#if you need a administrator call me

[gabilunaar]

I really like how this guy point out the way Kabru is written like a main character but shows that, no, you can't talk your way out of things around here my guy.

People tend to treat Laios as 'less' but he could make it to the 4th level alone! And kept going! Both of them contrast each other so nicely.

[mistress-light]

In how much should I take a job offer seriously when the guy asks me if I am good with a computer and speak normal Dutch?

[dreamteamemojis]

.

[gender-euphowrya]

my ideal job is i would be a guy sitting in some teeny tiny empty shop behind a desk playing balatro or some shit and every once in a while an old person would come up and hold their phone up to me and ask HOW DO I READ EMAIL and i would open the emails app for them and get paid 1000 dollers

[callixton]

i do get sort of scared for my future sometimes not bc i don’t know what i want to do but bc i literally cannot imagine feeling fulfilled or okay doing anything except for theater and yet it is so nebulous and hard to make a living off of so it’s really more of like. what if i fail and no matter what else i do it’s not enough

[shinraelectricpowercom]

so there's a new campaign going round hoping to Make Fandom Less Racist by... pushing for moderation on ao3. no way this could Possibly go wrong :)

[thoughtportal]

Opinion Here’s how to get free Paxlovid as many times as you need it

When the public health emergency around covid-19 ended, vaccines and treatments became commercial products, meaning companies could charge for them as they do other pharmaceuticals. Paxlovid, the highly effective antiviral pill that can prevent covid from becoming severe, now has a list price of nearly $1,400 for a five-day treatment course.

Thanks to an innovative agreement between the Biden administration and the drug’s manufacturer, Pfizer, Americans can still access the medication free or at very low cost through a program called Paxcess. The problem is that too few people — including pharmacists — are aware of it.

I learned of Paxcess only after readers wrote that pharmacies were charging them hundreds of dollars — or even the full list price — to fill their Paxlovid prescription. This shouldn’t be happening. A representative from Pfizer, which runs the program, explained to me that patients on Medicare and Medicaid or who are uninsured should get free Paxlovid. They need to sign up by going to paxlovid.iassist.com or by calling 877-219-7225. “We wanted to make enrollment as easy and as quick as possible,” the representative said.

Indeed, the process is straightforward. I clicked through the web form myself, and there are only three sets of information required. Patients first enter their name, date of birth and address. They then input their prescriber’s name and address and select their insurance type.

All this should take less than five minutes and can be done at home or at the pharmacy. A physician or pharmacist can fill it out on behalf of the patient, too. Importantly, this form does not ask for medical history, proof of a positive coronavirus test, income verification, citizenship status or other potentially sensitive and time-consuming information.

But there is one key requirement people need to be aware of: Patients must have a prescription for Paxlovid to start the enrollment process. It is not possible to pre-enroll. (Though, in a sense, people on Medicare or Medicaid are already pre-enrolled.)

Once the questionnaire is complete, the website generates a voucher within seconds. People can print it or email it themselves, and then they can exchange it for a free course of Paxlovid at most pharmacies.

Pfizer’s representative tells me that more than 57,000 pharmacies are contracted to participate in this program, including major chain drugstores such as CVS and Walgreens and large retail chains such as Walmart, Kroger and Costco. For those unable to go in person, a mail-order option is available, too.

The program works a little differently for patients with commercial insurance. Some insurance plans already cover Paxlovid without a co-pay. Anyone who is told there will be a charge should sign up for Paxcess, which would further bring down their co-pay and might even cover the entire cost.

Several readers have attested that Paxcess’s process was fast and seamless. I was also glad to learn that there is basically no limit to the number of times someone could use it. A person who contracts the coronavirus three times in a year could access Paxlovid free or at low cost each time.

Unfortunately, readers informed me of one major glitch: Though the Paxcess voucher is honored when presented, some pharmacies are not offering the program proactively. As a result, many patients are still being charged high co-pays even if they could have gotten the medication at no cost.

This is incredibly frustrating. However, after interviewing multiple people involved in the process, including representatives of major pharmacy chains and Biden administration officials, I believe everyone is sincere in trying to make things right. As we saw in the early days of the coronavirus vaccine rollout, it’s hard to get a new program off the ground. Policies that look good on paper run into multiple barriers during implementation.

Those involved are actively identifying and addressing these problems. For instance, a Walgreens representative explained to me that in addition to educating pharmacists and pharmacy techs about the program, the company learned it also had to make system changes to account for a different workflow. Normally, when pharmacists process a prescription, they inform patients of the co-pay and dispense the medication. But with Paxlovid, the system needs to stop them if there is a co-pay, so they can prompt patients to sign up for Paxcess.

Here is where patients and consumers must take a proactive role. That might not feel fair; after all, if someone is ill, people expect that the system will work to help them. But that’s not our reality. While pharmacies work to fix their system glitches, patients need to be their own best advocates. That means signing up for Paxcess as soon as they receive a Paxlovid prescription and helping spread the word so that others can get the antiviral at little or no cost, too.

{source}

[poseiben]

me, clenching my fist: i need to get my phd i need it more than breathing i will do it regardless of the PAPERWORK i need to finish

[deadpresidents]

"What emerged in two interviews with Trump, and conversations with more than a dozen of his closest advisers and confidants, were the outlines of an imperial presidency that would reshape America and its role in the world. To carry out a deportation operation designed to remove more than 11 millions people from the country, Trump told me, he would be willing to build migrant detention camps and deploy the U.S. military, both at the border and inland. He would let red states monitor women's pregnancies and prosecute those who violate abortion bans. He would, at his personal discretion, withhold funds appropriated by Congress, according to top advisers. He would be willing to fire a U.S. Attorney who doesn't carry out his order to prosecute someone, breaking with a tradition of independent law enforcement that dates from America's founding. He is weighing pardons for every one of his supporters accused of attacking the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, more than 800 of whom have pleaded guilty or been convicted by a jury. He might not come to the aid of an attacked ally in Europe or Asia if he felt that country wasn't paying enough for its own defense. He would gut the U.S. civil service, deploy the National Guard to American cities as he sees fit, close the White House pandemic-preparedness office, and staff his Administration with acolytes who back his false assertion that the 2020 election was stolen."

-- "How Far Would He Go", TIME Magazine's interviews with Donald Trump, April 30, 2024.

I know we're saturated in coverage of Trump and it's easy (and probably better for our mental health) to usually ignore most of the articles when we see them, especially since he's so full of shit and infuriating. But it's also important to recognize that he is going to be the Republican nominee for President and he could absolutely be elected in November, and if you thought his first term was scary and dangerous, you need to understand that in a second term he's going to have people around him that are better prepared and VERY willing to do the crazy shit that he wants to do to this country. They aren't even hiding the fact that they are seeking vengeance against political opponents whom they feel have wronged them, and are ready to fundamentally dismantle the democratic foundations that are barely holding this country together after nearly 250 years.

Just look at what Trump says about the people who he incited to attack the United States Capitol in an attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 election and halt the peaceful transfer of power that has happened every four years since 1789:

"Trump has sought to recast an insurrectionist riot as an act of patriotism. 'I call them the J-6 patriots,' he say. When I ask whether he would consider pardoning every one of them, he says, 'Yes, absolutely.' As Trump faces dozens of felony charges, including for election interference, conspiracy to defraud the United States, willful retention of national-security secrets, and falsifying business records to conceal hush-money payments, he has tried to turn legal peril into a badge of honor."

Oh, and please note that Trump -- a former President of the United States and possible future President of the United States -- said on the record in these interviews with TIME: "There is a definite antiwhite feeling in the country and that can't be allowed either." We are at a point where political leaders are outright saying that in this country again, and it's because of Donald Trump.

So, take the time to recognize that Trump is straight-up telling us the country we're going to be living in if he wins again in November. And understand that your vote matters -- and WHO you vote for matters -- because, as I've been saying for years now, ELECTIONS HAVE FUCKING CONSEQUENCES.

[makoodles]

ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups. 

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you. 

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now. 

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly. 

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

 Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway. 

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it. 

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head. 

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock. 

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you. 

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly. 

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling. 

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying. 

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving. 

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented. 

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria. 

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve. 

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife. 

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off. 

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you. 

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again. 

Well. Okay, then. 

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk. 

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go. 

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things. 

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words. 

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

 The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice. 

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused. 

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee. 

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure. 

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch. 

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing. 

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged. 

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs. 

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return. 

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming. 

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else. 

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain��”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily – 

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face. 

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him. 

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs. 

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. 

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious. 

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering. 

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy. 

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static. 

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent. 

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry  kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside. 

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is. 

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you. 

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him. 

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in. 

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much. 

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today. 

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach. 

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest. 

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him. 

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies. 

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

[talisidekick]

In the case you missed it. In United States Politics, the Biden Administration (current government) has updated Title IX to reword the regulations to include the line "sexual orientation, gender identity, and sex characteristics." in the "Protections against sex-based harassment and discrimination." section.

Meaning, the same protections afforded to cisgender children in schools against discrimination are now to be afforded to transgender and intersex children.

Full document here:

These protections were previously added by the Obama administration, then revoked by the Trump Administration.

So why is this different?

How it was done. The previous protections afforded to transgender students a part of the federally funded public school programs were done by a guidance document release by the federal government. These guidance documents can be revoked, or edited by subsequent administrations. The Biden Administration has updated the regulations on how the law can be enforced meaning it will be much harder to repeal those restrictions by subsequent administrations. Not impossible, just much harder. This is to take effect August 1st, 2024. Right at the start of the new school year.

So way to go USA. After years of attacking trans and intersex kids on every possible angle, this is a step in the right direction.

Edit: I made an error in my interpretation ...

.. and was spreading a bit of unintentional misinformation. This isn't a law change, it's a change in the regulations of how Title IX can be enforced. The changes are stronger than a guidance document but not as strong as a law change that would need to pass through congress to be officially changed. Please excuse my mishap, I was corrected in someones reblog. Please reblog this version.

And here's the link to the post calling me out who shared deeper context info!

I've update the original wording to be more factually correct. Again, I'm sorry. My bad. I'll do better next time (and maybe not write political info pieces when I'm feeling ill).

[awrkive]

WARM NIGHTS & CLEAR LINES — JJK (m.)

there haven't been a lot of people who have come into your life that became important to you – and you didn’t expect jeon jungkook to be one if it – not at all. but what started as a casual relationship turned into more than that, and now you find yourself deeply in love with him – and happily so.

or; your first "i love you" comes out completely wrong.

PAIRING cnbl!jungkook x cnbl!female reader

GENRE r18+ (SMUT, fluff) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

WORD COUNT 11k of pure fluffy and smutty nonsense 😍 literally 90% of this is smut

WARNINGS/MISC fluff galore, cnbl jk is the father of all simps all men need to be like him fr, angst if u squint but like not really 😭, oc's tendencies to be avoidant of her feelings show up lol i still love u saur, best boy cnbl jk ):, he will disintegrate if he cant call her by a petname [ explicit sexual content: unprotected s*x (its just a fanfic its not that serious), panty sniffing (like very quick), dirty talking lol, c*nnilingus, they hold hands during it <3, VERY SLIGHT foot action but like its very fleeting lol u dont need to worry about it lmfao, multiple s*x positions, cowgirl position cos her eyes are pretty trope, good ole cre*mpies ], L b*mb drop and an ily kink develops. literally every paragraph theres an ily crying. anyways i think thats all feel free to inform me if i left out any

NOTES i have like 11 asks on my inbox asking about how cnbl couple is and what their label is are they official now etc etc and they've sitting there since bush administration </3 after two years of drought we are finally so back. i purposefully didnt answer any of th asks since i want to make a drabble for when they finally make things official so this is it awrkive nation🩷 this can be read as a standalone?? but like pls read cnbl first lol (also i thought i ate this title when i thought about it but now i realize it kinda sounds ass but its 2am so give me some slack. also this is unedited skjfdjkfhdk AND this will also be my last post before i go mia for the next few weeks due to big life happenings. leave ur thoughts in my inbox or reply section to get a cnbl jk to go🫂

ORIGINAL STORY [CNBL] | MAIN MASTERLIST

Jungkook loves when he gives it to you slow. Loves the heavy breathes that puff out of your mouth, the drawl out moans that give your mouth that lovely, erotic O-shape which image burns in his head for the next few days (two days, at the very least), and the way he can feel the exact moment when you clench and unclench around the ridges of his hard cock. 

But he also loves it when he jackhammers into your pussy, pounding in and out of it at a quick pace that your eyes roll to the back of your head, your fingers digging into his skin (or scalp), the staccato rhythm of your “oh”s and “ah”s that sound like real music to his ears, and the way your mouth hangs open as you utter sweet gibberish into the air because the pleasure he’s giving you feels too much. 

“Give it to me, give it to me,” you whisper against his mouth. On your back, you’re sprawled across his bed, your thighs resting on the crook of Jungkook’s elbows as he pounds  into you like he’s trying to win a contest.

There’s dried up tears on the side of your eyes, your lips swollen from the way you’ve been kissing for minutes, and Jungkook finds it hard to focus on one thing when you have your pussy gripping around him like a fucking vice, your breasts bouncing at his every quick thrust, and your pretty face looking at him like you just want nothing but cock. 

“Y-yeah, fuck—” Jungkook grunts, repeating the same motion of fucking into you at a pace so fast he can hear his bedframe hitting the wall when he thrusts back. He grips your thighs tight, veins popping out of his arms. “You like this, baby? Love when I fuck you quick and fast?” 

You nod your head, bottom lip caught in your teeth, looking up at him with those hooded eyes that Jungkook is near to losing his goddamn mind. God, you’re so fucking pretty it genuinely hurts him. Most especially his dick.

“Am I fucking you stupid, angel?” He slides out, and then enters you abruptly, making you cry out in pleasure. “I'm taking care of you so good you can't think straight, huh? Hm?’

“Y-yes!” You squeak out, grabbing to try and hold onto his biceps. Jungkook leans forward so you can find leverage on his body, his dick hitting deeper into your core at the movement. At the mewl that you let out, he stretches your legs higher until you almost feel like you’re being folded in half, with Jungkook jackhammering his dick into your tight pussy. 

"S-so good…" you whimpered, almost out of breath. 

Jungkook groans at the pretty sound. “Ngh– I feel fucking good, too, baby. You're so fucking pretty. Squeeze those tits for me.”

You oblige, grabbing your boobs and squishing them together. Jungkook revels at the sight, wanting nothing but to burn every second in memory. Sometimes, he wishes he can have some sort of copy of you two doing this… just a little something for your own private enjoyment. He hasn’t brought it up to you, mostly because he thinks you won’t necessarily be into the idea as much as he is. Will probably say no, or be partial to it at best.

Next time. He tells himself. 

“Fuck, fuck – fuck!” Jungkook grunts, sliding in and out of you, picking up his pace more, beginning to sound delirious at the sensation of your walls fluttering around his cock. It’s impossible the way you just grow tighter every second, clenching around him like you don’t have any intentions of letting go. 

“J-Jungkook—!” You cry out, arms reaching out for him, and when Jungkook sees the small stream of tears falling out from your eyes again, he can’t help but fuck you senseless. “Oh my god– ah– fuck, i-it feels so good, don’t stop, don’t stop.” 

He continues his movements, pounding into your pussy, tightening his hold on your hips. Your nails dig into his forearms, and your chest subtly moves up and down at every action that he makes. When you close your eyes, that’s when Jungkook knows that your climax is near, and so he stays consistent in his pace, just fucking into you deep and fast – just like how you like it now.

“Ah– there, Jungkook— oh god–!” You yelp, choking in your words, your pussy spasming around Jungkook’s cock until he feels that burst of hot white around his shaft. You reflexively let out a loud moan, but what you say next completely catches him off-guard. 

“It feels so good– I love you.” 

Jungkook staggers, dick slipping out of you momentarily at your sudden confession. But as he lets his gaze fall to your face, you have your eyes closed, lost in the moment, like how you usually are when you just orgasmed – and Jungkook knows he can’t talk to you at that state, nor can he ask to confirm what you just said.

So he looks down at where your bodies meet, shakily breathes when he sees the base of his cock getting covered in your cum, your juices dripping all over his dark sheets making a wet spot underneath you.

“F-fuck,” He hisses, quickening his pace to let himself go. 

He thinks about the sound of your “I love you”, how it falls prettily on your lips, and how good it would be to hear that one more fucking time.

Letting out a guttural groan, the thought completely tips him over the edge, and he grips his cock to shoot his cum into your swollen hole, painting your walls white just as you painted his shaft the same color with your own orgasm. 

Unexpectedly, he feels you gush the second time.

It’s cold and it’s hot at the same time – the sensation. It’s top three one of the best feelings a man could ever experience, and Jungkook is greedy – always greedy when it comes to you – that he pushes his cock back in to put it all in you, not wanting any to be wasted on the mattress. And just because he wants to hear that pretty moan from you again when he enters your cunt.

You do, making the hair on his body tingle. 

He drops down beside your body – more like on top of you, but a little off to the side – making sure to not put all his weight on you lest he hurts you. As usual, you receive him wholeheartedly with open arms, humming when he begins to suckle on your still rock-hard nipples, his hand shooting up to fondle the other one. Instantly, your hand caresses his hair.

“Kook.”

“Hm?” He hums against your breast. 

“I’m sore. Get your dick off me.” 

Jungkook frowns, but nonetheless acquiesces and slides out of you. He hisses when he feels your cum leaking out, about to insert a finger in you to stop it, but you take his temporary separation from you to stand up from the bed, leaving him on it alone. 

“Baby,” Jungkook calls – whines – really, looking at you with furrowed brows. 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not cockwarming you tonight. I’m going to the shower–” When you see him moving to get up from the bed as well, you shoot him a glare. “No. No funny business. I’ll just go clean up and you can too and then we’ll sleep.”

“I can clean you up.” Jungkook looks at you, wide-eyed. You look at him dryly. He sighs and then lets himself fall back to the bed, naked and all that, his dick still semi-hard against his stomach. “Okay, fine.” 

“Good.” 

He stares at your ass as you go to the bathroom, enjoying the view of your naked back before you disappear inside the room. 

Jungkook closes his eyes as he crosses his arms on the back of his head, thinking that maybe it’s good you didn’t let him in the shower with you because… how does he bring up the fact that you just said… it?

“I love you.” 

Did you… mean that? Like… you love him? Like, actually, love love him? 

It’s been eight months since your whole set up started. Four months of solely fucking and another four months of more fucking but you’ve actually both established that you like each other.

Of course, Jungkook feels more than that. He has for a long time now. He’s liked you since the first time you had sex and he started having deeper feelings for you every other day since then.

Needless to say, Jungkoon loves you.

Has for a long time now. 

But he didn’t say anything because he was scared that you would be scared. He felt like the luckiest guy on earth when you told him you liked him – and he felt pretty much untouchable when you two started exclusively dating each other four months ago. You’re definitely his girlfriend now and him your boyfriend – and sure, you haven’t had The Talk yet, but… now that you said you love him… that pretty much changes the course of everything…

Right? 

However, he finds himself pondering on it. 

Did you really mean that? Jungkook doesn’t think you’re the kind of person who just spout words as heavy as that confession, so you couldn’t have been insincere when you let that out. 

But… you were in the middle of sex, though. Did you just say it because you were in that position? Maybe you figured him out long ago now, have already known that he loves you, so you just said it to get him off? 

That’s probably not the case, he physically shakes his head. He knows that you know you don’t need to do anything else other than be underneath him or on top of him so he can release. Hell, your mere voice is even enough to tip him off the edge; there are countless incidents where he feels a certain kind of desperation for you, in the morning or in the middle of the night when you’re away and not in his arms, and he presses your name on his contact last, then what’s supposed to be an innocent call turns into something very much far from wholesome when he feels his dick twitch at the very sound of your voice and embarrassingly cums in his pants when you goad him about it. 

You know your tight hold on him. You don’t need to say I love you to get him off. 

But damn, did that really get him going more than usual.

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses, his head throbbing at the thoughts going haywire inside his head. His dick has calmed down now, soft in between his legs, and he’s starting to feel sticky, especially with the ruined sheets on his back. 

Standing up, he picks them up to put them in the hamper, grabbing a towel real quick to wrap around his lower half. 

When he finishes changing the bedsheets into fresh and clean ones, that’s when you step out of the shower. 

“I turned on the hot water for you.” You say, tightening your baby blue robe which is a pair of Jungkook’s own robe that he bought for you two two months ago.

Jungkook walks over to your direction and takes you by the waist to plant a quick kiss on your lips. 

“Thank you, angel,” he says. You give him a smile and he can’t help but give you a peck once again. “I made the bed.” 

“Thanks.” 

Jungkook stands there and he doesn’t notice that he’s staring until you point it out with an arched brow. 

“What?” 

With a surprised look, Jungkook takes himself out of his trance. “Oh, uh, nothing.” He gives you a hesitant smile. He’s actually thinking of asking you about the thing you said earlier. But right now, as he looks at you again, he finds himself a bit reluctant. “I’ll shower now.” 

You look at him weird and Jungkook chuckles as he leans down to kiss you again. 

When you break the contact, going over to his closet where a huge portion of your own clothes have already made its own way to, Jungkook thinks that maybe he’ll bring it up when he finishes showering. 

But as he steps back out of the shower ten minutes later, you’re already sprawled across the bed with your nightie on.

And as Jungkook steps closer to you, you’re fast asleep, soft snores coming out of your mouth, pretty and peaceful in your slumber. 

Jungkook smiles at the sight. 

Tomorrow. He’ll bring it up tomorrow instead. 

In the morning when Jungkook woke up, he didn't find you in his arms like he expected to. And when he looked through the notifications on his phone, your text told him that you already went for your 10 am class. Jungkook’s first one is at 2:30 in the afternoon. 

He intended to take you out for lunch in the afternoon, but when he called you, you said you had a meeting with your club and you’d only be free in the evening onwards. 

At 9:30pm, when all of Jungkook’s classes have ended, he sent you a text again, hoping you’d be free by the time. 

One whole day of not seeing your face and he was starting to feel a little on edge. 

[9:31pm] Jungkook: hi baby classes ended [9:31pm] Jungkook: hru i havent seen u at all today

Jungkook couldn’t help but send another one.

[9:32pm] Jungkook: i missed u. can i come over?

At that point, he was already over at the uni’s parking lot, going to the direction of his car and unlocking it when he got near. When he buckled himself into the driver’s seat, he hoped to see a reply from you. 

But nothing came.

When he arrived home at the end of the day, he took a quick half-bath and ate some leftovers in the fridge. 

As of now, as he settles himself onto his bed, he scrolls through your text thread, the Delivered button on his last text taunting him the longer he looks at it.

With furrowed brows, he begins to type up another message but then soon, the Delivered stamp changes to Read, and the three dancing dots on your end play on his screen, which somehow lightens his mood.

[10:45pm] princess🥰💓: Hello, Kook! So sorry for the late reply. I got caught up with classes and the long meeting with the club today [10:46pm] princess🥰💓: We apparently have to push the fall edition of the print a week earlier and I also have to revise some stuff in my thesis so I’m a bit tight on sched

Jungkook nods to himself upon reading the text message, feeling bad for you.

[10:47pm] Jungkook: ohh ic ic [10:47pm] Jungkook: do u want me to bring u food? 

[10:48pm] princess🥰💓: Like, youre coming over? 

[10:48pm] Jungkook: yeahh [10:48pm] Jungkook: if u want 

Jungkook waits as the bubbles appear and disappear on your end, until he receives your final reply.

[10:50pm] princess🥰💓: Hmm I appreciate it but Im over at Hana’s right now. Club stuff. And then I’ll go home later to work on my paper

Pouting, Jungkook sighs as he reads your message. He really wants to see you today… he misses your pretty face and your voice and your touch.

But he doesn’t really want to push. You’re very anal about your personal space, especially when it relates to your academics. 

Letting out another heavy sigh again, he tells you to give him a call when you’re at your place. 

He doesn't receive any.

“Hey,”

“What the—” You see the librarian from across the room immediately eyeing you with a deadly stare. Mouthing a shameful “sorry”, you clutch your chest, turning to the embodied voice again properly this time. Only to get taken aback. “Oh hey… hi.”

Jungkook stands in front of you and he looks so… handsome – nothing new or groundbreaking, per se. He always looks like that. With only a simple combo of grey hoodie and black cargo pants, his backpack slung over one shoulder, he can probably outmodel professionals on the runway. Though, the way he looks so comfy is making you want nothing but to snuggle him. 

“Busy day?” He asks, pertaining to the laptop and stack of books on your table. Placing his bag on the floor underneath the table, he takes the seat beside you. 

“Yeah… I'm writing an essay right now.” You offer him a small smile. It feels like you haven't seen each other for weeks, but the truth is, it's just been over two days since you were at his place.

“I see. Do you mind me here?”

“Nope. You can do whatever you want.”

"Can I kiss you then?" He asks and that makes you pause. 

Looking around, you take note that there aren’t a lot of people in the library anymore as it’s already late. There’s the librarian a few feet away from you, but he’s currently busy doing something on his computer. With a quiet chuckle, you face Jungkook and say, “Do you need to ask?” 

Jungkook shrugs, already leaning towards you. “I just feel like it.”

“It's fine, Kook.” you turn your head to him, and he does not waste any second, closing the gap between you both and capturing your lips in his for a soft kiss.

You sigh in his mouth. You miss him so much and he smells so good it calms your insides. You've been stressing over the essay you’re writing, but all that seems to die down as a result from the exchange with Jungkook.

God, you really need to talk to him. 

“Missed you.” He says once your faces are apart. He pecks your lips one more time for good measure and gives you that adorable bunny smile of his.

“We saw each other, like, two days ago.” You chuckle, making sure to muffle the sound.

Scooting his chair closer to you, Jungkook whines in your ear, “Too long.” When you look at his face, there's a small hint of pout on his lips. 

“Well, we're here now.”

“Really?” Jungkook raises his brow. “Then let's get out of here. You can write your essay at my place and I'll cook you dinner and then we can binge watch the third season of Twin Peaks.” 

“You haven't even started on the first season, why are you watching the third.” You say with an incredulous tone. 

“Doesn't matter.”

It does matter. 

Jungkook has driven you both to his place. When he turned on his TV, you told him you can just start Twin Peaks all over again so he can understand what he's watching, but he insisted that he was gonna know the context eventually – fast forward, he did not. So here he currently is, asking you who everybody is and what’s the context of what they’re saying, and as much as you love his company, people posing questions after questions while watching something will never not be a pet peeve of yours. 

“Baby,” you start. Jungkook looks at you with doe eyes. You cup his face and stare at him seriously. “You're annoying me.”

He lets out a gasp. 

A literal, audible gasp. 

“That hurt. Please tell me you're joking.” Jungkook says that, but you can see the playful glint in his eyes as you squint yours at him.

He made you bulgogi and you both devoured the last of it five minutes ago – and you're thankful for his kindness and generosity but god—

You push on his chest lightly. “Then stop asking. I told you we can just watch the first season but then you want to jump into the last one, of course you're gonna be confused.”

“Yeah but you already watched all of it. I didn't want you to get bored.” Jungkook pouts. You stare at him for a while and you kind of hate that he’s so handsome and so cute at the same time it makes it hard for you to completely be annoyed with him.

There's a fond look on your face when you roll your eyes again. Scooting closer to him on the couch, you plant a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“You're really sweet, Kook, but why don't we just watch a movie or something.”

He leans down to kiss your mouth. “Alright. You pick the movie and I'll go grab some chips from the pantry.”

You smile at him before he disappears to fetch some food, leaving you to browse through the catalog. When he returns shortly, you muse, “You're really nice and sweet to me today. What's up?”

Jungkook scoffs, as if offended by what you said. “Am I not nice and sweet every other day?”

“That's not what I meant. You're just extra sweet and extra nice tonight— I mean, you usually put up a fight on who picks the movies.”

“I let you win every time though?” He says and you nod in thought. 

“True.” Looking back to the television, you hover over the Notting Hill poster. Thinking that the description sounds interesting, you click on it. As the movie loads, you turn your gaze to Jungkook and nudge his leg. “But still…”

He can’t help but chuckle at your persistence. Gathering your feet on his lap, he leans back and retorts, “I just missed you so much. Is that bad?”

You don't anticipate the way he lifts one of your legs, holding your ankle up and then putting a kiss on it. 

It makes blood rush to your cheeks. With his mussed hair and the grey hoodie and cargo pants from earlier changed into a simple white shirt and grey sweatpants, he looks comfy you just want to jump him and bite him and kiss him all at the same time. 

Damn. He really makes you feel a whole lot of things you're starting to think you need an intervention.

You’ve never been so attracted to somebody before. It may be because you know you’re past the point of being just attracted to him.

And then there’s that beat in your heart again. The flip-flopping and the weird feeling in your stomach.

You look away from his intense gaze. “No.”

You hear him let out a low chuckle, a sound so attractive you feel the hair on every part of your body standing up. 

“Come here.” he puts your legs away from his lap, much to your little disappointment. But he beckons you to come close to him, and so you do, leaving your lying position from the couch to go over to where he is. You don't know whether you're gonna place yourself beside him or what, but he beats you to it as he takes your thighs and guides you to straddle him. 

You do so without any words, following his lead. You feel heat creeping up your neck when you finally land on his lap, his arms circling around you. 

“Why do you still smell like flowers even after a whole day?” It's followed with him sniffing the juncture between your neck and shoulder, inhaling your scent. 

You flinch 'cause it tickles a little. He always does and says that shit and you can't help but laugh, always not knowing what to say to that. But Jungkook doesn’t seem to need your input, anyway. 

He squeezes your body, hugging you tighter to him. 

“I really missed you, you know?”

You giggle. “Yeah, you said that the third time now.”

“You're keeping count but why can't you just say you miss me too?” He pulls away, making sure to face you so you see the pout on his face. 

You peck his lips. “That's because I don't.” You joke, earning a glare.

“Wow, first you say I'm annoying and now you apparently didn't miss me?” You're sure he's joking but the frown on his face makes you think that maybe somewhere in his head, he's thinking otherwise.

You smile at him. “I was just kidding, Kook. Of course I missed you too. And thank you for the food.” You say against his lips, leaning down to kiss him again. 

“Does that mean you’re done avoiding me now?” 

Breaking away from the kiss, you look at him in surprise, taken aback by his words. 

“What?” you say, confused. 

Jungkook arches a brow. You both stare into each other’s eyes but then his gets way too intense that you can’t help but look away. That’s when you hear him sigh. 

“Baby, talk to me.” Jungkook cups your jaw with his palm, gently directing your face towards his. “I don’t like when we don’t talk. You clearly have something on your mind. What is it? Is it something I can fix?” 

Hearing his words makes your heart melt and your brain turn into mush. Is it something I can fix? Jesus.

How can you not fall for him when he says things like that? 

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks when you don’t say a thing. 

That earns him an instant, aggressive shake of your head. 

“No, Jungkook. You didn’t do anything wrong, not at all,” you say, planting your palms on his shoulders to assure him. You see the slight hint of smile on the curve of his lips. “It’s, uh, it’s me…” you trail off, not sure how to navigate your next words. You take note of the way Jungkook’s eyebrows meet in confusion. “I’ve just been… feeling weird lately.” 

At that, his confusion grows even more, but it’s more out of concern instead of perplexity. 

“What’s wrong, angel? You don’t feel okay?” He says, caressing your face as if he’ll find the issue there. He looks so willing to just get you to okay and it makes your heart beat a little faster than usual.

“No– I mean, I feel okay. It’s not that,” you shake your head, shy at his doting. When he waits for your next words, you can’t help but bury your face in the crook of his neck as you say— more like whisper— against his skin, “I told you I love you the other day.” 

You feel Jungkook stilling under you. And it makes you nervous. Heart racing against your ribcage, you can’t find it in yourself to break away from your hold on him because that would mean you have to look into his eyes – and you don’t want to. Your cheeks feel so hot and you feel like throwing up. Your emotions are all over the place and Jungkook’s prolonged silence isn’t helping at all. 

But suddenly, those thoughts die down when you feel him relaxing underneath you, his arms wrapping around your waist. You feel a weight on the crown of your head and with a gentle rub on your back, Jungkook whispers against your hair, “I love you, too.” 

That makes you instantly look up from him. When you see his face, his lips are curved into a soft smile. 

With furrowed brows, you voice out your concern. 

“You don’t need to say it back just ‘cause I told you that.” 

Now, it’s Jungkook’s turn to be confused. 

“I’m not saying it just ‘cause you said it, baby.” He looks so sincere and for a moment, you feel bad for doubting him for a second. Jungkook must’ve noticed the look on your face as he cups your jaw again, angling it towards him. You feel his smile against your mouth when he presses his lips to yours. “I'm in love with you, __. I have been for the past few months now.” 

Your eyes widen a bit when he calls you by your name.

Jungkook has always liked calling you by every endearing pet name in the world that you’re lowkey convinced he forgot your real name at this point, but when the sweet syllable rolls off his tongue, you can’t help but melt. 

He doesn’t seem to notice your surprise, though. Just breaks away from the contact you’re both engaged in and he takes your wrist in his hand, lifting it to his face to kiss the skin on the side of your palm. 

The action was so momentary and brief but it doesn’t deter the fact that it made your heart jump. 

You think it’s funny how you feel so much whenever he’s around. You think it’s funny that you feel so giddy – even after all this time. 

You think it’s funny that before the whole thing started, you’ve never considered this ever happening but here you are, completely elated over the fact that you’re in love with Jeon Jungkook and he feels the same way too. 

“You have?” You say, voice quiet. He nods, humming, leaning to your palm when you put it over his cheek. “Since when?” 

“The first time we went to that abandoned house.” 

Your lips part at the declaration. That was… that happened so long ago. Nearly four months from the present.

“That long?” You blink a few times at him, not really sure how to react to that confession. 

Jungkook chuckles lowly, pressing a kiss to your thumb again. You like how his instinct is to always have a form of physical contact with you whenever you’re around. You don’t know if he knows that himself, but you’ve definitely observed that for the past few months you’ve been “exclusively” seeing each other and it just… absolutely melts you. 

“I know… I’m a bit of a coward for not telling you sooner. But I didn’t want to scare you off.” Jungkook says admittedly, and his last sentence makes your heart twinge. 

He didn’t want to scare you off. Of course he’d think that. You had a total breakdown at the prospect of him opening up to you just four months ago – before you told him you liked him.

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat. “I— yeah. I was in my head over the past two days, you know?” 

Jungkook’s face etches into a look of concern. “Hm?” 

Nodding your head slowly, you find comfort in tracing random shapes and lines on his chest instead. 

“These feelings… they’re not new. I didn’t just wake up one day and realized I love you. I felt it during the time when we woke up together in bed for the first time at your place. I felt it when you drove three hours from your parents’ house to my dorm just ‘cause I told you I missed you. I felt it when you stayed up late with me just so you could help me make my flash cards. I—” you look away, suddenly embarrassed at what you’re saying. It’s not like you to say so much. Not like you to show and voice out this extent of your emotion. “I remember the times I felt I loved you for the briefest of moments in the past three months, but lately, I can't stop thinking about it and suddenly, I can’t count on my fingers anymore how many times I felt I love you. I loved you every hour of last week and yesterday I loved you even more.” 

You watch as Jungkook looks at you with parted lips. Awe-struck? You don’t want to hype yourself up too much. So you look away, keeping your eyes focused on his white shirt. 

“And what about today?” Jungkook suddenly speaks. 

You free your bottom lip from your teeth and finally look Jungkook in the eyes. “I love you more than I did yesterday. And tomorrow I’ll do the same.” 

“Fuck.” Jungkook utters, bowing his head. His tone's a mix of incredulity, amusement, and joy at the same time. When he looks up at you again, he looks at you with so much sparkle in his eyes you’re starting to think you’re a fool for not noticing earlier the love they hold for you in them. “I just… wow.” 

Your eyebrows meet in confusion. 

Jungkook chuckles and shakes his head. “I just… I had this huge confession in my head, you know? I– uh– I wrote it in my notes app.” 

Suddenly, the serious atmosphere breaks as you can’t help but laugh. “What?”

With a small pout, Jungkook continues, “I’m not good with words, you know that. So, I had this big confession planned out. I was gonna tell you in detail how much I love you, but after hearing what you just said… I forgot about everything I tried to memorize last night.” 

Now you’re giggling in his lap. Just trying to visualize him typing on his phone while figuring out what to say to you and him studying it, memorizing the lines…

You're so glad it's him you fell for.

“Don’t laugh,” he scolds, but there's a hint of playfulness that lies underneath it. Jungkook inserts his hand under your shirt and starts rubbing the skin of your waist. “Truth is that I was afraid when you started avoiding me. Thought I’d lose you again.” 

His vulnerable confession makes you stop completely. There’s a certain melancholy in his eyes when he mentions it, and you feel like scolding yourself for even causing that. 

“What I did wasn’t the most mature way to go about it. I’m sorry,” you start. Sighing, you adjust yourself on his lap to get more comfortable. “Uh… I guess I was just embarrassed and wanted to have time to compose myself.” 

“What were you embarrassed for?” 

There’s heat that spreads to your cheeks. For a brief second, you consider lying, but then you remember honesty. It’s what got you both here. Just being open to each other and communicating. 

“Jungkook, no one wants their first I love you said during sex.” You deadpan. 

“Oh.” He blinks. 

At that, you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Exactly.” 

“What’s wrong with that, though?” Jungkook furrows his brows. But his tone borders on teasing when he continues, “You know what they say? Make a girl cum one and she’ll love you, make a girl cum twice and she’ll actually tell you she loves you.” 

“Oh my god.” you groan, jabbing at his chest slightly and taking off your legs off the couch so that you stop straddling him.

Jungkook bursts into laughter and is quick to grab your waist, effectively pulling you back to him again. It results in you falling haphazardly into his lap, which he takes as an opportunity to cage you in a hug and guide you on your back to hover on top of you. 

“I’m kidding, baby,” he whispers against your cheek. “I’m kidding.” 

You inhale a sharp breath when he starts kissing along your jaw. “Good.” 

“I really appreciate you for saying all those things. I wish I can be as eloquent as you,” He tips your jaw with his fingers so that you look at him. “You’re a poet, __.” 

That makes you smile. You secretly like when he calls you by all these petnames... but the way your name rolls of his tongue just hits a lot more different.

“As long as you love me back, Kook.” you say, pushing his bangs off his forehead so that you can look at his face wholly. 

“I love you.” He confesses, kissing your lips.

“I love you too.” you smile. 

Jungkook pecks your lips one more time and suddenly follows it up with another one. Soon, you’re a giggling mess underneath him on the couch when he keeps it up until it tickles. 

“Jungkook,” you whine, wriggling under him and avoiding his mouth.

This only makes Jungkook chuckle in the crook of your neck, halting his cute assault on your lips. When the high of the laughter comes off, you feel a wet trail of kisses down to the base of your neck, and suddenly, Jungkook’s hands are under your shirt, rubbing along the bare skin of your waist. While he peppers open-mouthed pecks on your neck, his fingers trail upwards until they’re on your bare tits. 

“Oh,” you let out a low moan when his palm squeezes around the flesh.

It earns a groan from Jungkook, who presses himself closer to you. And it’s when you feel the growing need on his crotch area – his dick poking your stomach as he stays lapping up your neck. 

“Jungkook,” you call him again. It takes Jungkook a few seconds to look up at you. When he does, his long hair is a mess on his head and his eyes are hooded in that drunken-like state, lips wet from his previous ministrations. 

“Hm?” He hums, gives both your boobs a good squeeze again, making you sigh out. Jungkook continues to touch you, fondling your breasts in his hand as he starts kissing up your jaw instead. 

“I want you.” you whisper against the air, closing your eyes at the sensation of his touch. 

He feels so good on you. You want to take off your stupid clothes.

“Shit,” Jungkook hisses, giving an involuntary thrust against your crotch that made you both groan. “Fuck. I want you, too, baby— god, let me just—” 

You whine when he breaks away from you, but you watch in awe as he makes quick work of kneeling in between your legs, peeling off the white shirt from his body with one arm from the back in a swift motion. He throws it on the floor and swipes his hair out of his face, and in that brief moment, with his toned abdomen and inked arm, you nearly melt.

“Can I take off your shorts?” He asks, but he already has his fingers hooked over the bottom you’ve changed into when you got into his apartment. Giving him a nod, you help him in taking off the garment by lifting your bum off the sofa. Jungkook, ever the expert in the art of taking off your clothes, does it quick, the shorts landing on the floor together with his shirt, forming a small heap. Bottoming out, he takes your thighs in the crook of his elbows and scoot your body closer to his. The angle is a bit awkward from where you lie, and Jungkook makes your cheeks burn when he turns his head to the side to kiss your knee. “So beautiful, baby. Your legs are so smooth.”

“Stop talking,” you say, embarrassed. 

Jungkook chuckles at your reaction, already used to it. His face leans even closer and soon he has the tip of his nose on your panty-cladded core. Like clockwork, he takes a subtle sniff, closing his eyes for a little while at the scent, gripping your thighs tighter at the action. 

If you weren’t a heating mess before, you’re near on combustion now. Surely, Jungkook knows what this does to you. 

“You smell so good. Such a pretty girl,” he grunts. Then, he presses a kiss to your pussy which makes your breath hitch. 

“Jungkook,” you let out a whine for the nth time. “Don’t tease.” 

He shushes you out, clicking his tongue as if you did something wrong. 

You capture your bottom lip in your teeth. Jungkook cups your jaw so you can look at him when he says, “Be patient, princess. I’ll give you what you want. Always.” His voice is gentle and soft, and you know he means it. 

Still, you give him a pout. 

“I wanna fuck.” 

He chuckles, low and sounding so attractive when he brings his fingers through his hair again. It doesn’t help that you can clearly see the outline of his dick getting bigger inside his grey sweats. Damn those joggers for real. 

“Okay,” Jungkook smiles down at you. “Take your shirt off.” 

You make quick work of removing your shirt off to reveal your naked body to him. At this point, only your underwear and his pants are the only things keeping you apart. 

As usual, Jungkook zeroes in on your body instantly, paying the most attention to your tits. According to him, they’re two of his most favorite things in the world and as much as you’d like to call bullshit on that, it really does seem like he’s not joking about it at all. 

“Oh, baby,” Jungkook brings your legs down gently, sliding on top of your body and hovering as he quickly fondles your boobs with his huge palms. “Fuck, you’re so soft.” He says, pressing a kiss to your cleavage. Not wasting any more time, he latches his tongue around a nipple, and you automatically hold onto his head for support when the sensation nearly knocks you off the couch.

Despite that little movement from you, Jungkook continues to lap at your breasts. Licking and tugging at your nipple to get it hard, paying attention to the other one by pinching it and simultaneously squeezing. As seconds pass, Jungkook alternates between your breasts, and as he does so, you feel your core starting to heat up, your need growing bigger. 

“B-baby,” you sigh out, gripping his hair tighter which makes him grunt. “I want you.” 

“I know, baby, I know.” He whispers against your skin. You’re about to whine some more when Jungkook finally leaves your chest to pepper kisses down your stomach. When he gets near your nether region, he guides your legs to hook over his shoulder. “These gotta go.” He says about your panties, and you’re more than willing to help him take it off you. 

The moment it's no longer on you, Jungkook hisses at the sight, head leaning down to finally plant his mouth on your pussy. 

The first lick feels ecstatic just like it always does. With Jungkook lapping up a big stripe over the length of your core, you keep your bucking to a minimum, holding onto his hair instead.

“Taste so fucking good, I can never get enough of you,” he says before he dives in again. Jungkook has this thing when he eats pussy. He always does it like he’s making out with your mouth, his tongue prodding at every seams, wrapping your labia around his lips and being messy with it.

Jungkook breaks away for a while as you hear a sound of spit, followed by the cold sensation of his saliva dripping down to your hole. Soon, you feel Jungkook’s thumb beginning to rub your clit, resulting in a ragged breathing from your lungs. 

“F-fuck,” you moan, tightening your hold on his hair you’re sure you’re pulling on his scalp. 

“You’re so fucking wet for me. So sensitive,” Jungkook says as he picks up the pace of his thumb. “Ain’t that right, pretty girl? All for me, right? This is all for me, hm?” 

“Y-yes!” you squeak out when you feel him prodding his tongue at your entrance again. His finger is fast against your sensitive bud, with his tongue lapping up the juices that eagerly come out of your hole. Jungkook makes out with your pussy like he would with your mouth, and with the tip of his nose touching your skin at this proximity, you can't say you’re not close to the edge. And embarrassingly so – because he’s just gotten started and you already feel like cumming.

“Sh–shit,” Jungkook hisses. He shifts his thumb with his tongue this time in stimulating your clit, using two fingers instead to stretch your pussy out open just so he can see the way it throbs and flutters at his every action. It’s a sinful sight, really, the way you’re so open and wet for him. 

Soon after, Jungkook’s getting a little more aggressive in the way he pushes his head closer to your core, jaw working to devour your mound, two digits inserting themselves in your aching hole that somehow satisfies your need to be filled at the very moment. 

And you’re a panting mess beneath him – trying so hard to muffle the moans from your mouth. Jungkook’s gotten a total of three noise complaints for the past 4 months you’ve been fucking at his place – and even though he tells you not to worry, you find that it’s hard to believe when the one time that you got to ride in the elevator with his neighbor, she looked at you both like she knew you’ve done something. 

Never again. 

As if having read your thoughts, Jungkook breaks away for a while to say, “Don’t hold back, gorgeous. Let me hear those pretty moans of yours.” 

Your cheeks burn with heat as you see his wet jaw and plump lips when you glance down. When your gazes meet, Jungkook inserts his middle and ring fingers in his mouth, and when he pops them back out all wet with his saliva, he pushes them into your hole, lax in his movements, looking right into your eyes as he does so. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, holding onto his wrist automatically when he pumps his digits into you faster than his pace earlier. 

“There,” Jungkook smirks. “Moan for me, angel.” 

“J-jungkook– oh my god– ah–!” 

Jungkook goes back to leaning his head down and soon enough, his mouth is back on your pussy, simultaneously sucking your clit and licking around your labia, all the whole sliding his fingers in and out of you, you can feel yourself dripping down the leather of his couch. 

“Fuck,” you sigh out, suddenly feeling overstimulated. 

Jungkook picks up his pace and you feel a sting on the sides of your eyes as the pleasure begins to build up. Your hold on his wrist falls off and as if he knows exactly what you’re looking for, he reaches for your hand with his free one, interlocking your fingers together as you see him look up at you while he eats you out. 

“Oh god,” you mewl, reaching down with your other arm to swipe his fringes off his forehead so you can see him better. 

Jungkook stares intently at you as you do the same watching him licking your core enthusiastically. You let your head fall back at a particularly delicious lick, and soon after, you feel that familiar zap that starts on your toes that goes right up to your stomach. 

“K-kook,” you call pathetically, swallowing the lump in your throat. It feels somewhat dry at this point. Closing your eyes, you focus on the sensation of his tongue flicking your clit, saying, “I’m cumming.” 

Jungkook keeps his movements of your pussy, not relenting even when you grab his hair a little too tight, and you feel like you’re breaking off his fingers’ joints by the way you’re gripping it so hard.

“I’m cum– there, fuck, that feels so good– I’m cumming!” 

The knot in your stomach snaps and you feel a gush of wetness coming out of your pussy when it does so. You hear Jungkook groaning in between your legs, his licking becoming more messy as you feel him use three fingers to rub over your core like a greedy man wanting everything to be his. 

“Jungkook…” you sigh out, your fingers easing their hold onto his, already feeling sensitive after your release. You look down at Jungkook only to see the crown of his head as keeps lapping up your wetness. He hums in your pussy and you know you can’t keep him off there for awhile so you wait, running your fingers through his hair soothingly, feeling bad for almost ripping it out awhile ago. “Kook, I’m sensitive.”

“Hm.” He hums to acknowledge you. He licks one last stripe before he lets go, easing off your thighs on the sofa and trailing kisses on your stomach and breasts until he’s eye level to you. “Love how you taste,” he says, kissing you, and your cheeks burn with heat when you feel your orgasm off his mouth. When he breaks the kiss, he looks at you with a smile you can only identify as lovesick. “I love you.” 

That makes you melt. 

You thought it would feel weird to hear him say it. But you think about the future and how there would be more like this, with Jungkook telling you he loves you in more shared random moments and you can’t help but mirror the smile he has on his stupid handsome face. 

“I love you.” you say, initiating another kiss. 

When Jungkook presses his body to you, that’s when you feel his cock poking into your stomach. You assume he’s even more rock hard now, given the previous events. 

Sneakily inserting your hand between your bodies, you try to reach for the bulge in his pants and when you take a hold of his dick, Jungkook grunts. 

“Babe,” he whines and breaks away from your lips and buries his face in the crook of your neck instead.

“It’s completely unfair how you still have your pants on while I’m completely naked.” You say, palming him through his sweats. You feel Jungkook tense above you, and when you give him a particularly hard squeeze, he retaliates with a bite on your shoulder that makes you squeal. “What the hell was that for?” 

“For teasing me,” Jungkook says, finally looking at you. He grabs your arm, kisses the side of your wrist before he hauls himself off you completely, planting his feet on the floor while you lay there on the couch bare and cold. But that doesn’t last long as you feel him picking you up with ease — bridal style. 

“Jesus,” you bury your face in his chest out of embarrassment. You’re all naked and he’s carrying you towards his bedroom in this ridiculous position. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook just laughs and as he reaches his bedroom, he closes the door lightly with his foot. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” He says when he puts you down on the mattress. He has that smarmy smirk on his face as he gets out of his grey sweatpants slowly. You’ve had the inkling he wasn’t wearing any underwear considering that it felt like there was not that much of a barrier when you held them there earlier – but it still takes your breath away when he’s left completely in his naked form, stiff and red-tipped cock standing to attention in his lower abdomen. Arching a brow at you, he trudges over to the edge of the bed and with the deep timbre of his voice, he calls you, “Scoot over here, love.” 

The new endearment definitely catches you off guard. Love. Is that something he’s gonna be calling you from now on? 

You definitely don’t mind. 

You follow his instructions and let your body move closer towards the bottom, making Jungkook hum in approval. 

“That’s a good girl.” Suddenly, Jungkook yanks your legs to his direction and you gasp in surprise, only to realize the position you’re both in. 

He’s standing right over the edge of the bed while he guides your legs to rest over his shoulders.

Jungkook and you have tried a lot of positions since you established your thing, but surprisingly, this has never been one of them and you find yourself curious as to what he’ll do next. 

His tattooed bicep flexes as he trails his finger up your naked thighs, making the hairs on your body tingle, especially your pussy which is all bare for his own viewing. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you watch as Jungkook turns his head to the side, and a gasp catches in your throat when he begins kissing up your calf. When his mouth nears your toes, you nearly yank it out of his hold. 

“K-kook,” you stammer, but all Jungkook does is pay you a momentary look and a non-committal hum, turning back to your feet again where he presses a tentative kiss to your big toe. When he feels you wriggle it in his hold once again, he turns to you with furrowed brows. You look away. “It’s uhm…” 

When you don’t say anything, Jungkook fills you in. “You don’t like it?” 

You feel your cheeks burning even hotter. Fucking hell. 

“No– I mean. Uh. I don’t know?” You knit your brows, confused yourself. You’ve never really thought about dabbling into the more adventurous aspect of sex but Jungkook has changed that ever since – right now, though, what he’s trying to do is confusing you. You’re sure you’ve never thought about feet and sex at the same sentence – but when Jungkook kissed your toes, that might have— 

Oh god. No freaking way he’s trying to give you a foot kink. 

“That’s okay,” Jungkook smiles at you warmly. “I was just gonna kiss them, baby. I love every part of you—” he presses a kiss back to your calf again. Staring deep into your eyes, he tells you gently, “But I’m not gonna do anything you don’t and won’t like, love.” 

It seems like the new unlocked petname is doing all things because you could just feel the sudden gush of wetness coming out of you as soon as he said that. Jungkook must’ve noticed, paying a quick look to your pussy and scoffing in amusement as he sees it. 

“You like that? Love? Hm?” He caresses your thighs again, his other fingers trailing dangerously close to your core. “Seems like me calling you love gets you wet. What about I love you? Does it get you wet just like how it gets me hard when you say it as well?”

When Jungkook presses his thumb to your clit again, you moan, feeling him continue his ministrations. You hold your breath when he begins picking up the pace of his rubbing, and with your position, it gives you an opportunity to spread your legs even more, feeling Jungkook hiss at the action. 

“Fuck. You really are so pretty. I’m so fucking lucky you love me,” Jungkook says. He talks sweet but you hear a sound of spit coming from him to your pussy, his saliva dripping down your core, making you mewl. “I’m gonna make love to you all night. Show you how much I love you.” Jungkook whispers as he pushes a finger into your hole, sliding in and out. “Look at what you do to me, love.” 

You open your eyes to see what he’s talking about, and when you zero in on his cock, it impossibly became bigger, the tip an angry shade of red now. It looks so tight and rigid and veiny that you want to whine to touch it – but you decide to lay still, anticipating his next move. 

“Put it in me,” you say, sounding challenging. 

“I will, just gotta make sure you’re all ready.” Jungkook muses before he inserts his finger once again. It glides in pretty easily, and you’re sure that you’re more than ready to take his cock. 

Grunting, Jungkook pulls you closer and lets go of one of your thighs to grip his dick. He gives it a good squeeze twice before he puts it against the lips of your pussy. 

“Oh god,” you moan at the weight of him. 

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses. You know he’s feeling the exact same way you do. 

When he prods the tip at your entrance, you nearly squeal in delight. Instead, you grip the sheets behind you and look at the way Jungkook’s brows knit in concentration as he grips the base of his cock to enter you fully.

You both moan in unison when the first inch gets inserted, with Jungkook gripping your other thigh tighter and inhaling a sharp breath. Jungkook enters you slowly and arduously, like he’s savoring every second that your pussy swallows every part of his cock. 

“You– fuck– you love a big cock but you’re so fucking tight,” He groans as he begins to slide in the remaining inches, getting both your thighs together again. 

“It’s your fault,” you retaliate, hissing when he begins to move a little inside you. It doesn’t hurt the least bit – you were already way too wet from your first orgasm on the couch of his living room – but in this position, his cock feels deeper and it just feels so damn good. 

“How is it– shit– my fault?” Jungkook grunts, beginning to pick up his pace. “I fuck you almost everyday.” 

“Oh god—” you moan when he hits a little too deep at a particular thrust. “You’re so big, that’s why– fuck.”

“Hah.” Jungkook scoffs, bottoming out to enter you again. “Play with your tits for me, baby. Fuck, I love them so much.” 

You grab your breasts, thankful at the suggestion because they’re bouncing a little from his pounding and you’re sure they’re gonna be sore the next day. 

Needless to say, Jungkook likes what he sees as he continues to slide his cock in and out of you at a steady, slow pace. 

There are two sides to Jungkook when it comes to sex. Sometimes, he likes to do it fast with jackhammer thrusts that makes you question his stamina and strength – not rough, because he told you you’re too much of a pillow princess for that (you rolled your eyes at him so hard and he only laughed at you, telling you it’s actually because he didn’t like the thought of hurting you in any way), and you admittedly love that. It’s what got the words “I love you” out of your mouth in the first place. Intense fucking coupled with intense emotions are a combination you now realize is dangerous – but right now, as he pounds into you slowly, making you feel every ridge of his cock, you realize it’s your favorite. 

There’s something so intimate about the way Jungkook closes his eyes when he seemingly tries his very best to contain his strength as he enters you with his dick. It’s weirdly hot when he inhales a sharp breath to regulate his breathing, brows furrowed in concentration. Like this, you get to feel every moment of where you both started and where you end. 

And when Jungkook leans down on the bed, folding you in half at the action, his dick hits deeper as he plants his palms on the mattress, is cock continuing their ministrations in your cunt. 

He grunts in your hair, grabbing your breast and squeezing it hard in his palm which earns a moan from you. Jungkook looks at you and kisses your parted mouth. 

“I love you,” he says when he breaks away, kissing your cheek. Then the tip of your nose. And then the space between your eyebrows. “I love you so much.” 

You giggle. In the middle of sex. When his cock is snug deep in your pussy. 

“You’re a sap.” you can’t help but cup his face in your hand, grinning at him widely. 

“Where’s my– shit– I love you back?” Jungkook knits his brows, thrusting in and out of you still. He grips your hip with one hand, and there are balls of sweat on his forehead starting to form at the exertion from his body. 

“Of course I love you too, baby,” You say. “Kiss me.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait any more second and leans down to capture your lips into an open-mouthed kiss. You don’t break away until his hips stutter, indicating his impending orgasm. 

He’s usually the one who whispers all those sweet nothings in your ear when you’re on the brink of your climax, but this time around, you tell him how much you love his cock, how it’s made for you, and how much you want to keep making love to him all night – and that’s how he breaks.

“F-fuck,” Jungkook groans as he shoots his hot white orgasm inside you, his voice strained as he finishes off with a few more erratic thrusts. “Oh god.” 

“That’s it, Kook, cum for me,” you whisper against his lips, your legs already sliding off his shoulder. You can’t help but moan against his mouth when you feel him cumming more.

“I love you, angel.” Jungkook says and kisses you again. 

You reciprocate the kiss and hope he feels the smile you have on your lips. 

You don’t really expect to cum again – but then Jungkook suddenly palms your ass and taps both cheeks. 

“Cum for me a second time.” He says, pecking the side of your lips. 

You shake your head. As much as you’d love to, you feel like you’re actually about to break tonight. 

“It’s fine—” 

But Jungkook cuts you off quickly. “Please?” 

And how can you say now when he looks like… that? His sex afterglow puts every man in the movies to shame. And you’re just human prone to giving in – especially when it comes to him specifically.

“Okay.” You say, tapping his cheek with a smile. “How do you want me?” 

“Want you to ride me.” He whispers. “Wanna see your pretty eyes while you’re bouncing on my cock.” 

You ignore the flutter in your heart at his words.

Jabbing at his chest lightly, you roll your eyes at him and let him get off you to position himself against the headboard of the bed. Jungkook grins when you soon plant your folded legs on both sides of him, helping you put his still erect dick inside your still sopping wet pussy. 

You both hiss at the sensation, with you closing your eyes at the way he feels. Meanwhile, Jungkook doesn’t waste any second and dives into your breasts immediately, tugging and sucking at your nipples, squeezing and fondling at the flesh, and moaning when you begin to move up and down on his lap. 

“S-so good,” you mewl, wrapping your arms around his neck, fumbling with the hair on his nape. 

“That’s it, love. Doing so well.” He leaves your breasts in favor of your jaw, peppering kisses there until he makes a stop at your lips again. Jungkook finds solace in holding your hips as you move on your own, and as he watches your closed eyes and parted mouth, he leans back to the headboard, looking at the image of you at the very moment – wishing he could burn it into memory. 

“My god– ah—” You begin to speed up your pace, concentrating on the way Jungkook’s cock seemingly hardens at your every drop and fall. 

Soon after, you feel Jungkook sneaking his hands in your pussy, and when you plant one of your palms on the mattress leaning back, Jungkook rubs your clit to help you reach your climax.

You feel yourself leaking on him from both your orgasms in your pussy earlier, and at the thought of that, you feel another wave of ecstasy that snaps in the bottom part of your stomach.

“Oh my fucking god.” 

You bury your face in Jungkook’s neck the moment you cum, breathing erratically against his skin.

“You did so well, baby,” Jungkook kisses your hair, caressing your head lovingly. “I love you.” 

Humming, you let your body fall lax against his, feeling like your bones just lost all its joints, unable to move. Thankfully, there’s Jungkook to take care of that. When you refused to move, he teases you about being a baby and carries you to the bathroom instead where he tells you to pee while he prepares the shower for the both of you. 

Minutes later when you’re both done cleaning yourselves, you lay in Jungkook’s bed beside each other. Or more like, you lean almost all of your weight on top of him, your legs and arms wrapped around his body with Jungkook’s arms underneath your neck, serving as your pillow. 

“I think I just unlocked a new kink.” Jungkook says, alternating between kissing your forehead and caressing your head. 

“You discover one, like, everyday.” You tell him, eyes shut closed. You’re starting to feel sleepy from everything you did tonight. 

Jungkook snorts. “Fair. But for the record, nothing beats this new kink of mine.” 

“What is it?” 

“The I love you kink.”

Even if you can’t exactly see him, you’re sure he has that stupid cute bunny grin on his face.

Chuckling, you say, “God, you really are so corny.” 

“Hey, can a boyfriend not be turned on when his girlfriend says she loves him?” 

At that, you freeze. Jungkook must’ve noticed because he stops caressing your head. You move away from his chest and lean on your elbow so you can look down at him.

“We’re girlfriend and boyfriend now?” You ask with knitted brows. 

Jungkook looks just as confused. “I mean… yeah?” 

“Oh.” You nod. Looking to the other side of the room, you ponder, “Well, that makes sense.” 

Jungkook looks offended when your gaze falls back to him again. “What do you mean that makes sense? We’ve been boyfriend and girlfriend since you told me you liked me.” 

“You told me you liked me too,” You roll your eyes. “But… really? You think that?” 

Now, Jungkook’s pouting. 

“Wait, you didn’t think we were boyfriend and girlfriend all these months?” 

“Eh…” You think about the past four months since you both established an exclusive relationship with each other. You’ve always thought it was just this unlabeled thing. But apparently… “I guess we are boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

“I literally introduced you to my friends as my girlfriend last month, though?” Jungkook asks. 

You jut your bottom lip out. “I have no idea.” 

He sighs. “Forget about it.” 

“It’s okay. I love you.” You say, blinking at him. 

Jungkook visibly melts at that. 

“I think you just found a new way to get away with anything…” he says, eyeing you suspiciously. 

You snicker and cheekily press a quick kiss to his lips. 

There haven't been a lot of people who have come to your life that became important to you – and you didn’t expect Jeon Jungkook to be one if it – not at all. But what started as a casual relationship turned into more than that, and now you find yourself deeply in love with him – and happily so.

Meanwhile, Jungkook thinks the same as he caresses your hair, staring at your serene face while you sleep in his arms, thinking it couldn’t get any better than this.

all right reserved © awrkive, 2024. no reposts, translations, modification, and copying allowed. if you enjoy my work/s and have the extra means, please consider supporting me on ko-fi <3

[luveline]

I love ur writing 💕 can I request something where reader is dense sortof/has low self esteem, so she likes hotch, admires him and would love to date him but can't imagine he would view her that way,, so he has to be really obvious with his advances? Not self indulgent at all 👉👈 no worries if not. Love u!

Hotch has to break the news that he’s been pursuing you. fem, 2k

Hotch would like to call you unassuming in the kindest way possible. Unassuming, in that not everyone who looks at you would find themselves immediately aware of your beauty (an old-fashioned way to put it, and true), because your poor self esteem leaves you shy. 

You don't believe anyone would want you. It doesn’t matter to Hotch beyond a weary heartbreak for you, as he doesn’t mind if it takes time to convince you. He only wishes you’d have more confidence. You’re pretty and you deserve to know it. 

“Hello,” he says, with intent to try again. 

You like him. He’s a grown man and a good judge of character, better of action, and he’d like to think that your sudden grimace whenever he speaks is again this cloud of insecurity rather than a true dislike for him. You have to warm up to him every day, but you do warm. 

“Hi, Hotch.” 

And listen, he’s not one to flirt at work, but if he ever wants a real shot with you, he has to be heavy-handed. “Hi,” he repeats, smiling, “how are things today?” 

You’re assistant office administrator for the BAU, and so Hotch isn’t technically your boss, but you do work beneath him. “Things are the same as always.” 

“Not too hard for you, then.” 

You catch his teasing, which is a new development. “Not too hard for me,” you say.

He doesn’t pretend he has reason to hang around. He thinks it might’ve contributed to you not believing he’s interested; he’d drop by with coffee because you seemed tired, or checked in on issues that didn’t need his supervision, and you’d taken every extra minute spent at your door as his attentiveness to his job, rather than an affection for you.

He stands with his hand on the doorway and just looks at you. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“You look beautiful today.” 

You touch the button at your neck. “It’s too much for work.” 

“No.” You’re wearing normal business casual clothing. You’ve pulled a necklace over your sweater, soft collar of a shirt kissing your throat. He imagines you’re wearing regular pants and flats or maybe a skirt and short heels beneath the desk, it doesn’t matter. “It’s not just what you’re wearing. You look pretty.” 

You could catch flame if something sparked near you. Lost, your lips part, and eventually you squeeze out a timid, “Thank you, Hotch.” 

 “Aaron.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Can we get coffee?” He dislikes the panic in your eyes and regrets how casual he sounded. “Can I get you a coffee?” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Well, maybe we can take lunch together?” 

“Have I done something?” 

“Have you?” he asks. 

He feels… young. Haley was the only woman he’d been with at a time, and casually there have been others now, but you’re the first woman he’s attempted to woo like this. He sometimes forgets that you’re shy and that he’s been married, distracted by his fizzing, almost joyful feelings for you. Flirting with you is a pleasure. 

You lick your lips quickly. “Where did you want to go? For lunch?” 

He was thinking you could bring your sandwich to his desk, but what you’re asking is a thousand times better. “Where do you want to go? Melanie’s?” he suggests. 

You breathe out in a strange laugh. “For lunch?” 

No, perhaps not. It’s rather fancy. “Somewhere nice, at least,” he says. 

“I don’t know where’s nice.” 

“Well, we can find somewhere. I’ll try to find somewhere before one, what do you think?” 

“Okay.” 

He smiles. “Okay.” 

He’s pulling away from the doorway when you stand up from your rolling chair and say his name, a near yelp, “Hotch! Wait, uh, wait a second.” 

He immediately turns back. “What?” he asks, giving you a quick once over. 

“Are you sure I’m not in trouble for something?” you ask. To your credit, you give a bashful little laugh. “I feel like I’m walking into a trap.” 

“I have no intentions of trapping you anywhere.” 

“Please don’t fire me at Melanie’s.” 

He smiles at you again and leaves your alcove of the office to head back to his own. Around the desks and the bullpen where his team sit doing their paperwork, up the stairs to the landing. He pauses before he goes inside.

JJ’s standing behind Derek’s desk. They’re chatting, JJ sipping at a mug, a small smile on her lips. Spencer watches her from his own desk. He doesn’t like her anymore to Hotch’s knowledge, but it doesn’t stop him from smiling at her with that slight thread of lovelorn shyness when she asks him what he’s so busy doing. 

Hotch has a moment of clarity at his desk when he realises he needs to find somewhere perfect to take you come lunch time. You hadn’t seemed convinced of your job security when he’d left you, and he spends some time pondering how best to accommodate you as he sorts thought Quantico’s best cafes and restaurants. 

He has emails to answer, phone calls to take, and to make. Time moves quickly, and by 1:02 he’s all sorts of late. It’s almost 1:12PM when he’s again at your office door, a warm plastic bag against his side. 

You’re looking at your lap. Coat in your hands, lip nibbled raw, there’s an internal conversation happening that he’s not privy to. He doubts he’d like it very much —the agony of self-doubt is written plainly in your slouch. 

He knocks your door, feeling very sorry for your startled jump. “Hi. Sorry, I’m late, I know. But I thought I’d bring dinner to you.” 

He thought of it like this: if he were to take you to dinner, you could explain it away as a professional superior who was going to fire you and changed his mind, or a superior checking in on his employee, or a superior simply being kind. He has, on occasion, taken different members of his team or office out to discuss things in their lunch hours because he was busy and needed their time at a convenient hour. You might not think anything of it. 

Right now, Hotch really wants you to think something of it. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Is that okay with you, if we stay here?” 

It’s a little much for you, apparently. You finally tip into incredulity. “Aaron, is everything alright? I really don’t understand what’s going on.” 

“I’d like to eat lunch together.”

“But why?” 

“Because you’re good company.” He’s sat knee to knee with serial killers, and his next sentence is still scary, “Because I like you, and I’m not sure how else to show it.” 

You press your coat to your stomach, frowning. “You like me.” 

“I was under the impression that you liked me too,” he says, smiling despite you and himself. Hotch might be a drill sergeant and a bully all those terrible moody stations as a boss, but he’s also just a man, and there’s little room for stoicism in love. 

“But you…” 

He waits, but then feels too sorry for you to let you flounder. “Honey, I don’t know how else to put it. I’ve tried compliments, I brought you that plant,” —he points to the still blooming orchid on your window— “I ask you what your plans are every weekend.” He looks swiftly behind him. Alone, he edges into your office to close the door and allow some privacy. “And every weekend I ask you if you want to get a drink. I’d think you didn’t like me if it weren’t for your tell.” 

“What’s my tell?” 

Your hand. Whenever he’s around, you take something into your hand and squeeze at it or feel it like you’re going to explode with nerves. He saves you the explanation, and instead lays his most gentle look on you. “If I’m wrong, please let me know. I’d never want to put you in an uncomfortable position, but you’re lovely.”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” you say, semi-disbelieving. “You never do. I'm just confused.” 

“I’d really like to get to know you as more than a colleague.”

“You know me,” you mumble. 

He does. He knows what your favourite colour is, your favourite food, your soccer team. He sent you flowers on your birthday, asks after your sick neighbour, and checks your office light every night when he goes home, though he knows what time you leave each evening. And he knows that you’re scared to admit to liking him or anyone, because you worry you’re not allowed. 

“I do,” he agrees, giving the plastic bag a jostle. He doesn’t need big answers now. “Can I sit down?” 

You might not have a big answer to give, but your expression tells a story nonetheless. You wheel your seat backward and he pulls a spare chair toward your desk, your smile like an adornment as you push aside your things to make room. You smile so hard it changes your entire face. 

“Do you have napkins?” you ask, not so subtly breathless as he places the bag down and pushes the plastic back. 

He pulls out a wedge of them. You pinch them, and for a second the both of you hold them, your eyes meeting, your cheeks appled with matching smiles. 

“I thought the orchid was for secretary’s day,” you say quietly, taking the napkins. 

“You aren’t a secretary,” he says, holding out a plastic fork. 

When you go to grab it, he moves it up out of the way. Your startled laugh is beautiful. Totally stunning. He hadn’t realised how badly he’d wanted the quiet intimacy of teasing you over lunch until he had it. 

You grab the fork before he can move it again. “Too slow,” you say. 

“Oh, you think so?” he asks. 

“I know so, Aaron. Who has the fork?” 

Aaron, he thinks. Finally, Aaron. “You have the fork, but I have your lunch. I’d tread carefully if I were you.” 

[kpgimpactor]

Little Man got diagnosed with asthma 😿

[peachesofteal]

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader Prompt: Protective Simon. For the beautiful and talented @lethalchiralium

Simon’s phone is ringing. 

Price raises an eyebrow from the end of the table, pausing mid-sentence, confused. Simon’s phone never rings. It’s always on full volume, because he never gets phone calls, except for ones from the 141, and they’re all here. At this briefing.  

His fingers find the ringer, ready to silence what he’s sure is a nuisance call, some telemarketer or robot, when he reads your name across the screen. 

You’ve never called him before. Unease tightens across his chest, and without any explanation, he excuses himself from the room and the bewildered looks being cast his way. 

“Hey, you-“

“Simon?” You sound off. Like you’re trying to be calm, but there’s something lingering on the edge of your voice, something scared. His spine goes stiff. 

It’s enough to propel him into action, his fist thumping against the window of the brief room, jerking his head south. I’m leaving, the motion signifies. Emergency.

“What’s wrong?” 

“N-nothing. Just… there’s this guy that’s been like, half a block behind me since I got off the train.” He closes his eyes. The fucking train. He wants you to stop taking the train. He needs you to stop taking the train. 

“He followed you from the platform?” 

“Well, he could be walking this way too…” 

“Where are you?” His keys are already in his hand, and he’s running down the hallway, past bewildered administrative staff and everyone else, bursting through the back door and into the truck. His phone chimes with multiple text messages, Price, Johnny, Gaz. All wondering where the hell he ran off to. Only Johnny’s text scratches the surface: Is it your neighbor? He waits another second in silence, hoping you’re trying to get your bearings. “Sweetheart?” 

“I’m… I think we’re coming up on seventh and Warsail. ‘m not too sure. I’ve kind been walking in a roundabout way.” We’re coming up on seventh… we. 

The baby is with you. 

His foot slams the accelerator onto the floor, counting his breaths as he maneuvers each turn in the road. Do you have the stroller? Are you carrying her? Did this guy peg you as an easy target because he knows what Simon knows, that women are more likely to go along with instruction if their child is threatened? That you’d never leave Emmaline behind? That you’d do anything to protect her? 

He feels sick. 

“Are there other people around?” He’s calm on the phone, trying to visualize the street, the buildings, the alleys. Easy spots where cars could reach the highway in seconds, and then be gone. Cramped alleys that connect to others like tangled webs, able to swallow a human being easy, disappear them into the darkness. It makes his stomach turn over. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel so hard; it hurts.

“Yeah, it’s close to the end of the day, so-“ 

“Stay where others can see you. Are you sure you’re on seventh and Warsail?” 

“Yeah. We’re in that park. I-I… wanted to take Emma to see the ducks.” Your voice wavers. “Simon he’s still behind us.” He’s turning the corner now, a block from your cross streets, and instead of yielding for oncoming traffic like he should, he floors it through an intersection, abandoning the truck still on, half parked in an empty street spot.  “Stay where you are, sweetheart. Okay? I’m coming.” 

“You… wait, what? You’re what?” He doesn’t hang up, but keeps the phone against his ear, and takes off down the street in a sprint, fully subscribed to the worst-case scenarios that have been building in his mind, images of you and Emmaline bloody and bruised, or worse. He gets them confused for a moment, memories mixing with the present, two things swirling together until they become indistinguishable, noise and panic roaring too loudly in his head. 

It all comes screeching to a stop. 

He spots you in the park. You do have the stroller, and you’re by the little pond, headphones in, Emmaline in your arms, her little beanie pulled down over her ears. You’re glancing around, nervous, saying his name into the mic. He scans the rest of the faces, passing over anyone who doesn’t strike him as a creepy git, until he finds his target: a skinny, younger guy lurking on the edge of the fence line, watching you. He hangs up the phone and moves across the park involuntarily, rolling his shoulders, and he vaguely sees you from the corner of his eye, mouth dropped open in shock, faintly calling his name. 

“Hey, mate. C’mere.” He shouts, half the people in the vicinity startling in his direction. Everyone seems to move away, like a magnetic force, pulsing outwards as he overtakes the guy with an easy grab to his upper arm. “You like stalking women with babies?” He hisses in his ear, voice low with barely contained rage. The guy is younger than him, but rail thin, and coked out. Probably looking for money. Simon jerks him closer, and he actually yells for help, like he’s a victim. It’s enough to ground the situation, making Simon realize he has an audience, and he grits out a final warning before shoving him away. “I ever see you around my girls again… I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Piss off.” 

“What did he say?” You’re frantic, rubbing Emmaline’s back in a circular pattern, over and over like you’re trying to calm her, even though she’s perfectly content. It’s you who needs soothing, he realizes, and he takes your hand without questioning it, letting his instincts guide him in regard to you without overthinking it. 

“He was high, love. Looking for money.” He doesn’t want to scare you but… he doesn’t despise the idea of instilling some hypervigilance. Maybe this will convince you not to take the train. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Think I scared him off for good though.” He looks around, and then slips off his mask, wide thumb stroking a soft touch on Emma’s cheek before giving you a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright now.” You visibly relax, but don’t let go of his hand, tilting your face up to his, all bright and beautiful, still coming down from the adrenaline of your fear with a whisper on your lips, meant for only him to hear. 

“Our hero.”

[creatingblackcharacters]

“The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth” - Violence, Violent Imagery & Black Horror

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death, violence, blood, hate crimes, antiblackness, police violence, rape

Note! I am going to be speaking from a Black American point of view, as my identity informs my experience. That said, antiblackness itself is international. The idea of my Blackness as a threat, as a source of fear and violence to repress and to destroy, is something every Black person in the world that has ever dealt with white supremacy has experienced.

There are two things, I think, that are important to note as we start this conversation.

One: there is a long history of violence towards Black bodies that is due to our dehumanization. People do not care for the killing of a mouse in the way they care about a human. But if you think the people you are dealing with are not people, but animals- more particularly, pests, something distasteful- then you will be able to rationalize treating them as such.

Two: even though we live in a time period where that overt belief of Blackness as inhuman is less likely, we must recognize that there are centuries of belief behind this concept; centuries of arguments and actions that cement in our minds that a certain amount of violence towards Blackness is normal. That subconscious belief you may hold is steeped in centuries of effort to convince you of it without even questioning it. And because of this very real re-enforcement of desensitization, naturally another place this will manifest itself is in how we tell and comprehend stories.

There are also three points I'm about to make first- not the only three that can ever be made, but the ones that stand out the most to me when we talk about violence with Black characters:

One: Your Black readers may experience that scene you wrote differently than you meant anyone to, just because our history may change our perspective on what’s happening.

Two: The idea that Black characters and people deserve the pain they are experiencing.

Three: The disbelief or dismissal of the pain of Black characters and people.

You Better Start Believing In Ghost Stories- You’re In One

I don’t need to tell Black viewers scary fairytales of sadists, body snatchers and noncoincidental disappearances, cannibals, monsters appearing in the night, and dystopian, unjust systems that bury people alive- real life suffices! We recognize the symbolism because we’ve seen real demons.

Some real examples of familiar, terrifying stories that feel like drama, but are real experiences:

12 Years a Slave: “This is no fiction, no exaggeration. If I have failed in anything, it has been in presenting to the reader too prominently the bright side of the picture. I doubt not hundreds have been as unfortunate as myself; that hundreds of free citizens have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and are at this moment wearing out their lives on plantations in Texas and Louisiana.” – Solomon Northup

When They See Us: I can’t get myself to watch When They See Us, because I learned about the actual trial of the Central Park Five- now the Exonerated Five- in my undergrad program. Five teen Black and brown boys, subjected to racist and cruel policing and vilification in the media- from Donald Trump calling for their deaths in the newspaper, to being imprisoned under what the Clintons deemed a generation of “superpredators” during a “tough on crime” administration. And as audacious as it is to say, as Solomon Northup explained, they were fortunate. The average Black person funneled into the prison system doesn’t get the opportunity to make it back out redeemed or exonerated, because the system is designed to capture and keep them there regardless of their innocence or guilt. Their lives are irreparably changed; they are forever trapped.

Jasper, Texas: Learning about the vicious, gruesome murder of James Byrd Jr, was horrific- and that was just the movie. No matter how “community comes together” everyone tells that story, the reality is that there are people who will beat you, drag you chained down a gravel road for three miles as your body shreds away until you are decapitated, and leave your mangled body in front of a Black church to send a message… Because you’re Black and they hate you. To date I am scared when I’m walking and I see trucks passing me, and don’t let them have the American or the Confederate flag on them. Even Ahmaud Arbery, all he was doing was jogging in his hometown, and white men from out of town decided he should be murdered for that.

Do you want to know what all of these men and boys, from 1841 to 2020, had in common? What they did to warrant what happened to them? Being outside while Black. Some might call it “wrong place wrong time”, but the reality is that there is no “right place”. Sonya Massey, Breonna Taylor- murdered inside their home. Where else can you be, if the danger has every right to barge inside? There is no “safe”.

It is already Frightening to live while Black- not because being Black is inherently frightening, but because our society has made it horrific to do so. But that leads into my next point:

“They Shouldn’t Have Resisted”

Think of all the videos of assaulted and murdered Black people from police violence. If you can stomach going into the comments- which I don’t, anymore- you’ll see this classic comment of hate in the thousands, twisting your stomach into knots:

“if they obeyed the officer, if they didn’t resist, this wouldn’t have happened”

Another way our punitive society normalizes itself is via the idea of respectability politics; the idea that “if you are Good, if you do what you are Supposed to do, you will not be hurt- I will not have to hurt you”. Therefore, if my people are always suffering violence, it must be because we are Bad. And in a society that is already less gracious to Black people, that is more likely to think we are less human, that we are innately bad and must earn the right to be exceptional… the use of excessive violence towards me must be the natural outcome. “If your people weren’t more likely to be criminals, there wouldn’t be the need to be suspicious of you”- that is the way our society has taught us to frame these interactions, placing the blame for our own victimization on us.

Sidebar: I would highly suggest reading The New Jim Crow, written in 2010 by Michelle Alexander, to see how this mentality helps tie into large scale criminalization and mass incarceration, and how the cycle is purposely perpetuated.

You have to constantly be aware of how you look, walk and talk- and even then, that won’t be enough to save you if the time comes. The turning point for me, personally, was the murder of Sandra Bland. If she could be educated, beautiful, a beacon of her community, be everything a “Good” Black person is supposed to be… and still be murdered via police violence, they can kill any of us. And that’s a very terrifying thought- that anything at any point can be the reason for your death, and it will be validated because someone thinks you shouldn’t have “been that way”. And that way has far less to do with what you did, than it does who you are. Being “that way” is Black.

My point is, if this belief is so normalized in real life about violence on Black bodies- that somehow, we must have done something to deserve this- what makes you think that this belief does not affect how you comprehend Black people suffering in stories?

Hippocratic Oath

Human experimentation? Vivisection? Organ stealing? Begging for medicine? Dramatically bleeding out? Not trusting just anyone to see that you are hurt, because they might take advantage? All very real fears. The idea that pain is normal for Black people is especially rampant in the healthcare field, where ideas like our melanin making our skin thick enough to feel less pain (no), an overblown fear of ‘drug misuse’, and believing we are overexaggerating our pain makes many Black people being unwilling to trust the healthcare system. And it comes down to this thought:

If you think that I feel less pain, you will allow me to suffer long before you believe that I am in pain.

I was psychologically spiraling I was in so much pain after my wisdom teeth removal, and my surgeon was more concerned about “addiction to the medication”. Only because Hot Chocolate’s mom is a nurse, did I get an effective medicine schedule. My mother ended up with jaw rot because her surgeon outright claimed that she didn’t believe that she was in more than the ‘healing’ pain after her wisdom teeth were removed. She also has a gigantic, macabre (and awesome fr) scar on her stomach from a c-section she received after four days of labor attempting to have me… all because she was too poor and too Black to afford better doctors who wouldn’t have dismissed her struggles to push.

As a major example of dismissed Black pain: let’s discuss the mortality rate of Black women during childbirth, as well as the likelihood of our children to die. When we say “they will let you bleed to death”, we mean it.

“Black women have the highest maternal mortality rate in the United States — 69.9 per 100,000 live births for 2021, almost three times the rate for white women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Black babies are more likely to die, and also far more likely to be born prematurely, setting the stage for health issues that could follow them through their lives.”

Even gynecology roots in dismissal (and taking brutal advantage of) Black women's pain:

“The history of this particular medical branch … it begins on a slave farm in Alabama,” Owens said. “The advancement of obstetrics and gynecology had such an intimate relationship with slavery, and was literally built on the wounds of Black women.” Reproductive surgeries that were experimental at the time, like cesarean sections, were commonly performed on enslaved Black women. Physicians like the once-heralded J. Marion Sims, an Alabama doctor many call the “father of gynecology,” performed torturous surgical experiments on enslaved Black women in the 1840s without anesthesia. And well after the abolition of slavery, hospitals performed unnecessary hysterectomies on Black women, and eugenics programs sterilized them.”

If you think Black characters are not in pain, or that they’re overexaggerating, you’re more likely to be okay with them suffering more in comparison to those whose pain you take more seriously- to those you believe.

What’s My Point?

My point is that whatever terrifying scene you think you’re writing, whatever violent whump scenario you think you’re about to put your Black characters through, there’s a chance it has probably happened and was treated as nonimportant (damn shame, right?) And when those terrifying scenes are both written and read, the way their suffering will be felt depends on how much you as a reader care, how much you believe they are suffering.

There’s a joke amongst readers of color that many dystopian tales are tales of “what happened if white people experienced things that the rest of us have already been put through?” Think concepts like alien invasion and mass eradication of the existing population- you may think of that as an action flick, meanwhile peoples globally have suffered colonization for centuries. The Handmaid’s Tale- forced birthing and raising of “someone else’s” children, always subject to sexual harassment by the Master while subject to hate from the Mistress- that’s just being a Mammy.

There’s nothing wrong with having Black characters be violent or deal with violence, especially in a story where every character is going through shit. That is not the problem! What I am trying to tell you, though, is to be aware that certain violent imagery is going to evoke familiarity in Black viewers. And if I as a Black viewer see my very real traumas treated as entertainment fodder- or worse, dismissed- by the narrative and other viewers, I will probably not want to consume that piece of media anymore. I will also question the intentions and the beliefs of the people who treat said traumas so callously. Now, if that’s not something you care about, that’s on you! But for people who do care, it is something we need to make sure we are catching before we do it.

“So I just can’t write anything?!”

Stop that. There are plenty of examples of stories containing horror and violence with Black characters. There’s an entire genre of us telling our own stories, using the same violence as symbolism. I’m not telling you “no” (least not always). I’m telling you to take some consideration when you write the things that you do. There’s nothing wrong about writing your Black characters being violent or experiencing violence. But there is a difference between making it narratively relevant, and thoughtlessly using them as a “spook”, a stereotypical scary Black person, or a punching bag, especially in a way that may invoke certain trauma.

The Black Guy Dies First

The joke is that we never survive these horror movies because we either wouldn’t be there to begin with, or because we would make better decisions and the narrative can’t have that. But the reality is just that a lot of writers find Black characters- Black people- expendable in comparison to their white counterparts, and it shows. More of a “here, damn” sort of character, not worth investment and easy to shrug off. The book itself I haven’t read, just because it’s pretty new, but I’m looking forward to doing so. But from the summaries, it goes into horror media history and how Black characters have fared in these stories, as well as how that connects to the society those characters were written in. I.e., a thorough version of this lesson.

Instead, I wrote an entire list of questions you could possibly ask yourself involving violence or villainy involving a Black character. Feel free to print it and put it on your wall where you write if you have to! I cannot stress enough that asking yourself questions like these are good both for your creation and just… being less antiblack in general when you consume media.

Black Horror/Black Thriller

We, too, have turned our violent experiences into stories. I continue to highly suggest watching our films and reading our stories to see how we convey our fear, our terror, our violence and our pain. There are plenty of stories that work- Get Out, The Angry Black Girl and her Monster, Candyman, Lovecraft Country (the show) and Nanny are some examples. There’s even a blog by the co-writer of The Black Guy Dies First who runs BlackHorrorMovies where he reviews horror movies from throughout the decades.

Desiree Evans has a great essay, We Need Black Horror More Than Ever, that gets into why this genre is so creative and effective, that I think says what I have to say better than I could.

“Even before Peele, Black horror had a rich literary lineage going back to the folklore of Africa and its Diaspora. Stories of haints, witches, curses, and magic of all kinds can be found in the folktales collected by author and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston and in the folktales retold by acclaimed children’s book author Virginia Hamilton. One of my earliest childhood literary memories is being entranced by Hamilton’s The House of Dies Drear and Patricia McKissack’s children’s book classic The Dark-Thirty: Southern Tales of the Supernatural, both examples of the ways Black authors have tapped into Black history along with our rich ghostlore.” “Black horror can be clever and subversive, allowing Black writers to move against racist tropes, to reconfigure who stands at the center of a story, and to shift the focus from the dominant narrative to that which is hidden, submerged. To ask: what happens when the group that was Othered, gets to tell their side of the story?”

For on the nose simplicity, I’m going to use hood classic Tales From The Hood (1994) as an example of how violence can be integrated into Black horror tales. Tales From The Hood is like… The Twilight Zone by Black people. Messages discussing issues in our community, done through a mystical twist. Free on Tubi! If you want to stop here before some spoilers, it’s an hour and a half. A great time!

In the first story, a Black political activist is murdered by the cops. The scene is reflective of the real-world efforts to discredit and even murder activists speaking out against police violence, as well as the types of things done to criminalize Black citizens for capture. The song Strange Fruit plays in the background, to drive the point home that this is a lynching.

The second story deals with a Black little boy experiencing abuse in the home, drawing a green monster to show his teacher why he’s covered in wounds and is lashing out at school.

The fourth story is about a gangbanger who undergoes “behavioral modification” to be released from prison early. Think of the classic scene from A Clockwork Orange. He must watch as imagery of the Klan and of happy whites lynching Black bodies (real-life pictures and video, mind you!) play into his mind alongside gang violence.

Isn’t Violence Stereotypical or antiblack?

That last story from Tales From The Hood leads into a good point. It can be! But it does not have to be! Violence is a human experience. By suggesting we don’t experience it or commit it, you would be denying everything I’ve just spoken about. We don’t have to be racist to write our Black characters in violent situations. We also don’t have to comprehend those situations through a racist lens.

Even experiences that seem “stereotypical” do not have to be comprehended that way. I get a LOT of questions about if something is stereotypical, and my response is always that it depends on the writing!!! You could give me a harmless prompt and it becomes the most racist story ever once you leave my inbox. But you could give me a “stereotypical” prompt and it be genuine writing.

Let’s take the movie Juice for example. Juice in my honest to God opinion becomes a thriller about halfway in. On its surface, Juice looks like bad Black boys shooting and cursing and doing things they aren’t supposed to be doing! Incredibly stereotypical- violent young thugs. You might think, “you shouldn’t write something like this- you’re telling everyone this is what your community is like”. First- there’s that respectability politics again! Just because something is not a “respectable” story does not mean it doesn’t need to be told!

But if we’re actually paying attention, what we’re looking at is four young boys dealing with their environment in different ways. All four of them originally stick together to feel power amongst their brotherhood as they all act tough and discover their own identities. They are not perfect, but they are still kids. In this environment, to be tough, to be strong, you do the things that they are doing. You run from cops, you steal from stores, you mess with all the girls and talk shit and wave weapons. That’s what makes you “big”. That’s what gives you the “juice”- and the “juice” can make you untouchable.

I want to focus particularly on Bishop, yes, played by Tupac. Bishop, the antagonist of Juice, is particularly powerless, angry, and scared of the world around him. He puts on a big front of bravado, yelling, cursing, and talking big because he’s tired of being afraid, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it otherwise. So when he gets access to a gun- to power- he quickly spirals out of control. His response to his fear is to wave around a tool that makes him feel stronger, that stops the things that scare him from scaring him.

Now, that is not a unique tale! That is a tale that any race could write about, particularly young white men with gun violence! If you ever cared for Fairuza Balk’s character in The Craft, it is a similar fall from grace. But because it is on a young, Black man in the hood, audiences are less likely to empathize with Bishop. And granted, Bishop is unhinged! But many a white character has been, and is not shoved into a stereotype that white people cannot escape from!

Now would I be comfortable if a nonblack person attempted to write a narrative like Juice? Yes, because I’d worry about the tendency to lose the messaging and just fall into stereotype outright. But it can be done! The story can be told!

“But if Black violence bad, why rap?”

The short answer:

“In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political, I must listen to the birds, and in order to hear the birds, the warplanes must be silent.”

Marwhan Makhoul, Palestinian Poet

First, rap is not “only violence and misogyny”. Step your understanding of the genre up; there are plenty of options outside of the mainstream that don’t discuss those things. Second, every genre of music has mainstream popular songs about vice and sin. The idea that Black rappers have to be held to a higher standard is yet another example of how we are seen as inherently bad and must prove ourselves good. We could speak about nothing but drugs and alcohol and 1) there would still be white artists who do the very same and 2) we would still deserve to be treated like humans.

That said, many- not all- rappers rap about violence for the same reason Billy Joel wrote We Didn’t Start the Fire, the same reason Homer first spoke The Iliad- because they have something to say about it! They stand in a long tradition of people using poetry and rhythm to tell stories. Rap is an art of storytelling!

Rap is often used as an expression of frustration and righteous anger against a system built to keep us trapped within it. I’m not allowed to be angry? Why wouldn’t I be angry? Anger is a protective emotion, often when one feels helpless. Young Black people also began to reclaim and glorify the violence they lived in within their music, to take pride in their survival and in their success in a world that otherwise wanted them to fail. If I think the world fights against me no matter what I do, I’d rather live in pride than in shame with a bent head. Is it right? Maybe, maybe not. But if you don’t want them to rap about violence, why not alleviate the things leading to the violence in their environment?

Whether you choose to listen to their words, because the delivery scares you- and trust, angry Black men scared the music industry and society- doesn’t make the story any less valid!

Conclusion

I am going to drop a classic by Slick Rick called Children’s Story. I think listening to it- and I mean genuinely listening- summarizes what I’ve said here about how Black creators can tell stories, even violent ones, and how even the delivery through Blackness can change how you perceive them. Please take the time to listen before continuing.

I’ve been alive for 28 years and have known this song my whole life, and it just hit me tonight: not once is the kid in this story identified as Black! My perception of this story was completely altered by my own experiences, who told the story, and how it was told.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can tell stories of violence that involve Black characters. I love and adore a good hurt/comfort myself! But you need to be cognizant of your audience and how they’ll perceive the story you’re telling, and that includes the types of imagery you include. It’s not effective catharsis via hurt/comfort for the audience if your Black readers are being completely left out of the comfort. “I wrote this for myself” that’s cool, but… if you wrote racism for yourself, and you’re willing to admit that to yourself, that’s on you. I’d like to think that’s not your intention! You can write these stories of woe and pain without mistreating your Black characters- but that requires knowing and acknowledging when and how you’re doing that!

@afropiscesism makes a solid point in this post: our horror stories are not just fairytales full of amorphous boogiemen meant to teach lessons. Racial violence is very real, very alive, and we cannot act like the things we write can be dismissed outright as “oh well it’s not real”. Sure, those characters aren’t real. But the way you feel about Black bodies and violence is, and often it can slip into your writing as a pattern without you even realizing it. Be willing to get uncomfortable and check yourself on this as you write, as well as noticing it in other works!

If you’re constantly thinking “I would never do this”, you’ll never stop yourself when you inevitably do! If you know what violent imagery can be evoked, you can utilize it or avoid it altogether- but only if you’re willing to get honest about it. You might not intend to do any of this, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t change the pattern, because as always, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!