clench your jaw, body taut.

You can hear him swallow, throat working to get the syllables out.

“I’m not, like… leaving you.”

You close your eyes.

“No, I mean—yeah,” you chuckle miserably. “You’re probably doing the right thing. The best thing for you.”

You feel the tears slide out one by one, and your shoulders shake slightly.

“Please don’t cry.” He’s using that soft and primordially tentative voice he uses with your cat. “I’m not worth it.”

You look over your shoulder at him. “Then why is it so fucking hard to watch you go?”

It’s only recently you’ve started getting angry with him. You used to get grudgingly amused, perhaps vaguely reproachful, but now his stupid face just makes you livid.

His eyes tremble pensively. “I don’t know. But that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You turn your head away, rolling and wiping your eyes at the same time. “I just don’t see how it could work.”

And there’s a door he could open for you. There’s something he could say at this juncture to reassure you, momentarily, that it could. But he can’t bring himself to lie, because he cares about you too much to take a bump of that powder.

He hangs his head and looks at the beautiful line of your back, memorising it.

Then he gets up.

“I’m gonna make coffee, then we can get that fucking fitted sheet on, alright?”

You nod absently. You don’t turn to look at him as he puts on his clothes.

He comes up to you before he leaves. He runs his finger under your chin and lifts it up. There’s a kitten scratch on his cuticle.

You could come watch the match.

But he doesn’t say that. You haven’t seen him play since New Rochelle. “I’ll fill the demon’s bowl. I think she’s starting to like me.”

You laugh, wiping more tears.

Patrick takes that hand, your hand, wet with tears, and brings it to his mouth. He kisses and licks the salt away. He keeps it there for a moment longer than he should. You gently pull away.

You only exhale when he’s gone.

Toby slinks out from behind your mirror, swishing her tail back and forth in contempt.

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, shut up,” you whisper.

#challengers #challengers fic #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig angst #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig fluff #i mean barely #if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a fic about having sex with patrick zweig during christmas season #i’d have two nickels #which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice right?#bitchy coworker deirdre #toby the cat #shania twain is team tashi #and i can’t believe this is the first time i’m tagging this but #bob dylan is team tashi

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idliketobeatree · 4 months ago

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dead boy detectives characters as art objects and sculptures; extended ---

hello, i remembered i made some subjective explanations and notes on few of my choices for this post, and i thought some folks might enjoy it. soo let's get into it.

monty finch

author: anders krisár

pretty self-explanatory; it's a moulded male torso with visible inprints on its skin.

anders krisár’ artistry explores the themes of loss, separation, and the condition of the psyche through the lens of a human body in duality: perfectionism meets unsettlement, skin meets marble and bronze and polyester, to create sculptures spanning geological time far beyond the living's capabilities.

monty's creation by esther was already stripped of any human agency. "he was made a boy, not a person", small, almost doll-sized, with a singular purpose: to seduce and entice the chosen dead boy into their doom. the naked skin and specifically the position of its arms are mildly erotic, but in a way that makes your skin crawl. the imprints are intimate, placed possesive; notice the thumbs digging close to especially sensitive areas like nipples and the belly button.

the latter seems to connect the "creator" to the subject, the navel here as a symbol of cruel, invasive motherhood. the fact that the torso is cut off in the middle and at the neck furthers the uncanny valley feeling of a young male body, but then again. this is a realistic portrayal. so was it ever a person? what does it have inside to make dents so profound? how deep you can press until it breaks?

--- i'm leaving out crystal and edwin (for now?), but @nicheoverhere brilliantly noticed that it was the same author for both. that was intentional! because glen martin taylor is all about taking kintsugi, which is a beautiful art form of repairing fine china and generally delicate things with veins of precious metals, but with materials like— nails. scissors. barbed wire. all ugly. the repair after a great shattering is seldom pretty after all, they really are similar in this regard. ---

charles rowland

author: robert hudson

okay, strap in. this funky dreamy world belongs to robert hudson, and i picked it for charles rowland because it's all first impressions. the colours? the composition? they give you the 80s vibes, almost; like something a kid would design if you asked them what a time machine would look like. it could probably move in several ways. the pieces seem mismatched, but hold themselves together surprisingly well. or maybe you underestimate it?

it's neither big nor small. you can't tell its size at all. it's a bit overwhelming to look at, at first, and at second, and after a while, but it carries that comfortable familiarity and nostalgia for— well, nothing in particular, because the longer you look, the sadder its past seems. the bold pops of contrasting colour are fighting for your attention. they want you to like it! and yet, the major material seems to be just. rusted steel. made from tools.

and look at that botched up sphere, it wants so badly to be a perfect sphere and it knows it'll never be one. fine!! perhaps it could be a football ball instead! or maybe a head. if you close your eyes, that is. and this facing-up horseshoe? a lucky charm, made to collect good luck and keep it from falling out cause god, it needs it.

---

niko sasaki

author: justin cloud

---

niko sasaki, now how do i describe her? let's start by saying— she's cleary a her. this one is a she. and there's something to be said about blooming, and femininity, and delicacy, because pink is a hopeful girly colour and a surprise and a delight.

what are you doing in a gallery, little flower, shouldn't you be at home? in a field? look how pretty you are! mind you, of course there's something wrong with her as well, but you're not sure if that is because someone messed it up, or because of a different entity alltogether. was it always half-electric? its elegance seems purposeful— the iridescent metal fits all too well with the white-pink petals— but also uncanny. and oh suddenly you can't stop looking at the stigma from which a pollen should release aaany time now.

when i look at her, at her black artificial stem and the small leaves imitating the real ones, i wonder if she doesn't want to lure me into a trap. is it her fault?

the beautiful petals seem like the only thing left real of the flower. whichever way she turns, it will probably mean— death. and flowers are ephemeral. what is a flower mounted to a wall, fortified with steel, connected with cables and enfused with electrical energy, then?

i think she's a self-preserving survivor. ---

the night nurse

author: elizabeth turk

---

now. the night nurse.

of course it's the only piece in the collection where the background needed to be dark. no one here is older than her. there is no inoffensive, fading-into-background white for this absolute pillar of truth. or maybe something like a totem, quite protective in nature. and it's terrifying, 'cause you're immediately hit with the feeling that you're looking at something out of this realm, something you're not supposed to witness. the perspective is all wrong. is it downwards or upwards? why does it seem unstable when the pieces are so perfectly centered and seemingly well-balanced? child, you should calm down, it's not like you will destroy it with a stronger puff of air. will you?

this sculpture is called "tipping point — echoes of extinction", and it's actually a mix of technology and sculpture and sound, with elegant visualizations of the lost voices of birds and sea mammals. the author said it "was conceived in reverence to the astounding lives the species which envelop humans have lived and the mysterious ways they have contributed to our well-being. the shadows of their memory, whether a shape or a sound, have inspired this project." so the piece deals with death. moreover, it deals with murder. it records the harsh reality and makes sure the ones that suffered horribly at the hands of humans are, in a way, celebrated. but also— categorised. like epitaphs. the birdsong, once a living sign, is only visually represented by the lines of varying lenghts in 3D, and you can do nothing about it anymore, right, you can't bring back the dead, you can't help the innocent dying in any way other than— stacking them on top of each other and moving on.

---

so that's for now, i might someday write more if anyone's curious. :")

119 notes · View notes

magicalbats · 3 months ago

Text

Kinktober 2024 Day 3: Al-Haitham x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 6757

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, power dynamics, petplay, collaring, predicament bondage, spanking, vaginal fingering, tail butt plug, object insertion

A/N: A few people asked for a follow up to Al-Haitham's piece from last years Kinktober and I'm personally always glad for any excuse to write about more petplay scenarios, so here we are! I hope everyone enjoys! 🫣

⭐

“So,” He intones, casually slouched to one side so he can brace his shoulder against the door jamb. With his arms crossed over his chest he looked the picture-perfect image of idle, confident arrogance standing there before you in the faint glow of a nearby street lamp. It was enough to almost make you sick. “You really decided to muster up the courage and come here after all. Consider me impressed.”

Hands balled into tight, sweaty fists in the front of your breezy skirt, you pointedly keep your eyes downcast so you won’t have to look him in the face. Damn Al-Haitham and damn you for being fool enough to go through with this stupid idea. Hadn’t he humiliated you more than enough the last time?

“Is that alright? I could always come back some other day …”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re already here, why send you away?” Straightening up, Al-Haitham shifts to the side to unblock the entrance to his home and grant you entry despite looking anything but welcoming. “Come in. And try not to look so scared.”

You can feel your cheeks quickly growing hot enough to fry an egg on but you stubbornly shove aside all the uncertainty and ill opinions you had of the scribe in favor of focusing only on your objective. Of course that was in many ways exactly what had gotten you into this mess in the first place, yet it seemed you still hadn’t quite learned your lesson. You wouldn’t have shown up at his doorstep like this otherwise.

Steeling yourself, you stiffly move forward to shuffle past him to stand just inside his foyer while he closes the door behind you. His home isn’t particularly large but it's finely furnished and surprisingly quaint in its own way. You wonder at that as you take in the decor, noticing an odd disconnect between one piece of furniture or knickknack and the next. While some of it was quite stylish other bits and bobbles leaned more towards an eclectic taste that didn’t seem to match.

And then your eyes land on the neatly lined up row of shoes just off the main entrance.

Two different sizes.

“Don’t worry. My roommate is out on business tonight.” He says, supplying an answer to the unasked question, and you bring your head up with a quick snap.

“I didn’t know you had a roommate.”

His hand is suddenly right in front of your face when you turn towards him, making you startle, but he merely slips those long fingers underneath your chin to further nudge your attention up at him. Verdant gaze studying you closely, Al-Haitham searches your expression for a drawn out beat — for what, you do not know — before deigning to speak again. “Well, I do. Have one I mean. He won’t be bothering us any time soon though, so tell me what it is you want.”

Your natural disinclination for him quickly rears its ugly head, and you narrow your eyes up at him in annoyance. “How do you know I want something?”

“Please. You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t. Now spill it.”

Clicking your tongue, you irritably pull away from him and take a step back to put some distance between you two. Hopefully that would be enough to give you a chance to think straight, even though it was clear you hadn’t been doing much of that at all recently. “Look. I know you and I don’t exactly get along even under the best of circumstances but … do you recall what you said to me back in the Grand Sage’s office?”

“My office, at least for the moment, and yes. I said a great many things to you that day. Which are you referring to specifically?”

“Gods, you’re such an ass.” You murmur, wondering why you’d even come here when you knew good and well how he was. It’s much too late to start giving this second thoughts though, so you lift your chin in defiance of his surly attitude. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Acting Grand Sage, but I believe you told me I could come to you if I ever wanted a refresher course on our last — lesson. Does that offer still stand?”

“Oh?” Looking really quite smug now, Al-Haitham allows his roguish mouth to curl into a brief smirk. “Is this supposed to be your way of asking nicely for something? Gotta’ say, your methods could still use some work but I can see we’re making progress. It’s better than the last time, at least.”

“Are you going to answer the question or not?” You demand, feeling your jittery nerves start to get the better of you.

If you’d had any other option here you would have gladly taken it before ever subjecting yourself to this particular man’s presence ever again but you just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the time you’d spent with him in his office. By the end of it you’d been all but preening at his soft spoken praise only to then be cast back out into the real world where people in polite society didn’t talk to each other like that. It was maddening in the worst possible way.

Worst of all, he still hadn’t signed off on that damn expense sheet even after saying he’d give it another look and yet that seemed to be the farthest thing from your mind anymore. The only thing you really wanted at this point was to experience the same warm buzz of satisfaction you’d felt when he spoke to you in that uncharacteristically soft, doting manner as before. Was that seriously too much to ask for?

“Just relax. We really need to work on that impatient streak of yours.” He says, evidently recognizing the frazzled look on your face for what it is. “And don’t worry, my offer still stands. I’ll play with you again. Good timing, actually. I recently bought a few things at the bazaar that I think you might like.”

“Huh?” You blurt, turning to follow him with your eyes when he brushes past you into the rest of the house. “Don't tell me you actually knew I’d come here like this?”

“That’s a bit of a stretch. All I did was calculate the odds that you would eventually decide to seek me out again, so the expense was justifiable despite being preemptive. Get undressed while I grab everything and wait for me until I get back.”

And just like that he’s gone, disappeared down the hallway into a room on the far end of the house by the sound of it.

For a long moment you just stand there, too stunned at Al-Haitham’s gall to take action. You weren’t sure who he thought he was but as usual it was already giving you a headache. Nothing ever went as you hoped it would whenever he was involved.

Rousing yourself though, you quickly get to work. Far be it that you were any more comfortable with the thought of being naked in front of him than you were the first time, but you’d known what you were signing up for when you chose to come to him like this. And you’re glad to find it’s a little easier without him standing there, looming over you like some scrutinizing gargoyle while more and more of your body is slowly revealed to him, so there was that perk. If anything you were just glad he hadn’t sent you away.

But once you find yourself standing nude in his living room some of the uncertainty starts to come back. Just what the hell were you doing here? And how were you supposed to position yourself, should you sit or stand? Did he expect you to seamlessly fall into the role of obedient dog again even if he wasn’t there to guide you through the process like before?

There was no clear cut solution to any of these problems you now faced, and you at last decide to err on the side of caution. You would prostrate yourself for him, since he seemed to get so much satisfaction out of that, but you’d wait for further instruction before doing anything else. It was undeniably silly, but you didn’t want to seem too eager.

Thus when Al-Haitham returns after another moment or two, he finds you kneeling on the ornate rug laid out across the floor with your legs neatly folded underneath you. He noises a soft sound of acknowledgement as he strides across the room and you attentively zero in on the wooden box he’s got in his hands.

“What’s that?” You chance to ask, earning a quick, vaguely amused look from him.

“I wasn’t aware dogs knew how to speak to ask such questions of their masters.”

Flushing all over again, you breathe out a soft huff through your nose but remain otherwise silent. You’re much more interested in observing him anyway, particularly when he sinks down to sit on the nearby sofa before placing that mysterious box next to him on the cushions.

Then the full brunt of his attention is back on you. “Come here.” He commands, indicating the spot next to his feet.

You catch yourself starting to prickle, your pride almost getting the better of you once again, but you quietly remind yourself that this was what you’d wanted. After being hounded by indecent thoughts for weeks now, all of them revolving around the scribe, there was no point making any qualms about it or pretending otherwise.

So you somewhat grudgingly shift forward to brace on your hands and knees before crawling over to him. You’re acutely aware of the sway of your breasts while you do so, particularly when he was watching you do it and no doubt seeing every little detail of your body in this humiliating position, both the good and the bad. The crippling note of self consciousness that shudders through you is not nearly enough to douse your anticipatory excitement though, and you hesitantly tip your face towards him as you shuffle up to the sofa, earning a nod of approval.

“Sit.”

Obediently plopping your ass down on the carpet, you make a point of straightening your back for him to push your bare tits up and out. You felt incredibly foolish for being so concerned about his opinion of your body but that lingering sense of stubborn combativeness quickly fades when he reaches out to pet over your head with an indulgent gesture.

“Good girl. I have something for you.”

Feeling fuzzy and warm, you blink up at Al-Haitham through the growing fog as he reaches for the box. That he makes a point of opening the lid towards you so that you can’t see what’s hidden inside almost manages to annoy you but you quickly stamp it down in favor of simply watching him. With a faint rustle, he lifts what you immediately recognize to be a collar from inside and silently presents it to you, just observing your reaction.

The flustered look on your face must be an interesting one though, because he chuckles a brief laugh only a moment later. “Do you know what this is?”

Reluctantly nodding, you shoot him a wary look.

“Excellent. Then I shouldn’t have to waste any time on explaining it.”

His large, dexterous hands get to work on unfastening the little eyelet so he can pull it open while you frantically try to rationalize this in your mind. Unaware of how hard your heart is pounding in your chest, he leans down to wrap the surprisingly thick band of leather around your throat so he can secure it into place at the back and you just sit there as if in a numb stupor while he does it.

You couldn’t believe this was really happening …

“As long as you’re wearing this,” He drawls, still fiddling with the catch to ensure it was sufficiently snug on your neck. “You’ll be my pet and I expect you to act accordingly. I won’t hesitate to punish you if you misbehave but … I also won’t hesitate to reward you either. We can play this game as long as you’d like, and when I take this off we’ll go back to our usual roles. No questions asked. Does that sound fair to you?”

You slowly nod your agreement, suddenly finding it incredibly difficult to even think a coherent thought. As if being collared by him had effectively pulled a hazy, disarming shroud over your head, you were struggling to formulate anything at all in your mind when the only thing you could seem to focus on was the brush of his hands against your skin, the smell of him. The domineering way he’s leaned over you from his elevated position and the close proximity that came with it. You’d understood on some innate, instinctive level that you wanted him to subjugate you to his will again but you hadn’t expected it to have such an all encompassing effect on you. It was as if your higher functioning ego was slowly slipping away, like sand through your fingertips.

And when he at last deems the collar to be adequately secured, leaning back to look at you with an unreadable expression, you positively quake under the spotlight of his attention. Al-Haitham may have been able to irritate you far beyond what any other person had ever accomplished, but when he looked at you like that … Archon’s, you would have done anything he asked of you if it only meant he’d praise you for it.

“You’re certainly being good this evening. Guess you must have really needed this.” His eyelashes drooping to attractive half mast to mirror a very small fraction of the anticipation you were currently feeling, he reaches out to casually flick at the metal ringlet attached to the front of your new collar. “It’s just as I thought. Pink really does suit you. That being said, you have no idea how long it actually took me to find one of these in this color. You should probably thank me for it.”

You shoot a quick, hungry look at his lap, the muscles in your legs already bracing to lean forward and put your mouth on him, but he stops you in your tracks with another quiet chuckle.

“Not like that, though I do appreciate your enthusiasm. As long as you continue to be good for me I think we’ll be just fine.” Straightening up from his comfortable slouch, Al-Haitham then reaches back into the box to dig for something else. The sound of metal clinking together makes your heart skip a beat and you anxiously fidget there on the floor while he pulls out a long, complicated string of chains that all seem to connect in the same spot.

Having no idea what to make of it, you blithely glance up at him in question.

“This is to help you stay in position. Think of it like a training aide.”

Evidently that’s all the explanation you’re going to get and you swallow hard, nearly choking on your nerves, when he leans down again. With a simple gesture of his hand, Al-Haitham secures the topmost latch to the front of your collar. The links are slight enough that it doesn’t add much additional weight to your neck, which you’re rather grateful for, but you can tell that they’re still sturdy enough not to break easily.

You start to understand what’s happening in a far off, dreamy sort of way when he reaches for one of your hands next. Directing it up to about chest level, he makes quick work of securing the thin cuff on one of the other trailing chains around your wrist to keep it elevated, lest you pull unnecessarily on the collar should you try to bring it back down again. He repeats the process on the other side to leave you in an approximation of the same begging position he’d made you assume last time, and you just let him do it because … you have no idea why.

By all accounts this should have been setting off every single alarm bell in your head but it just doesn’t. If anything, your fast thrumming excitement only ratchets up another notch to leave you all but vibrating there at his feet.

And when he finally settles back to take up the last chain, this one longer than all the rest, you immediately recognize what it is. A leash. One that he wraps the excess length around his knuckles before slowly tugging on it to pull you up to your knees. A shuddering moan slips out as you rock forward under the steady guidance of his gentle yet insistent pulling with your hands uselessly restrained in front of your chest. This was so incredibly dehumanizing …

“Good girl. You look lovely like this.” His mouth faintly curling again, Al-Haitham reaches out his opposite hand to casually flick his finger back and forth over one of your tightly coiled nipples. “Feeling comfortable?”

Helplessly mewling, you force your sluggish head to bob in agreement. This was too much and yet somehow not nearly enough at the same time. You felt like you were going mad.

“On the floor then. All the way.”

Tense and shirking, you slowly ease back to sit on your haunches before carefully leaning forward to brace your arms on the rug. You have to go slow or risk yanking on your collar, and the insidious nature of this set up quickly makes itself known. Not only were you effectively restrained and at his mercy like this, but the short length of the chains forces you down close to the ground to leave your backside pointed up in the air. Completely defenseless and vulnerable. He could have done anything at all to you in this position.

The thought alone is enough to make you tremble uncontrollably, and you suck in a deeply frazzled breath when you feel him lean over you again. His hand finds your ass to smooth over it before giving you an encouraging pat that only seems to rush straight to your slicking cunt, making you whine low in your throat. What was he going to do to you when the possibilities seemed limitless and each one made you feel that much more desperate than the last?

You soon get your answer when he silently withdraws his palm only to bring it back down on the meat of your backside in a stinging, hard handed swat. The suddenness of the slap shocks you more than the actual sharp burst of pain does, and you rock forward with a startled squeak. But he’s quick to do it again, targeting the other cheek this time, to make you mewl and fitfully squirm on the floor.

“Don’t move.” He warns, giving the now aching skin a mean squeeze. “I’m just going to get you warmed up first before the main event, but if you decide not to be good for me I’ll have to really punish you. Surely you don’t want that, do you?”

Half delirious, you slowly shake your head and the resulting clink of the chains rattling with the motion further highlights your position here. Even if you’d wanted to fight it there was nothing you could do with your hands secured as they were, nowhere for you to run when you were stark naked and effectively trapped in his home. All you can do is kneel there and take it, feeling your ass jolt in the air when he brings his hand down again to spank across your sit spots in rapid succession before focusing back in on the fattest part of your behind.

What was initially a briefly sharp starburst of pain quickly morphs into a constant, throbbing sting that seems to spread across your whole backside while he peppers back and forth between your cheeks over the next some odd minutes. It seems to stretch on for an eternity but, logically, you knew it must have only lasted for a short while. Just enough to warm up the skin and leave it tender in the wake of his hand. That’s what he’d said, anyway.

And you’re so far gone in the hazy stupor you’d slipped into that you couldn’t even fully grasp just how humiliating this really was. Being forced into such a position with your ass shamelessly presented for him to do whatever he liked and yet he chose to spank you. You’d probably be furious with him later on, and rightfully so, but in this particular moment the only thing you can bring yourself to care about is how turned on it was making you.

The single other instance you could recall where you’d been quite this worked up was the last time you and him had played this game, sequestered away in the relative privacy of the Grand Sage’s office. Never before and never since.

Here you had real privacy though and a much smaller chance of discovery, particularly if what he’d said about his mysterious roommate being out for the night was true. And it’s clear Al-Haitham plans to take full advantage of the freedom allotted to him by doing this in his own home, because no sooner does he finally pull his hand from your throbbing ass do you feel his fingers descend upon your cunt.

Yelping a mindless sound of startled delight, you eagerly arch your spine and rear back on his hand in humble supplication for more. He laughs a low, rumbling sound at the display even as the rough pads of his fingertips skirt down the seam of your labia to rub sedate circles over your clit. The gesture quickly makes you realize exactly how soaked you are with copious arousal when he smears it across your pussy lips in the process, making an even bigger mess of you.

Bless the gods, but you were going to cum in record time.

“I wish you could see yourself right now, trembling like that with my handprints all over your ass. If it weren’t for your usual attitude I’d even say you look like you were made for this. Do you enjoy it when I touch you here?”

You let out a needy, faltering groan and jerk your head in a quick nod, making the chains jostle again.

“Then let me hear you, darling girl. Speak.”

It’s a real struggle to think clearly when he was still intently drawing his fingers over that sensitive pleasure button but your cotton stuffed head somehow manages to parse what he was asking of you. It was the same as last time. The same ‘trick’ he’d taught you in his office. The memory of idiotically barking like a dog had kept you awake many a night since, and not for the reasons you would have liked …

You absolutely hate how much it excites you, your cheeks flushing incomprehensibly hotter even as you hang your head low and force out a weak, “Wh - woof!”

“Oh? Is this not to your liking? My apologies then. Perhaps you want it here instead?” Abandoning your clit, Al-Haitham trails his fingers further up to your entrance where he quickly sinks one of those sinuously long digits into your cunt, forcing the inner sleeve of your body to stretch open around him.

Stiffly lurching at the unexpected penetration and the jolt of friction that comes with it, you desperately ball your hands into tight fists against the rug in an attempt to ground yourself. “Woof! Woof wh - oof! Ahhn!”

“Mmm, pretty sounds for a pretty girl. And so tight too. Don’t tell me you haven’t been playing with yourself at all since our last session? Too embarrassed or … were you just waiting for me to be the one to play with this needy little pussy for you?”

You try to bark again, knowing he was likely to stop if you didn’t, but you can’t quite seem to find enough oxygen to do so. Your lungs were constricting much too tight with the short, labored gasps you rapidly suck in as the tension inside your cunt dizzyingly swells to near discomfort. You were beyond soaked, and the sticky wet clicks he pulls from your shuddering body when he adds a second finger only attests to that. The obscene schlucking sound that starts up when he begins to fuck you with them seems to echo in the space between your ears, adding to the total onslaught to your senses. All you could do was squeal helpless, dire tinged animal noises into the static charged room while he mercilessly pounds into you from behind.

“Are you going to cum for me already, sweetheart? Gonna’ squirt all over this carpet just like you did on the one in my office? Huh?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, neither slowing down nor ceasing his ministrations for even a moment, and your eyes soon begin to roll back when your impending orgasm suffocatingly bears down on you. The building pressure was too much, the deliberate jabs of his fingers far too concentrated on that receptive bundle of nerves within you. Your body simply couldn’t take it even as you continue to gush excessively around the intrusion, and then all at once the scales seem to tip.

You cum with a shuddering jerk, frantically wailing in pleasure when you feel your pussy give out to release a fresh deluge of slick. Screwing your eyes shut, you deliriously ride out the juddering waves of pleasure that sweep over you in a torrent as your squeezing cunt uncontrollably erupts around Al-Haitham’s fingers, having once again expertly coaxed you to this unseemly state. It was like being stretched too thin on such a bone deep level that by the time you finally start to come down from the reeling high another moment later you barely even know who you are anymore.

All that seems to register in your punchdrunk mind is his unmistakably masculine presence hovering over you, his hand slowly withdrawing from your cunt with a messy wet slurp that makes you sensitively twitch. The smell of him, his taste on the back of your tongue. In retrospect it was no wonder just that one fateful encounter with him had ruined you so irreparably.

How in the world had you not seen it sooner? He was the singularly most infuriating man you’d ever met, yes, but he was also the only person you’d ever known who seemed to understand you better than you understood yourself. You hadn’t even thought you were capable of squirting before this. Damn him.

Issuing a groggy groan into the rug, you slowly begin to stir from your semi comatose state. You weren’t sure when exactly you’d pressed your cheek into the floor but you force your head up as primly as you can manage given the circumstances. And still trembling with the lingering remnants of your release, you shoot a cautious look underneath you only to grimace when you spot the telltale wet stains bleeding into the carpet. Unfortunately you’re not allowed much of a chance to recover or find your bearings though, and you give a faint hiss when Al-Haitham nudges your attention up at him with a firm tug to the leash.

That he still looks frustratingly cool and collected despite everything that had just transpired bothers you a great deal but you stubbornly keep those thoughts to yourself. He was going to get an ear full from you later. The least he could have done was put a towel down instead of purposely embarrassing you like this again!

“Doing good so far?” Luckily he seems to take your nod at face value, and he reaches out to brush a bit of hair away from your face with an unexpectedly tender stroke of his hand. “Good. I’ve got something else for you, if you feel up to it.”

Rousing from your hazy delirium a bit more, you somewhat roughly clear your throat after not using your voice for so long before venturing to speak. “I know I’m supposed to be playing a role here but I have to ask. When exactly did you find the time to plan all of this? You seem suspiciously well prepared.”

“It’s not so much that I planned it, but rather I simply followed through on an idea that already existed.” He says, earning a skeptical lift of your brow, and he quietly clicks his tongue when he realizes he’s going to have to offer up a better explanation than that. “You seem to remember everything else I said the last time so I’m surprised you don’t recall this. I told you if I’d had some warning beforehand I would have purchased a few things in advance. Well, I decided that I wouldn’t be caught unawares again. If you came to me I wanted to be ready.”

“The collar.” You murmur, idly reaching up to touch it with a brief rattle of the connecting chain. “You did say that, didn’t you? What else do you have in there?”

“Want to find out?”

Shooting him a wary glance, you consider your options here. It sounded like he’d let you go if that was what you wanted after already having gotten off once, which was unexpectedly conscientious of him, but … were you really satisfied with just that? You’d thought about this almost nonstop for weeks and now that you were in front of him, collared and kneeling at his feet, you weren’t so sure you were ready to call it a night just yet.

Besides, he still hadn’t made any attempt to see to his own needs and the low simmering pulse in your cunt hadn’t been fully satiated. Perhaps if you played along a little longer he’d stretch you out and stuff you full with something hopefully a bit more substantial than his fingers. A girl could certainly hope, at least.

“Alright. I’m listening.”

“That's a good pet.” He murmurs, sticking his hand out to lightly palm over your head and you don’t stop long enough to reconsider it before nuzzling into the gesture with a soft purr. It seemed your earlier impression was correct. As long as he kept praising you, you’d do anything he wanted.

Pulling back, Al-Haitham directs his attention back around to the contents of the box again. You listen to him dig for something, wondering how many items he’d actually purchased for the sake of being prepared, but you can’t quite see what he finally pulls out from your position on the floor. Even when you try to crane your neck up for a quick look the only thing you can make out is him fiddling with something.

“This might be a bit cold at first.” He warns.

That’s all the notice you get before he leans over you, hand stretching out on a sure and steady trajectory towards your backside, and you outright squawk when you feel him smear something sticky over your asshole. He does it so casually, such idle surety in the motion, that it sends your heart shooting up into your throat.

Mewling a soft sound of confusion, you shudderingly try to twist around on the floor to see what he’s doing but he just follows you when you angle away. His ministrations don’t even falter while he continues to smear that mysterious wet goop over your puckered hole to thoroughly coat you in it, your uncertainty growing by the second when understanding starts to dawn.

Surely he wasn’t —

“Don’t tense up. You need to relax.” He murmurs, slowly rubbing over your ass with concentrated strokes now to encourage the muscle to loosen.

Oh, he most certainly was.

“W - w - wha - -“

“No words now, pretty girl. Unless it’s to tell me to stop and that you don’t want to do this anymore, I’m not interested in hearing it. You’re going to be a good pet for me, aren’t you?”

Whimpering, you screw your eyes shut and try to focus on your breathing. That was easier said than done though, of course. You weren’t used to being touched like this and the prospect of having something inserted up your ass makes you far more nervous than anything else he’s done to you this evening. But it’s clear that was what he’s working his way up to, especially when he starts to carefully prod at the center wrinkle where the tight muscle begins to slacken and give way. He only taunts you with it though, never quite fully slipping his finger inside to penetrate you, and instead he focuses on merely teasing around the interior rim.

You quickly realize he’s making sure you’re as well coated with that slippery lubricant on the inside as you are on the outside, and it becomes that much harder to keep your head on straight.

Positively squirming when he at last pulls away some time later to leave your asshole sticky and loosened, you seethe into the rug while you listen to him dig something else out of the box. You have a few guesses in mind, naturally, but nothing quite prepares you for when you crack your eyes open at his behest only to find him dangling a long, fluffy tail in front of your face.

Attached to the other end is what you can safely assume to be a plug based off the smooth, rounded tip that widens out into a bulbous base before then narrowing down to a thinner stem. The faux fur appendage dangles tauntingly from the bottom of it, and you softly groan at the full bodied shudder that tears through you. He really was going to put that thing inside your body.

“Take a deep breath for me and let it out slowly. That’s it. Again. Such a good girl you’re being. I want you to focus on relaxing into it and bear down when I tell you to, alright?”

At your faltering nod of understanding, in far too deep to back out now, Al-Haitham scoots to the very edge of the sofa and leans over you again. Using one hand to spread your sore cheeks open, he brings the plug close with the opposite to gently touch you with it. You jolt at the contact like he’d electrocuted you but quickly still again with an anxious little sob. Helpless to do anything else, you just kneel there at his feet and accept what’s happening while he lazily draws the toy through the excess lubricant he’d smeared all over you.

When he finally starts to push in on the slackened pucker after another drawn out moment you go stockstill at the unfamiliar pressure, gasping roughly into the carpet. He softly tuts at you, encouraging you to calm down with soft words of praise, but it’s hard. Almost impossible when this was completely foreign to you and the slow stretch of yet untested muscle seems so debilitatingly sharp even in your punchdrunk state that you don’t know what to make of it.

It doesn’t hurt though, you’re quite relieved to find. Just uncomfortable and more than a little strange, particularly when you could feel your asshole slowly losing the fight. There was too much lube for you to reject it and keep him out, the plug sufficiently smooth to make the penetration more of an easy glide than you’d expected it to be. In tortuous slow motion, he makes you take one millimeter at a time until your hole is stretched wide around the thickest part before gradually pulling back to repeat the process.

Again and again, he makes your body open up to him before at last issuing the command for you to push. You almost don’t do it, unsure if you even could when the once tight ring of muscle felt so horribly strained, but with a low groan you comply. At the same time you bear down on the intrusion he gives it a quick push, and all at once the whole thing slips inside you straight down to the base. You rock forward with a haggard gasp, mindlessly jutting your ass up in the air as you weakly squeeze around the narrow stem only to realize that it was already too late.

The toy was firmly wedged inside you now and taking up space that only seems to highlight how very empty your pussy is. He pulls back to admire his handiwork, letting the long tail settle against your soaked cunt with a faint brush of the fur. Trembling almost violently, you dig your toes into the rug and nudge your pelvis up as if you were little more than a bitch begging to be mounted.

You really didn’t want to think about how apt that comparison actually was right now.

“Just look at you, darling girl. I can tell how much you’re enjoying this from here,” He says, breaking through the delirium just enough for you to pick up on the vague note of satisfied awe creeping into his voice. Like he couldn’t believe you’d really allowed this to go so far, or maybe he was just finally starting to notice the effect this was having on his own body. It was hard to say with him.

Groaning fitfully, you press your hot face into the ornate rug and give your ass a brief, supplicating shake. The tail shifts with the motion where it dangles down between your legs, brushing your pussy just so, but it’s not nearly enough to feel good. If anything it just makes you more desperate for his attention, his hand, his cock. Whatever he wanted to give you would have sufficed.

But of course Al-Haitham doesn’t relent and give you what you want. He never does, not directly anyway, and you seethe through your teeth when you feel him stand up from the sofa to loom over you.

“Sit for me.”

Blinking through the disorienting fog, you gingerly comply. Push up onto your forearms and get your knees adjusted under you before slowly sitting upright even when you dizzily sway with the motion. The change in position seems to make the plug feel even bigger where it’s keeping your ass stretched open around its width, and you faintly groan at the sensation.

Al-Haitham is as unreasonable and demanding as ever though, and he barely allows you enough time to get situated in front of him before issuing his next command. “Good. Now beg.”

The mere thought of assuming that position again makes you wince, your body already a mess of aches and pains, and throbbing arousal, but you comply with this too. It takes a bit of effort on your part to get your legs to cooperate but you eventually manage, somehow.

And once you’re squatted before him, precariously balancing on your toes with your hands securely fastened up by your chest, you look to him for his next order. You no longer have any wherewithal left to feel at all embarrassed or ashamed of having your cunt on display like this, nor do you have it in you to second guess any of it. All you knew with certainty was that you were drowning in it, this hazy feeling of absolution that seemed to rend you to pieces and mend you back together again in the same breath. Perhaps it was a bit fatalistic, yes, but you’d never felt quite so sexually satisfied in all your life.

Especially when he smiles, pinning you with one of those exceedingly rare, genuine little tugs of his mouth to indicate that he was pleased with you. It’s fleeting and short lived but you don’t miss it by a long shot as he proceeds to gently pull on your leash to make sure he’s got your attention.

“Wag for me, pretty girl? Think you can do that?”

You don’t stop to rethink this either. You just do it, struggling to shake your ass in this awkward balancing act to feel the tail swishing back and forth on the floor underneath you. It’s humiliating and dehumanizing in equal measure, but you would have gladly done that and so much more just to earn another doting pet of his hand, another soft word from his mouth.

Al-Haitham had awakened something inside you that day in his office, and now you were his responsibility. For better or worse, he was your master and you his obedient, loyal pet.

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #al haitham #al haitham x reader #self insert bullshit

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