#king john x fem!reader

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Blue Blood and Rain [9]

King John x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: You're the personal attendant to The Dowager Countess of Bowhale, who was visiting the court with her son.

The morning after.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Some angst, due to Hugo in the previous chapter, kisses, pet names, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v sex, multiple orgasms, overuse of italics, power dynamics because he's the king, I have totally made up servant/noble dynamics because I wanted to, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2829

The faint, seemingly far off sounds of the fire in the King’s rooms being lit stir you from sleep.

Your limbs are heavy, filled with a pleasant ache and you open your eyes slowly. 

Darkness greets you, from the weak light you can see the curtains that surround the bed. They are closed, the intricately embroidered material depicting myths and legends. You’re not sure when they were drawn, but you are sure that it’s early morning, close to when you would normally rise, dress for the day, and start your duties. 

The mattress is warm, but empty beside you. You start to sit up, sleep finally withdrawing from its hold on you. 

Faintly, you can hear the rumble of the King’s voice, he’s speaking to someone. But you can’t make out the words. 

Hurriedly you rub your eyes, you’d spent far too long here. You glance about for your clothing from the night before, worrying your lip between your teeth, trying to see if you can spot them without opening the curtains and exposing yourself to whichever servant was lighting the fires. 

Suddenly the curtain opens and you jump back, covering yourself with the blankets.

The King chuckles, smiling warmly and closes the curtains. He is dressed in a beautifully decorated robe that he slips from his shoulders and lets pool on the floor as he climbs on the bed, revealing his nakedness. 

“What are you doing awake?” He kisses your cheek as he slips under the blankets next to you, wrapping you in his arms and shifting closer. His legs are a little cold from being out of the bed’s comfort. 

“Warm me up?” He kisses your shoulder as he coaxes you down to lay on your side with him snuggling into your back. 

You smile. “I have to-”

“You have to lay here and go back to sleep with me. I order it.” His eyes are already closed when you turn your head to look at him, but he’s grinning as if he can picture the expression you’re giving him. 

“Your Highness-”

“Yes, that's quite right, I am Your Highness, and I demand your loyalty.” He teases.

“You have that.” 

“And obedience.” 

“Well…” You yelp as he tickles your side and then squeezes you closer. 

“Do not make the King sentence you to his cold feet.” 

You giggle. 

“I have arranged for your morning duties to be covered, do not fret my love.” He says sweetly and kisses your cheek. “Stay with me a while longer?” 

You nod and let his embrace pull you back into slumber. 

.

The next time you wake is much later, sunshine just peaking through the gap in the curtains. Your dreams had been filled of him, of his touch and caress, sweet words and soft sighs. The King’s arms are still around you, his breathing steady as he sleeps. 

You sit up, turning to look at him. He’s so peaceful, his curls fanning over the pillow. There’s some stubble growing in the usually closely shaved gaps of his beard. It looks quite good, perhaps a full beard would suit him.

Part of you wants to reach out, to stroke his face. But you do not want to disturb his rest.

As carefully as you can, you start to slip out of the covers, just poking your foot off the bed.

“And where does my beloved think she’s going?” The King’s voice is thick, full of sleep as he sits up and nuzzles into your neck. 

“I was just going to-”

“Try and escape me.” He chuckles. “Am I such a terrible host? Or do you see me as some wicked tormenter? Here holding you against your will?” He wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you close, pressing his chest to your back as he kisses your pulse point.  

“Maybe I’m the one ensnaring you?” You tease and he groans softly. 

“Yes, yes, very good. I hope so, very much.” 

“You hope so?” You laugh.

“Hmm,” He kisses your cheek, then lips as you turn your head towards him. 

You snort, moving fully to face him and run your fingers over his cheeks. “Your beard is growing.”

He pouts.

“I like it.” You tap his nose softly.

That makes him smile, the expression is a little surprised. “You do?” 

“I think you would look very distinguished.” 

“Oh?” 

“Very regal.” 

“I think my lady is thinking only of what it would feel like between her legs.” He grins when you laugh, resting his hands on your hips and kneading your flesh slowly. 

“I think that is what, My King, is thinking of.” 

“I like that.” 

“What?” You put your arms around his neck, more than content to gaze at the happiness on his face. 

“Your King.” He puffs out his chest. “Just for you. No one else.” 

You swallow. The smallest crack in your chest, threatening to let thoughts of Hugo and the future filter into this perfect moment. You shift, breathing in to speak, and accidentally brush your thigh against the King’s heavy cock. 

His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a gentle hum of satisfaction that he cuts short. “I apologise, my love, being close to you does things to me. Especially when you are naked in my bed.” 

“Why are you apologising?” You ask sweetly. 

“Well, I am sure you are sore and not thinking about such-”

You cut him off with a firm kiss, licking into his mouth when he happily parts his lips for you and moaning. His fingers tighten on your hips as he fights the urge to pull you into his lap.

Instead, you push him back against the mattress and quickly climb on top of him, resting your legs either side of his. 

He kisses you hungrily, groaning as you move but pulling back at the last moment. “My love, do not worry about me, let me put my mouth on you and soothe your ache.” 

You shake your head. “I want to feel you inside.” You raise yourself up and take hold of his thick length, lightly stroking him a few times to savour the velvet heat of his skin under your palm. 

He groans, his hips jolting as he fights back the urge to buck. 

“I’ve been dreaming of you,” you mutter against his lip as you press his swollen head against your entrance. 

He sighs desperately, his lidded eyes widening when he feels the arousal between your legs. 

“You are so wet, my love.” He mutters, his voice soft and reverent, hypotonic almost. “Pray tell, how have you been dreaming of me?” He sits up, chest to chest.

“Of all the ways I could have you,” you whisper and kiss him roughly. He moans, grabbing hold of your sides as you slide your hand into his hair. 

At first, there is a slight resistance as you press down against him, a slight burn of stretched muscle. But the tip of his cock quickly breaches you, stretching you wide as you sink down onto him. 

You bite your lip, gasping. 

“My love,” he swallows, trying to keep the desperate whine out of his voice, to keep the moans at bay. “Please do not if it hurts, if you are sore or in pain.” 

You shake your head. “I’m alright, it’s not unpleasant.” You breathe in, and rock your hips slightly, easing further and further. 

He moans louder, pressing his face into your neck but keeping his lower body still. The tension of his muscles radiates into you, how hard he is trying not to move and let you take what you want. 

You swallow when you finally settle against him, his entire length sheathed fully inside. He presses deep, splitting you in two and piercing your very heart. 

“Are you alright?” He whispers, pulling back to gaze upon your face with his large, soft eyes. 

You nod and shift your hips a little to adjust and he gulps audibly. 

“Sorry,” You smile bashfully. 

“Do not be,” He groans softly and squeezes you a fraction tighter. “I am the one  that is the deviant here.” He teases. 

You giggle and lick into his mouth eagerly when he leans forward and kisses you hungrily. Slowly he drags his right hand down to lightly stroke your clit with his thumb. 

Your breathing hitches as he rubs soft circles and your hips buck instinctively. 

He hums against your lips, “Ah, that’s it, my love,” his voice is thick and syrupy, “please take your pleasure from me.”

You squeeze his shoulders, arching your back ever so slightly so that you can roll your hips experimentally. He watches you move, his eyes lidded and thumb never faltering. Spikes of pleasure jolt up your spine, piercing into your nerves as he strokes you. Your movements start to grow, your body demanding that you chase your pleasure as you adjust completely to his size. 

He presses his forehead to yours, breathing in your oxygen as you bounce on him. Slowly he starts to shallowly thrust upwards, the smallest movement of his hips and revels when you gasp, your eyes widening.

“There?” He mutters, so caught up in the feel of you, how you squeeze and soak his cock, how you cling to him so tightly. 

You nod, hardly able to form words as he brushes the head of his cock against the same spot again. 

The King moans softly, the wanton sound trickling into your ears and electrifying your bones. His thumb presses harder against your swollen clit and you can’t stop yourself, can’t hold back. Not when he’s looking at you like that and holding you so close. 

You come with a sob, the sensation paralysing you for one long moment as pleasure spreads across your body. It’s gentle and slow, like a drawn out shiver running over your skin. 

He keeps stroking as you shake in his arms, stilling only when you relax. 

It's safe as he holds you, contentment bubbling in your chest as he kisses your sweaty temple. You’re quite sure it would truly be heaven just to stay like this with him forever. 

Lightly you scratch your nails across his beard and he chuckles, moving back and kissing your cheek. 

“I think…” he pauses, biting back a cheeky smile. “You have one more in you, yes?” 

You can’t help but giggle at his expression, it’s playful but soft. Inviting your rejection if that is what you wish to give him. 

“Yes, your Highness.” You stroke his neck, playing with the curls that brush against his nape. 

He groans, squeezing your thigh as he kisses you messily. “You could get me to do anything you wanted by calling me that.” 

“Could I?” You grin. 

He nods. “I mean it, absolutely anything.” He kisses you again, softer and slower. But there’s pent up heat simmering underneath, threatening to break through at any given moment. 

“I would give you anything.” You whisper as he sucks a love bite against your pulse point.

“You already have, my love.” He trails his lips lower, littering your chest with kisses before he laps at your nipples and moans in satisfaction as they pebble under his tongue. 

His cock pulses in you, practically in time with the beating of his heart. He can’t help but rock slightly, just to take the edge off as he lavishes your chest with attention. 

You moan as you cling onto him, moving your hips in a slow figure eight, deepening the shallow movements he’s making. 

He gasps loudly, breaking the seal his lips have on your skin to let out the most sinful noises. 

You can’t help yourself, you lean back a fraction so that you can watch him. Sliding one hand up his chest, you tilt his chin towards you, making him bare his neck. 

He whines beautifully, gasping and bucking weakly, trying to hold himself back. You graze your teeth up his neck and he rewards you with a whimper, his air catching in his throat. His fingers squeeze your skin.

“You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that, my love,” he swallows his voice practically pleading. And you repeat the movement.

He groans loudly, the sound going straight to your core as you start to move more fiercely, more frantically. 

A ball of tension is tightening in your belly, demanding control over your actions as pleasure spikes along your veins. 

The King gasps, his balls drawing up. He presses his hand between your bodies and rubs your clit until you’re lightheaded and on the very edge. 

He kisses you messily, warm and wet as he moves with you, pushing you closer and closer until you tense. 

You swear, moaning in his embrace as your second orgasm washes over you. It keeps you in place as he thrusts up into you eagerly, his cries of pleasure harmonising with your own. 

“God- my love,” He whines, swallowing down air as he quickly grabs your hips. “I’m sorry, I can’t-” He just manages to get enough space between your bodies to pull his cock out of you before he comes, spurting hot and thick over both of your stomachs. He groans loudly, pulling you closer so that he can smear his spend against yours and his skin. 

Part of you laments it, in that moment. Selfishly wanting him to come in you. At least then you could pretend when Hugo… you could pretend your first child was the King’s instead. 

The King hugs you fiercely, kissing your neck and soothing your tired and aching muscles. He coaxes you into laying down on your back while he wipes you both clean and then buries his face between your legs, making you shiver and shake and come one more time against his tongue. 

He laments having to leave for the after ball breakfast, pouting a little until you giggle and playfully push his face away. 

You help him to dress, kissing his cheeks when he tries to pull you into a more passionate embrace.

“You’ll be late, your Highness.”

“A King can’t be late.” He grins and you snort. 

“Still.” 

He hugs you closer, “Will you check on Guinevere for me?” He asks softly. The request surprises you a little, surely the King’s servants were taking good care of one of his treasured horses. But you nod, touched by the ask.

“Of course.”

“You are too good to me.” He kisses you again, and helps you to dress in the clothes you were wearing the night before. He keeps your hand in his as you leave his rooms until you have to part, he heads to the right, while you to the left. 

You push all other thoughts out of your mind. Let them stay at the edge, knowing that they will haunt you later. 

You’re barely at the stables, when the King’s head servant, Wymare, approaches you. It is strange to see him far from the King’s side. He bows formally, which only further confuses you, “Your help is needed in the dining hall.” 

“Oh, I… Yes, of course.” 

You follow him quickly as he escorts you, not giving you a second to think or explain where you were headed. You would check on Guinevere the moment you were finished. 

He doesn’t lead you to the kitchen, as you expect, or even to the servants' entrance. Instead down a corridor you haven’t been before, and stops before a side door. 

At first, it reminds you of the King’s personal entrance, but you must be mistaken. 

“Here,” He opens an ornate side cupboard, in the weak light you can’t fully see what he is getting out. He places it around your shoulders, guiding your arms through. It’s a long, sleeveless waistcoat. He moves so quickly you don’t even get a chance to inspect it and assume it is some sort of formal hall attire all the servants are expected to wear. 

He gives you a quick smile and another bow. “My lady.” 

You pause, shocked. But don’t even have time to question him before he opens the door and lightly pushes you out. 

The entire hall is watching you as you come out of the King’s private entrance. They are seated along the long table, the King at the head and closest to you. 

For a second you catch Hugo’s gaze, he is sitting with his mother about halfway down the table. He gives you a quizzical expression and you quickly look away. Though, their position halfway down the table must sting a little. Before he and his mother had been seated much, much closer to the King, closer to his favour. 

“Ah,” the King grins at you, the expression blinding as he stands, forcing all the nobles to quickly abandon their food and scrabble to their feet. “There you are, my beloved.” He holds out his hand to you and quirks an eyebrow. An undeniably cheeky expression plastered all over his face. 

Thank you for reading!

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[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Killshot (Series Masterlist)

“… if I get to know her, then I might save her.” ~ c.

Series Description: The occupation as a member of SAS came with many restrictions and rules one had to follow to a dot. It could get even more intense for a soldier carrying a lot of trauma and not enough self-love, if any at all. Thank God, this lonely soldier meets a lonely florist one day, and as they say - animals have the best judge of character.

Pairing: Simon Riley x fem!reader

A/N: So, I was never into CoD. I was born and raised a gamer, but CoD had never seen the light of day in our household - until my uncle started gushing over the MW remake last year (at least I gathered it's a remake). I didn't pay much attention to the gushing and one day, randomly, Simon Riley started living in my head rent-free and hadn't left since. It's interesting to imagine what type of person Simon would be in day-to-day life and I like that the fandom is so diverse, doesn't matter which member of 141. Hope you'll have fun reading and hope you'll find my version of Simon at least a bit likeable.

Music inspo: Meet Me At Our Spot by the Anxiety, Killshot by Magdalena Bay heavily inspired by Mura Masa's self-titled album, namely by tracks Lovesick and What If I Go?

Trigger warnings: Dealing with anxiety, low self-esteem, smoking, alcohol usage, domestic violence (gets graphic in some parts), usage of violence, blood, Simon being an anxious sunshine, both of them being a broken mess, occasional depictions of readers wardrobe (girly wears glasses sometimes), MacTavish paired with an OC created for this fic while also being a menace, Price guest appearance (stealing everyone’s thunder), Gaz hangs out with our girly.

☀️ indicates fluff; 🌊 indicates smut; 🌪️indicates angst, potentially trigerring content

Ghost's tapes: P L A Y L I S T

Read here: 

1. The Genius Florist ☀️ (Word count: around 6.5K) 2. The Cactus ☀️🌪️(Word count: around 6.1K) 3. Her Song☀️🌪️ (Word count: around 6.5K) 4. Their Song ☀️🌪️ (Word count: 9.5K) 5. His Past (TBA, in progress) 6. Their Past (TBA, in progress) 7. (TBA, in progress) 8. (TBA, in progress)

[thegamingcatmom]

In the middle of watching Maleficent 2 after not seeing it for years and I'm already back to being obsessed.

Seeing her so (painfully) awkward around humans has me melting every time. Like-

When King John asks her whether she had any trouble finding the castle? And her answer is a very annoyed, very hissy-

"Are u stupid or smt?"

???

...That's what she meant, at least.

C'mon.

I MEAN-

Her not knowing what small talk is and, as a result because baby doesn't deal well with being confusion, immediately resorting to thinly veiled death threats and almost violence so Diaval has to step in to prevent disaster from striking like-

BABY IS CONFUSION DON'T JUDGE HER. 😭

ALSO-

Y'all know how Maleficent is the last of the fey with the blood of The Phoenix running through her veins? So that means her offspring will continue that bloodline? So that means offspring? So that means- 🫠

ALSO-

Y'know, when I first watched this back in 2019, there was a very brief moment where I thought this movie was gonna go dark. Like, killing off every last human in that castle except Aurora dark. And I was damn ready for it, lemme tell ya. Like-

I was so damn ready for Maleficent tearing down a whole ass castle in motherly rage, not giving a damn about who got caught in the crossfire because all that mattered was getting to Queen Ingrith - the one who stole her child. And what mattered even more was getting to her child and bringing her home - where she belonged.

I mean, the ongoing conflict between the fey and the humans was the driving force behind the attack, yes. Especially after they killed Conall. But, for Maleficent, it was much more personal than that, wasn't it? She went there seeking revenge for the "loss" of her daughter, too. That was the driving force for her.

Also-

The way Maleficent threatens to go in for an instant kill here but ends up swooping over Ingrith to take out everyone else first because she wants to save the Queen for last?? She doesn't want interruptions. She wants to be able to enjoy every.damn.second. She wants to squeeze every last bit of triumph out of that moment.

And I have zero doubt that Maleficent intended Ingrith's death to be as slow and painful as possible, judging by the way she literally swaggers over to her before Aurora (sadly) interrupts proceedings:

I MEAN-

Just look at that smug face. 🫠

BUT ALSO-

Pls look at how PROUD she is here. She's like "ye, that's my daughter and ye, she needs me rn cause, guess what, I'm her MOTHER and she's MY daughter-"

But also-

Aurora, asking to be walked down the aisle: "Would you give me away?"

Maleficent, instant panic mode cause our confused baby isn't familiar with human traditions or speech so she thinks Aurora means literally: "WHA BABY I'D NEVER WHAT ARE U EVEN ON ABOUT MY PRECIOUS BABY-"

Aurora: "Down the aisle, mom."

Maleficent: "..."

Aurora: "..."

Maleficent: 😅

Aurora: 🙈

Okay but also-

If we don't get a baby-lifting scene à la The Lion King in the next movie where Maleficent proudly presents her very first grandchild to the fey folk (who go absolutely wild in response) Imma riot.

SPEAKING OF-

We know next to nothing about Maleficent 3 yet, so we don't know if Maleficent's gonna have a love interest this time around, BUT-

Listen-

While I love the dynamic between Maleficent and Diaval, I just can't see them ever becoming romantically involved with each other. They might bicker like a married couple pretty much 24/7, but they don't give me couple vibes. At all. It's more like...being each other's wingman and wingwoman (apart from being co-parents and the best of buddies ofc). Quite literally, lol.

SPEAKING OF-

I might or might not have opened a Word doc and started typing. So we'll see. ✌️

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Three: just as much of a traitor as Judas

tw: minor threats, abuse mention, wounds

“Caught this lamb sneaking ‘round while I was tryin’ to take a piss.” 

The masked stranger’s voice is severe but falls shorter than your father’s tone usually does. It does not bite quite as hard—instead, it nips away at you, taking little chunks with it. Still, you flinch all the same as his boots kick up dirt beside you, pacing impatiently with his arms crossed as he glowers at you over the cloth covering his nose. 

“Don’t mind Riley. He just doesn’t like strangers is all.” 

Shifting on your knees, you settle on your haunches before you can force your eyes to focus on the man on your left again. There’s the urge to lower your head as if before a king, or you’re back in the pews in that bloodstained church, but you fight that impulse as you fold your aching hands in your lap. That unassuming smile is still on his lips and the dissonance it stirs in your brain is frightening. Is he truly smiling or only flashing his teeth in warning? 

“Though, I am curious,” he continues as he taps the brim of his hat on the palm of his hand. “What are you doing out here? Bit late for a stroll. Rather… brave of you to come so close to a camp of unknown folk while you’re all by yourself.” 

“Rude,” you correct. “I-It was rude of me to… trespass. I should’ve known to stay away. I’m sorry, mister, I didn’t mean anything by it. I—well—I should get going. I’ll l-leave you gentlemen alone, I swear.”

There’s a jolt that reverberates through your legs as you attempt to find the strength to push yourself to your feet, but that vanishes the moment the man holds his hand up. Ivory light catches on the silvery calluses on his palms. A hard working man; or so you’d say if Mr. Beckett’s words weren’t still haunting your brain. His rough skin comes from the wood grip of his revolver and the soft throats of unsuspecting victims. There is nothing about this man that doesn’t remind you of the fact he’s a killer; not even that amicable smile.

“Now hold on a moment,” he urges, “you’re not really a stranger though, are you?” His teeth flash brighter than you think is humanly possible as he chuckles and glances at the men that slowly creep around you. “No, we saw you in the saloon, didn’t we? Skittish thing, you are, knocking over your stool. Lost all the change in your pocket and didn’t even stop as the bartender yelled after you. Must’ve been in a real hurry.” 

The change. You were right, though that doesn’t do you any good right now. Still, it stings knowing that something so trivial created a domino effect—that something so simple led you into a den full of wolves. Had you been more careful, you could be sitting next to your mother’s empty seat right now. 

“I… I had to get home to my daddy, he was waiting on me. He’s—uhm—waiting for me at home again. He’ll start to worry if I’m out too long.” Though you’re not sure if it’s entirely truthful, you throw that last bit in as a desperate attempt to notify these men that there is someone looking out for you. That someone will notice if you don’t turn up. 

Don’t you dare return until you do. 

Or, so you hope. 

Your words are as transparent as the stained glass in your father’s church. It’s ignored and completely bypassed in favor of asking you for your name. There’s a small temptation to lie; to create an alias as a way to preserve yourself in whatever way possible. You almost do, until your father’s words bleed from your memory—everything he quoted from The Bible about lying—so you swallow your fear and mutter your name as if it’s a curse. 

“John Price,” the man—this criminal—introduces properly. He holds out his hand for you to shake and you witlessly accept. He doesn’t grab your hand, but instead your wrist where he twists it until your cracked knuckles are on display for all prying eyes to see. His hands are oddly warm compared to you. Superheated enough that he could melt you if he wished. “Looks like you’re quite the fighter.” 

There’s an odd cordolium that strikes you with almost as much force as your father usually does. Unrelenting like the floods in spring, your stomach twists at the notion that someone would look at your wounds and see it as your fault. 

(But they are your fault, aren’t they? You said as much to Mr. Beckett.) 

“I’m not,” you say, tone dripping with desperation. “Please, sir, I really ought to be getting home. It-It’s getting late and my daddy, he-” 

“You know,” John Price interjects, “folk sometimes think women aren’t capable of much. Better if they stay home with the children or doing simple housework. If you’re a society lady, anyway, but out here in the heartlands… well, that’s a different story, isn’t it? You hear all about women murdering their sweethearts, or sneaking around where they shouldn’t.” 

Your mouth fills with cotton as his grip on your wrist stays firm. John Price’s words are dark with a rather canorous—albeit gruff—voice, but his implications leave your tongue feeling arid. 

“Are you saying that… You think that I… would hurt someone?” It’s hard to get the words out, but you force them through your teeth anyway. 

He cocks an eyebrow. “Am I?” 

The masked fellow—Riley?—scoffs as his heavy feet kick at the dirt. “C’mon Price. Just take care of ‘er and get on with it.” 

“Dunno, she doesn’t seem like much trouble,” a smooth voice challenges from somewhere behind you. The speaker captures John Price’s attention for a split second before his eyes are back on you. “Like you said, just a lamb, right?” 

“Is Kyle right about you? How much trouble are you?” he asks. 

Your bottom lip twitches. “I-I try not to be any,” you assure. 

Everything swells within an instant. The flames licking at your back roar and crackle in tune with John Price’s chuckling, and even the coyotes howling seem to crescendo with him. Finally, he releases your wrist as he replaces his hat on his head and you find your left thumb running over the delicate skin just beneath your palm. As he adjusts the brim, he opens his mouth to say something only for his lips to snap shut. Something seems to catch his eye as his gaze wanders down over your neck and to your chest. Your heart ceases in your ribcage like a fish swaying in dead water. 

A flinch forces your muscles to tense as John Price reaches a hand toward your throat. You want to close your eyes as you await your death. Asphyxiation isn’t how you want to go, but you suppose there are worse ways to be disposed of. Yet, there is no clenching of fingers or bulging of eyes—instead, this man gently tugs on the delicate gold chain around your neck, allowing his eyes to settle on the charm attached to it. 

On the crux of your breasts sits a dainty gold cross. Usually hidden behind your blouse, it now glints in the firelight with unabashed glory. For a moment, you are transported back in time when this nostalgic piece of jewelry used to sit upon your mother’s neck. Somehow, it always seemed more distinguished on her than it ever did on you. She wore it day and night—she even wore it in her casket. Hands folded on her stomach and eyes sealed tight, it didn’t seem to shine as bright when tied to her corpse. 

Your grubby nine year old fingers had slipped it off of her neck before they buried her. If your father had ever realized, you’re certain he would have buried you with her that day, but you did not take it out of avarice. She was—after all—your mother; don’t you deserve to carry a piece of her with you? Something more than the blood stained clothes she left behind? 

“Are you a woman of God?” John Price asks. 

You nod. “I am. My… My daddy’s the preacher here in town.” 

Humming, he drops the chain before returning his attention to your hands. This time, he flips both of them over so all your sore and sorry knuckles are on display. He scrutinizes them. Studies the way the skin splits open like he’s contemplating taking a taste—nothing but a scavenger interested in the leftover scraps of you. 

“Please sir,” you beg once more. “I promise I won’t make any more trouble. I’ll go home and you’ll never see me again.” 

John Price shakes his head as he relinquishes your hands back to you. When he stands, he towers over you like a tree does an ant. An infinitesimal being who’s already well accustomed with the crane of her neck. “You’re not going home.” 

Your fear is drowned out by the protest of the other men around you. They’re short and sharp quips that have John Price glaring at them with narrow eyes. You never thought you’d find yourself agreeing with such men—and especially not so quickly—but even your exhale of disapproval slices through their murmurs. 

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Riley hisses as he turns his back to John Price. 

“Please sir, I won’t speak a word,” you attempt to convince. “No one will ever know I saw you here, a-and we’ll pretend like this whole thing never happened.” 

“I bet you’re real good at that, yeah? Pretending as if things never happened,” John Price quips. “Is that what your daddy makes you do when he beats you like that? Act like it never happened so he can send you into town to buy his liquor?” 

When you swallow, it’s nothing but icicles piercing your throat. “He… He doesn’t hurt me.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” he snaps. “Christ, I can see the way your eye is swelling up already.” 

Adrenaline has been seeping through your pores so viciously that you had forgotten all about everything your father had subjected you to before this. An instinctively protective hand raises to your cheek where your fingers prod at the tender skin. It smarts something fierce, yet you bite back your wince as your eyes focus back on John Price’s boots. 

You don’t realize just how quiet things have grown until one of the logs being consumed by the flames suddenly cracks. It splits and settles, sending sparks swirling up in the air high above your head before they flicker out like snuffed out stars. There is no more protesting from the men around you; not even the faintest huffs of disapproval. They’ve witnessed your marred skin and smelled the wet iron that seeps from it, yet they can now finally see the infection itself. The way it festers within you, ready to consume you whole lest something is done about it first. 

John Price looks ready to rip the rot out of you with his bare hands. 

“Do you have anywhere you can go? Someone in town who will take care of you besides him?” he asks with so much consideration in his voice he sounds like a different man entirely. 

It’s a laughable question, and you would have let a titter slip past your lips if it wasn’t for the fear that still grips your heart. There are some people who would take you under their wing as if pitying a flightless bird. Mr. Beckett, for example. But your father’s influence reaches far and wide within Penmosa. You wouldn’t subjugate anyone to that type of torture. 

You shake your head. 

John Price hums. “Looks like you’re sticking with us then, little lamb.” 

Somehow, the only protest comes from you. “You don’t have to do that. It’s fine, really, I-”

“It’s not permanent,” he interjects. “No offence miss, but you hardly look roughened enough for the trails we take out here anyway. Are you familiar with Blackpeak?” 

You nod. “Mr. Beckett said that’s the town that… that you’re wanted in,” you answer just as honestly as you do awkwardly. 

He chuckles. “Yeah well… then you’re familiar with Grand Hollow then? It’s a big city. I’m sure you folks around here are familiar with it. It’s on the way to Blackpeak, which is where we’re headed. I’ve got an associate there who can find you work and housing. You could start living. Really living.” 

Dumbfounded, you stare up at John Price as if he’s a prophet. He says it so simply—you’d always thought an offer like this would come pleonastically. Salvation. It’s supposed to come at the tail end of a sermon where your father directs you and the entire congregation to bow their heads and repent for the opportunity of being saved. Truly saved. This inured cowboy—or rather, outlaw—before you hardly seems to be the epitome of Jesus Christ Himself, but perhaps he is your burning bush. 

There is, after all, a fire at your back. 

“You’d… why would you do that for me? You don’t even know me,” you say in disbelief. 

John Price shrugs. “I’ve done more for people who’ve deserved it less.” 

This must be some sort of mendacity. Nothing but a trick of the light or your ears playing games with you. Mr. Beckett told you these men were murderers. Thieves who would steal away your life before you made sense of the blade in your gut. Yet, instead of salivating at the sight of your wounds, John Price seems to have softened. 

“I… I don’t… Thank you,” you stutter. 

He gives you a curt nod in response before his eyes dart behind you. “Soap, get her a blanket. And some food, while you’re at it. Can hear her stomach growling from here.” 

The rest of the night passes you by in a cocainized blur. You’re able to make sense of the cotton blanket wrapped around your shoulders, and the too-tough deer jerky that makes your jaw and teeth ache as you grind it between your molars, but you fall short of truly being able to feel it. The heat of the roaring fire, the susurrus of the men as they discuss what exactly to do with you—they’re all abstract concepts. Ideas you try to catch in the grey matter of your brain just for the holes in your net to be too big. It slips like water between fingers. Flour from a sieve.  

When your eyelids grow too heavy to hold them up anymore, Soap—who you’ve also heard be called Johnny, but really you’re too terrified to refer to the man at all—provides you with a canvas tarp and a few extra spare blankets. No one really speaks to you, except for John Price. The other men look at you like you’re some wounded animal, one they’re afraid will jump out to bite them as if you’re the one with the repeaters and bandoliers. 

As if you’re the one with your face plastered on parchment with the words Dead or Alive beneath your name. 

Your sleep is intermittently broken throughout the night by someone adding more logs on the fire. They clank together as soot squeaks beneath the pressure, forcing you to jolt awake. It’s a different man each time, and still they all mumble for you to go back to sleep when they catch your eyes fluttering open at the intrusion. 

Morning dawns with soft periwinkle clouds and an aroma of black coffee. The robust scent rouses you from your sleep where you’re faced with a pile of dying embers and John Price kneeling over the pit as if to lay them to rest. He fusses over a small pot that babbles with boiling water as he fixes himself a cup of coffee. 

“Morning, lamb,” he greets. 

You blink a few more times before you get the strength—or rather, the courage—to sit up. Every muscle and bone in your body screams at you. It twists and cries at the unfair treatment it received from the previous day, both from your father and from your unfortunate decision to sleep on the cold hard earth rather than back in your vacant bed. Shivering fingers paw at the back of your sore neck as you try to soak up what little warmth remains in your blankets. 

“Sleep well?” he asks softly. 

“No worse than usual,” you quip, which earns you a tired chuckle. 

“Well, I’m afraid it’s all you’re going to get for the day. We’ll be leaving soon.” 

His words hit you like a rising tide. Water slowly lapping at your feet before swelling into waves that threaten to knock you to your knees. 

“I can’t believe I’m really doing this,” you breathe. 

John Price hums as he settles next to the dying fire. His pot still bubbles away, but he now nurses his own tin cup between the palms of his hands. You can see the way the warmth melts his exterior, but it’s still not enough to reach his eyes. 

“I thought you’d be more excited,” he notes. 

“Excited?” you repeat sourly. How insane of him to think you’d feel giddy over leaving everything you have ever known behind you to rot in the dust. 

He shrugs. “Usually people are eager to leave the people they hate.” 

Absentminded fingers curl around the golden cross of your necklace. He uses such a strong word to attempt to explain your emotions. Hate. Disdain. Abhor. You don’t think you’ve ever felt such things for anyone in your entire life—least of all your father. 

“I don’t hate him,” you correct. 

“Oh, you do,” John Price scoffs. “You just don’t realize it yet.” 

Despite your narrowing eyebrows, you do your best to hold off a glare at this scoundrel. He only smiles in response as he holds up his cup. 

“Coffee?” He takes a sip from the cup when you shake your head. “Right, we’ll be leaving in twenty minutes. Should make peace with your… situation before we leave, yeah?” 

John Price wanders off and leaves you alone to defrost next to the dying remains of the fire beside you. You allow yourself to soak up the morning for only a few moments before you’re putting yourself to work. You roll your blankets up the same way you watched Kyle—the gentleman who attempted to defend you last night—roll them, and when you can’t get it quite as tight as he can, he relieves you of that duty with a smile before wandering off to his horse. 

The air is strange this morning. It pulses with each beat of your heart as you stand in the center of a now dilapidating camp, looking at the men around you. Only a handful of hours ago you were sitting at the dining table with your father. Now look at you. No better than an apostate to him, wandering off with strange men. Just as much of a traitor as Judas. 

You’re yanked out of your thoughts when a bag is dropped at your feet. Yelping, you spin your body until you’re face to face with Riley. He looks no less intimidating now in the pale dawn light than he did last night in the shadows. You still have yet to see him without that bandana obscuring the bottom half of his face, but the hairs standing up on the back of your neck remind you that you ought to not ask about it. 

Instead, you bring your attention to the floral printed carpet bag that sits in the dirt next to you. Yellowed lilies dance among green threads as the canvas collapses in on itself like it can hardly stand its own weight. 

“What’s this?” you question. 

“Your bag, isn’t it?” Riley deadpans. 

Throwing a cautious glance at the mountainous man in front of you, you quickly kneel and begin to rummage through the contents. An odd palpitation rips through your heart when you recognize your own belongings within this bag—your bag. You recognize it now, flowers and all. A gift from your maternal grandmother when you turned six. She had promised you that one day you’d go out to see the world with your mother. Her promise hasn’t exactly bore fruit the way you wanted. 

There’s everything you need to live shoved inside this bag. Your dresses, chemises, pantalets, even your combs. They’re all shoved in haphazardly with no concern at all for the neat way you were certain you had folded them previously, but you make no mention of it as you zip the bag closed. 

“Where did you get this?” you question as you stand back to your feet. 

Riley raises an eyebrow. “Where do you think?” 

Somehow, you manage to swallow the lump in your throat without choking on it. “Did… Did you do anything to him?” 

“Nothin’ he didn’t deserve,” he replies as he turns his back to you. 

As the boys finish wrapping up camp, you wander the area with your carpet bag in hand. Twigs snap beneath your feet and mourning doves chirp upon ramulose trees and bushes as you peer out over the horizon. The campsite rests at the top of a large hill, giving you a perfect view of the earth below you. Penmosa looks just as small as it's always been, and you can see the sheep in the pasture lazily roam as they chew on fresh spring grass and bleat. Mr. Beckett’s chickens are out again and enjoying their morning stroll and you can’t help but laugh as you watch a carriage pass them by, scaring them and causing them to flap their wings to get away. 

Then, of course, there’s the steeple of your father’s church. Faded painted wood stands proudly above every other building in town like hands reaching up to Heaven. How proud that building is. So cavalier for something that’s soaked in blood. You find yourself thinking an unchristian thought, but you hope that steeple tumbles like The Tower of Babel. 

It’s strange to think that you’ll be leaving this town behind. Throwing it away for a chance to wander off with strange men on the shaky promise of a better life. How can something feel wrong and right at the same time? What brutal moral conflict have you subjugated yourself to? Why aren’t you as scared as you know you should be? 

“You ready, little lamb?” John Price asks from somewhere behind you. 

You allow yourself to stare out at the town for only a moment longer before turning around to face him. He stands with his hat donned and thumbs tucked next to his belt buckle as he watches you with curiosity. 

“Of course,” you reply, though your tone argues otherwise.  Just as you take your first step, the church bells begin to chime. Raucous and clear, they call you to you. They ring, and ring, and ring, and still you walk. You pay no mind to your father or his bells; not even as they beg.

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[aerynwrites]

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King!John Price x Fem!Reader

A/N: It's FINALLY here holy shit y'all. sorry for the delay, it was just slow going mainly bc i got stuck on the smut lmao. SO, i just decided to post the bulk of the story now and then post a second smutty part later. I hope you all enjoy, and as usual I love to hear what you guys think!! Comments, reblogs and such are greatly appreacited. Also: this fic was inspired by the song Give by Sleep token as well as the song Kingdom of cards by Bad Omens! Word Count: 7.6k (oops) Warnings: Arranged marriage, mentions of past abuse to reader, reader's father is abusive, hurt/comfort, soft john price, mentions of consummation, fluff, just so much fluff.

The room is eerily silent, the complete opposite of what you expected on a day like this.

Your wedding day.

Your mother had stepped out once the handmaid that was provided to you had finished helping you with your dress - panicked when she couldn’t find the veil that she was passing down to you. Your father had entered as soon as your mother had left, and you dared not break the silence first. You know what will happen if you do. 

But you can’t stop the way you fidget, wiping your hands down the front of the bodice of your dress, tugging at the fingers of your silk gloves. You hate wearing gloves, they itch and they are too warm - but your father insisted, hand raised threatening above his head when you almost muttered a complaint. 

So. You’re wearing the gloves -

“Stop fidgeting,” your father bites, standing abruptly from the armchair in the corner to storm over to you. 

The flinch that jolts your body is instantaneous, shying away from the storm of a man approaching you. The only reason you don’t shield yourself is because even you know he won’t do anything. Not today at least. 

Can’t risk marking up the wares. 

But it doesn’t stop him from gripping your arm like a vice, his nails digging into your skin beneath the delicate fabric of the ornate gown. You choke down the whimper, but fail to hide the fear you know is present in your gaze as you stare up at your oppressor. 

“You will not ruin this for us,” he all but hisses. “I understand that decorum is a foreign concept to you, but if you so much as think about sabotaging this - me - I will-”

“I found it!” Your mother calls from the other side of the door, her voice shoving your father away from you like a storm would a willow branch. 

She breezes into the room with an elegance you could never hope to match, a beauty you could never achieve - at least according to your father. She smiles at you, and you don’t fail to notice the way she takes in your shrunken appearance, the tense in your shoulders, before her eyes flicker to her husband. 

She knows. She’s known the whole time - for she bears the scars too. 

Her smile becomes tight, but she doesn’t say anything, just comes to you with the veil raised in her hands. It’s floor length, the back so long it trails even past your dress train, the lace details so intricate you can’t imagine how long it took the original creator to tailor it. it has a front piece as well that drapes in front of your face, falling to just above your collar bone where it will stay until your future husband unveils you. 

The king. 

You have to fight the shudder that threatens to run through you at the thought. You’ve only met him once, and at the time neither of you knew you would end up wedding one another. The King rules over the land, but there are many territories, many clans - his the most fearsome of all. You’d heard whispers through your childhood of the ruthlessness of the capitol city in which the King resides. Its citizens were born and bred to fight - knights and soldiers trained to kill. 

Your father’s words ring in your ears as your mother fixes your veil to your head, fussing with the fabric. 

‘If you even think about sabotaging me…’

Any sane person would. They would probably try to run for the hills when they found out they were to wed the ruthless King, a king that has never lost a battle, a King whose Kings-guard have a reputation of gutting those who dare defy him.

But not you. Little did your father know that you would do everything in your power to escape him. 

For even death must be a better sentence than your life back home.

——

Every woman you’d spoken to back home always talked about their nerves on their wedding day. Some from fear, some from joy or just pure excitement. Some of them talked of the way they got sick just before walking down the aisle or the way their hands hook or their palms sweat. 

You don’t feel anything. 

It’s just pure numbness. As if you are outside of your body watching as the doors to the massive temple open wide, all in attendance standing immediately. You can see the King, your future husband standing on the dais in front of a priest, the incense from the thurible curling around them both as your father all but marches you down the aisle. 

You can’t feel your feet or your hands, you can’t even register your intakes of breath. The only thing that runs through your panicked mind is that at least your future husband is handsome.  You remember having a similar thought when you met him all those years ago at a kingdom wide celebration here in this very city. He was easy to spot, sitting above the jousting ring, crown atop his head, surrounded by his three kings guard. 

He takes up the whole room even now, commanding it with his very presence as the priest introduces him to the crowd - to you.

“King Johnathan Price, third of his name, King of…” you zone out again, instead focusing on the very man being heralded.

He lacks the armor he usually wears, exchanging it instead for rich garments of silk and other fine fabrics. A long purple cloak, the collar adorned with fur of what appears to be a wolf, hangs from his shoulders, held together with a heavy golden chain decorated with the sigil of his house. 

The crown still sits atop his head, golden and gleaming, each crevice and gemstone polished to perfection and nestled amongst chestnut colored locks. Only when you approach the dais do you notice the grey starting to pepper his temples and beard. 

This is also the moment that you seem to come back to yourself, your soul being sucked back into your body as you and your father come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and piercing blue eyes capture your own despite the veil. 

He smiles, a soft gentle thing that makes your lips turn down in a frown, the action only further deepened when the priest says something about your father relinquishing your hand and soon two strong arms wrap around you too tightly for a loving embrace.

“Remember what I said,” he says lowly, and to onlookers it looks like a father telling his beloved daughter goodbye. But you know better. 

“Do not disappoint me.”

And then he’s placing a kiss to your glove covered knuckles before placing your hand in the much larger calloused one before you. 

The steps up the dais are a blur until you’re standing face to face with your fate. The priest rambles on as the king takes your other hand in his own, holding them between your bodies and all you can think about is how warm his hands are and how much larger he is up close. Your ears are ringing so loud you almost miss the prompt from the priest to say the scripted words, but your father’s threat echoes loudly in your mind and you speak the words automatically, your voice mixing with the rumbling baritone of the man before you as you recite them together. 

The priest then sprinkles a fragrant oil on your joined hands, waves the thurible around as the crowd chants some vague prayer to bless your union. And then the words you didn’t realize you were dreading until the moment they are spoken into the air. 

“You may kiss your bride.”

A hush falls over the crowd as the king releases your hands to reach for the edges of your veil. He lifts slowly, and you swear you stop breathing as he places it delicately over your head, finally revealing you to him. 

And he gives you that soft smile again, the one that’s so contradictory to the stories whispered in your ears. His eyes crinkle gently at the corners as his hands come up to cradle your face, again touching you like delicate porcelain as he dips down to press his lips to your own. 

His lips are soft, softer than you ever imagined, and his hands are so warm against the skin of your cheeks, and you feel something jump in your chest and-

It’s over so fast. 

The crowd erupts in cheers as he pulls away, giving you one last reassuring smile before you both turn to face the crowd and his hand drops to take your own before raising them both above your heads in rejoice as you both descend the dais. 

Rice and flowers and the like are thrown your way as you leave the temple, and once again your body works on it’s own set of instructions, following the kings lead and the attendants ushering you both through a maze of hallways until soon your seated at a large table in an even larger dining hall and the celebration has truly begun. 

Food, more than you’ve ever seen in a place at once is piled onto the tables, music floats merrily through the room, entertainers flooding the center of the floor to vie for their King’s attention. Only when the food has been served, the wine poured, and people start eating does anything manage to catch your attention. 

And once again, it’s those damned hands. 

One comes to settle atop your own that sits rigid in the table, fork held tightly between your fingers as you have yet to even touch the food set before you. 

“Are you alright?”

His voice is like a siren song, yet also reminding you of rolling thunder, a comforting lull that soothes the nerves that must have come crashing down upon you as the weight of today’s actions finally catches up with you. 

You turn to look at the king - no - your husband, and you have to fight the burn at the back of your eyes. 

Bright blue stares back at you, brows creased with worry as he gazes at you, and you’re suddenly aware of another set of eyes on you. You can feel them burning into the back of your head, and you can’t help but steal a quick glance, only to see the seething gaze of your father looking back at you as he gestures silently to your plate. 

Oh gods…you look down to your plate, then to the kings, and you’re just now realizing his Kings-guard is also sat at the table with you, two on your side and one on his left, and they’ve all finished at least Half their plates and you haven’t even touched yours-

“Forgive me, my King,” you rush out, sitting up straighter, and immediately moving to pick up a piece of fruit - you think it’s a strawberry but you can’t be sure, not past the buzzing in your head. “I did not intend to appear ungrateful. I’m merely…nervous that’s all.”

His brows furrow further, and that must have been the wrong thing to say.

“I just meant…I’m excited, the nerves stem from joy I assure you-”

Soon the King is abandoning his utensils all together, reaching over to take your hand in both of his own, as that concerned look never leaves his face. 

“It’s alright,” he says softly, that smile coming back to his face when he sees you relax slightly at his words. “And please, call me John,” he chuckles a little, “We’re married after all. No need for the formalities.”

You nod, “Of course, my King - John-”

“Aye, dinnae listen to him, lass,” an accented voice speaks from your right, and you startle slightly when the guard next to you leans in ever so slightly, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s full’o himself, call him ‘my King’ all ye want-”

A rough shove from the man on his right stops him in his tracks, and you can’t stop the way your eyes widen at the pure casualness of the interactions. 

“Cut it out MacTavish,” the man grumbles, leaning forward to address you now, “Apologies, your majesty, but this one-” he jerks a thumb towards the one you now know as MacTavish, “never knows when to shut his mouth.”

You go to speak, only to be cut off by John.

“Leave my wife be,” he says sternly before turning back to you. “Sorry about them,” he apologizes needlessly, “they’re…” he trails off and this time it’s you who gives him a smile, a real one. 

“It’s alright, I…” you pause, “thank you. For checking in with me and…thank you.”

You turn back to your meal before John can respond, missing the way his brows furrow again at your words as you finally start eating, trying and failing to ignore the way his earlier words made your heart stutter and you can’t tell if it’s good or bad.

My wife. 

——

The celebration went on for what feels like days, music and more entertainers and more gifts from more lords and ladies than you could name. They served dessert, and then the dancing began and John had even asked you out to the floor for a dance. It was one you knew the steps to, thank the gods, and by the end of it both of you were smiling so wide even you couldn’t deny the way the earlier trepidation seemed to melt off of you. 

That was until the night started to draw to a close. It was slow, but soon guests were retiring, coming up and giving their well wishes and goodbyes before leaving. With every guest that left it felt like a second closer to your perceived doom. 

You aren’t a fool - you aren’t some naive maiden - you know what happens on one's wedding night. You know what’s expected of you as a woman - as a queen now. And that thought is made all the more terrifying when your father and mother come up to bid their own farewells. 

Your mother is first, and John is chivalrous enough to give you some space, although he never quite leaves your side, just steps a few paces back as your mother envelops you into a hug. You can’t stop the tears in your eyes as her arms wrap around you, as you know this will be the last time you see her for a while, your fathers territory being many months away. 

“I love you more than the entire world, my star,” your mother whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she pulls away, hands coming up to cradle your face in her gentle grasp. “You will make an excellent queen.”

You pull her into one last hug before your father is impatiently tugging at you, though not in an obviously rough manner - he must keep up appearances after all. Even the large smile he wears as he pulls you into him is fake, full of deep seated hatred and loathing for a daughter he only ever saw a nuisance, a means to an end. 

His grip is crushing, and you don’t miss the way his fingers dig into your sides again, his breath disgustingly warm against your ear as he pretends to whisper his goodbyes, but instead whispers words you would never dare repeat. 

It feels like an eternity before he lets go, and he only does so because another hand settles on your shoulder, tugging you gently. 

“I fear it’s time for us to retire for the evening,” John says, voice tight as he gazes at your father in a way that makes you suspect he isn’t as stupid as all the others your father has fooled in the past. 

Your father bows, all reverence and kind smiles and posterity. 

“Of course, my King.”

And then you’re gone, being whisked away from the only life you’ve known into an all new and terrifying unknown one. 

——

Your footsteps echo loudly in the hallways as you follow John through what feels like a maze. This castle, just like the capitol itself is massive, larger than any you’ve ever been in. If it wasn’t for John, you feel like you might get lost in the twists and turns forever. You try to remember where he’s leading you - this is your new home after all, you will need to learn your way around. But with each turn and door your pass through it just gets more confusing. Did you turn left or right before or after the door-

“Don’t worry,” John speaks up, breaking the tense silence that had befallen you both, “you will learn your way faster than you think.”

You turn to him then, surprised that he caught on to your internal intentions. But he’s perceptive, that’s at least one thing you know about your new husband. 

You try to return the small smile he gives you as you nod, looking around once more. 

“I have no doubt I will learn my way eventually,” you agree, letting out a small sigh, “It’s just so…big. I’ve never seen a palace so magnificent. I can’t even begin to imagine what all the rooms hold…”

A small chuckle meets your ears, the sound surprising you slightly as you turn to look back at your husband as he speaks. 

“Well, I would be happy to give you a proper tour tomorrow. I have a feeling you may enjoy the library the most,” he says, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the sconces lining the hallway. 

You do perk up at that. “A library?” 

John hums, nodding. “Yes I…” he clears his throat, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that he appears almost…nervous. “I noticed the multiple trunks of books among your things as the servants were bringing it in this morning. I’m almost worried that our selection of books might be too small compared to your own.”

You shake your head, another real smile tugging at your lips. “I highly doubt that,” you say softly, “And I…I will be most happy with anything you deign to show me. You are most kind.”

John only hums again, and another silence envelops you, this one much more pleasant. Only when you take a few more turns does he speak up again. 

“Here we are,” he says, gesturing to a large wooden door a few paces away at the end of the hallway. There’s another door that you passed a few steps back, both of them having a guard posted outside of them. The same guards that shared dinner with you earlier. 

As you approach the door John directs you too, the guard standing outside stands straighter, nodding gently to you and the John, “your majesties.”

John smiles at him, returning the gesture as he addresses him, “Garrick,” he reaches up placing a hand upon his armored shoulder, “Go join MacTavish will you? Make sure he doesn’t need any help patrolling.”

The guard hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking to something behind you both before John speaks again. 

“Don’t worry,” he assures him, “Ghost is back there.”

The guard, Garrick, you try to remember nods, offering a curt bow before taking his leave and walking in the direction you and John came from. The clink of his armor fades until it’s just you and the King again, and you only realize you’d lost yourself again when gentle words greet your ears, this time in the form of your name. 

You look up from where your eyes had fallen to the ground to see John standing in the doorway to the room, holding the door open and looking at you gently. A clear invitation to enter. You clear your throat, offering a small apology as you enter, eyes flitting about the space.

It’s a large bedchamber, clearly your own if your things placed neatly about have anything to say about it. The four poster bed is larger than any you’ve ever slept in, gauzy fabric draped prettily from the ceiling and down around the tall wooden posts. Furs, dozens of them adorned what was no doubt a feather mattress, made up to perfection. A fire roars in the fireplace across the room from the bed, a table and two chairs sitting off to the side of it near a stained glass window. A yewer of  wine and two glasses sits atop the table, and if your stomach were roiling you’d make a beeline for the substance. 

By all accounts the space is warm, welcoming even, leagues better than the single hard mattress in the tiny room of your old home. But all your eyes can seem to focus on is the bed, and the towering presence behind you. And as the solid wood door clicks shut behind you, it feels like the tolling of the bell, the final nail in your coffin as your spirit seems to leave your body once more. 

You can hear John talking, voice soft as he rambles about how he tried to have the servants place your things in the best places, have them organized. You think he also mentions something about how the nights here get cold so the fires were always going. He eventually walks over to the table by the fireplace, pouring two glasses of wine, all while you struggle to breath, your eyes only leaving the bed when he calls your name again, somehow even softer this time as he offers you the second glass. 

You walk over instinctively, taking the glass in your gloved hand, giving a wobbly smile as he taps his glass with your own before taking a small sip. 

You follow his actions before you take a sip of your own. But the wine is good - it’s slightly spiced and warm and if you are to face the coming moments then you need all the courage you can get - and before you know it the wine is gone and you're turning back towards the bed. You notice a small dressing table off to the side of the large armoire and walk to it on unsteady feet. 

John is speaking again, but you can’t hear him, not over the rush of blood in your ears or the breath stuttering in and out of your lungs as you reach up to pull the veil from your hair. You drape it across the table delicately, hands trailing over the fine embroidery before your hands fall to the laces of your dress. 

Let’s get this over with.

You’re just thankful the dress laces in the front, at least you could do that by yourself. But as you tug at the strings, you find you can’t - your hands shake and the damned gloves…

You yank off the delicate silk, ignoring the raised white scars that glare back up at you as you try and manage to succeed this time in tugging the laces loose. The bodice of the dress loosens around you, the weight of the gown pulling it down slightly, the only thing holding it up being the sleeves on your shoulders. You reach up, still shaking to pull those down next, when warm calloused hands stop you. 

He’s calling your name - he’s been calling your name but you couldn’t hear him over your own panic. But you hear him now, and the sound of it falling from his lips along with the grounding warmth of his hands holding your own brings you back to yourself. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, and you notice now that he’s standing before you, having turned you away from the dressing table to face him, blue eyes swimming with confusion. 

But you’re the confused one, your brows furrow as you look up at him. “What am I…?” You pause, looking down at yourself and then back to the bed behind you. “The…the consummation. I thought-”

Strong hands squeeze your own, and you look back to the man before you. He’s still dressed, you finally notice, and he’s looking at you like a delicate piece of glass, that you might break at the gentlest breeze. 

And maybe you would.

“Do you want to?” He asks, question sincere, brows raised slightly as his thumbs brush over your knuckles. 

The question startles you. Never had it even occurred to you about wanting this or not. Of course you didn’t want this. You just met this man - this man who is constantly contradicting every horrible thing you’ve heard whispered about him. This man who is a stranger but has been so kind. 

You’ve never been asked what you want. 

You shake your head, convinced this is a trick. Like one of the cruel ones your father would play on you - asking you a question that only had one right answer and then punishing you when you got it wrong. 

“I…” you trail off, fighting with yourself. You want to tell the truth, something screaming inside you that you can trust him while the other, the years of experience tells you otherwise. 

The latter wins out. 

You swallow thickly, eyes falling to the floor, unable to look him in the eyes as you lie. 

“Yes, of course. It’s my duty to-”

He squeezes your hands again, this time dropping one in favor of reaching up to cup your cheek, urging you to look at him once more. 

“Love,” he breathes, voice gentle, “You’re shaking like a leaf.” 

He takes a deep breath, as if stilling a rage inside of him as he takes in the sight of his broken bride before him. 

“I didn’t ask about your duties,” he practically bites the word. “Do you want this?”

Gods, you can’t do it. You can’t look at him and his kind eyes and remember his soft smile and feel the way he holds you so gently and lie to him. Your lower lip wobbles, and tears burn at the back of your eyes as you internally prepare for the consequences of your next words. 

“No.”

It’s whispered so softly that if he weren’t standing so close to you, there’s no way he would have heard it. But he does, and his hands are pulled from you so quickly that your eyes slip closed, prepared for a strike or a harsh word or something. 

But it never comes. 

Instead a tense silence falls over the room before his hand is taking one of yours in his own again, and your eyes open ever so slowly. 

“That’s it then,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I’ll send for your handmaid, she can help get you ready for the night.”

You can’t stop the shake of your head, mind refusing to accept that this is it. That he is just going to leave you be. 

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

John smiles, and you don’t miss the flicker of sadness in his gaze. Pity, maybe?

“I won’t start our marriage off by forcing myself on you. I don’t…” he looks away then, “I’ll wait. until you’re ready.”

You speak the next words before you can think. 

“And if I’m never ready?” 

John smiles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, either ignoring or choosing not to acknowledge the multitude of scars adoring the skin beneath his lips. 

“I’ve waited this long,” he says simply, “Forever doesn’t seem like much longer.”

And then he’s gone, slipping from your bedchambers just as a handmaiden takes his place. 

——

The same handmaid as the night before is the one to wake you, Ilora if you remember correctly. She says that the King has requested you join him to break your fast, as she’s already searching through the armoire for something for you to wear. It's a somewhat silent affair as she helps you get ready, tying your corset, brushing your hair. She even offered you a pair of gloves when she sees you staring at the ones from yesterday, but you decline. 

He’s seen them anyways, and if he hadn’t it was bound to come out at some point. 

Maybe the conversation will come easier over tea and sweet rolls. 

You follow Ilora as she leads you through the still winding passages of the castle until you eventually come to a door that opens into an open courtyard. It’s still confined by the castle walls but the ceiling is open, allowing sunshine to pour down onto the cobbled pathways that wind between a multitude of flowers and bushes and even fruit trees. 

It’s like a tiny paradise hidden within the walls, sequestered away from the grim stone walls of the building itself. Birds chirp happily, flirting from one branch to the next; and you even spot a butterfly, bright blue and fluttering so prettily in the air before you. It makes you halt in your steps, watching the rhythmic beat of its wings as it floats in the gentle breeze around you. 

You reach up before you can stop yourself, fingers held poised as you reach for the small creature. It flutters about for a moment before settling onto your offered hand, and you can’t stop the smile that splits your lips as its wings beat lazily against your knuckles. 

Soon, another presence joins you, and a familiar hand reaches up to mimic your own, a calloused finger tracing the delicate wing of the insect. Your eyes leave one color of blue only to find another, surrounded by familiar crows feet at the corners of his eyes as John gazes softly at you. 

“Pretty as a painting,” he murmurs softly, his words making the butterfly take flight, continuing on its earlier journey. 

“It was beautiful,” you agree, watching the winged creature until it’s out of sight. 

John only chuckles, reaching over to place a hand lightly on your back. 

“I wasn’t talking about the butterfly, love.” 

His words and the meaning behind them make heat rush to your cheeks, and you look at him in surprise before dropping your eyes to the floor when you catch his playful grin. 

“Come on then,” he says, breaking the tension, “let’s eat,” he turns back to your secret, “Thank you, Ilora.”

Ilora offers a small bow at the dismissal and takes her leave as John leads you a few steps further into the courtyard to reveal a stone table laden with food and only two chairs. Once again you’re slightly taken aback by the abundance of food. Yes, you were a daughter of a noble house, your family was wealthy, your father a lord of some land. But you never saw this side of that life - the life of luxury. Your father made sure of that. 

John must take your hesitance for nervousness rather than curiosity, because he smiles that warm smile and places that familiar hand on your back to urge you closer. He doesn’t force though, never pushing you if your feet did not want to go. He merely encourages, like trying to placate a scared animal. 

Maybe you are one. 

“I figured you may want to break your fast away from the prying eyes in the dining hall,” he says simply, moving to pull out your chair when you finally concede to his invitation. 

You nod politely, eyes still scanning the vast array of food before you until John takes his seat in the chair across the table. “Thank you,” you say softly, eyes flitting to the attendants that seem to come from nowhere, pouring your drink, placing silverware, and even placing a napkin in your lap before retreating once more. 

A silence befalls you both then, and you can’t help but want to shrink under the awkwardness of it all. It’s as if neither of you know what to say - what do you say to your husband or wife that - until less than a day ago - was a stranger to you. 

Thank the gods John speaks first, your throat to dry with anxiety to do so.

“Do you like blueberry tarts?” He asks, hand already reaching for one of the flaky pastries in the center of the table, “they’re our baker’s specialty,” he chuckles as he leans to place one on your plate when you offer no refusal. “If you don’t, I’m sure you will after you try this.”

You snag the olive branch offered to you, smiling as you pick up your fork. 

“I do,” you say, cutting into the delicate treat, “They’re…They’re my favorite, actually. But we…”you trail off, remembering how once your father found out your affinity for the tarts, they had all but disappeared from the tables during meals. 

You clear your throat, “the ingredients were hard to find where I’m from,” you lie smoothly, avoiding  John’s gaze. “So they were a luxury.”

You look up when he doesn’t respond right away, and find the usual upturn of his lips absent in place of a scrutinizing gaze. Not a harsh one, but one that made it clear he was studying you, watching for…something. 

But it was gone as quick as it came, that pleasant warmth back in full force. 

“Well,” he says, placing a pastry on his own plate, “I’ll make sure there’s never a shortage.”

And on the meal went. 

Conversation flowed easier after that, John picking up on when you were unsure of a particular dish or food, explaining it to you and watching in utter amusement for whether you would like or dislike a particular one. He’d let out a particularly hard laugh when you’d tried a rather odd looking dish, promptly trying and failing to spit it out in as ladylike a manner as you could. 

Blood pudding he called it - making you let out a disbelieving laugh at the withheld information, playfully tossing your napkin his way. 

He’d caught it easily, offering you a much sweeter fruit to wash the acrid taste from your mouth. 

It felt like the morning lasted forever, and truthfully, you never wanted it to end. It’s…nice, talking to someone without the fear of reprimand or a strike for saying the wrong thing. And John he…he listens to you. Truly listens and seems to enjoy the things you talk about. He asks you questions about yourself; your favorite food, your favorite color, things you like to do to pass the time, places and things you wish to see.

And he listens to all of it, seemingly absorbing every word as if he’s a man in the desert dying of thirst and you’re the oasis he’s been searching for.

It goes on like this for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, and soon weeks bleed into months and it seems like your past gets further and further behind you as this future you and John start to build gets closer.

He shows you the library like he promised, and it’s where you find yourself spending most of your time when separated from John. The first few weeks you both are nearly inseparable, claiming he wants to spend time getting to know his wife. But a kingdom cannot run itself and eventually he has duties and things to tend to, which you respect. 

It doesn’t mean you don’t miss him though. 

It’s a shock when the feeling first hits you. It’s the third day in a row of only  seeing him in the morning to break your fast together. It’s late, and you are as usual, sitting in the armchair you claimed in the library. You’re reading a romance novel, one that you confessed guilty to John early on that you enjoyed reading. Most people back home (your father) hated them - claimed they were undignified, unfitting for a lady to fill her head with stories that would never come true. 

John had hundreds of novels shipped in over the next fortnight. 

The one you’re reading now is a short one, a cliche about a knight and a low born woman. But it’s sweet, and when you get to one particular part, you find yourself looking up from the page, chuckling lightly to yourself and wanting to share it with John. 

But he isn’t here. 

And as you look up and notice the darkness outside the windows, the only light being the fire a few feet in front of you, you feel a pang in your chest. A longing you’ve never felt before, never thought you’d feel in your lifetime. 

You miss him.  

And on this night, it appears as if he misses you too. Because, like a siren's call, as soon as you stand, marking your place in your book to retire to bed, the door to the library creaks open. You expect one of the guards, probably Kyle, as he too seems to be fond of the library, having found him in here on several occasions when he was off duty. 

So, when you look up from where your book sits on the side table, you are surprised to see John slipping into the room, hair tousled, and looking as if he had just come straight from the stables. Riding boots caked in mud, light armor still adorning him. When he spots you, it’s as if the world itself falls from his shoulders, he sags beneath the relief and walks to you with sure even steps until he’s less than an arms length away. 

“John, what are you doing?” You ask, looking down at his muddy boots and back up to the weary expression on his face. “What’s…is something wrong?” 

He pauses for a moment, a flicker of something flashing in his eyes before it's gone, and those piercing blues are softening and crow's feet appear at the corners as he reaches for you, taking your hands in his own gently. 

“Nothing, love,” he says, that nickname that’s become more frequent making your heart flutter. “Just missed you, is all.”

His admission makes warmth spread through you, like warm honey on freshly baked bread. And you can’t help but lean into him, relishing in the way his hands move to wrap around your waist. 

“I…I missed you too, John,” you tell him softly, as if the words will scare him away. 

But they do the exact opposite, they make the man beam brighter than before, fingers squeezing your sides gently as he steps ever closer, eyes falling from your own down to your lips. 

Your breath hitches as he inches closer, and you can feel the heat of his words as he speaks, air brushing over your lips. 

“Can I kiss you, love?”

You haven’t kissed since your wedding day. Not other than the chaste ones he’d press against your knuckles or your cheek on occasion. He’d respected the vow he spoke to you on your wedding night, never pushing you, never forcing you. He waited. Waited until you made the decision. 

The nod you give him comes quicker than you thought it would, and his lips are on your own in an instant. They’re warm and slightly chapped from the ride he no doubt went on today, but to you it’s…perfect. It’s warm and gentle and all consuming, and even though it isn’t heated or rushed or rough you suddenly understand the passion that all those romance novels wax poetry about. 

He doesn’t dominate you or control it in any way, he moves with you - coaxing you at times perhaps, smiling against your lips when you let out a small whimper. His hands never stray far either, only moving to wrap further around your or caressing up and down your spin, maybe toying with the hair at the base of your neck before finally coming to cradle the apple of your cheek in his calloused palm.

Only then does he pull away, and you flush at how breathless you are, the embarrassment only soothed when you see he is just as affected as you are. He rests his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb brushes softly against your cheek. 

“Maybe I’ll have them move my desk in here,” he says after a comfortable silence. “That way even if I have things to tend to, I can still spend some time with you.”

You pull away from him only enough so he can see the smile on your face; and the next day when you come to the library, John is sitting at his desk, right next to your arm chair. 

———

Another thing that has changed for the better is your dreams. Nightmares used to be a constant for you before the wedding, waking up in cold sweats, fear making your very bones ache. But after the first few nights in the castle…they disappeared. Once you realize that the danger you used to live amongst  each and every day is no longer present, it’s as if your body finally allowed you to rest. 

Maybe that’s why this one is so much worse. 

You’d been lulled into a false sense of security, your body's survival instincts failing you, telling you that you were safe when you should know better. It’s the very thing he screams at you as he strikes you down in this hellscape. The bitter words he spits upon you as blood splatters across the stone flooring, as the toe of his boot meets your stomach again and again. 

You naive, stupid girl - you’re nothing! 

You want to scream out at him, tell him that it’s not true, that you are something and that someone loves you and cares for you. But the words are stuck in your throat like tar, and copper floods your tongue and any and all protests crumble like ash in your mouth as you see his guard raise the whip above his head. 

You wake up screaming. 

Throat raw, the taste of copper still coating your tongue and making you gag as you fight against the furs and blankest tangled around your legs. It’s pitch black, the fire having died out to nothing but embers. So when a pair of hands finds you in the dark you can’t stop the wail that slips from your lips.

He’s come back for you. He’s come to take you away-‘

“It’s me, love stop-” the voice is muddled, far away from your panicked mind. 

You fight the grip on your wrists, only stilling when one lets go to cup your cheek. Calloused hands, warm…they speak again.

“You’re safe, it’s me. Love, it’s me…”

“John?” 

His name is but a whimper on your lips, and when he assures you that it is him, you fall apart like glass when it meets stone. Shattered into a million little pieces. 

But he catches you, he catches and holds each and every piece of you as you sob in his arms, tears soaking the skin of his neck where you hide your face, fingers clutching desperately at the thin cotton of his shirt. He holds you so softly. Always soft, always gentle. His hands run up and down your back, over your shoulders, through your hair as he shushes you softly, cooing reassuring words into your ear. 

And when you finally do calm, sobs ebbing away into ugly sniffles and hiccups, he still doesn’t let go, shifting instead to lay back against the pillows with you tucked into his side as he pulls the covers around you - a safe cocoon against the world - against the things that still haunt you. He only stops speaking, stops humming some small random lullaby he had started up, when you begin to speak. 

He didn’t pressure you, didn’t ask - he’s never asked. The whole time you’ve spent together, and you know John is a perceptive man - he knows things. You assume he’s worked most of it out himself; yet, he never once asked you. Even now, when your screams no doubt jerked him from his slumber, or when you cried into him like a terrified child. He never once asked. 

So you tell him on your own. You tell him of your childhood, of the hatred your father held for you, of the cruelty he subjected you and your mother to. You told him of the scathing words and the nights sent to your room without supper and maybe even days without anything but a simple loaf of bread and some water. You tell him of the things you swore you’d never tell anyone, of the blood and torment and beatings and the whip. 

And in the darkness of your bedchamber you pull away from his embrace, slipping your shift from your shoulders as you tell him about the scars. He’s seen the ones on your hands but…as he traces the jagged angry marks on your back, your ribs, your stomach in the darkness…you can practically feel the rage radiating off of him like the sun on a hot summer’s day.  His hands shake, fingers trembling as they trace over the evidence of darkness, of pure evil. You tell him everything, until the tears finally prevent you from saying more and he’s tugging your shift back up your arms and turning you back to face him and kissing them away with a reverence you never imagined possible for you. 

“You will never come to harm here,” he swears, voice terrifyingly calm and steady. “And if you do, gods help the man to do it, for I’ll hunt him down and slay him where he stands.”

 He pulls you tighter then, lips pressing against the crown of your head as arms wrap around your waist, soft words urging you back into slumber. 

And despite everything….you sleep, and dream this time of warm hands and kind words and a future worth living for.

[itsthecline]

smoke and smush

ex-pogue kook!reader x jj maybank

summary the day you and jj make it official , and the morning after when kie finds out.

warnings profanity , sexual innuendos , established secret relationship ( and getting caught ) , smoking marijuana , porn with plot ( grinding , praise , soft dom!jj , fingering , oral fem!receiving , unprotected pinv , kinda rough sex , hair pulling , creampie ) y’all this is filthy…

18+ minors dni

“kie , are you sure you have to go?” you asked , holding your hand to block the sun from your eyes as you watched your friend slip her shorts back on after her dip in the pool.

you invited all of your friends to come over for a pool day. pope declined , explaining he had to help his dad with stuff for work and that he was super , super sorry. you insisted it was not a big deal. john b was still hungover from the night before and whined through the phone that ‘i don’t wanna have to see jj trying to hide his boner from you all day’. you audibly and dramatically gagged into the speaker before hanging up on him , wondering if it was that obvious you and jj were a thing.

so , it was just you , jj , and kie.

and now that the sun was setting , so she was headed home. jj was already going to spend the night ; he didn’t exactly want to go home , and you were beyond okay with having his company after the morning you two had. kie , though , had parents that wanted her home at a decent hour , especially when they knew at least one pogue was hanging around too.

“yeah , the mother is still on my ass after the kegger last weekend,” kie groaned , yanking her t-shirt on as well , it clinging to her still wet skin, “but if you want to , i’m free in the morning! we can get breakfast?”

jj looked at you quickly , nodding for you to agree so he could come with you both. he always told you how much he liked eating with you two because you were able to find such cute spots. “we all get breakfast?” you smiled , tilting your head to jj for kie to get the hint.

“sure,” she laughed , grabbing her bag and slipping her sandals on, “see you bright and early!” and just like that she was heading through your back gate and going home , leaving you and jj swinging in your hamock.

you nudged jj with your foot , getting his attention. “hey , boyfriend?” you spoke flirtatiously , batting your eyelashes in a dramatized fashion.

“yes , girlfriend?” he replied , smiling ear to ear , pressing a kiss to your calf before starting to message your foot.

as of that morning , jj asked you to be ‘his girl’ officially. he had brought over a handful of your favorite flowers , hashbrowns from the wreck , and a cd burned with your favorite songs with ‘will you be my girl?’ scribbled across it in his messy handwriting and little doodles mixed in.

you couldn’t help but giggle out of pure joy. for the first time in a long time , things felt good around you. “you wanna get high and do dirty stuff? y’know my mom and dad aren’t back until monday.”

“you need to get high to wanna do dirty stuff with me? ouch!” his hand flew to his forehead he dramatically threw backward, “you wound me , baby!”

“shut up!” you kick at him, “the dirty stuff is because i want to ; the smoking was for you , shark boy.” you wobbled up , standing from the hammock and slipping your shoes on.

without a word , jj got up and followed you into the house , already knowing you were headed up to your room. one : it was where you kept all your paraphernalia your parents could never know about. two : your king size bed that was perfect for all of the things jj was already hard thinking about.

he reached forward , smacking your ass that was barely covered by your little , green swimsuit. “jj!” you laughed , swatting his hand away as you reached your room. you started digging through the shoe box you kept under your bed first , preparing the bong for the two of you.

“good thing that cd i gave you is the perfect smoke and smush playlist,” jj bragged , manspreading on the edge of your freshly made bed and watching you.

“stop saying smush,” you groaned , packing a bowl with a sour look on your face.

“you think it’s funny on jersey shore!” he argued back , throwing his hands up in shock.

you roll your eyes obnoxiously. “i do! i just don’t think it’s sexy , baby,” you explained softly , leaning over to press a kiss onto the inside of his thigh. he had to hold back a moan at the action , standing up quickly and going to the balcony so you could smoke a bowl or two.

you were on cloud nine. maybe three bowls ago you and jj repositioned to make-out while you straddled his lap grinding down into him. and after about three more you had moved back into your bedroom , settling into your silk sheets.

“you’re my dream girl,” jj muttered into your skin , pressing kisses and sucking deep bruises on your neck, “favorite thing ever. my perfect girl.” your neck craned further back , jaw dropping to let out a soft moan.

“will you show me?” your voice came out more whiney than expected , hips thrusting up to create more friction than jj was giving you. in the midst of moving to the bed , your bikini top came off , but between you and jj still rested your bottoms.

jj pulled back to look you in the eye , goofy smile on his face that was partially covered from his shaggy blonde hair you’d mussed up from combing your fingers through it all day. he leaned in , twisting your lips together deeply once more before planting shorter , softer ones down your body.

“mhm. i’ll show you just how perfect i think you are.” his words were split up by more kisses as he made his way between your legs. he adjusted , throwing your calves over his shoulders , biting at your thighs.

again , you lifted up , needing him. you felt his breath fan across your damp swimsuit as he chuckled. he moved one of his arms to rest his hand on your hip , effectively holding you down. with the other , he so graciously touched you through the fabric. it was soft , barely there , but it forced a whine out of your lips nonetheless.

his fingers expertly pulled your bikini to the side , exposing your slick pussy to the your cold , air conditioned room. you couldn’t help but shiver , goosebumps blossoming across every inch of your bare body. your own hands busied themselves with your tits , pulling and twisting at your nipples to help ground yourself just a little.

“oh , you poor thing,” jj cooed , looking up at you with the sweetest puppy dog eyes, “you been like this all day?”

you nodded frantically , another pathetic little cry slipping into the thick air. “i think i’ve waited long enough,” you defend yourself , raising up to your elbows to look down at your boyfriend who was still rubbing at your slit , playing with the slick that had started to pool. “don’t you think , baby?” you encouraged him , biting your lip to keep quiet.

he had the decency to meet your gaze back lovingly before twisting his hand and sliding two fingers into your waiting core. you elicited a louder moan this time , hands flying to grip your sheets. “yeah? you like that , baby?” jj borderline mocked you , moving his fingers in and out of you slowly just before leaning back in to add his tongue into the mix.

your thighs started closing in around jj’s head , and though he didn’t mind it in the slightest , he did mind how much you were squirming. he adjusted his arm to lay flat across your hips , holding you more firmly into the mattress while he continued working his fingers into you. he could hear you begging for him , but all he was focused on was devouring you.

it wasn’t long before your legs had clamped entirely around him , keeping him in place as you got higher and higher. closer and closer to your orgasm. “doing so good for me,” jj groaned , rutting his hips into the mattress. you could only muster a moan in response as your tightened your grip on his sweaty , blonde hair. “want you to come , baby,” he breathed out , pulling his mouth away from your weeping pussy but not stopping his now three fingers from fucking you.

he lifted himself up , hand keeping up with its ministrations but allowing him to hover over you and kiss you. your tongues fought for each other , and you sighed at the taste you on his lips. “so fucking close , j!” you couldn’t even hear the music from the cd playing anymore , but you could thank god your parents were gone for the weekend.

“fucking come for me ; right now.” it was a demand , but jj’s voice was so sweet and his fingers were hitting just the right spot. his head dipped lower , taking one of your nipples into his mouth , running his tongue around the stiff peak before grazing his teeth against it. “please , baby. wanna see you come all over my hand. you hear that? y’so fucking wet,” he was moaning himself , getting off on getting you off , listening to the way your moans were changing as you got closer.

and then it snapped. the long day’s pressure that had built up finally released in the form of you leaking around jj’s fingers , your arousal spraying onto your bed and moans that filled your bedroom and floated out the balcony door. “fuck , fuck , fuck!” you whimpered , grinding into his hand now that your hips were free to move.

jj’s eyes shot down to his hand as soon as he felt your release forcing his fingers out of you , wanting to watch how much of a mess you were making on your now soaked sheets. he slid his fingers out of you , rubbing up and down your folds for a moment before pulling away and letting you catch your breath for a moment. “fucking beautiful,” he chuckled , kissing into your neck as his hand moved up to your mouth.

you breathing was shallow as you let his fingers into your mouth , cleaning your juices off of him. “want you to fuck me,” you admitted , nibbling at jj’s ear with a giggle. god , you were so happy.

“it’s like you’re right out of one of my dreams,” jj groaned , sitting back on his heels and flipping you over with ease. you let out a yelp , shocked by how fast he maneuvered you around. it was his turn to laugh , just as giddy as you were. what a beautiful thing he had here with you.

his hands reached forward , gripping your hips and hoisting you up long enough for you to arch your back for him. one hand went to yank his swimming trunks down and tug at his throbbing cock. his other hand stayed on you , rubbing your ass , moving you back and forth for his viewing.

“you know i love you , right?” he wondered aloud , hand running up your spine slowly.

you turn your head over your shoulder , arms still stretched out in front of you , ass still in the air. “i love you more , jj,” you beamed back to him , reaching between your legs to grab him, “i’ve always wanted this.” your almost cheeks flushed in embarrassment at the confession as you situate the tip of him at your entrance.

it takes a minute for you to fully sink down on him , ass meeting his hips. when you do , jj lets out a matching curse to your whine. and it takes you another moment before you can start swirling your hips , bouncing yourself on him , letting him take a moment and relax.

your head falls forward , and you take a bite of your sheets to muffle the moans escaping you as you fuck yourself harder against jj. “fuck , baby! feel so good,” jj grunted to you , hands finding their place on your hips and taking over in administering your movements. he pulled you back and met you with his own powerful thrusts before adjusting to shove you flat onto the bed and just fucking into you.

“harder , baby. fuck your pussy harder!” you cried out , desperately trying to reach another climax by moving yourself on his cock the best you could.

“yeah? this my pussy?” he echoed after you , yanking your hair up to expose your face more which only opened your mouth wider for more cries to fall out. he pounded into you harder at your request , feeling his own release inch closer. you nod the best you can. “that right? this is your cock,” he added , accentuating his words with deeper thrusts, “only yours , baby. only you.” his words got weaker as his hips moved sloppier.

you knew he was getting close , and you were almost there. “cum in me!” you shouted, “cum in me , please. please , baby!” that was all it took for jj to double over , covering your body with his as his hips stuttered in and out of you. he kept going , overstimulating himself in efforts to get you off one last time and fucking his cum into you.

the sound of his fucked out whimpers sent you over the edge. “yes , yes , yes! fuckkk!” you cried , body heaving at the exertion. you two slowed down ; your breathing was loud in your ears , slowly faded out as you came back to your senses.

jj was still glued on top of you , littering kisses all over your shoulder. “i love you , y/n,” he whispered sweetly , nudging his nose into your cheek.

“i love you,” you smiled , finally able to hear the song that was playing now.

it was nearing ten o’clock in the morning. the sunshine was starting to creep into your room , past the sheer , lacey curtain you had hung up with jj earlier in the week.

jj was sleeping on his stomach , arm thrown tightly over your waist , holding you close to him. his head was resting on your chest , and light snores were coming from his mouth. your hand was still in his hair from the night before. and your covers were hardly doing their job of hiding your bodies at that point.

“hey , i checked the guest room , and jj wasn’t in there!” kie’s voice practically shook the walls of your house just before she opened your door , barging into your room.

you jolted awake at the intrusion , causing jj to stir as well. “kiara!” you yelled , not having ever used that tone of voice before.

your friend — upon seeing that jj hadn’t left , screamed and covered her eyes before slamming your door closed behind her. jj yanked the covers up to hide your bodies , reacting far too late for the situation.

“what the fuck!” he questioned , still half asleep and beyond confused.

“oh , my fucking god! kie’s here,” you curse , rushing out of bed and clothing yourself in the first options you see. jj’s left behind as you run after kiara , who hid in the living room to wait for you. “kie!” you shouted , looking for her as you came downstairs.

there she was , pacing back and forth while chewing on her thumb’s nail. you stopped and stared at her , and she looked up when she noticed you. “found jj,” she shrugged , flicking her hand up to the stairs where a half dressed jj stood , still wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“it’s not what it looks like,” you lied , saying the first thing that came to mind despite it being exactly what it looked like.

jj’s quick footsteps rolled down the stairs. “how’d you get in here?” he asked , as if all of your friends didn’t have the alarm code to your house. as if you didn’t have breakfast planned for the morning.

“i was here to wake you harlots up so we could go eat!” she shouted , starting to pace again, “but i found my best friends naked in bed together!”

you wince at her volume. “kiki , let me just explain everything real quick,” you requested , taking a step toward her. you knew she wasn’t mad that you were hooking up with jj ; she knew how much you liked him. she was mad that you didn’t tell her. you were supposed to be best friends.

“explain that you’re a liar?” she scoffed , crossing her arms as she glared at you.

“hey!” jj was quick to step forward , point at your friend in warning not to talk to you that harshly, “love you , kie , but take a breath , dude.”

you silently thank jj , knowing you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to kie that way. you didn’t like having to raise your voice. “we didn’t tell anyone , okay?” you started, “it all just snowballed , and we just couldn’t find a good time to tell you guys. i think i kinda wanted to keep it to ourselves for a little bit anyway. keep it just for us?”

kiara had softened slightly , trying to hear you out. “why? i’m your best friend. we tell each other everything , y/n. this is , like , sort of a big thing to hide from me.”

“i know , and i’m sorry , boo,” you sighed , not wanting this to be a fight, “our friends , we all share everything. all the time. beds , food , drinks , weed , clothes , everything. this is the one thing that i’ve— we’ve had to ourselves. we got to enjoy it for it exactly as it is.”

“plus , i was also scared you’d beat me up,” jj added , trying to lighten to mood as he rubbed a hand up and down your back.

kie failed to stifle her laugh , hand covering her mouth. “okay , okay. i get it. you’re in your little honeymoon phase. whatever. just no more secrets , ‘kay?” she surrendered , grabbing your hands and swinging them with a smile.

you looked at jj , grimace rising on your face. “actually , we were planning on telling you guys on our , like , maybe three month anniversary…” you announced.

“oh , my god! i’m gonna have to keep this a secret for three months?”

[ohcaptains]

𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

john price x fem reader.

18+ !!! possessive husband! john, penetrative sex, cum play, light choking, use of the word 'sir', king of dirty talk captain john price.

just something i had to get off my chest! reblogs and thoughts are appreciated!

You’re spread, face down, and ass up on the duvet.

John’s hands are warm on your hips, his calloused fingers are digging into your heated flesh, and grabbing fist fulls, as if he wants to take you apart. You squirm against the pressure. You’ve always liked it when John grabbed you like this.

Like it a lot more when you’re spread wide open for him, though.

He hums a smile from behind you.   “Gotta say it louder, sweetheart. I didn’t hear you.” You swallow down your drool. It’s pooling onto the sheets below your mouth, and you know that when this is all said and done, John will pull you against him and joke about the wet patches. Whisper heavily into your ear – look at the mess you’ve made, love, and you’ll blink at the sight, still sensitive from the daze he’d put you in. Melt against his chest. Say, it’s all your fault, and John would chuckle, kiss you sweetly, I’m such a bad guy, aren’t I?

Now, though, in the heat of the night, you couldn’t care less. You sink into your thighs, and the movement forces your pussy wider for him. John sighs at the sight. Grunting, as if he’s letting himself into temptation, he slides his thumb over your spread cheeks, and roughly drags it over your asshole.

You gasp, and buck forward, body throbbing. “Ah, John.” He lightly smacks your hip, “what did I say?” “You,” you loudly repeat, suddenly remembering what he asked earlier.

Who do you belong to? He’d grunted. You’d been far too dazed to respond clearly – coming twice from John’s thick fingers and tongue would do that.  

Your husband hums again, grabbing your ass cheek and spreading you wider. “Look at you,” he whispers to himself, gazing at the wet slick of your cunt.

You’re soaking. Slowly floating into the abyss. Drifting off into a world of non-verbal communication, dazed smiles, and incomprehensible words.

You’re familiar with it.

Familiar with John fucking you stupid. Familiar with John’s soothing hand on the back of your neck as he coaxes you out of your small space.

Your husband presses the head of his cock against your cunt, then gently slides it through your slick, rubbing against your clit and aching hole. You mouth at the duvet, eyes rolling back until all you see is the soothing black.

“This wet cunt. All for me?” Your belly tightens. Pussy clenches around the memory of his dick. “John,” you whine, begging for more, begging for him to stop. You’re not sure at this point.

There’s not a lot of clarity to moments like this, it’s only after, when John’s got you in his arms, that you realise how far gone you were. Reflect on the words you’d said – the dirty spiel you’d whimpered to get what you wanted.

Still, though, as John feeds his cock into your swollen pussy, and grunts, “I’ll come inside this pretty cunt, fill you with my babies, huh?” you still have enough clarity left to shake your head and whimper, “N-No.”

John laughs darkly. He sinks his cock as far as it’ll go, and you cream around him, slipping quickly. “You sure?” he grunts, voice strained. His hands are gripping your cheeks, spreading them wide so he can see just as far you can take him.

“You don’t want me to get you pregnant? Show everyone that I fuck you good and proper?”

His words make you dizzy. Mindlessly, you clench around his cock, coating him, and John laughs with a groan.

He knows you. Knows you better than you know yourself.

Knows you’re chewing on the duvet right now, stuffing it into your mouth to quiet your sobs. Knows that there’s a knot in your belly right now, and it’s tight enough that you’re throbbing all over.

He slides his slick cock out, and when he slowly stuffs you with it again, there’s a wet ring pushing to his base. He clenches his jaw, shakes his head in disbelief, then takes his cock from you again.

Your breath hitches, waiting for him to sink back in, but then he presses in quick and tight, bottoming deep, forcing you to cry out suddenly.

“John, John, John – fuck. Fuck!” He ignores you. Continues his previous dirty drawl.  

“Would look so good with my come leaking out of you, sweetheart,” he compliments. You beam. Jesus, you go blind with it. You would, fuck. You would look so good strung out, tangled in sheets with his come dribbling out of your swollen pussy.

You close your eyes to the thought of it.

Go to the sweet dark as John slides out, then buries in again. When he’s deep, and you think you’ve settled into the thick heat of it all, he hoists you against him – his chest to your back -- and presses his mouth to your ear, talking quickly, so you don’t have time to complain.

His voice is heavy. Haunting. Makes you cling to the hand he’s got tight around your belly.

“Pump you full of it, huh baby? then pull your underwear up.”

He begins to languidly fuck you. Rocks his hips up in deliberate strokes, setting a gentle, intoxicating rhythm that has your mouth hanging open and eyes rolling back. John breathes heavily in your ear, and you know it’s getting to him too.

“Make you sit in it all day. Go to work with your knickers smeared in my come. Your colleagues wouldn’t know that your pussy is all wet with me, but I would. I’d know.”

You sob his name. Lock your gummy walls to his thick cock, trying to milk him, and John near growls into your ear. “Fuck!” he snaps, and the sound echoes through you, and goes straight to your clit.

“You like that huh?” He drags his calloused hand between your trembling thighs and sloppily pushes his fingers over your clit. You double over in pleasure, but John keeps you pressed against him with the arm he’s got wrenched around you.

“Tightening around me. Shit. All this cause I threatened to punch a guy in the pub?”

You’re brought back to the memory: some guy grabbing your arm to try and dance with him, and John shoving him back, near pushing him into the slot machine.

He’d been shaking with rage. Went to get the guy's throat in his hands before you got involved.

“Like to pretend that it annoys you, but I know you love it when I’m possessive. When I keep you locked to my hip. We both know that it makes your cunt get all sticky when I fight someone for you.”  

He’s right and you know it. When John had shoved the guy, you’d gone hot all over. But you’d pulled your husband to the smoking area and told him to cool it.

He went to pay the tab, and you went to the toilet. Spent most of it with your forehead against the door, trying to steady your thumping heart.

John’s still rubbing your clit, trying to catch it in his wet fingers. It’s all sloppy. It’s John breathing shakily against your ear, his deep, hungry tempo forcing a pool of desire to settle at your lower back.

He continues his pace – fucks you the way he knows you like it, steady, but hard -- and all at once, that ache that had simmered threatens to burst, and you spasm around his cock, gasping with the desire to come.

You let out an unrestrained moan, whimpering mindlessly.

Through the blood rushing through your ears, you hear yourself plea with him – fuck me, please. John. John. Please. You take his hand from your belly and drag it to your throat, grinding down on his dick.

John curses. Pushes you to the duvet, takes your hips in one hand, and rubs your clit with the other.

The sensation of both his fingers and cock makes you mute against the sheets.

Your body is numb. It’s all electric heat, wrapped around you like a cloak. You try to talk, tell him to fuck you, but all that comes out is drool and his name. Please. Please. Um gonna come. Um gonna come so hard baby—he smacks your ass, and the sudden pressure goes straight to your cunt, sending you spinning, and you’re squeezing around him, tight as a vice, coming on his cock.

John all but growls as he fucks you through your orgasm. “Gooood girl!” he shouts, watching you struggle and spasm around his cock, fidgeting and whining as white heat seers through your pussy. “Come inside me,” you gasp, drunk, so fucked out that you’d let him do anything he wants, and John groans, your cunt tight and so so warm and wet. “Come,” you drawl, your orgasm tailing off, and you clutch the duvet, whining in your post-come state. John’s still fucking you and the feel of his hard cock sliding through your swollen and slick folds has you babbling.

“Come inside me I want you inside of me.” John huffs a laugh. “No, baby, that’s not what you want.” You shake your head, delirious. “It is, I promise.” “No, it’s not. I’ve just fucked all rational thought out of your head. Brain’s gone dumb on my cock, huh baby?”

He smooths his hand over your back, struggling to contain his strained grunts through his spiel. You can’t decide which you like more: when John’s so turned on that all he can do is bark filth at you, or when he’s so turned on that he can’t, just moan and grunt and fuck you silly.

“Good thing your husband thinks for you, though. Turn around.”

In your bleary state, you manage to fumble around onto your back, and John grabs hold of your leg and pulls you down the duvet, forcing you onto your knees in front of him.

You blink up at his looming body – at his heaving, hairy chest, and clenched neck. His face is red with sweat, and the heady, heavy gaze of his eyes has your belly swirling. Blinking down at his hand, you dreamily watch him tug at his wet, angrily hard cock, before muscle memory kicks in.

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, and John groans deep in his throat, the sound twisting into a moan as he speeds up his tugging, and it's seconds before he’s pumping his come into your mouth.

Most of it lands on your tongue, or around your lips. But a smear of it shoots across your cheek. You don’t dare wipe it away; instead, once John’s finished, and he’s staring down at you with this wild, feverish look, you close your mouth and make a show of swallowing it down.

You’ve collected a lot of spit from having your mouth open for so long, and your mouth is too full to swallow it all in one go, so a trail of it slides down the corner of your mouth and throat.

John watches it drip.

Inhaling steadily, he reaches his thick hand out, and wipes the smear of it, along with the come on your cheek, away with his thumb.

“What was it you said?” he whispers. His eyes are black as he pushes his finger inside of your mouth. You close your eyes and mewl around his thumb, lazily sucking at it as if he’d pushed his cock between your lips.

Having something of his in your mouth makes your post-come delirium even worse.

The position makes you hazy, too – spread thighs and sensitive pussy brushing against the rug – and you’re just about to ask if you can blow him before he pulls his fingers away and clasps your jaw and throat in his huge hand.

Your eyes immediately roll back. Cunt clenches, desperate for him inside of you again, and when you blink up at him, your husband's face is a picture of love and possession.

“Mine,” he states, in his heavy, smoke-laden voice.

You lick your lips and taste the remnants of his come on your tongue. “Yes sir,” you whisper.

masterlist.

please reblog or comment i'll kiss u.

[suncoved]

STOP IT RAFE, YOU'RE BEING MEAN! — RAFE CAMERON

pairing; bestfriend!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary; rafe has a strict rule that if you ever leave anywhere, you tell him. and when you break that rule, he goes ballistic (bsf!rafe cameron x reader)

warnings ; angst! verbal fighting, angry!rafe, kinda mean rafe, theyre both annoyingly oblivious.. warning this did not turn out how i planned it to be but im also not mad at it, idkkkk

to say you were bored was an understatement.

it was a regular rowdy saturday night in the outerbanks, this nights party being at a random kooks house on the figure eight whose name you couldn't quite remember

you were nursing a forgotten red solo cup of punch in your hand, crowd-watching to pass the time.

it wasn't normal that rafe actually succeeded in convincing you to come to these things. because as much as you liked chatting with spoiled self-absorbed kooks over disgustingly sweet punch, you'd rather stay cuddled up in your fluffy pyjamas and watch sappy romcoms on rafe's couch.

but nevertheless, here you were. dreading every decision you had ever made up to that point as you watched rafe from across the room. a blonde kook girl climbing over him and straddling his hips, sitting on his lap as he smirked.

you knew you really had no right being mad at him because you weren’t dating.

but from the start of your more than 10 year friendship, rafe made it clear that you were and always will be his.

so why didn’t that rule go both ways?

with all the thoughts bouncing around in your head, you failed to hear a certain blonde pouges voice echo around you.

you snapped out of your state, consciousness returning to your mind as a hand was waved repeatedly in your face.

“hey! you there princess?” a smile adorned the boys face, a ratty snapback placed backwards on his blonde hair.

“yeah, jj. right here” you joked, smiling brightly back at him as you brought your cup up to your lips.

“thought we lost you there for a bit princess? what’d you doing standing here all alone?” jj asked, surprised to see your constant kook king shadow nowhere to be seen.

“just people watching, the usual. where’s kie?” you quickly changed the subject, wanting anything to get your mind off of rafe.

“around here somewhere i hope. gonna’ try to round everyone up to we can get outta here. early morning for us cut goers tomorrow, fish to catch and things to steal” you giggled at his joke, earning an even wider grin on his face.

you always liked jj. you thought he was funny, and he was the most loyal person to his friends that you knew. and despite his manic tendencies, you trusted him.

“have a nice night j. drive safe!” you said, watching him wink at you before he disappeared into the crowd.

with jj gone, you were left to your own thoughts agian, which was never a good thing.

you glanced over again at rafe sitting comfortably on the couch on the deck. the light from inside illuminating his face as he leaned over to the table, picking up a small bag of white powder and handing it to a random touran.

you bit your lip as you noticed the same blonde from before clinging to his side, rafe seeming unbothered but making no move to push her off.

god, you couldn’t even imagine how rafe would react if he saw you speaking to jj earlier. so why is it that he can literally let a girl dry hump him in the middle of a party and you shouldn’t care?

you didn’t know why you cared though, because rafe is you best friend, nothing more.

right?

you didn’t have time to think about that right now though, you just needed to get the fuck out of this party right now or you were gonna explode.

an idea clicked in your brain and jj dragged a drunk john b towards the entrance of the house, kiara and pope following quickly behind.

you decided that this was now or never, placing your red solo cup onto a random table as you walked towards them.

“hey jj!” you called out, his head immediately snapping towards you. “you think you could give me a ride home?”

it was nearly 30 minutes later that rafe noticed you were no longer in your spot in corner of the house. business was coming to a halt as he sold his last few grams of cocaine, a heavy wad of cash safely resting in his back pocket.

his eyes scanned the crowd for your face, but you were no where to be seen.

and rafe was starting to freak the fuck out.

he knew you wouldn’t go upstairs to any bedrooms, or go out for an impulse swim in the pool. and he knew most of all that you wouldn’t just leave without telling him, and the notification box in his voice remained empty from your contact.

he ran his hand roughly through his hair, pulling aggressively at the roots and cussing to himself frustrated.

his eyes widened as he saw your friend in the crowd, interrupting what ever useless conversation she was having, because until he knew you were safe, nothing was more important.

he asked rudely where you were, watching as her face morphed into shock that rafe was talking to her. because well, if it’s not plotting on the pouges or selling drugs, rafe doesn’t interact with anyone but you or his friends.

“i-i im not sure. i saw her leave like a bit less than half an hour ago. i thought she told you, she always does”

rafe clenched his jaw, hundreds and thousands of thoughts running through his head. “was she alone?”

“n-no. she was with that jj guy and his friends” your friend murmured, nervous she was ratting you out to the scariest guy in the whole of kildare.

it was safe to say that rafe was fucking pissed.

it took him less than a few seconds to put his keys into the ignition of his jeep and drive illegally fast to your house. you liked to piss him off often when you were in a mood, but never with your safety.

rafe never fucked with your safety, ever.

he murmured venomous cusses to himself and he walked towards your house, the pebbles from your mothers perfect drive way crunching under his feet as he speed to your door.

he made a beeline to the entrance of your home, the white arches welcoming and the doorway dimly lit by the porch lights.

he planted his feet straight on the 'welcome home' door mat, lifting his balled fist up to the door and sending booming knocks to the wood panel.

his knuckles were white as he clenched his fists so hard together there was sure to be crimson-red crescent indents from his fingernails. he was fuming.

the click of the lock releasing from the door snapped him out of his thoughts, the door handle turning and the lobby of the inside of your house quickly coming into view.

he locked eyes with your figure immediately, a pink fluffy towel in your hand as you dried your hair. you were only wearing a pair of long socks and rafes shirt which reached more than halfway down your thighs, your face bare of makeup.

you jumped as you saw the look on his face, an anger prevalent in his stare that you had never seen directed at you. fuck. you were in some deep shit.

you parted your lips to speak, but nothing seemed to come out. for the first time in your life, you were scared of rafe. not that he was going to harm you physically, no, never that.

but you knew how much he cared about you and your safety. you just wished he cared that much about your feelings. you wanted him to see that.

"rafe" you said, your voice coming out as a whisper as you watch the lines on his forehead crease together as thousands of thoughts ran through his head.

"what the fuck were you thinking?" he spat as he pushed you as softly as he could into the house so he could close the door, worried the cold of the night was going to make you shiver.

you didn't have time to answer before he started again, running a hand roughly through his hair as he huffed. "you just left? you fucking left a party at night without even texting me, and you let that fucking pouge drive you home!"

you rolled your eyes at the last statement, this was all about jj? "so that's all you care about? me going home with a boy i've known since third grade who just so happens to live on the cut? you don't give a shit about me, you just care about this stupid kook pouge rivalry!"

"don't say what you know isn't true ma. you know i care about you more than i care about myself." he stated, nearly all the anger in him draining out as he saw your eyes begin to fill with tears. he couldn't handle seeing you cry.

"how do i know you care about me rafe? because you don't seem to show it." you sighed pushing yourself as far away from him as you could, your back pushing up against the wall.

"don't fucking say to me y/n. i've loved you from the moment i met you." you finally stopped looking at the floor, lifting your chin so you made eye contact with him.

"stop it rafe, you're being mean" you whispered, mostly to yourself more than rafe. you couldn't listen to him say how much he loved and cared about you for one more second. not when you still had the picture of him being essentially dry-humped in the middle of a party by a girl you didn't even know.

"ma i love you. you know that. you're my world, my favourite girl. why are you fighting this?" rafe said, trying to hold you wrist in his hand before you quickly pulled it away.

"bec-because you can't just say all this then turn around and have make outs with other girls right in front of me. it-its not fair." you spoke, the tears finally making their way down your cheeks in steady streams.

rafe physically flinched at your statement, his palms getting sweaty and his heart rate increasing into rapid beats. was he actually going to admit his love for you right now, like this?

"what are you saying y/n?" he asked, his voice cracking as his face fell. his mind racing with how many outcomes could come out of this conversation.

"that i love you, you idiot!"

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Blue Blood and Rain [4]

King John X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: You're the personal attendant to The Dowager Countess of Bowhale, who was visiting the court with her son.

The King invites you on another ride, this one is much more private.

Series Masterlist

A/N: I'm trying to get my butt in gear and actually finish up some series.

Warnings: Kissing, oral sex (f!receiving), hand job, public sex (they're outside but not observed), reader is a virgin, overuse of italics, power dynamics because he's the king, pet names, I have totally made up servant/noble dynamics because I wanted to, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 1617

Stefan whinnies softly as you move about the stable, despite being freshly brushed and being just served clean water and hay he still wasn’t satisfied until he had your undying attention. 

You tut playfully at him, stopping in your work to pat his side. “What is wrong, hmm? I thought you’d like a break away from Hugo’s less than perfect riding.” You smile and lean closer to the horse, a little conspiratory. “But don’t tell him I said that.” 

He whinnies again, almost sounding like a laugh. 

You stroke his neck absentmindedly. “You get to have nice food, in this nice stable and then go outside and pester all the other horses in the fields all day. Sounds perfect.” 

“Does it?” The King’s voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. He grins, pretending to look ashamed for a moment, his hands open. “I’m sorry to startle you.”

“No, you’re not.” You give him a playful look.

“You’re right,” he steps closer to you, lightly touching your arm. “I’m not.” 

You shake your head, pretending to be insulted. “I am outraged.”

“Outraged by the actions of your King?” He grins. 

“Of course.” 

His beam widens and he kisses your cheek quickly before ensnaring your lips with his and stealing your breath. 

He pulls back the smallest fraction, lightly nuzzling his nose against yours, “What about now?” His voice is soft and barely above a whisper. 

“Slightly less outraged.” You managed to say.

“Ah, I’m going in the right direction then.” He kisses you again, snaking his hand up to stroke your cheek. 

Stefan nudges King John’s shoulder gently and he turns to smile at the horse. “Someone seems to be warming to my presence.” He pats Stefan, much to his delight. 

You smile at Stefan, “He’s a good judge of character.” 

The King uses your brief distraction to kiss your cheek again. “I see that the Earl and the Countess are busy this afternoon.” 

You turn to look at him, amused at his choice of using their formal titles. “They are.” 

“So, you are free?” 

You shake your head, “I have many duties to attend to that-”

“Duties that can be taken care of, come,” he takes your hand in his. “Are you really going to disobey a request from your king?” His expression makes you giggle. “I will take that as a yes.” He lightly kisses the back of your hand as he leads you out. 

.

The King rode Guinevere, while you rode Alaric again. The ride was peaceful, just the two of you taking your time. John rode at your side, happily talking with you and it’s not long until you arrive back at the meadow he had shown you before. 

He stops and dismounts before holding out his hand to help you, happiness radiates out from his chest when you take his hand without pause. 

“The tree you used to read under as a child,” you smile and motion towards it as you admire its thick heavy bark and a wide canopy. 

The King preens, puffing out his chest a little, touched that you remembered. A small dusting of pink highlights his cheeks and he pauses, biting his lip as he has a small inward argument with himself. “I used to do other things under that tree.” 

You pause, giving him a sideways glance and chuckling at the blush on his skin. “Other things?” You tease. 

“Other things.” He lightly puts his hands on your waist and guides you under the leaves, walking you backwards until your shoulders hit the trunk. 

“I simply demand to know these other things.” You bite your lip and he groans. 

“Stop, you can’t be giving me such looks and expect me to behave.” 

“A King would behave.” You put your hand to your forehead dramatically, “Me, here, alone without a chaperone.” 

He chuckles and kisses you softly, pressing his chest up against yours. “I used to…” he pauses, kissing you again quickly. “Pleasure myself here, when I was older than a boy. I liked the quiet better.” He sucks lightly at your neck, smiling as your breath hitches. 

Heat floods your veins, the image of him bringing himself to his peak dancing in your mind and making you dizzy.

“I would read sinful stories,” he kisses along your jaw, biting softly between words, “and then, when I was overcome with thoughts and urges, I couldn’t resist.” 

He groans lightly as you tug on his shoulders, urging him closer. “I would spill myself all over my hand, imagining such debauched things.” He breathes heavily, pushing his thigh between your legs. 

“What debauched things?” You whisper, not trusting your own voice and his fingers flex against your waist. 

“I could,” he swallows, his cock hard and heavy between his legs, pulsing with the rapid beating of his heart. “Show you… if you wish?” 

You hardly finish your first nod before he’s throwing himself to his knees and pulling up your skirts. He bunches them around your hips with a desperate, crazed further. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he looks up at you, his skin flushed and eyes dark, “if you are uncomfortable or want me to stop for any reason. Promise me.” 

You nod, once. “I promise, your Highness.” 

He groans lightly as you speak his title, his eyes glazed. Then, lightning fast, he dives forward and tugs your undergarments down your legs. 

You gasp in surprise, the sound quickly becoming a needy moan when his warm tongue licks through your folds. 

He moans low in his throat as he laps and swirls around your clit, salvia and slick coating his chin as he feasts. 

“You taste divine,” he growls, licking his lips as he manages to pull himself away from you for the briefest moment, just enough time to pull your undergarments down and off your legs completely.

He hoists your left thigh onto his shoulder as he continues, eagerly sucking your clit into his mouth and snaking his hands up to hold and squeeze your ass.

Your back arches, tree bark digging in between your shoulder blades as pleasure tightens and pulses dizzyingly quickly. Your body moves of its own volition, your mind completely lost to the soft warmth of his mouth. 

“I…” You moan, your legs shaking from the onslaught. You try to grab onto the trunk for stability, but you can’t get a solid hold. Without thinking you sink your hand into his thick curls, but before you can pull back he whines desperately. He presses his left hand over yours and squeezes, urging you to hold him tighter, firmer as you writhe on his tongue. 

He sucks rhythmically, your cries spurring on every action. The idea of you coming undone and tasting your release makes his eyes roll back. The drawstring fastening on his trousers rubs against his cock, and he can’t help but buck, thrusting into the barely there pressure. 

“Your…” You bite your lip, breathing hard, trying to get some semblance of control over your voice. “Your Highness, I’m… please.” 

He groans loudly when you use his title again, his eyelids fluttering as he pushes his face closer, practically trying to suffocate himself. 

The feeling twists and curls, your muscles tense and shake. You’re sure you can’t get any higher, can’t feel any more pleasure. But each second he proves you more and more a liar. 

Your orgasm crests and blooms along your nerves, tensing your muscles and robbing you of all thought as you are consumed body and soul. 

He groans, watching you intently and eagerly drinking down your release. You writhe under him as he prolongs your bliss, pulling you apart expertly piece by piece. 

As your limbs slack he moves back a fraction, placing your leg back to the floor and taking hold of your arms to guide you down onto the grass. 

You breathe hard, resting against the tree as he kisses your temple. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t, I need to,” he swallows, his hands quickly undoing his trouser fastenings and pulling his aching cock free. It’s leaking and ruddy red, looking painful and desperate as he wraps his right hand around its thick length. 

He fists himself rapidly, angling his body away from you to give you time to recover. 

You swallow, moving closer to him, pressing your chest to his back as the sweat cools on your skin. “Let me help you, your Highness.” 

He groans, nearly coming on the spot. “Here,” his voice is strained and weak as he guides your hand to his cock, wrapping his fingers over yours and showing you how to move in the way he needs. 

You're shocked by how warm he is, how soft, like velvet on a chair by the fire; and how hard, like iron under your palm. 

You barely get to stroke him four times before he’s crying out your name and tensing. His cock pulses, his hips bucking as he comes robe after robe of silky white onto the grass and tree roots. 

It’s mesmerising, how his mouth opens and body shakes, and you can’t help but stare transfixed as he falls apart for you.

When his hand relaxes around yours you let go, smiling as he leans back onto you and grabs your wrists so that he can litter your fingers with kisses. 

“You are addictive,” he murmurs, twisting his body so that he can kiss up your arm. “I nearly came without touching myself with my mouth on you,” he gazes up at you with love sick eyes, his skin flushed. “Better than any saucy book.” 

You giggle and he grins, sliding his hand around your neck and kissing you deeply. 

Thank you for reading!

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[hihhasotherfixations]

Relight the fire - King! Price x Princess! Reader | NSFW

Synopsis: Growing up in the neighbouring kingdom, you and Price go a long way back, practically growing up together. From rambunctious kids who play together, to teenagers exploring each other. Now, a decade later, you finally reunite after your parents proposed an arranged marriage to the now king. His memory of you however is still coloured and he intends to relive it.

CW: fem! reader, arranged marriage, p in v, yearning, lots of kisses, sort of a quickie?

Word Count: 5499

Sitting in the carriage, your eyes were cast out at the roads passing by. Familiar but oh so foreign streets rolled across your view. Streets you remember running down, yet had changed so much in the last decade.

It had been a while since you’d last visited the kingdom of Onferon. When was the last time again? Glancing to the right, you saw your mother – the queen – seated beside her husband. They were the reason you were last here too. You must have been a teenager when you last travelled here, accompanying your parents for business. Or was it a young adult? You don’t remember. Either way, at least ten years must have passed at this point.

“It’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

Your father’s voice pulled you out of your reminiscing and you looked over at him, a questioning look on your face that made him smile gently.

“We’ve had communications with king Price. He’s eager to see you again.”

Right. King. It seemed so long ago now that the two of you were running around through the streets, evading the guards who were desperately chasing you, trying to keep an eye on you for a safety neither of you cared about. But now, that boy you knew was a king.

Knowing your father was waiting for an answer, you replied. “As I am him.” You spoke back, though the neutrality in your tone betrayed some of your inner thoughts. A lot of time passed. You weren’t getting any younger, neither was he. Which is why – to your brother’s dismay – you were here today.

An arranged marriage. Proposed and set up by your parents. With your history, they hoped that John Price would accept, strengthening your own kingdom in the process.

Not that you blamed your parents. What was needed was needed. With your brother in line for the throne, you knew there was only one way for you to go as princess.

Just then, the carriage passed through the gates onto the castle grounds, cobbled streets making way for lush green gardens and hedges.

“I don’t like this.” Your brother then murmured, much to the dismay of your parents.

“Hush now. Your sour attitude will compromise this all. The marriage isn’t finalised. King Price refused to do so until he saw her again.” Your mother motioned her hand at you, making your brother huff and cross his arms like a petulant child. “Behave.” She scolded – without effect.

Hearing her chastise him, your brother just grumbled and you playfully kicked his shin, making him hiss in pain before glaring at you.

Sitting up to retaliate, he was stopped by your father saying a stern “Enough!”.

Calming, both of you relaxed in your seats right as the carriage came to a stop.

With the doors opening, your mother shuffled close while the men got up to step out, her hands tenderly running over your dress, fixing a fold and tucking a hair back in place on your head.

“Remember.” She spoke softly. “Chin up, be calm, be good. It’ll be your actions who decide whether this arrangement happens or not. Answer his questions as truthful as is necessary.” With that, she smiled softly, her gloved hand gently rubbing your cheek before she too got out.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled your own gloves a little tighter up your arms before you got up from the seat and stepped out of the carriage, taking your brother’s offered hand to step down, your heals clicking on the stone walkway.

Before you, the castle towered over not just you but the entire kingdom, standing tall and proud. A pillar of the kingdom’s wealth and power. And before its doors, stood John Price.

Once you spotted him, you blinked once, your eyes shifting over his attire. A simple dark blue doublet with intricate embroidery – simple upon first glance yet hinting at wealth up close. Slowly, your gaze rose up to his face, his young visage now more weary with age, not to mention covered in intricately carved facial hair.

It took a moment too long for your eyes to look at his, finding that they’d been focused on you all along. Realising, you straightened up a little, following your parents upon their approach.

“Welcome, your majesties.” Price greeted, politely bowing his head, to which your family returned the greeting in kind, your head bowing as you sunk through your knees a bit. “Please come in, festivities have been arranged.” Price stepped aside then, the guards around you motioning you up.

Your parents were first to go, your brother and you following up the steps. There, Price led the way, walking through intricate halls and bustling staff as they ran around. Some stopped by him as he walked, hearing them out before quietly responding and sending them on their way, resuming the silent tour after.

“Your luggage is being arranged. You shall find it in your quarters.” Price smiles kindly after a moment, pausing in front of a set of double doors. As he smiled, his eyes crinkled, the corners of his mouth pulling his beard up with them, almost lighting up his face – an expression almost designed to draw you in.

You’d seen it plenty of times before. Though he seemed to have lost the cocky attitude he had before, that permanent smirk replaced with a genuine kindness that surprised you.

“Thank you.” Your father spoke and Price nodded, motioning them to pass through the doors as they were pulled open by guards.

“Many have arrived before you. Please feel free to enjoy yourselves for now. Dinner shall begin shortly.” Price spoke courteously before his eyes shifted to you. “I would like to invite you and your children to be seated by me when the time comes.”

“We would be happy to accept.” Your mother smiled and you silently took a deep breath in, feeling the man’s eyes focused on you, your hands neatly clasped at your middle, resting by your stomach.

“Sister.” Your brother then took your arm, narrowing his eyes at Price as he urged you past, the king just smiling to himself as he followed behind, being the last through the doors.

Inside, the ballroom was packed with nobility from all over the land, eating, drinking, dancing.

Quickly, your mother and father dispersed, going to mingle with the crowd. When your brother didn’t seem to move, your mother stepped back and grabbed his arm, yanking him away from you and along with her with an apologetic smile.

It wasn’t until king Price stepped up beside you on the left that you realised why. He’d been waiting to speak with you alone.

Looking over, you noticed his eyes flick upwards a second too late, his gaze now settling on your face. “Your highness.” He greets with a small smile, your fingers fidgeting slightly as the pressure placed on your shoulders mounts higher.

“Your majesty.” You greeted back, much more formal than his greeting was, even when you both used official titles. A detail that didn’t escape the man, his head tilting a little.

“It has been a while since we last spoke. You have aged beautifully.” Price started, turning to fully face you, his eyes now freely roaming down, appraising you sweetly.

“Indeed it has, and thank you. You too have changed much.” You spoke back, trying to put an easy smile on your face though it was a bit tense.

Seeing it, Price reached out, gently grabbing your gloved hand, pulling it up to press a soft kiss to the back of it, his eyes never straying from yours. “For the better, I hope?” He teased softly, his lips moving against the fabric of your glove before he pulled back a bit, still holding your hand. “Why so nervous, my princess?” He asked after a moment, stepping closer, looking down at you with gentle eyes, intelligent and perceptive.

“My apologies.” You stated softly, taking a soft breath in to try and settle the pressing feeling in your chest. Being nervous wasn’t going to convince him to accept the marriage.

Watching you take the breath, Price’s eyes softened a little, glancing around to see the busy ballroom, his head then turning back to you. “What say you we find a place less… crowded, where we can talk?”

You frowned a little at that. “But what of dinner?”

“Dinner won’t be for a while yet. We have time and they will wait.” He stated, his free hand sweeping out to guide your gaze to a door leading out of the ballroom. A gesture to follow.

“I-” You started, glancing back into the room, seeing people’s eyes on you. There was a general knowledge of what was going on, what could happen. And it didn’t help your nervousness. “I’d hate to make people wait.” You eventually murmured, making Price chuckle softly, his hand squeezing yours.

“Still the worrier you always have been.” He smiled. “The dinner is still being prepared. Half an hour extra on the slow roast won’t ruin it. Might even improve it.” He joked before turning to fully face you again, using his free hand to grab your other one, now holding both as he looked right into your eyes. “Besides, would it not be nice to announce the decision I’ve come to during dinner?” He asked with a little smile, a playful gleam in his eye as he squeezed your hands before turning to the side again, once more holding out his hand, waiting for you to accept his invitation and follow him.

Letting out a shaky breath, you nod and Price smiled, holding you tighter as he led you out of the side door into a long hallway.

“You really haven’t changed at all. Only got more beautiful.” The man murmured, looking forward as he walked.

His comment had your heart clenching a little, your heels padding along the carpet, your eyes on the back of his head. “How do you mean?”

At that, he turned to look back at you with a small grin. “I remember leading you like this before. You were oh so worried to make your parents wait. Or that other time where you didn’t want to cause trouble for the guards for losing us. Just like you’re now worrying about the guests.” He hummed, your heart starting to speed up as he so easily seemed to remember you and the past.

“That was-”

“Always for the same thing.” He interrupted you, taking a turn and leading you up a set of stairs, his arms moving behind his back to pass your hand from his right to his left. “A worry for others to hide your own nerves.”

That had you pause, your steps slowing and – sensing you were no longer following so easy – Price slowed, looking back at you.

“I-”

“Sweetheart.” His quiet voice made you look up, seeing him step down the stairs to be level with you before cupping your face. “Don’t worry, alright? It’ll be like old times. Just you and me.” He hummed lowly, a glint in his eyes as he brought your hand up and kissed the back of it again. “Be a good girl and follow, hm?”

Walking backwards up the stairs a few steps, Price led the way as you followed, a little dazed. Seeing you were, Price then pulled you a little closer once you reached the top of the staircase, his hand snaking around your waist.

Leading you down the hall, he turned left to a set of double doors, opening one and helping you step inside.

Immediately, nostalgia and memories hit, memories that made your cheeks slightly heat up as you surveyed his bedroom. It had matured, just like him. But the layout remained the same.

“Come here, love.” Price spoke, his hand around your waist shifting to your hip after locking the doors, pushing you back until you gently hit a sofa, sitting down while a fire roared in the fireplace.

Having you seated, he sat down beside you, letting out a relieved little breath as he opened the clasp by his neck, shaking out his hair a little. “There.” He grunted, getting comfortable as he sat back, his legs splaying out somewhat.

Looking over at him, you straightened up a little, clasping your hands together in your lap, knowing the talk that was coming.

Seeing it, Price chuckled softly, reaching out to pick up your hand, his fingers tracing the glove up your arm until he hooked into the edge of the fabric that rested past your elbow.

“You’re so tense, hm? Dressed all proper for today to make an impression.” His voice dropped to a lower frequency as he talked, his eyes reflecting the firelight as they followed the path of his finger.

Slowly, he shifted closer, his leg moving to sit against yours as he slowly started to push the fabric of the glove down your elbow, revealing more of your skin.

“Uh-” grasping the fabric, you looked at the man, feeling your cheeks heat up a little.

“The fire is lit and we’re eating after this. Surely these aren’t needed anymore?” Price asked, a faux kind of innocence accompanying his statement. When he felt your hold slack, he carefully pulled the glove down your arm, taking it off and humming softly as he grabbed your now bare hand. “Much better.” He murmured, bringing your hand up and gently kissing the back of it, causing you to feel the course hair of his beard gently rub against your skin.

Feeling it, a strange sort of nervousness swirled through your stomach, butterflies flitting about as you felt the hairs lift off your skin, before he gently turned your hand around, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist in a similar manner, causing your breath to quietly hitch.

“Yes. Much better.” Price concluded with a little smile. Leaning in to reach his arm over, he took off your other glove as well, laying them over the back of the couch. “It has been too long since we’ve been like this, sweetheart.” He spoke softly, his eyes slowly lifting back up to yours.

“How… How have you been?” You asked, not knowing where else to start.

Seeing it, Price shifted a little, that small smile still tugging at the corner of his lip as he shifted in his seat, leaning back. “I have been quite alright. A lot has happened since I last saw you. But I am happy to say that having you by my side still makes my day better.”

Letting out a relieved little breath, you sat up a bit, turning to him a little, accidentally pressing your legs tighter together, as Price didn’t move an inch – didn’t try to even.

“I must say, I’m surprised you remember me so. We saw each other only sparingly as kids.”

Huffing in amusement, Price leaned forward, his hand suddenly landing on your thigh, rubbing a bit. “Remember? Darling, I haven’t been able to forget you one day. However sparingly we saw each other, I cannot possibly forget our little outings, hm?”

At the mention of that, you felt your face instantly darken in blush, swallowing nervously.

Seeing it, a familiar smirk worked its way onto the brunet’s face, his hand slowly trailing higher up your thigh. Before he could however, you placed your hand over his, clearing your throat.

“Uhm, perhaps we should discuss the- the uhm, marriage.” You spoke, a chuff of amusement leaving the man.

“I see you after all these years and you want to discuss bureaucracy?” He questioned, though he acquiesced, his hold on your thigh loosening.

“We’re not teenagers anymore. There is a certain… etiquette.” You spoke, trying to stay firm, though when he leaned in, his free hand coming up to tilt your chin his way, you felt your jaw flutter in nervousness.

“There was always etiquette.” He murmured softly, his eyes carefully roaming across your face, an admiration in them that had your muscles slacking a little, your eyes turning more innocent upon his unguarded gaze. “Yet I remember as we ran down the garden, shaking guards just to get a moment alone.”

His voice was quiet, raspy as he spoke, his hand moving from your chin down to grasp the one you were using to stop his hand on your thigh. Slowly, as if scared to spook you, he let go of your leg, his hand coming up to slowly brush down your jaw, feeling the soft skin before he cradled the back of your head.

“I remember breaking every rule in the book just to have you under me.” He hummed, leaning close, his breath on your lips with every word he spoke. “Every visit to one another turning into sweaty bodies, every diplomatic outing shifted to be for us. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to feel you again.”

His murmured words had you let out a shaky breath, looking up to see his eyes half-lidded, feeling his hand on the back of your head scratch your scalp a bit.

“But… we can’t. Not until- until it’s all official. We’re grown up. You’re king.” You whispered and Price smiled, leaning his face in before he started to press deep, slow kisses to your neck, savouring every single one.

“My darling. I accepted the offer the moment your parents came with it.” He whispered against your throat, his teeth lightly raking over your skin, careful not to leave a mark.

“You did?”

Smiling, Price pressed a last kiss to your throat before he pulled back to look at you. “You think I’d lose the chance to finally make you mine? I told you back then, didn’t I?

You let out a shaky breath, a flash of a memory playing in your mind. The two of you right here in this room, younger, more stupid. Price – who was just John back then – above you, his hips rapidly moving against yours, your panted breaths mingling as teeth clacked, limbs entangled and innocence lost.

Whispered breaths of his claim. Those exact words falling from his lips back then as they did now. And fuck how you loved it then, treasuring every syllable.

Coming back to, you looked at the man before you. The king before you. Things were different. Both of you were, the circumstances were. And despite the heat you felt in your cheeks, you spoke. “That was- You can’t compare. We were just-”

“Just kids?” Price finished your sentence for you and shook his head. “Maybe to you, but not to me.” He spoke, his voice gaining an edge and you felt a panic rise.

“N-No, of course it wasn’t that to me either!”

“Then why so surprised now? Have you moved on?”

At his question, your eyes widened in shock. “No.”

“Fallen out of love?”

“No!”

“Then why so nervous, my darling?” Price whispered, his free hand snaking around your waist. “I told you I was one day going to make you mine all those years ago. And today is the day.”

Letting out a little breath, you looked up at him, seeing his eyes gaze down at you with practically devotion. To him, you were his morning breeze. The smell of rain. A flickering firelight in the winter.

“My king…” You whispered, unsure, your eyes flickering down.

Returning in kind, Price used the hand on your neck to quickly pull you in as he slanted his lips over yours, pulling you into a kiss that had your hands shoot out to cling to his clothing.

For not a single second did the king hold back, his hand around your waist tightening, pulling you close against himself as he moved his mouth against your own, pulling your head back and leaning further into the kiss.

Even back in your teenage years, John had never known restraint. And now, when he was king Price, he was still just as intense, his tongue practically begging for entrance as he held you close, rolling his body into you as he deepened the kiss, taking only small moments to suck air in before he was right back to kissing you like a man starved, pushing you back into the couch.

Pushing on his chest, you felt his hand go from the back of your head to rest on your throat, his thumb shifting up to push your chin higher as he then pulled back, panting softly, his pupils blown and eyes half-lidded.

“T-The dinner.” You panted softly and Price just smiled, leaning down to nose at your cheek, his lips pressing to the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve already instructed them to wait at least half an hour. We have plenty of time. Would be a shame to waste it with boring mingling, no?” He hummed, pulling back to look into your eyes. “Let me indulge in you, my queen, like I once did.”

Your stomach practically fluttered at his words, your breath coming out shaky as you looked up at him. “I-” You hesitated and Price groaned softly, climbing better onto the couch.

“Please. I’ve waited so long. I need you now, my love.” He whispered into your ear, his voice husky, almost breathless as he took your hand in his, entwining your fingers before bringing it up, kissing at the back of it again, his eyes shifting to yours. “I beg you now…”

His whispered words echoed in your mind, your teeth gently digging into your bottom lip as you weighed your options, feeling his weight pressing into you, heavier than you remember, his physique evolved, just like all of him did.

Waiting for your answer, Price sighed softly, closing his eyes as he pushed his forehead to yours, his hand on your waist squeezing softly.

And then you spoke the freeing words.

“Promise we won’t be late?”

Lifting his head, Price looked down at you, a smile spreading on his face as he gazed at you. “My dear, you will be seated by me at the table on time, even if I have to carry you there.” He assured, leaning into you slowly before kissing you again, your eyes closing this time as you pushed back into it.

Without hesitation, Price’s hands snaked down your body, firmly running over your ass before he got to your thighs where he hiked your legs up, a clear hint to hold on while your dress fell down to your hips.

Once your heels were kicked off and your legs crossed behind his back, Price shifted his hands under you and lifted, breaking the kiss to see where he was going around the couch before pushing you into his plush bed.

Stumbling a little near the end, his groin pushed into yours from how close you were and Price groaned in pleasure while you gasped softly, realising just how needy he really was.

Unbuckling his belt, Price tossed it aside before pushing your dress and petticoat up to your hips, his eyes landing on your delicate underwear, a wet spot forming on the fabric that had his chest heaving.

“Fuck me, darling.” He spoke, his left hand trailing from your knee, down your leg.

It almost tickled, how lightly the tips of his fingers trailed from your stockings down to and over your skin, travelling your inner thigh down until they met the juncture of your hips. There, he bypassed your underwear entirely, slipping two fingers into the waistband, pushing them down and running through your folds.

The clenching of his jaw was almost visible as he suppressed a groan, feeling how slick you were, his fingers trailing through the soft, velvety feeling of your folds, ghosting over your clit before going back down, repeating the path over and over, making your body heat up with every brush.

“John-”

“Sshh.” He soothed softly, his right hand gently gathering your wrists, moving to hold them above your head against a pillow, his face leaning down to start kissing along your exposed sternum, his teeth pulling on the loops holding your dress buttoned around your cleavage, making your breath stutter.

Pinned and at his mercy, you closed your eyes, relaxing your legs and letting them fall a little wider, creating more space for Price, his fingers dipping down, one slipping into you as he hummed. “Good girl…”

Creasing your brows together, you could feel his finger pump inside you, deeper and deeper until he was in to the knuckle, starting to gently thrust in and out, revelling in your wetness, the warmth of your channel.

Different from before, his finger felt so much thicker, though perhaps it was the time passed that warped your perception, having only had your own fingers to do what he once did. What he was doing again now.

Already feeling out of breath, you swallowed nervously as you felt him add a second finger, a strangled moan leaving you at the stretch, paired with his thumb gently laying onto your clit.

Hearing it, Price smiled, knowing he was in the right spot as he carefully started thrusting his fingers, letting that motion dictate the slow move of his thumb on your clit. A slow rock back and forth, more pressure and less in an addicting wave while his fingers filled and stretched you.

“So good for me, so patient.” Price coo’ed softly, leaning slow and steady before kissing you, the force of it pressing your head back into the pillow as his fingers sped up, thrusting faster into you, feeling your slick grow, your pussy more readily accepting, allowing the man to start to scissor the digits, opening you up more and more until he introduced a third finger. His hold on your wrists tightened before he slid it up to curl his fingers with yours, entwining the digits between both your hands, loosely holding. For more than loose was not needed. You’d stay, readily and eagerly, kissing back as you felt his tongue roll through your mouth, tasting and exploring once more.

When he curled his fingers inside you, you squeaked into his mouth, causing the brunet to chuckle against your lips, continuing the motion again and again, feeling your squirming increase, his body on top of yours the only thing keeping you in place. Though when your knee brushed past the bulge in his pants, he gasped into your mouth, pausing his movements as he felt you try to catch your breath, a whimper on your lips as the building pressure left when he froze.

“Little minx.” He whispered, a smile curling onto his face as he hummed into your skin, rubbing his beard into you softly. “Wanna mark you so bad. But I better hold off.” He murmured, his fingers instead slipping out of you, to your dismay. “Sssh, ssh. It’s okay.” He soothed, using the same hand to push your underwear down your hips and thighs, leaving them there a moment as he guided one leg up and out of the garment, letting the fabric hang where it was on your other leg, already forgotten as his hand yanked the loop out at the drawstrings of his leather pants.

Making quick work of pushing them down his thighs, he pushed his underwear down with it, his cock freed and heavy, almost throbbing as you looked down, feeling the flush on your face spread to your ears.

“I’ll take my time to worship you soon. For now, I just have to be inside you.” He groaned softly, lining up with you before glancing up, waiting for you to give the okay.

Touched, you bit your lip before nodding. Upon getting the okay, he rubbed his tip through your folds, sliding up to your clit and down once, twice as he gathered your slick on it before carefully pushing into your entrance.

Letting go of your lip, you looked down with a little gasp, seeing his length slowly sinking into you, a familiar full feeling spreading from your walls, all the way up your spine.

Price panted as he felt himself slip in so easily, having prepared you well. “There you go, taking me so well. Made for me.” He groaned out, his head thrown back as he rocked his hips, pushing deeper into you, intent to fully sink in.

“John-” You gasped, your fingers curling around his and a little moan left him that had your cunt clench.

“Yes, say it again.” He panted, his free hand holding your hip, pulling you down while he pushed deeper, almost fully inside.

“John.” You whined a little moan, so full, feeling him bottom out soon after, his balls resting against your ass as he paused, panting.

“Knew you could do it- Fuck, so good.” Price panted, his body pressing down on you, his chest to yours almost suffocating as he panted into your neck, so so tempted to bite down, mark you up. But he refrained.

Instead, he pulled back his hips before pushing back in, his cock slick with your fluids as he began to move, feeling how tightly your cunt was gripping him with every thrust, his pace starting slow and languid, though it quickly started picking up speed.

Panting, you looked down, seeing his length move out before disappearing into you, a dark smattering of hair running up to his navel as he rocked into you, a small bump visible by your stomach every time he pushed in, a moan leaving you as the tip of his cock hit a spongy spot deep inside you.

“I- ah-” You moaned, throwing your head back as your growing pleasure from before came rushing back and Price bit his lip, starting to speed up a bit more, pushing deep into you, intent on hitting that spot every time.

“My queen.” Price panted, not to address you, but possessive. A claim. You were his. His queen.

“I-” You panted, feeling a sheen of sweat start to gather at the back of your neck and by your lower back, embarrassment curling through you as so quickly you felt the pleasure grow.

Grunting with his thrusts, Price snapped his hips into you, hitting deep, pausing half a second before pulling out a repeating, not fast but deep. Hitting your sweet spot with every rock of his hips into you, his balls hitting into you with every move.

“Keep going-” You moaned, your breathing speeding up as Price began to kiss up and down your neck, his thrusts getting accompanied by groans as he felt his own pleasure grow.

Shifting his hold from your hip, the man lifted your leg up to hook over him, holding you there as he fucked into you, moaning as he hit even deeper, your own control of your noise slipping.

Every push in got a breathy moan from you, every pull out a gasp. Squeezing your hands once, the man then smashed his lips into yours while his now free hand roamed down to roll into your clit, his thumb gently moving back and forth, making you groan loudly into his mouth, the sound completely swallowed up by his greedy lips, his hips picking up speed as he started to feel his thoughts blur, blending together in a jumbled mess as he chased his high.

“Fuck, John-” You whimpered, a pressure building, an electric feeling shooting through your spine as your back started to arch, the kiss broken as Price panted into your skin, his hips snapping into you.

“There you go, come on. Cum for me.” He huffed, his thumb rolling circles onto your clit not letting up, persistent and unforgiving, a whimper leaving you as you threw your head back.

“Yes-!” You gasped, moaning out as the tight coil snapped, your walls clenching tight as you came undone.

Spasming around his cock, Price groaned out, fucking you through your orgasm as the heat in his belly spread through his whole body, chasing his high as he began to move faster, more desperate, clinging to you in desperation as he panted into you.

“Come on, come on-!” He gasped before snapping his hips into you, holding still as a low moan rolled from his lips, feeling his release hit him, pumping into you in quick spurts, his hips stuttering a few more times before he stilled inside you.

There, the two of you laid, panting into each other, breaths mingling as you tried to catch your breath, tightly holding onto one another, even as your leg slowly slipped down from his waist.

Panting, Price stayed there, his forehead pressed to yours as he could feel his seed begin to leak out around his cock still stuffed within you.

“That’s… dangerous.” You panted softly and Price chuckled softly, lifting his head away from yours to look down at you, his eyes soft and adoring.

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll be married soon anyways.” He spoke as he caught his breath, smiling down at you before leaning in to kiss you.

- - - - - -

Trying to get back into writing a bit, sorry for my absence 😔✋. Hope you enjoyed! Comments and reblogs much appreciated, thank you for reading! <3

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

The Genius Florist (Killshot, Part 1.)

Description: The occupation as a member of SAS came along with many restrictions and rules one had to follow to a dot. It could get even more intense for a soldier carrying a lot of trauma and not enough self-love, if any at all. Thank God, this lonely soldier meets a lonely florist one day, and as they say - animals have the best judge of character.

Part Summary: Johnny MacTavish was about to make the most important step of his life and asked one of his best mates and boss to come along. Unexpectedly, the day brings a new hope at rekindling old relationships and making new ones.

A/N: For some unknown reason, my brain blipped and decided to give the reader glasses. It is for you to decide if she's having them on at work only or if she wears them all the time... Or whether she wears them at all. Also, the cover of Modern Warfare 2: Ghost eludes me to believe that Simon likes a cig or two every now and then. I wouldn't assume he's a regular smoker, but he defo likes to light one up when he drinks or feels like there's too much on his shoulders.

Word count: 6.5K

Tagging: x​

Master list: H E R E | Ghost's tapes: P L A Y L I S T

Never in his lifetime would Simon Riley imagine he’d been caught doing this. Frankly, he’d be rather caught dead than doing whatever this was. Deep inside, very deep, he was honoured to be chosen for this opportunity. The main cameraman, Johnny exclaimed jokingly, making Simon roll his eyes. Soap knew he got him hooked right then and there. On the other hand, Simon wouldn't ever imagine Johnny MacTavish getting into a very serious relationship with a Brit; mainly due to Johnny's everlasting ramblings about how the Brits in his unit are the bane of his existence. That changed when Soap met her; a wonderful, smart, and beautiful lass named Cassie. She was, according to her own words, the happiest and luckiest gal in the whole wide world thanks to Johnny.

Sure, Simon couldn’t really comprehend how it was even possible for someone as idiotic as Soap to make such a wonderful woman this content, but he didn’t dig into it much. If anything, it was endearing watching the two slowly fall deeper and deeper into each other. However, in the beginning, Simon had difficult time warming up to Cassie and her presence. By now, he was more or less comfortable around her and accepted her as an extended part of Johnny himself. The lass taught MacTavish how to be more extroverted and slowly let him blossom under her influence. Their happiness couldn't be measured.

He first met Cassie a year back. The night they'd been introduced in a pub was certainly a night to remember. Simon spent most of the time staring into his glass of whiskey, listening to the chatter around him, chuckling under his baklava - the unit members invited were interviewing poor Cassie as if their lives depended on it. Johnny, to make known that he was there for her the entire time, laughed along happily and jumped in whenever the question seemed inappropriate. Johnny's palm ran up and down her upper thigh under the table the whole time. This intimate gesture was saved only for lovers. At first, Simon didn’t overthink it; yet the longer he bore witness to said gesture, the more it itched itself into the back of his head. Needless to say, he was the first to leave that evening, packing his stuff in a rush just so he wouldn’t intrude for much longer.

As he walked home, Simon tried to reflect on what could be the reason behind him suddenly getting so upset over a sign of affection - he witnessed it all the time. Strangers out in public were hugging, holding hands, kissing and always making out. It was easy to dissociate from random strangers. The dissociation became harder the moment it was one of his closest comrades who found his soulmate. The way he talked about her with the boys, the tone of his voice when he called her just to hear how her day was, the newly found glimpse of courage in his eyes each time they were about to enter the battlefield… That was the moment Simon halted and took in a sharp breath.

This, this was the root of the problem, Simon realized. What they had was, to a tee, something Simon longed for in his deepest, darkest fantasies - someone to lean into, someone to laugh about everyday ordinary bollocks with, someone to dance to tacky songs with. Someone to hold, cherish and love for the rest of his life. That one special lass who’d be waiting for him at their apartment after a long deployment. The one who’d love his face no matter how many scars would pile up on it in the coming years. Someone he could cook with, and share his space with without fear or regrets. And maybe even… Simon shook his head. No, imagining a smaller version of himself running around the apartment was a bit too far-fetched, even for him. He could barely imagine dating, so jumping straight to kids was a rather rushed conclusion. This was his little impossible fantasy that was to never come true.

The older Simon got, the louder this longing got - the harder it was to ignore. He wasn’t getting any younger, it felt like he was running out of time. Not ever building himself a proper future was something he thought he was already settled with... But now that MacTavish got himself something Simon would trade his existence for, and it seemed to be working seemingly flawlessly… Why couldn’t Simon do the same? Could he still excuse his loneliness with his work? Hardly, Johnny was making it work even through their occupation. Maybe it was time to pour himself a glass of wine - Simon Riley was unable to start and maintain a meaningful human connection. As soon as he got intimate with anyone outside his unit, all of his alarms started to ring and red flags rose before he and the person got truly intimate. Knowingly, he forbade himself from such a life, mainly due to his duty to the crown. Another fact playing a huge role in all of this was his past and all the demons that refused to stay hidden in the shadows.

Poor Cassie was hot on her heels to bring the boys a pie she baked later in the evening - she approached Simon and apologized for the night before. She didn't know if she'd done something inappropriate to upset him or if she said something wrong... But the pie symbolized a peace offering. The white flag of truce, that's how Cassie phrased it. Poor lass didn't know it was Simon roasting himself mentally. She had nothing to do with his temper or bad mood. If anything, it would've been more appropriate for Simon to bake at least three pies for her. She deserved it more. Each time Ghost thought of this moment, recalling as Cassie watched him with tears in her eyes hoping she'd be forgiven for nothing, he had to smile. He made a new friend that morning. A genuine friend outside the unit - now, Cassie checked on him regularly, always trying to woo super-secret information out of him, something dragging him for a hangout with her and Johnny. Sometimes, Cassie would succeed with extorting the information even out of someone as stoic as Simon was (for example, Cassie was one of the only two people who knew about Simon's soft spot for kittens and puppies), sometimes she'd 'fail miserably', to quote her (she once tried to ask about the type of women Simon was into, possibly leading into setting up a date for him if he wasn't careful enough).

One question still remained - why, for the love of God, was Simon chosen to keep MacTavish company while he picks out the bouquet of flowers for his proposal? Why did Johnny honour him by giving him the position of the cameraman? It was around noon. By this point, Johnny had shoved the diamond ring in Simon's face at least fifteen times. This morning alone. Simon hadn't even bothered counting how many times he saw the small piece of jewellery in the past months during their deployment. Soap kept the ring on him the entire time, telling the lads that Cassie would love the idea of him holding onto the ring during the most intense moments of his life. MacTavish proclaimed this a sign of devotion and love, Riley a sign of idiocy and madness.

“Are you sure we’re heading in the right direction?” - The masked man asked his comrade as he watched him shove the ring back into his jacket. Soap glanced at him mindlessly, looking around for a bit. “Positive, Ghost. My soon-to-be mum-in-law tipped me off to go to this particular shop on this particular day. There’s this genius florist whom she orders bouquets from all the time, said they were the nicest she’d ever seen. Should be riiiiight…” - MacTavish checked his phone again, poking his head around the corner to see if he was right. - “There.”

Both army men stopped in their tracks to look at the flower shop properly. The place looked awfully inviting and sunny even though it was located five minutes away from Soho. This place simply begged for the standbys to look inside and give it a try, it asked to be explored. The shop bore similarity to an intimate greenhouse in the middle of the concrete jungle of London. Ghost immediately noticed that even most people visiting the café on the other side of the street glanced inside the secluded space dreamily. The greenhouse wasn't walled off by concrete, instead, huge portions of said walls were made out of glass, showing the ridiculous amount of flowers, decorations and fairy lights hung all over the interior. Among cut flowers, the shop also offered a fair amount of succulents and exotic flowers delicately placed into either elegant or colourful, almost childish pots. Amid this chaos, there was a desk, a countertop to be precise, with azure colour painted all across it. Name of the flower shop? Rosemary’s. Simply Rosemary’s. Who was Rosemary? No clue.

The two gentlemen entered the shop while chatting, making sure to close the door behind them - the weather was cold and gloomy, and there was this omnipresent darkness even though it was barely 1 p.m. Funnily enough, the mood outside didn’t make it inside in any way, shape of form. The temperature and humidity were taken up to 11 inside the shop, presumably to keep all the exotic plants and succulents in good shape. The cut flowers didn't seem to mind at all, they looked perfectly fresh - as if the florist had just come back from picking them on a meadow.

To be honest, Simon never appreciated places like these. He preferred his shops of choice dark and anonymous, places where no one could recognise him. He preferred to be just a face in the crowd, even though his baklava made him stick out like a sore thumb most of the time. In his eyes, these shops always came across as a tidbit tasteless. On top of that, the mentioned so-called florist genius was playing some tacky 2010s playlist, seemingly grooving to it while walking around the shop, checking on the flowers. - "I'll be right with ya, gentlemen! Just need to find a white ribbon in the back!"

The bouquet on the countertop, of course, Simon assumed. She needed it to finish MacTavish's order - the main skeleton was already being put together with white roses, pure white Transvaal daisies and the brightest lillies Simon ever laid his eyes upon. From the intel he gathered, MacTavish and this mysterious florist spent hours discussing the meaning and design of the bouquet, each flower spelling out different meanings and promises. Promises for Cassie which Johnny meant to keep. What were the meanings and promises? Sadly, Ghost didn't remember a word from Soap's comprehensive speech. Next to the skeleton of the flower, there were also a few decorations laid out as if the florist couldn't precisely decide which to pick. If Simon had to pick, he would go for the small branches spray painted to a subtle silver colour with pears glued on. He'd rather let the florist decide, though.

As Simon wandered off, looking at all the types of succulents, he almost missed a small ball of energy running between his legs. After he looked down and focused on it, he realized it was just a little puppy. A very energetic one... A very happy one, to say the least. "Hey, miss?" - He cried out, catching both her and MacTavish's attention. The moment Johnny set his eyes on the dog, he lowered himself down, letting out a sigh of adoration. The puppy didn't waste a second before running off to Johnny's arms, enjoying all the pets and scratches it got out of him. Simon let out a silent chuckle as he watched one of his best friends mumbling nonsense to the puppy, being enamoured by it. - "Is this puppy yours?" "Oh, yes, I'm so sorry. Does it bother you?" "Not in the slightest!" - Johnny cried out happily, picking the dog into his arms.

Finally, you walked out of the facilities, closing the door behind you, white expansive ribbon in your palm. Seeing that your puppy is in good hands, you knew you didn't have to take it back there just yes. "How can I help you today, gentleman?" - You asked, smiling widely at them. Since this was none of Simon's business, he continued with looking at all the types of succulents Rosemary's had on display, listening to your conversation with Johnny. - "Are we looking for any special flowers? For your mum perhaps? Or something more... Special? For a girlfriend, maybe? I can make it all happen." "Actually, name's MacTavish? The bouquet you're finishing should be the one I ordered a week ago, yeah?" "Is it already 1 p.m.?" - You mumbled back in utter horror, presumably checking your wristwatch. As you gasped and started giggling nervously, it could be heard you were unnerved. - "I'm so sorry Mr. MacTavish. I should've had your order ready, but Bonnie gave me a run for my money earlier this morning. She wasn't feeling too good and I was scared because she's just a puppy... And now I'm just late for everything and looking like a blithering idiot. But yes, this is the bouquet, it should be ready in the next ten to fifteen minutes." "This little rascal gave you that much trouble, eh? Who could be even remotely mad at this little bundle of joy?" - MacTavish continued fluently, lovingly caressing the puppy. - "Also, that works for me, then. Me and the arse over there wanted to go for a cuppa anyway. Now, we have an excuse for it."

"Mhm." - You agreed. - "The café on the other side of the street is a killer. I'd kill for their croissants and chai latté, trust me. You're in for a treat..." - Then, both you and Johnny tailed off the rails, talking about Bonnie and her stomach ache. In the spawn of a minute, MacTavish jumped to your music choice - asking about what were you listening to. With a quiet giggle, you told him it was some mid-2010s band Simon had probably never heard about. "Really?" - John wondered, laughing unbelievably. - "Haven't heard them in ages! Wow, I feel ancient. I used to love them." "Sex on Fire is their biggest hit, in my opinion, but I could name a few..." - That was when Simon turned around to tell MacTavish they should leave you to your work if he wants the fucking bouquet finished today. That was when he first laid his eyes on you. Properly. Without your back turned to him or being hidden away inside the employees' facility.

The was... Something. Something in the way your expression changed as you spoke with Johnny, laughing at his responses. The lights flashing in your eyes revealed all the passion and thoughtfulness that you neatly hid away. Something in the way your body moved on its own as you gestured; Simon liked this part of you. It felt warm, inviting and welcoming, friendly almost... Even though you had never met Johnny in your life, you've chatted about like a pair of old friends. It was the complete opposite of all the feelings Simon's presence evoked. Something so delightful and beautiful about the way you presented yourself, about your hairstyle, the glasses framing your face, the way your working apron sat on your body, showing the white t-shirt tucked under as well as the jeans pants poking from under it. There was a moment when Simon's body forgot how to breathe entirely. The whole entirety of you was absolutely fucking stunning. This was Simon's first impression of you summed up.

That was when you looked back at him, still smiling from ear to ear. The world froze for a second and stopped turning as Simon stared at you intensely, knitting his brows together, puzzled at all the intense emotions tingling and brewing inside his chest. As Simon blinked, he realized you were clearly talking to him. "Are you okay?" - You asked, giggling nervously. This brought MacTavish's attention to Simon as well. John smiled his way, still cradling Bonnie in his arms. "Oh, he does this all the time. Don't worry about it, he's actually a sweetheart." - The other part Johnny whispered to you, making you laugh as you shook your head.

As you watched Simon back, there was something about the intensity in his stare. It was probably caused by his baklava - you couldn't see his expression, therefore you only had to judge his mood based on his warm brown eyes and light eyebrows knitted together. The intensity of said stare was powered by the frame and sheer size of this guy - not that you'd be the smallest bean walking the Earth, but there was something unnerving about the sheer size of his upper body, noticeably his arms. These bad boys seemed like they wouldn't have trouble smashing a pumpkin if he wanted to. And let's not start on his fucking thighs hugged by shabby, comfy pair of jeans. Naturally, MacTavish's 'he's actually a sweetheart' didn't have the intended calming effect.

"I was going to say that we better go fetch that cuppa if you'd like your bouquet done today." - Ghost spoke out finally, praying that his voice wouldn't give up on him now. - "All your bloody fucking blabbering keeps the poor lass away from work." "Oh, you're probably right, yeah." - MacTavish agreed, looking down at Bonnie. Simon heard you chuckle at their friendly banter; the sound made one corner of Simon's mouth twitch upwards. - "Would your mummy let you out for a short walkie with your newest uncle, huh?" - The man mumbled, glancing over at you. Even before Ghost said a word, you could see him performing a well-trained, yet nonetheless impressive eye-roll upon Johnny's words. "I wouldn't entrust this man with an animal. He'll refuse to give it back, he always does." - Simon butted in and gave Bonnie a scratch because she, indeed, was too adorable. You didn't answer Johnny's request, you simply fetched the leash from your backpack. "Bonnie has a great judge of character... Well, better than her mum anyway. I'll let my girly out with you under one condition - you'll stay right in my field of sight so I know she's safe, yeah? Don't forget I have your number, Mr MacTavish." - The last part was said in the sweetest tone imaginable, but your expression was warning Johnny, promising him many consequences in case anything happened to the dog. As expected from a soldier, Johnny saluted you, adding a: "Ma'am, yes, ma'am" before departing by Simon's side.

Around fifteen minutes had passed since the two left you to work - now, both of them were standing outside, at the edge of your vision field hidden away from the other customers. They each bought themselves a hot drink to sip on as they watched over Bonnie being the most adorable and curious little bean. The feelings tightening around Simon's chest were too much to simply breathe through. Even though he wasn't the happiest about this bad habit of his, he was now smoking a cig with his baklava slightly lifted up. Johnny knew better than to look at him, even though there wasn't much to see other than Ghost's lips and his chin glazed by light stubble.

"Did we get it right?" - Johnny wondered quietly, checking the receipt stapled onto a small paper bag he was holding in his palm. Simon glanced over at his comrade, too preoccupied with watching you at work. There was a furrow on your face as you tied the ribbon around the base masterfully, finishing your last touches; to Simon's pleasure, you went for the elegant silver branched, masterfully sliding in one after one, entwining in an enchanting way. Your lips were moving - either you talked to yourself while you worked or you sang along to yet another tacky song on your playlist. "Croissants and chai latté, that's what she said." - Simon let out almost thoughtlessly, being positive this was the go-to order you told Johnny about. Even though he met you ten minutes ago, this piece of information immediately carved itself into the back of Simon's mind.

As the two army men walked inside the warm, fuzzing café, their eyes fell on the menu immediately. There were so many forms of coffee to choose from, and the variety of coffee beans made the choice even more difficult. While Johnny loved coffee, especially the smell of it in the morning, Simon preferred tea. Not that he wouldn't go for coffee every once in a while, but... That was why he stuck to your recommendation. "How may I help you?" - The barista asked, not even bothering to hide that the sight of Simon unnerved her. Nothing to wonder about, Simon gave strong robber vibes to most of the people he met. "Hello. I'd like to order a chai latté, heard a lot of praises 'bout it." - He mumbled loud enough for the lady to head it through the baklava. - "... Actually, make it two. Two large chai lattés and... Are you out of croissants? Can't see them anywhere." "You're lucky, sir. We just finished baking a fresh batch, right from the oven. How many would you like?" "Four, thank you." - Simon ended the exchange, putting the payment on the countertop without waiting for the change back. The barista's behaviour towards Johnny switched a complete 180° - even more so thanks to the cute puppy in his arms. Soon enough, MacTavish joined Simon in the order queue, both men holding a small pink paper with their order summary on it.

"I've never seen you eat croissants." - Johnny remarked matter-of-factly. Simon didn't respond straight away, shrugging his shoulders at first. "It's not for me." - He explained simply. "... Never seen you drink chai latté either. Were you even aware of its existence?" "The florist talked highly of it and I wasn't in the mood for coffee. Also, she let you borrow her dog, figured would be a nice gesture to repay her somehow." - Again, enough of a simple explanation... Except for all the ulterior motives brewing right under the surface. "I see, you're right, as usual. Should've thought of that, mate. Let's hope we got her order right." - Johnny wondered. Simon hummed, not giving MacTavish any sort of an answer. Simon was positive the order was right - the entire conversation you and Johnny had was itched into the back of his brain.

"We got it right, I'm assuring you for the thousandth and last time." "Right, right." - Johnny waved him off, picking Bonnie off the ground - the puppy was now super-dirty and wet since it devoted its energy to running through every puddle in their radius. - "Hadn't seen you smoking in a long time. Something on your mind, beautiful?" "Not much just stressed about my performance." - Simon replied, his tone of voice not giving MacTavish much room for thought. "Hm?" - Johnny wondered. - "As in the tests or..." "I'm a shit cameraman." - Ghost admitted quietly. For a bit, there was comfortable silence between the two old pals before Johnny started snickering to himself. "For all I care, film your devilishly handsome face for the sake of it, I'll be equally happy with simply having the audio. Even just the part where Cassie says yes." "Oh, now you have an idea for what you're gonna get as your wedding gift." "Now I'm scared, Ghost." "Three whole seconds of my face in its full glory, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, won't ever show it to you again." "Well, that's honouring. Cassie will be so jealous, I'll tell you that much." "Awh, no, the bride gets to see my devilishly handsome face anytime she asks me to." "Cheeky little bastard." - Johnny laughed, watching as your palm skillfully wrapped the bouquet into a protective foil. In a few minutes, you were to be done and the delivery would be completed. After this, there wasn't a singular reason Simon could bump into you 'accidentally'. He wasn't much of a flower guy, mainly due to being deployed for long periods of time. If he were to buy flowers, he wouldn't have anyone to ask to take care of them. By all means, these plants would be better off with anyone else than Simon.

"This thing that the bonnie wee lass said stuck in my head." - Johnny admitted suddenly, capturing Simon's attention. Again, he didn't look his way but hummed so MacTavish would know he was listening. - "The puppy is a good judge of character... Better than her mum anyway." "She could mean anything by that." "Do you think someone's troubling her?" - MacTavish wondered out loud. When the florist said this, Simon simply assumed she was making a subtle joke. The connotations Johnny gave to the statement... Was someone troubling you? Was it a personal dispute? Was it a guy that's been bothering you? Or was just MacTavish whisking some drama that wasn't real to begin with? "I'd assume that's not exactly our business, mate. We might be SAS, but that doesn't mean we have to mingle with every personal dispute we come across." - Simon answered after taking a moment to think it through. Johnny nodded in agreement - what Simon said was reasonable. "All and all, the florist was right. The puppy has a great judge of character, isn't that right?" - The last part was meant for the puppy as MacTavish lowered his head, nuzzling its wet fur with his nose. "Now that's narcissistic." - Ghost remarked, amusement clear in his voice. "I'm talking about how it nearly peed your pants with excitement. This little bundle of joy instantly adored you." - Johnny concluded, watching as Simon flicked the cig. - "We should go. The florist seems to be done."

The result was otherworldly. Any woman would be lucky to receive this bouquet - it was done with a lot of care, attention and balance, and even the smallest details bore signs of being masterfully crafted. "How did you manage to craft this?" - MacTavish breathed out in awe, letting Bonnie off the leash - the pup immediately ran to greet you, wettening your jeans in the process. Simon, even though he wouldn't assume himself to be appreciative of any sort of art, couldn't but stare at it. While he let Johnny do the talking, Simon drowned his sight in you and your masterpiece; the way your eyes lit up upon seeing Johnny's reaction, the wave of giddiness taking over you when he started wowing and swing made him smile under the baklava. "A lot of patience, studies, practice..." - You named out, laughing. - "... To be frank, it's just that I know that my art will make someone very happy. I tend to pour a lot of energy into each bouquet that I sell. Maybe a bit too much at times, but the results are always worth the time and effort." "What's the total?" - Johnny asked impatiently, pulling out his wallet. Cassie would be through the roof as soon as she laid her eyes on the flower, Johnny was sure of it. "Well, I did my best to cut on some costs, but it's still an eternal romance bouquet, so... 180 pounds." "Make it 210. Ms Y/L/N... This is incredible. I can see why my mum-in-law talked about you this highly. She's a regular and she insisted that you, and only you, could make a bouquet for this occasion. As per usual, she was right."

"Mums-in-law love to hear they're right, you're on the right track here. Also, that's very kind of her. Might I ask... I don't want to pry, but who's the bouquet for? I might know the lucky gal since you've mentioned her mum is a regular?" - You wondered, counting the cash Johnny handed you. 30 pounds in tips sure was nice... Nothing you'd personally agree with, though. It was sweet that Mr MacTavish was this happy about the result, but this amount was too high for your liking. Yet, when you tried to give the money back to him, Johnny just stubbornly slipped the tip right back to you.

"My fiancé-to-be is Cassie Neil. She's a Londoner through and through, but goddamnit, she reeled my arse right in." "You're joking! No way..." - The shock in your voice was immeasurable as you opened your mouth in disbelief. - "Me and Cass were high school classmates! Until she left to study in France, we'd been best friends. We're still in touch, not as much as we used to be, though. Sometimes, she stops by to say hi, bringing me some of her famous gingerbread. The last time she stopped by, she blabbered about a Scot who stole her heart away. You must be the mysterious man." As you've said, Cass stopped by recently, maybe around a month ago, going off about this Johnny guy whom she'd been seeing for the past ten months. She mentioned that he was military, a part of the SAS - she explained that their speciality is close combat and hostage rescue. Presumably, Mr MacTavish and his buddy were both a part of it... That explained the baklava covering the man's face. "Oh, so you're the mysterious Y/N! My name's Johnny, love, hi. Wondered to whom she brings the best pieces in the batch." "What a coincidence..." - You giggled, your face getting flushed. - "If I'd knew you'd been sent by good old Mrs Neil, I'd give you a discount. I feel so stupid now."

"Nonsense." - Simon suddenly chimed in, making both of you look up to him. It was highly uncommon for Simon to speak out of terms, the self-control coming with a lieutenant position often held him back. If anything, Johnny believed that Simon is more of an 'I'll say my peace after the rest is said and done' kind of guy. - "Your work's valued exactly how it should be. I don't know much about flower arranging, but this is a masterpiece by all means. There is no reason for a discount. We've, ugh... By the way, we've got you something over at the bakery." - The man added, handing you the paper bag. "Um, thank you for the compliment, sir. Wait... Is this what I think it is?" - Excitedly, you accepted the paper bag right out of Simon's hand; when your skin brushed his, he felt a spark of electricity running right through. It left behind a trace of enjoyable tingling lingering on his skin.

You, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice, being over the moon thanks to their generosity. - "Get outta here, you guys are the best. Hadn't even time to order a takeout, so these will come in handy. Thank you so much." "Ghost here said it's for entrusting us with your sweet little puppy." - Johnny explained, carefully accepting the bouquet you handed over to him. Both of you concentrated on the task at hand while still chatting. "If lending you my pup makes you guys buy me lunch each time, you might as well walk her every day." - You chuckled. Bonnie, as if she sensed she was the topic of conversion, stumbled onto the scene and started to nuzzle Simon's boots once more. This time, however, her look of adoration was too much - the man kneeled and started to pet her. You'd both taken note of the action, smiling without commenting on it. - "But no, you might not keep her, Mr MacTavish." "Oh, jobby. I'll try another time then." - Johnny laughed. - "Also, my lass's friends are friends of mine. Call me Johnny." - The man said, offering you his palm. Without too much thought, you shook it.

"Name's Y/N, hi." - You said, still smiling from ear to ear. Then, you turned your attention to Simon since it would be rather inappropriate to just leave him out. - "And you might be?" As Simon looked at your palm, he tried to figure out which name should he give you - Lieutenant Riley? No, that would make him an egotistical jerk. Simon? No, that would be too personal. Ghost was all that remained as an acceptable option. - "Ghost, a pleasure to meet you." "Pleasure's on my side, Ghost. The two of you gotta let me know how it all went. Every last bit of detail, deal? Also, tell Cassie I'm happy for her and send my best regards. This is huge news." "I'll entrust Ghost with showing you the footage. Or stop by myself. He's my cameraman." - MacTavish explained simply, having Simon grunt in agreement. With a quiet 'awwww', you nodded - suddenly, Ghost's presence made a whole lot more sense. The man didn't appear to be comfortable inside Rosemary's, he seemed like he didn't want to be there. The two must've been great friends, then; usually, the cameramen went on to be the best men. "That's nice of you, Ghost. Also, it's assuring to know both Johnny and Cass have the best people looking out for them."

"We should be on our merry way now. You better make sure you're free this time around next year." - Johnny exclaimed, half-jokingly. - "In one year's time to the day, I'm making this lass my wife." "Is this an invitation or a job offer?" "Could we make it both, Y/N?" "That would be great. Can't wait to hear from you! Bye!"

The entire proposal went wonderfully - Cassie's sister came along, and Kyle and Price also took part in it since Cassie wholeheartedly believed that Johnny's unit was like his family and believed this would be simply a "dinner". Simon was smiling under his baklava the entire time, watching both of his best friends slowly becoming a mumbling, sniffling, crying happy mess. Simon filmed the entirety of it, he also made sure he'd have the best angle possible. Of course, Cassie immediately let out a shaky 'Of course, you dimwit' before hugging Soap passionately. Now, all of them were sitting around the table while waiting for their dinner to arrive. Johnny invited everyone for a glass and some food in one of the more expansive spots in London, making sure this would be a night to remember. Cassie and Nelly were all over the bouquet, gushing over how perfect it was.

Ghost was talking to Price, ensuring he wouldn't have time to talk to Nelly. While he adored Cass from the bottom of his heart, Simon was well aware of the reasoning for Nelly joining them - Cassie had been trying to hook the two up for a fair share of time by that point. As soon as Johnny started talking about the florist and her masterpiece, Simon's ears sharpened, and the conversation between him and Price was long forgotten. "Who made it?" - Cassie gushed with adoration, carefully caressing one of the silver-coated branches woven into between the flowers. "A friend of yours worked on it." - Johnny teased, winking in her direction. - "Your mum referenced Rosemary's and once I saw it, I had to give the props. Y/N is a fuckin' genius." - He explained, smiling happily upon seeing Cassie's mouth open wide.

"That explains everything." "Hell yeah." - Nelly chimed in, nodding. - "I remember when she started to fiddle around with flowers back when she and sis went to high school together. Even back then, her bouquets were just... Different. Always hoped the guy I dated would buy me on hers. Hadn't been that lucky so far." - She mumbled, shooting a quick glance over to Simon. As previously, he did his best to ignore Nelly's advances; it almost felt like Nelly was trying to give Simon a tip about how to impress her. As if. "Never got an answer to why that was, though. Y/N can barely keep up a serious face and hates accepting praises and compliments. The only explanation she ever meant was 'It's because I talk to the flowers, and they carry out my best wishes to whoever they are given to', I think." - Cassie sighed dreamily, playing with the engagement ring on her finger. Oh. The way your lips moved gently as you were finishing the bouquet, Simon recalled - you did talk to your flowers. - "Ugh, I awfully miss her at times. Petty she's so reluctant to go out with me lately, we used to be best friends. I'll have to give her a call."

Upon hearing this, Johnny glanced over to Simon quickly, he didn't even need to add anything. ... better than her mum is, anyway. Reluctance to go out with someone you used to be extremely close to even though you and Cass still felt good about your friendship. Do you think someone's troubling her? Knowing Y/N's best friend was safe made her genuinely relieved. Perhaps, there was something about the sentence after all. "We can invite her to our next hangout?" - Johnny offered immediately, having Cassie's face lit up. "You wouldn't mind?" "No!" - Johnny exclaimed. - "The lass seems fun, I already told her that the friends of my friends are my friends too... And I promised that I'd do my damnest to steal her dog away from her, have you seen that bonnie little she-devil?"

As the dinner carried on, the conversation was lively, flowing very nicely. After getting his hands on his glass of whiskey, Simon tuned out the surroundings, to be honest. His brain registered their laughter and chatter, but it felt as if his head was stuck under the water - he was going over Y/N, and he couldn't get her out of his head. Everything about her was freaking Simon out - the sound of her voice, her laughter and giggles, the curve and apparently plushness of her lips. The joy radiating out of her upon watching Johnny in awe. A hint of softness upon realizing why Ghost was accompanying his comrade - a glimpse of interest, he realized as he finished the glass, putting it back on the table. It could be the slight kick of the alcohol or his imagination making it up, but he'd swear he saw a glimpse of interest in your eyes. Pushing forward and drinking some more, Simon's brain kept trying to decipher the throwaway line that could be meant as a joke - ... better than her mum, anyway. It was decided right there and then.

Simon would try his best to create a situation in which you'd accidentally bump into each other just so he could see you again.

[ink-n-shadow]

don't mind me, just writing more pet play!141...😇

𝜗𝜚 pairing: pricegaz x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), pet play (are we surprised atp), owner!price, puppy!gaz and reader, brat taming?, bondage, punishment, oral (price!receiving), gaz being an angel

ik i talk a lot about pet play!ghoap x reader and how puppy!soap is a brat and reader is the angel, but what if i talked about pet play!pricegaz x reader, where puppy!gaz is an absolute angel and reader is a brat?

like puppy!kyle is the most obedient boy. he treats every word that owner!price says like it's the word of God itself, never giving any backtalk or second guessing his orders. price wants his cock down someone's throat for an hour? kyle is sitting pretty under his desk just waiting for him. his owner needs somewhere to tap off the ash of his cigars? kyle's more than willing to offer up the skin of his back.

you, on the other hand, are all snarling teeth and whines. following orders isn't easy for you, but that's okay—owner!price knows you just need a firm hand to make you all warm and fuzzy and pliable in his palms.

so it only makes sense that you’re often folded over in the king sized bed you three share, hands cuffed behind your back and resting on your lower back with your ass stuck up in the air. a pair of your underwear is stuffed between your slick lips, forced so deep that the lace tickles the back of your throat, and you’re whining pitifully at the fact that you’re unable to spit it out.

john is sitting off to the side of the bed in one of the plush leather recliners in your bedroom, legs spread to accommodate the way kyle is nestled prettily between his thighs. it's hard to make out all of the details in your tear-slicked vision, the only thing consistent being the bright orange glow of john's cigar each time he takes a puff. the only sounds you can hear over your own sniveling is the gargling of kyle throating his owner's cock and the jingling of the collar he wears (the one that matches the one currently tethered to your throat).

"what's wrong, pup?" john murmurs to you pitifully, head tilting and eyes softening in faux sympathy as he carelessly ashes off the end of his cigar somewhere over kyle’s knelt body. “y’want something? use yer words, then. loud and clear, pet.”

but you know that john knows you can’t, know that he knows he pushed your underwear deep enough in your maw that you can’t even form a syllable around the satin. it makes you whimper petulantly at his condescending words, the handcuffs jingling behind your back in an effort to squirm enough so that you can see kyle’s lips stretched around the thick head of john’s cock.

“no—stay in yer fuckin’ place,” john is quick to scold you into submission, the quirk in his brow more than enough to halt your movements and make you sink back into your folded position once more. “y’wanted to act like a brat, so ‘m treatin’ you like one.”

john’s scolding is interrupted by a ragged gag ripping through kyle’s throat when his owner’s cock slips to far, making him sputter up for a breath with drool and pre-cum slicking down his chin. the sight is enough to make john coo warmly, petting at kyle’s hair with a gentle touch.

“should’ve been a good pup like kyle is—yeah, good boy,” john’s words spill out into a rumbling moan as kyle sinks his mouth back down around his cock, taking him down until the head of his cock is brushing at the back of kyle’s throat. “good pets get rewarded, isn’t that right, pretty boy? tell ‘em what bein’ good’ll get ‘em.”

but with john’s heavy hand on the back of kyle’s neck, all kyle can offer you is a choked moan amidst the slick squelches of his throat being fucked.

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch. 4: Black Out Days

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

Vampire!Poly 141 x Fem!Fat!Reader

MDNI | cw: sickness, hallucinations, injury, some light dubcon

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life. Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate.

A/N: the tone of this story has sort of shifted as I’ve worked on the next few chapters/plot points. I hope it’s not too jarring, but I’m excited for the direction it’s going in.

Your mother rises out of her drunken stupor - spine too straight and head flopped back limply. As if her hips are the only thing capable of moving and her neck has snapped at every ligament. The worn sheets pool around her hips, torn neckline of her nightclothes exposing her gaunt, bruised collar bones.

She says your name in that sickening, gruff voice of hers. A voice too exposed to the poisons outside. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, coats her teeth as she speaks. Black and viscous. “Oh, darling, what have you gotten yourself into?”

You’re small. A child kneeling by her bed like you always did, waiting for her to ask you to bring her water or pain pills. “What?”

“It’s easier if you give in.”

People aren’t buried anymore. There isn’t room. Your mother’s urn is painfully cold in your hands. You stumble as the train lurches. A new voice hisses above you. Wild eyes and big hands that leave clawing, bloodied stripes in their wake down your body. A flash of blonde, some sort of scar. An accent so old you don’t recognize it.

“It’s easier if you give in, little girl.”

You fall back, out of the train doors and onto something soft and silky. For a few beats you stay there, in the quiet. In the dark. Comfortable in a way so deeply foreign to you it might as well be alien. Until some thick cover pulls away from your face. John grins down at you, shirtless with his head resting on his hand and elbow on the pillow below him.

“Knew you were awake.”

You rub your eyes. “Wh- when did- when did I get here?”

He frowns, a deep crease forming in his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve…” You run a hand through your sleep tangled hair. “I don’t know…”

“It could be so easy, Fancy.” He murmurs, voice low and far away. “It doesn’t have to be… this.”

“I can’t…” Something complicated swirls in your chest. A twisting of guilt and love and unadultered disgust.

The world shifts. You’re standing, now. Simon leans on the railing of the penthouse balcony, staring out at the city. He takes up so much space. Envelopes you without even touching you. “How many memories do you think a person can lose before they’re someone else entirely?”

“What?” You frown. There’s an ache in your head - a drumming pain growing more intense by the second. Your bones rattle along to the rhythm.

“It’d be so easy…”

You peel your eyes open only slightly. It hurts, as if they’ve been glued shut. An offensive light blazes in your face. It takes a moment before you realize the tingle on your skin comes from the UV lamp beside you. Did you fall asleep under it again? No matter how hard you blink your vision won’t clear. When you finally manage to swallow it feels like your throat has been lined with shards of glass.

You grope around the bed uselessly, hands unsure. The edge of the bed takes longer to get to than it should. With a low groan you crawl to the edge, barely managing to swing your legs over. Well, swing is a generous description. In reality you end up on your back on the floor, head thunking against some sort of plush rug or carpet. Your vision swims.

With another groan you slowly pull yourself up into a shaky stance. Wherever you are, it’s big. The bed you fell out of is easily a king with richly woven sheets and a thick comforter. The rug on the floor has such intricate patterns it makes your pounding head dizzy. There’s even a fireplace in the far corner, unlit at the moment.

Something different catches your eye - an item too familiar for this foreign room. Your box of valuables sits on an elegantly carved wooden dresser. Real, actual wood. You run your fingers over the strangely organic material, so rare that it almost feels more unnatural than the plastic plywood you’ve grown accustomed to in the slums.

You limp weakly toward the heavy door on the far wall. A whine escapes you as you pull it open, the heavy wood causes the hinges to creak quietly. You poke your head out, walking down the empty hall like a person with decade long atrophy. Sweat drips down your back, the sickness in your gut turning to anxiety as you realize where you are.

The penthouse.

Voices waft through the mostly open central area - deep and growling. A sound you might mistake for an angry beast if it weren’t for the intelligable words the noise makes up.

“Bloody ‘ell, Price, what the fuck?” That baritone could only belong to Simon. You poke your head around the corner of the wall, peaking into the living room where the four vampires stand.

“I know, I fucking know. I couldn’t-” An exasperated sigh. “I couldn’t lose her again.”

“So you fuckin’ marked ‘er?”

Your hand lifts shakily to the still sore cuts on your neck. They’ve scabbed over but barely. The action makes you look down at your hands - neatly bandaged. Recently, too, you think. At least if your blurred vision is to be believed.

“We’ll lose ‘er anyway if you fuckin’ scare ‘er away!” Simon’s volume continues to grow. He steps forward. John doesn’t back away.

“Guys…” Kyle tentatively steps in, hands outstretched between them as if stepping into a dog fight. He might as well be, frankly.

“You promised her you wouldn’t!” Simon’s voice wavers. It makes your heart skip, the unsteady sound so bizarre coming from him. “We all did!”

“Simon’s right.” Johnny crosses his arms. “We said we’d take our time. See where she’s at.”

“Weren’t exactly taking your time when you fucked her raw were you?” John snaps back. It’s shockingly childish and out of character for the man. Not that you would know. He sighs, rolling his wide shoulders. So much for not being angry about it.

Before you can make heads or tails of the scene playing out in front of you, your vision blackens, one leg stiffening and the other giving out. You barely catch yourself on some random side table, knocking it against the wall in the process. Despite your efforts to hold yourself up you collapse onto the cold, hardwood floor.

“Oh, baby girl.” It’s Kyle at your side first, cool hands tenderly enveloping you as he checks for damage.

“Don’t…” You push at his chest weakly. “Don’t touch me…”

“Dove-” A crack sounds throughout the penthouse, deafening and ringing as Simon’s palm comes into contact with John’s chest, forcing the man back a few steps.

“You’ve done enough.”

There’s a moment, long and silent as you watch them stare each other down. A power struggle. John is the head of the coven, objectively. The only way to change that is an exchange of power. A death. You’ve seen it out on the streets within lesser covens. Simon is bigger, but you can see the cold, dogmatic shift in John’s eyes. The look he gave you in the car. The one that says he is well and truly Right and there is nothing to stand between him and what is Right.

The moment ends when you double over, lungs heaving as you choke and cough. A slimy, viscous glob of red-black comes up from your throat. Barely liquid with the thickness of it. You fall limply against Kyle, as much as you’d rather be left in a dark alley than with these psychopaths your body just can’t hold itself up.

Someone scoops you up, pressing you tightly to their chest. Johnny or Kyle, you think. A touch so soft and sweet you might mistake it for love. Not that you would know. You’re back under the wave of nothing before you even touch the sheets.

You sit still as you can, arm growing tired of the stiff angle you have it positioned in. Laid out across some old loveseat that creaks every time you move even slightly. You don’t trust it to not have at least a little dry rot considering it’s from a good few centuries ago. One of those random pieces John hoards for some secret reason. The light positioned carefully above you feels too warm, discomfort making you twitchy.

“Johnnyyy!” You whine. “Hurry up!”

“Ye can do it, bonnie. Just sit like me.” He goes still. Inhumanly still. Transitioning from living (well, undead) being to a marble statue in barely a second. It sends a frightened shiver down your spine - the prey instinct in your hindbrain moving into overdrive.

You take a shaky breath. “I hate when you do that.”

When he does what? Has he done that before? Have you been here before?

“Jus’ be a good lass f’me.” Johnny murmurs. A different sort of shiver runs down your spine.

You recognize his room but it’s… different. Lighter, somehow, than the last time you were here. The only time you were here. The wall has far more drawings tacked to it, nearly doubling the amount and bleeding across onto another side of the room. You squint. It’s you. Well, mostly. All in different poses, some more salacious than others, each carved out with a deep attention to detail. Were… were those there before? They couldn’t have been.

Your body lights up, the room grows darker. Nearly pitch black. Your hips roll lazily. You feel… good. Ecstatic. The warmth from the light replaced by an immeasurable heat. The man below you comes into focus as the dream settles - a mountain. Blonde and pale and scarred. Part of his right ear is clipped off from a fight. At least you think it was a fight. His hair just barely long enough for you to tangle your fingers in. You’d know those dark eyes anywhere - the ones that look right to the very core of you. That know you wholly from Eve.

“Fuck, Si…”

“Tha’s my girl.” He grins. The action pulls at a scar covering his lips. “Always so good f’me.”

The hands on your waist lift you like nothing. Like you weigh as much as paper and are just as delicate. A burning fills you, a tension that pulls a grating whine from your chest.

A distant part of you remembers to question what this is. Why you’re here, with him. Why you’ve never seen his face before but seem to know every detail of it by heart. The rest of you falls into the moment without a care, allowing yourself to be consumed entirely by him and his desire. It’s all you want - all you need.

Simon’s voice rumbles in a sort of call and response to your devoted babbling. “I love you.”

You jolt, snapping forward and sloshing water around you. For a moment, you panic that you’re drowning. That you’ve been dropped into some great sea and left to flounder.

There’s a quiet rumble behind you, vibrating through your back. Simon. You couldn’t make out whatever he said.

You relax instinctively. Some unconcious part of you falls back into him. Until he runs a soap rag over your chest and you tense, clumsily attempting to cover yourself and curl into a ball. The water sloshes over the edge of the tub again. You don’t get very far, despite the massive size of the bath you’re utterly surrounded. Bracketed by Simon’s strong thighs and large hands.

“None of that.” He barks, pulling your arms back to continue washing you. “You’ve been sweatin’ in bed for four days. Gonna make y’self worse.”

Four days? Worse?

You stay quiet, limp and pliant as he pours a hefty glob of shampoo into your hair. Vanilla. Far too exhausted to put up any sort of fight. Not that you would win. It feels good, if you’re honest, the way he systematically scrubs every part of your scalp, slowly detangling with conditioner. You nod off for a moment, coming back when he pours water over your head to rinse you.

“Simon?” You murmur weakly.

He grunts.

“Why am I here?”

The hands in your hair pause. Only for a moment before going back to their gentle movements. “Because you’re ‘ome.”

You shiver, another coughing fit wracking your body. At least nothing comes up this time. There aren’t bandages on your hands, just the scabbing wounds that have obviously been carefully tended to. Even as the coughing subsides your breaths wheeze, shallow and hollow in your chest.

When you were young, your mother would set you in a cart to walk to the supermarket. The cracked streets would bump and rock you uncomfortably but it was better than walking all those miles. You always hated the market. Too loud and confusing. A maze of sterile white tile and shelving so high it felt giant to you.

One time you lost her, distracted by a massive plushie that she said you can’t afford. You’d stood there staring at it, angrily contemplating why you couldn’t afford it. What sort of societal disservice had been done that you can’t have that bright pink creature. Angry and lost you ended up wandering the aisles for what felt like an eternity. Walking through that white void in search of… you’re not really sure what, actually.

That confusion continues to eat at your mind as the aisles transition into a small, lush greenhouse. The UV lights above you would burn, if it weren’t for the large hat covering your head and shoulders. Gardening gloves protect your hands as you carefully harvest a few tomatoes. They came in so well this year, bright and firm.

You’re lost in it. The green. So accustomed to grays and neon lights that it feels unnatural. You turn your gloved hands over, palm up, down, up, down. They’re yours but distant. As if you’ve possessed some alternate version of yourself. You suppose you have, in a way, if these fever dreams are in pattern. Not that you remember the others well.

The lights turn off suddenly and you freeze, muscles tensing and hackles raising. You turn slowly as the door begins to creak open, trowel in hand. Not that it would do much against whoever has you cornered. John said to be wary.

He’s been acting strange lately.

Isn’t he always?

A hand clamps over your mouth and you shriek behind it. You claw at the stony hand covering you, instinct taking over. Adrenaline pulses through you.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” Kyle coos, letting you go quickly. “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t do that!” You snap, harsher than you meant. Or less so?

He deflates a bit, shoulders sagging. “Sorry, I just wanted to come in here with you for a bit.”

“Why?” You snort. Kyle is the only one brave enough to venture in. Even with an external light switch, the others are far too wary of the UV lights hanging across the roof to enter. It’s a joke between Simon and Johnny - that they’ll throw Johnny into the greenhouse if he doesn’t behave.

Kyle nods, scooting forward. You can barely make him out, the only light being that of the faux stars drifting gently through the fogged greenhouse glass. “Missed you.”

“I saw you, like, five minutes ago.” Did you?

He shakes his head. You wish they would tell you more. They always hold back so much, as if your puny human brain can’t grasp what they think. You could. You’d learn to. Even if it was some horrid, eldritch secret you would bear it for them. He pushes you back until you’re laying on the floor, slowly resting his weight on you and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Just let me stay like this for a bit.”

You frown, but only move to reach up and pet his hair. It’s smells like vanilla. He stole your shampoo again. A fraction of you screams, rails against the idea of being this close to an apex predator. To a man you don’t know. Strange. You know Kyle. You love him. Both the fear and the fondness swirl together into a confusing mixture in the back of your mind.

“We can stay. For as long as you want.”

Something heavy and cold coils around you. You weren’t out as long this time, you think. If you’re even awake now. The room is dark. A pitch black void that you float in outside of the grounding weight holding you in place. That vanilla scent felt so real, still wafting through your nose. A nagging sense of despair settles in your chest as it dissipates.

“Need t’go home.” You croak, unsure of why you say it. Your tongue feels heavy and numb. God only knows why.

“Ye are home.” Johnny murmurs in your ear, voice low.

“Not m’bed… sheets’r t’nice.”

“It’s yers.” Johnny’s arms tighten around you. His voice shakes. “It’s always been yers.”

“N-no…”

“Knew it was tae soon tae bring you back.” He buries his face between your shoulder blades. “Told Kyle it’d be tae much.”

“Wh-”

“Ye make us such a mess, bonnie.” He sighs. “Cannae believe Price-“

Johnny cuts himself off. You can’t find it in yourself to argue or press. A sob wracks you out of nowhere. Something about Johnny, about being wrapped up in his strong arms sends you over the edge of it all. The weight of him mimics the one in your chest.

“Dinnae cry.” Johnny sits up a bit, running a thumb under your eye.

“I’m s-so confused-“ You sob. “I can’t- I-“

Somewhere in the midst of your crying fit the bed dips in front of you. Kyle cages you in between himself and Johnny, pressing you tightly in the center. It makes you want to thrash, to fight and scream.

It also feels so, so good.

You’re back in the slums, in your apartment, with some random man groaning above you. He works down the street, you think. Smiles at you whenever you go get a coffee or cigarettes. You stare at the ceiling blankly. You brought him here… why did you bring him? What- You hiss at the living heat of his hands, burning through your skin - gut churning at the blue of his eyes. It’s wrong. Neither bright nor tranquil enough. You can’t voice it. Can’t place it. They’re just wrong.

You catch a flash of dark irises as you take drinks to some slimy little vampire paying on credit. Immortal but still poor. Pathetic. Suddenly, though, you don’t care when he and his friends grab at you, your gaze trained on the man lounged in a booth on the other side of the club. You can’t stop staring at him, something tugging at you deep down to go to him. His eyes connect with yours, and you nearly leap with joy when he waves you over.

Except, when you get close, you freeze in place. Straddling his lap, a crushing weight lands on you all at once. They’re not what you’re looking for…

What are you looking for?

You sob in your bed late into the night, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. You’re so lost. So hollow. You don’t know why - don’t understand what changed. Some portion of you carved out into nothing. A soulless tulpa born of someone’s imagination. You can’t be human, there’s no way you can be human and this empty. A walking carcass. Not even undead, just barely animated. A puppet, almost.

It’d be so easy…

You wake in a fog this time, limbs heavy. As much as you try to will your arms to move, they won’t quite do it right. Your hands glide over the soft fabric around you, barely moving a few inches. The muscles twitch and shake. It feels like wading through molasses and with a thousand pounds of steel strapped to your back as you attempt to sit up even slightly.

“There she is.” A familiar voice murmurs. It’s soft, comforting, but also incredibly far away. “Hey, lovie.”

“Kyle?” You croak. You might as well be speaking around a massive ball of cotton. There’s something hot and wet streaming down your face. Are you crying?

“You’re alright.” He murmurs, soothing down your hair. Petting you like a dog in pain. An injured, feral animal.

You collapse back on the bed - not that you made it that far in the first place - unable to see more than a few feet in front of you. Kyle, really. Kyle is all you can make out. His face so vivid you’re sure you could draw it from memory. “Where am I?”

He pauses. “…Your room.”

“M’chest hurts…”

“I know, lovie. We’ll make it better.”

“What’d y’do t’me…?” Your vision flashes in and out. You’re going back under, as hard as you try to fight it. The edge just comes closer. You teeter on your heels.

“You just breathed in some bad air. You’ve been out for… a while.” Somehow, you get the sense that what he says is an understatement. That there are layers he has to hold back. Simon said four, you remember, though you can’t quite define if that was real or a dream.

“I hate you.” You whisper, barely audible. “I hate all of you.”

“I know.” Kyle sighs, continuing to run his fingers through your hair. “I know.”

Teeth sink into you. A choked gasp escapes your lips, body stiffening and hands knotting into some thick cloth. The pain is searing but fleeting. A part of you, the present part of you, feels disgusted. Wants to shake and batter whatever parasite has you caught in its maw. Another part, a far more distant piece of you that you aren’t even sure is you, blossoms with warmth. You melt into the strong arms that hold you against a cool chest.

“John?” You murmur. Or, rather, this other you murmurs.

A low groan reverberates from his chest to yours. Your head gets lighter, vision fuzzy around the edges. A hand clamps over the bloodied parts of your neck. Your vision fractures, partially the scene in front of you and partially the ceiling of your room that isn’t your room. Your lashes flutter and you’re back loosely straddling John’s lap.

“Yes, love?” He pants, mouth and teeth stained red. It sends a wave of panic through your veins.

You swallow roughly. “I don’t-”

Something shatters - the staccato sound reverberating through the apartment.

You startle, sitting up and throwing your blankets back. The bed is empty, room dark except for the few embers trapped in the fireplace off to the side. You don’t notice the box missing from your dresser.

“Hello?” You frown, standing and moving toward your door as if possessed by some external force. As if you at all know where you are going. Your bare feet pad quietly against the hard wood, door silently sliding open a fraction.

There’s another smashing sound. Your heart rate spikes, fear coursing through your veins. No one’s home - they left days ago. On business.

How do you know that?

Suddenly you’re in the living room of the apartment, crouched behind the couch and groping underneath for one of the silver daggers stashed around in various hiding spots. An insurance policy. Your breath comes in short, rapid gasps. You have to get out. Get downstairs. There’s security down there. They’ll help you, they know you.

How do they know you? How did you know the knife was there?

With the small dagger gripped tightly in your fist, you flinch at another smash. It came from John’s room across the apartment, another following right after. It sounds like this person (or people) tore his metal bed-frame apart. Splintered into pieces.

You take the opportunity to carefully move toward the front exit, allowing the noise to cover the sound of your movements. Damn the open concept design. You told John you didn’t like it. Breaths come in faster and shallow. You’re not built for running - too soft from all that pampering. A chubby, well loved pet. Not that you’re complaining. It’s just not the best for this particular moment.

A figure moves at lightening speed from John’s room to Kyle’s. You duck down behind the kitchen counter, covering your mouth to stifling the sound of your breath.

“I can smell ya.” A low voice taunts, echoing through the apartment. Fortunately, your scent is everywhere. It will take longer to distinguish where you are in particular than he may think.

Why is your scent everywhere again?

There’s more tearing and smashing. A door groans loudly as the intruder tears it off the hinges. More shattering. Your heart breaks a little - that must have been Kyle’s pottery. Oh he worked so hard on those. Some of them are from a century ago.

Anger begins to boil up your spine. Who is this fuck who thinks he can just wreck your home? Someone you know, for sure. He would have had to be invited in at some point. With a sneer you continue making your way through the penthouse, toward the front door. John’s going to rip this fucker in two when he gets back.

Except, just as you’re reaching for the front door, the vampire exits Kyle’s room. You meet his eyes - glinting in the dark of the hall. There’s barely a beat before you begin to rush, opening the door as fast as you can.

Not fast enough, of course. You’re only human, after all.

A scream rips it’s way through your throat as you connect with the far wall, knife clattering who knows where. Something broke, you’re not sure what. Every nerve ending seems to light on fire as you try to sit up. Your arm doesn’t move more than a twitch when you try to stand.

“Hey there, little girl.” The man pins you suddenly. You get the nagging sense that you know him, his name on the tip of your tongue. Buried somewhere under lock and key in your mind.

You thrash, punching at his chest and tearing at his hair. To no avail, of course. He just lets you, a cruel grin spreading wider and wider the harder you try to get away.

“What do you want!” You finally sob, going limp when your body finally gives out under pain and exertion.

“To destroy John’s coven. Obviously.” He huffs. “Yer step one.”

The vampire grabs your jaw in an iron grip, your teeth crack under the pressure as his pupils dilate. They’re bright - so blue and infinite and you can’t look anywhere else no matter how hard you try.

A clarity washes over you almost violently as you come to - like breaking through the surface of water after staying under too long. Everything from yo ur time under washing away, sinking back into the deep. A forgotten wreckage - old and twisted and grown over. Another lost Atlantis somewhere in the depths of your mind.

“John?” The name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re speaking, before his face comes into focus. Soft and familiar - comforting and enraging.

“Right here, dove.” He murmurs, dabbing your face with something damp and cool.

“Wh…” You swallow roughly, not entirely sure what you even want to say. So any words threaten to spill from your lips and yet your mind feels blank. All fuzz and static.

You want to beg him to let you go. To keep you forever. To tell you why he brought you here despite the ever nagging sense that you know why. Something deep in your marrow that connects you to this place - to these men - at the very soul. You are theirs and they are yours and you want nothing more than to run from them as far as you can go.

Those blue eyes focus on yours, so oddly gentle for all of their inhuman qualities. “We’ll talk when you’re better, okay?”

Talk about what? There isn’t anything to talk about. You don’t know them and they don’t know you, no matter what that tugging in your chest tells you. You’ve lied to yourself before - you’ve lied to others before - surely you’re just doing it again. This man hurt you. Marked you, whatever that means, so why do you still melt into his touch?

Your name falls from his lips, reverent and frightening. You blanch, eyes wide and mouth falling open. You didn’t tell him that. You didn’t-

“Just sleep for now, yeah?”

~~~

John watches intently as you fall back asleep. There was panic in your eyes for a moment, but your sick body can’t do much more than drift in an out of consciousness. You look more peaceful this time, at least, your breathing even and your body still. You’d been thrashing before, for what reason he isn’t sure. The lower city’s poison air does a number on the body, it’s effects only growing worse as time goes on and the pollution becomes more dense.

He did that, didn’t he? He left you and now you’re sick and hurt. John runs his fingers over the Mark, nearly entirely healed now. Just two small, faded marks that will follow you to the grave.

“I’m so sorry. I just keep failing you, don’t I?” He sighs. You always said he was a good man even when he didn’t believe it. Even with all the things he’s done. Would you still agree?

John‘s eyes sting. He’d be crying if he was human, surely.

He glances at the door. The others are out - taking care of business while he watches over you. The world doesn’t stop even when you need it to desperately. It took Johnny and Kyle nearly dragging Simon away to leave you alone with him.

He takes your hands in his, guilt wrecking him. They’re so much smaller, so much warmer. He can feel your pulse in every fingertip. Surely he’s ruined any chance to fix this before they could even try. He wouldn’t blame Simon if the man decided there needed to be a change - that John needs to be removed. He wouldn’t fight it.

John crawls into bed beside you like he’s done so many times before. Nestles under your pink silken sheets - the ones you picked out for Christmas. That was years go, now. Over two. Two tortorous, draining years that felt longer than the past six hundred.

He ran for days. Weeks maybe. Tearing through the city block by block, dodging and weaving between people and buildings alike. Speaking to anyone, using up every connection and resource he ever gained under this damned dome. It took a week to get through the sewer system.

No one knew where you went.

No one heard a thing. At least, nothing they would admit to. Even under compulsion.

You were gone, just like that.

Two years go by in the blink of an eye for a vampire. Might as well be a day, a night, a handful of hours. Time in such small increments is nothing to an immortal. Decades are barely enough to measure with. Not for them, though. Every second drug on. The days were long and tense.

A fracture formed between them. Kyle retreated into himself - quiet and frayed around the edges. Sometimes John caught him with a far away look in his eye, staring at nothing. He thinks Kyle would have been crying in those moments if he could. Johnny became far too unpredictable. Ripping and tearing any lower level vampire he can find. He spent a few months hunting Frenzies in the lower city without contact.

And Simon…

Simon turned into a fucking nightmare.

After the first year, they at least hoped to find your body. After the second anniversary of your disappearance came around, they gave up. The guilt of giving up brought a whole new wave of grief on them. Johnny laid in your bed for weeks, nearly beginning to petrify as he denied any blood. John couldn’t blame him, opting to re-read your favorite books with shaking hands. Simon fished your last knitting project, eyes heavy and tired. Kyle meandered listlessly through the house, sometimes laying with Johnny but most often sequestering himself in the now empty greenhouse.

They try to fill the hole with pretty girls that look sort of like you. Never enough and they never act like you. Too busy placating to snap at them like you were so willing to do. These others are only place fillers - something to take up the space you left between them. They could never truly fill it, though. It was far too great. A chasm that continues to swallow the four of them whole.

He’s so tired. The others were, too. Kate handled business well enough but their involvement was still required. Each issue and event weighing on them more and more. Kingpins of the city and they’ve been nearly ruined by the loss of a single girl. A single, human girl. None of it mattered in the face of what they lost.

John looks up, the pin-drop silence in the room bringing his attention back to the present.

And there you are.

Like Lazarus returned. An angel bathed in low, red light. Your hair spills around your shoulders framing that face he knows so well, one he’s held more times than he can count. A face that made him pray to a god he does not believe in every day to get back. Just once. Those unmistakable pearls grace your neck, the ruby latch glinting as you twist your neck and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be your Companion tonight.” You say so softly. Almost the way you used to, laid up in his bed, whispering about nothing and everything with your fingers running through his hair. Asking about the things he’s seen with such awe.

“What happened t’ Cherry?” Kyle asks faux casually. John can feel the tension in the man next to him. He’s feeling it out - always so good at that. Better at human subtleties than the rest of them. His dark eyes sparkle, though, with a light John hasn’t seen in so long. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed it.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You slide the tray onto the table. You look the same. You sound the same. There’s a few new scars, some scratches here and there. A wariness in your eyes that wasn’t there before. Damage done to your skin that could only come from the lower city air.

Where have you been?

You shift nervously. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” John says far too quickly, smiling despite himself. It might not even be you. Maybe a doppelganger. A distant relative. A clone is more plausible. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” And oh, John is sure his dead heart comes back to life. It is you. It has to be.

“Fittin’.” Johnny says, eyes raking over you. He might as well be vibrating, struggling to keep himself held back from yanking you into his hold.

They’re all measuring you up the same way he is. Feeling for anything unfamiliar. Outside of your distant, distrustful gaze with a lack of recognition that makes his chest ache, it’s you. It’s all you.

“Do you know who we are?” Simon murmurs. You’re having trouble looking at him, only meeting his gaze in small glances. Not so different from when they first met you. You and Simon have always had a certain… connection. Not that you weren’t all close - that they all didn’t love you deeply - but you and Simon had an understanding. He wonders if you can still feel it somewhere, deep down in the back of your mind.

You’re panicking a little, eyes flitting between their faces. John’s heart sinks. He feels it in the others. A deep disappointment - a turbulent melancholy- seeping into their bodies. You don’t know them. You don’t recognize a single one of them.

It’s all gone.

“It’s not a trick question.” Kyle says gently, ever one to soothe.

“No, sir.”

John’s heart breaks all over again.

A/N: My initial summary for this one was just “Fancy tripping balls on pollution while John and co. have a meltdown”

[arietem]

sunset skies, bonfire nights

summary: you and jj have a will-they-won't-they thing going on for the last year. you are ready to take things to the next level on the first bonfire party of the summer. it's about to be steamy

jj maybank x fem!reader

ꕤ friends to lovers, smut, piv, unprotected sex on the beach (oops), sex in public ꕤ

You were slowly losing your mind, rampaging through your closet, looking for something to wear for the bonfire tonight. It was the first party of the summer and the night when you would finally make your move. You physically couldn't hold back anymore, and even if nothing came from it, you would at least know you tried. Either way, you just needed to wear something that you would feel a million dollars in (plus, something that would make your blondie feral).

Your plan for tonight was to look sexy as hell, have the best time ever, and possibly have some action in the Twinkie on the way back to the Chateau. (No, the rest of the gang being there will not deter you, you can be quiet when needed). Sounds like a good plan, right?

After what felt like fucking forever, your eye caught a sparkly silver bikini top stuffed in the back of your closet, still with the tags on. You bought it some time ago, but left it untouched since it was a little tight on you, pushing up your boobs, threatening to spill them out of the garment. You usually wouldn't go for something so impractical while on the beach, but, well, isn't tonight the perfect occasion for accentuating your girls a little bit? Finally, you decided on a high-waisted denim skirt and the bikini top, with cute flip-flops on your feet. You left your hair to dry naturally, with beachy waves ready for someone's fingers to go through them.

Since the beach was not far from your house, you decided to walk there, giving you ample time to prepare yourself for the quest ahead. Ever since you moved to this place a year ago, you have been playing this seemingly never-ending game of push and pull with JJ, which has honestly left you frustrated and ready to get to the next level. Sure, you hooked up with other guys in the meantime, but they hadn't been able to hit that spot (literally and figuratively). And yes, you've seen JJ with other girls, but come on, he had to feel this sizzling tension between you two.

When you got closer to the beach, you could see that the party had already started, and a pretty big crowd was gathering. Excitement bubbled in your stomach, giving you a good feeling for tonight. "Babe!" You turned around when you heard your name, spotting Sarah walking towards you. "OMG, you look incredible!"

"Hi, Sare! So do you!" You pulled her in for a big hug. If Sarah was here, John B was not too far from her, and if John B was here, that meant JJ must have been somewhere close too. "But do you really think so? I haven't worn this top yet. Isn't it kinda too much?"

"God, no, it's perfect", she wiggled her eyebrows. "I'm so glad you're here! Kie is somewhere having fun with some Touron, and I need some girl power with me here." She nodded her head over your shoulder, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. You turned to see what she was referring to and saw exactly who you expected to, John B and JJ, of course. JJ was doing a handstand over the keg, with JB holding his legs. Typical boy shit.

"Why are they such boys?" You rolled your eyes too, but in reality, you didn't mind that they were having fun, you knew how hard their lives could be. You took Sarah by the hand and walked in the boys' direction, not wasting any time. You reached them just as JJ was wiping his mouth on his hand, a proud look on his face. Guess he was the keg king for the night.

"You done yet?" You made sure he could hear the playful tone in your voice and waited for him to look your way.

"Just getting start-" Yeah, he saw you, alright. "Whoa!" Seeing his reaction to your outfit boosted your confidence in the direction this night could go in. His breath hitched, and his blue eyes sparkled while he looked you up and down. Yeah, you couldn't lie, you were drinking in his attention, loving the butterflies his gaze unleashed in your stomach. You purposefully fingered your necklace, dragging his eyes to your cleavage again, not that he needed that push anyways.

"So, we're gonna get something to drink that is not a beer. Have fun, you guys!" Sarah wiggled her fingers in a goodbye and winked at you, dragging John B towards the coolers. You gave yourself a split second to sigh in her direction before turning towards JJ once again. This is what you wanted, and you were not going to chicken out this time.

When you turned around, JJ quickly looked up at your face. You narrowed your eyes, knowing what he was checking out. "You like what you see?" You could also be cocky when you needed to be. Why should he have all the fun? Remember, the goal for tonight was to have fun together.

"Oh, I like it very much." JJ smiled, and his delicious dimple came into focus. You wanted to lick it and trace his jaw with your teeth. It was getting harder and harder for you to contain yourself. It had to be now or never, baby.

"Come on, JJ, I gotta show you something." You grabbed his wrist and started heading towards a quieter part of the beach, further away from the fire. There, you could tell him what was on your mind and hopefully do something about it. "Someone's impatient today, huh?"

You ignored his muttering behind you and led you two to a tree you could mostly hide behind. "Soo, what did you want to show me?"

"Who's impatient now?" You couldn't help but tease him just a little bit. Still, he was right, you were impatient, which is why you crashed your lips to his, not letting him say anything else. At first, he was frozen, taken aback by your advance, but then…then he woke up and grabbed the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. His other hand wrapped around your lower back, playing with the strap of your top.

After what felt like a long time of heated making out, you gasped and broke apart. He put his hands on your shoulders, towering over you. "That was…intense", he chuckled and nudged your chin up with his fingers.

You felt drunk, unable to find your words for a few moments. Intense was the right word, and you needed more of it. "Please, JJ, less talking and more whatever this is." You hooked your pointer finger in his shark tooth necklace and brought him closer again, leaning back on the tree.

This time, his hands wandered under your skirt, where the real surprise awaited him. You could tell the moment he discovered you weren't wearing any underwear. He let out the hottest whimper and pressed himself harder into you. It was impossible to ignore the bulge in the front of his cargo shorts, but when you reached for his belt buckle, he stopped you.

"Are you sure?", JJ whispered in your ear, nibbling slightly. "I was sure for literally this whole year, I just didn't know if you wanted it." You gasped slightly when he blew cold air on the wet spot on your neck.

"Fuck, I wanted to do this forever." He turned you over so you were now facing the tree, hitching your skirt up, giving you a little slap on your ass. God, he was turning you on so hard. You bent a bit so you could graze the tent in his pants. The belt unbuckling and zipper sliding down sounded so loud in the night, but you knew nobody could actually hear you over the music and laughter. Still, you loved to hear it, and it was making you even wetter, if that was possible.

JJ lined himself up with your slit, gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail, pulling slightly and making your back arch. You can hear him moan when he enters you and starts pounding, slowly at first and then faster and faster. Both of you are on a high right now, messy and sweaty, skin on skin slapping in the dark night, only the glow of the fire in the distance.

You can feel your core tightening, a sure sign that you are close to the finish line. "JJ, I'm so clo-o-se", you panted out, reaching behind you to grab his thigh. At that, JJ pulled the string on your bikini, making it unravel from your back. With his free hand, he pinched your nipple. The zap you felt when he did that was the last straw. You clenched around him and cried out when your release hit you.

JJ let go of your hair and grabbed your hips, bottoming out inside you. A few more thrusts and you could hear his grunts, "fuuuck yes, baby". He stilled behind you and trailed faint kisses along your spine, catching your top and tying it at your back.

You finally found your voice, "this, this was fucking intense." You laughed hard and straightened your skirt when he pulled out. You could feel some dripping going down your leg, but honestly, you couldn't be bothered, it was too dark for anybody to notice anything.

You turned to face him, still breathing hard. "Why the fuck we haven't been doing this for the last year?"

"We better get caught up then."

"Yes, sir." You gave him a mock salute and turned to get back to the party, to mingle with your girls a little bit. Right when you started walking, knowing he would follow, he smacked your ass again, a little stronger this time.

"JJ!" You threw a glare in his direction but couldn't stop your lips from growing into a smile.

Mission officially accomplished. ;)

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

i love you, i’m sorry

── hockey player!rafe x fem!singer!reader

an obx au. obviously will not follow the plot of the show. no use of y/n EXCEPT for readers spam ig username. i do use she / her. no descriptors other than reader being shorter than rafe, and therefore all guys in the story since i don’t think any of them are short kings shdhsjdjxjs. irl drew starkey is 6’2” so… yeah.

this is just the preview / table of contents!

when you and rafe first announced that you were together, no one was surprised. fans had been spotting the 2 of you on outings together for awhile before you ever became official on social media.

but with you being one of the biggest rising singers, and rafe being the first overall pick in the nhl draft, it wasn't long before you were spending less and less time together. eventually, photos were quietly deleted and plans were no longer made, but what shocked people the most was that there was never any breakup announcement.

over a year later, you’re getting ready to release your first full length album, and rafe is preparing for the next season to start. when old photos and memories resurface (and not all of them are good), fans realize that the 2 of you have been close for a lot longer than you’ve said. now, rumors are spreading about why you really broke up. and you and rafe are forced to look back on the relationship you both now seem determined to ignore.

TABLE OF CONTENTS —

ONE ──

other socials~

john b ── public ig: johnb // spam ig: johnbisnotme

jj ── public ig: jjmaybank // spam ig: ynfanclub

pope ── public ig: heywardpope // spam ig: notarealpope

kie ── public ig: kiecarrera // spam ig: lostmykies

sarah ── public ig: sarah.cam // spam ig: idkausername

topper ── public ig: topperthornton // spam ig: alwaysontop

kelce ── public ig: itsmekelce // spam ig: notkelce

would like to dedicate this to @kissylec 💕 i know smau’s have been around for years BUT it’s specifically her story that made me want to get back into doing social media stories! go check her out and give her a follow if you haven’t already!!!

TAG LIST ── 14 out of 50 spots taken

@kissylec | @empath-bunny | @pillowprincess4him | @fieryghxul | @ursogorgeous13 | @maybankslover | @imtalkinnonsense | @jamesbeaufortismylife | @lili-swagalicious | @bookworm-ana | @yktayy9669 | @drewrry | @shininfate| @justdamnpeachy

if you’d like to be added, let me know!

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 47

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

47. just business

They keep you in your little box of a cabin for days, not letting you come out for air or to walk on the deck. Your seasickness worsens, but surprisingly they are happy to give you pills for it. You discover why after your first dose; dramamine makes you sleepy, and you doze for hours afterwards. 

One of Dante’s underlings changes your dressing on your hand a few times. The reality of seeing the stub where your ring finger used to be is more difficult than just seeing the pouf of bandages. It’s all you can do not to throw up the first time your hand is unveiled. It aches, but doesn’t seem to be infected, and when they offer you antibiotics you swallow them greedily. 

On the other hand, you pick sparingly at the food they bring you, wanting the tracker pearl to move through your system as slowly as possible. Ironically, this is aided by the dramamine, which dehydrates you. 

By your count, which could easily be off in the haze that is your time in the hole, five days go by before it feels like the boat stops and drops anchor. This excites you, if for anything, a break from the swaying forward motion. They did not give you so much as a book to pass the time, and to say you are bored is the understatement of the century. You hope that something, finally, will happen. 

You’re afraid that you will regret your wish when Luca fills the doorway, glaring down at you.  “Get up. Boss wants to see you.”

Cautiously you slide down from your bunk, but luckily he offers you no violence, just points for you to walk ahead of him down the hall. He directs you up the stairs, and it's been so long since you beheld daylight you squint and grimace like a vampire. 

“Keep moving,” Luca snarls, shoving your shoulder when you pause to get your bearings. 

You stumble, but keep walking. He directs you to the back of the boat, where you find Dante dining al fresco in sunglasses and a brightly printed silk shirt. 

It is warm outside, and you look around for some clue as to where you are. In the distance you can see a strip of green. Palm trees? From the position of the sun and the spread on the table, you reason it must be lunch time. 

“Buongiorno,” says Dante jovially, smirking up at you. 

You squint at him, blinded by the sun. “Where are we?”

“A bit warmer than New York, eh? But what you should be asking…” He pauses, gesturing for you to sit. When you're too slow to obey, Luca shoves you down into the chair. “Is, ‘where is John Wick?”

You are in fact very interested in that information, and a few seconds go by in which you realize you are holding your breath, waiting. “So sorry, cara, he's not coming here. When we sent him your finger we included certain details implying where you and I might be. Any day now, he'll be storming the Barzini compound all the way in Rome, thinking I am there, killing everyone in his path, the way he does so well… Everyone who was ever in my way will be wiped off the earth, and I will be king. And when he's done…” He pays you a sly look. “My men will be waiting to put an end to him once and for all.”

You find it incredibly amusing that he thinks it will all be so simple. But on the outside you do your best to appear distressed. 

As it turns out, it's not too far of a stretch. 

Could John fall for it? 

No. You can't even allow yourself to think it. Because if you do…you'll lose all hope.

You try to think of what Dante would expect you to say, if you totally believed him. “He'll kill your men,” you say with confidence. “Then he'll come after you.”

A shadow of a doubt crosses his features, there and gone like a ripple in a pool.

“Ah, but if he does, the High Table will pursue him, not me. You're my pretty little insurance policy, y/n. Why do you think you're still alive?”

You pay him a cool look from across the table, saying nothing. 

The sound of engines in the distance draws your attention. You crane to look, and see a veritable flotilla approaching your quiet lagoon. 

“Aha! My friends are arriving!” exclaims Dante, slipping you a smug look. 

“You have friends?”

“When you have as much money as I have? You always have friends, and I am finally expanding the family business in a way those Barzini idiots never could. I can't wait to introduce you to the Aragón Cartel. I have a feeling they will love you.”

An uneasy feeling churns in your stomach as the fleet nears closer. A large gleaming white yacht sits in the center of the formation, twice the size of the boat you’re on. The two of you watch as the collection of boats comes to a stop nearby, dropping anchor in the bright blue water. 

“I think that’s enough fun for you for now,” says Dante, dismissing you with a wave of his hand. “Take a nap, y/n. We’re having a little party tonight. You’ll want to be in top form for our guests, no?” 

You don’t really get a chance to argue. You skitter out of your chair before Luca can have a chance to manhandle you, walking quickly ahead of him back to your little cabin. Spending the evening with drug dealers isn’t exactly high on your bucket list, but then again…maybe new players could present a fresh opportunity in this game for you. 

If you’re smart, and ruthless, and extremely fucking lucky, that is. 

You try to take a nap, but you’re too nervous. You lay on your berth in the dark holding your aching hand and staring up at the ceiling. Maybe you rubbed shoulders with infamous assassins in the relative safety of the Continental, but attending a gathering of violent gangsters where anything could happen at any moment? 

You’ll admit it. You’re scared. 

You don’t know how much time goes by, before there’s a knock and one of Dante’s underlings enters holding a bundle of shimmery fabric. He tosses it down on the bed. “Boss says you gotta wear this tonight.” You look at the scrap of fabric with a lifted brow, thinking there’s barely enough there to make a tea towel, much less a dress. “Shower time. I need this back in five minutes. You gonna behave?”

He holds up a safety razor, and your second eyebrow lifts high. “I’m not going to cut myself,” you assure him with a frown. You don’t intend to miss the pleasure of watching them all die.

“Good. Then it should go quick. Come on.” He gives you the little pink plastic implement with its pitiful blades. Maybe you could turn it into a weapon against him…but the timing is wrong. If there’s going to be a party, maybe you can wait until everyone is good and drunk and try to steal one of those speed boats anchored outside?

You don’t know where exactly you are, of course. Somewhere in the Caribbean, you’re guessing. Where else could a flotilla of Cartel vessels parade about so freely? But maybe you could make it to a settlement? Disappear in town, get a message to John or to Winston? You rack your brains about all of this as you shower with a plastic bag over your bandaged hand, not paying attention like you should. Of course, you nick yourself at your ankle bone. 

Haven’t you lost enough pieces of your flesh lately? You swear under your breath and finish washing. You don’t like the thought of why Dante wants you looking groomed, but you hate to admit it does feel good.

Wrapped up in a big towel, you hand the razor back to Enzo. He frowns at the bloody little square of toilet paper stuck to your bleeding ankle. “It was an accident,” you say, annoyed. Disinterested, he rolls his eyes. “Get dressed. Someone will be back for you soon.” You notice there is a bag of makeup, and a hairdryer on the miniscule little vanity nook. You paw through the bag, hoping for something you could stash away for use as a weapon, like a nail file, but alas. 

Hopefully later, you’ll get your chance. 

***

Dante wasn’t kidding when he said he was throwing a party. The boat has turned into a club, music thumping and colorful lights everywhere. Gangsters from both organizations seem to be enjoying themselves, doing shots of alcohol, gossiping loudly, and romancing scantily clad women who may or may not be here of their own free will. You realize you fit in that category as well, and your stomach lurches as Luca escorts you through the throng to a circular seating of well-dressed men. 

You recognize Dante and some of his closest cronies. The other side must be the Aragón cartel, and you hate to admit that you almost trip at the sight of the man who is quite obviously the jefe–he sits like a king, his arms up on the back of the couch, legs crossed nonchalantly. He reminds you of a lion on the plain, observing his kingdom and leisurely deciding who or what he might like to eat. 

If you did not know John…you might say he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Hair dark as a raven’s wing, a short beard accenting a sharp jaw, and a nose straight as a knife’s blade. Eyes dark as the pits of hell follow you as you are directed to sit near Dante, and you feel his attention upon you like the weight of a branding iron upon your skin. His proud lips pull in a small smirk as you dare to meet his gaze, even if only for a second. 

Dante may like to play at being an underworld kingpin, but somehow you know this man is the real thing. 

“Y/n. So kind of you to join us. We were just finalizing the terms of what I hope will be a long and fruitful partnership.” 

You look to Dante, swallowing your first three insolent remarks before answering, “Congratulations?” 

The young man smirks at you, and you wonder what new evil little plot this shithead has cooked up for you. “Don Juan was just offering us samples of his product. I thought you might like to be the first to try it.” 

Your eyes widen to saucers, a sick rush of nerves flooding down your spine. Hard drugs have never interested you, and you’d have to be living under a rock not to know about the likelihood that anything powdery and white could be cut with dangerous levels of fentanyl these days. 

“Um…no thank you.” 

Every man in the circle gets a good laugh about this. 

“I wasn’t asking, cara,” says Dante, amused. 

You look at the mirrored silver tray set out on the table with its neat white lines. So seemingly benign, and yet so menacing. No fucking way. 

“No.” 

“Luca?” The big bodyguard steps forward, pinning your arms with a bruising grip from behind the couch, and you think this is it. You’re going to kick him in his already broken nose, and then somehow you’re going to have to fight your way through all these mobsters and narcos outside until you can throw yourself over the side of the boat…and pray they don’t shoot you. 

You’re so fucked. 

This wild determination rises in you, and you steel yourself for what’s coming in one…two…

“Basta,” says the jefe, making a gesture of that’s enough with his long-fingered hand. “Stop.” 

He speaks with such authority that everyone freezes–including you. 

“You. Come here.” He points at you, then at the place next to him, like he absolutely expects to be obeyed. 

You don’t think it’s much of an improvement, but when Luca’s grip relaxes you instinctively want to be anywhere but within his reach. Glaring at Dante, you relocate to the opposite couch, hoping that maybe the devil you don’t know might improve your situation. 

However, every hair follicle on your body stands on end in this man’s proximity, and the warm spiced scent of his expensive cologne doesn’t calm you.  

The jefe turns to you, saying quietly so that Dante cannot easily hear, “He must think I’m stupid, if he thinks I would offer a faulty product in the first shipment, eh?”  

“He is…very young,” you answer at an equal volume. And very full of himself, goes unsaid. The jefe smirks at this, points at the tray, snapping his fingers. One of his men hands it to him without a word. 

“So he is. Am I making a mistake, do you think?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hmm. He told me I can have you. What do you think about that?” 

Your blood freezes in your veins. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you who I am.” 

“He told me you are a key to power.” 

“Only if I am alive and well,” you are quick to add, making this dangerous man smile at you. It’s not a nice smile, per se…but somehow, he takes your breath away. Was Dante so stupid that he thought he could escape retribution by transferring ownership of you, like you’re a fucking couch? Or was he trying to frame don Juan for your kidnapping?

“Well then. I promise, you’re in good hands.” He takes the silver straw and snorts a line of the coke, throwing his head back with a groan as the drug explodes through his sinuses, entering his bloodstream. Somehow, his eyes are even blacker when he looks back to you, his pupils blown wide. He offers you the straw. 

“I really don’t–” 

“Do not squander my generosity, querida,” he warns you. And somehow this man scares you more with just a sentence and a look than all of Dante’s crew combined. You take the straw, and for the first time in your life you inhale a line of cocaine. 

***

Not that you have any real point of reference…but you are guessing that this is the good stuff.

It burns, and it is bitter in the back of your sinuses, but after a minute your body comes alive, and you feel like you could run laps around the deck like the cartoon roadrunner. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, and you hate to admit it, but…it feels wonderful. 

The men in the circle continue to talk as you look around the yacht with new eyes. At some point the jefe’s arm migrates around your shoulders. Though you don’t like it, you let it go for now. Your thoughts race at a million miles a minute, and you cannot decide if he might be an asset or another foe you have to overcome. Might you be able to convince him to return you to John? He seems smarter than Dante, that’s for sure, but that doesn’t exactly mean he would be rational when it comes to you. 

There’s a lot of male ego at play in this room, and that never bodes well for reason.  

You feel a hand start to migrate up your leg, from your knee up your bare thigh. This dress is way too short. Without thinking you smack the offending mitt. You think that’s that for about 1.5 seconds, until don Juan answers you with a slap to your cheek, hard enough to rock your head back. 

You look to him, stunned, finding that dark gaze boring into you. Your pulse thunders in your ears, and you feel like you’ve come nose to nose with a tiger with no bars to speak of between you. 

You taste blood in your mouth, though somehow you don’t really feel much pain. You know he could have done worse–or maybe that’s just the numbing effect of the cocaine.   

He smirks at you, leaning in closer, and you are so very tempted to headbutt that perfectly straight nose. “Shall we try that again?” he asks, his warm hand upon your knee, his thumb drawing slow circles on the sensitive inside of your thigh–a threat, or a promise, he leaves up to you. 

“Go ahead. It’s your death wish.” 

He lifts one angular eyebrow to that. “Are you threatening me, bonita?” 

“Just a friendly warning.” 

Don Juan snorts in answer, though there is a glitter in his polished onyx eyes that suggests maybe he’s enjoying your defiance. 

“A warning?” he prompts with a smirk. 

“I’d show you my engagement ring, but shithead over there cut it off. You should be curious why.” 

His eyes flick down to your hand before returning to yours. “I’ve done worse to an insolent woman.” 

As chilling as this is, you push it aside, banking on the pounding music to mask what you’re saying from Dante. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention now, more interested in the party tray that’s made its way around the circle. 

“I’m John Wick’s fiancée. That name mean anything to you?” 

Upon hearing this don Juan freezes. So he is smarter than Dante d’Antonio. A long handful of seconds go by while he absorbs this bombshell. “No. I’m afraid he failed to mention that detail.” 

You decide it’s now or never. Now Dante seems to be watching you out of the corner of his eye, but you doubt he can hear you over the loud music. Just in case you lean in to speak low in don Juan’s ear, “John Wick would surely be appreciative to the man who returned me to him. You don’t have to get tangled up in d’Antonio’s foolish mistake.” 

Juan leans back to look at you searchingly, weighing the truth of what you told him. He must believe you, because in the end, all he can say is, “Mierda.”

Shit, is right. 

Suddenly there’s an explosion across the way, don Juan’s beautiful yacht gone up in a ball of flames and black smoke. The concussion rocks Dante’s boat, shatters glass, spills drinks and knocks drunk people to the floor. 

Screams fill the cabin; everyone is confused. Then the shooting starts, and somehow you just know the real party has begun.

—

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*cara - dear *basta - enough *querida - my dear *bonita - beautiful *mierda - shit