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eowynstwin · 2 years ago

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playing the quiet game

Pairing: Price x f!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Word Count: 2.9k Warnings: Dominant/submissive dynamics, established relationship, implied kink pre-negotiation, a LOT of fingering (f!receiving), a lil Price angst Tagging: @dilfconisuer who I teased with this a while back, and fellow Price simps @yeyinde @guyfieriii @alittleposhtoad Author’s Notes: I shit you not, the clock struck midnight January 1st and fireworks started going off in the middle of writing the orgasm. Happy new year! Enjoy the smut.

Now on AO3!

The world is soft and cozy as you come back into it, a little fuzzy from over-washing and dyed in the cool tones of early morning. You’re in that delicious place at the edge of sleep, mind swaying between dreams and reality, body languid and draped on your side across the bed. Touch is the first sense that comes back to you—a warm weight at your back, hips flush with your rear and legs bent along the contours of your own. You shift a little, to give yourself an excuse to settle against it.

“Mm,” John murmurs as he notices you stir, mouth against your neck, nuzzling you slowly with the wiry brush of his facial hair. The hum of his voice is low enough to vibrate between your shoulder blades.

“Mm?” you respond, scent returning next. The new detergent he’s using, gentle and mildly floral, and the fresh pine of the shampoo he washed his hair with last night. The ever-present smokey molasses that’s permanently seeped into his skin. You keep your eyes closed, saving sight for later, imagining that as long as you see nothing, John and the sheets you’re both wrapped up in can be the only thing that exists.

His hand rests on your ribcage, and smooths its way down your hip and thigh. It travels back up again, then retreats—rhythmic, even, fingers dipping and spreading at the curves and valleys of your body. It’s at the same tempo as your breath, which is normalizing as more of your mind picks reality to set up in. You can feel him breathing, too, chest rising and falling against your back, warm exhales fanning across the bare expanse of skin he’s claimed with his mouth and mutton chops.

Down your ribcage, along your hip, and back up. His other arm, you discover as you shift again, is propping him up, forearm wormed into the wedge of empty space between your neck and shoulder and the bed. His knee nudges the back of your thigh.

He paints another soft, prickly kiss on your neck, and rubs his chin and cheek into your jaw. You don’t hide the moan it inspires.

“Keep it down,” he whispers. His hand splays on your thigh. “Thin walls, love.”

You make another noise, lower, somewhere in your throat. His hand is warm on your bare skin, soft and sturdy as it travels along your body, not quite kneading but giving enough pressure to sink in, to meld your flesh like clay with every pass.

“John,” you murmur. “Mm. John…”

“Shh,” he breathes into your ear.

You feel his lips on your neck again, feel his hand divert from its established path to smooth across your belly. The spread of his fingers is wide enough to graze the underside of one breast, and you can’t help the little inhale of anticipation you give. At the same, even rhythm, John drags the flat of his hand down your stomach to its lowest border, and you forget to breathe at all for that little minute before, once again, his touch retreats from whence it came.

His mouth parts on your neck. The hot graze of his tongue meets your skin before the press of his teeth claims the space, and his hand travels just a little lower with the next pass.

Some part of you wonders if you should figure out what John has in mind right now, compare it to what you actually have time for. Off-duty or not, you’re still on base. But then the top of his thigh aligns flush with the back of yours; and you realize, the thought settling into the soft place in your mind between sleep and waking, that he would be doing none of this if he had cause not to. He already knows that you love waking up like this. He knows what circumstances in which he should not wake you up like this. When it comes to you, John Price remains in comfortable, considerate control—and leaves you only with the task of saying yes, please or not now, thank you. He has never asked you to figure out the right place or the right time.

You don’t have to worry about anything. John has already worried about it for you. Your head feels light, airy; you’d think you were slipping back into sleep, if it didn’t suddenly feel like your skin was electrified. It’s a feeling that always comes with letting go and letting him be in charge.

“John,” you murmur again, the breath in your lungs escaping, the sigh mimicking the same one he always draws from you when you finally surrender.

The seal over your skin he has with his lips and teeth gives a sharp pull. “Someday I’ll figure out how to keep you quiet,” he says, low and amused as he disconnects.

The smile that rests against your skin sends sparks dancing across your scalp.

“Don’t stop,” you say, the quiet tone of your voice laced with a yearning you can’t conceal. “Please, John…”

His palm crests the jut of your hip and glides back inward, downward, fingertips skimming the crease of your thighs. The nerves there jump to meet him, buzzing suddenly with too much energy for your still half-asleep mind to moderate. He seals his mouth over a new spot on your neck, dragging the flat of his tongue, blistering hot, along your skin.

“You’re going to leave marks,” you breathe.

“The gear covers them up,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety purr. “Be good for me, love.”

Euphoria blooms hot across your face. “Yes, John.”

He growls a little, pleased with you, and his fingers dip into your panties and between your folds.

The jerk your leg gives is involuntary. John curls his leg further inward to meet it, to keep it pushed upward, as the heat of his broad hand cups your sex. You feel the tip of one finger trace along your perineum, and a whimper makes its way out of your throat before his other hand wraps around your jaw, tilts your head backward. His mouth finds your ear, the stubble pricking at delicate cartilage.

“Not going to tell you again,” he murmurs, just a little bit of the Captain leaking into his tone. “Quiet down. Aye?”

A shiver races down your spine, makes a home in your sacrum. You nod, as much as you can in his grip. You understand the shape of his control, the intention of it; he’s not looking for a verbal affirmation, and to give one would incur consequences. You’re not opposed to his consequences—often, they’re as sweet as his rewards. But right now you want to bask in this submission, want to earn what he’s already set on giving you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, tracing your lips with his index finger. His other hand kneads your pussy, that same up-and-down motion that he woke you up with, and his mouth returns to your neck, teeth sinking into another sliver of unmarked skin.

You settle into him, push your pelvis forward just a little, hoping he sees it for the offer it is rather than the demand it could be mistaken for. He chuckles against you, and teases one finger between your labia, brushes your entrance before flicking upward to surprise your clit. It makes your leg jerk again, and John only takes the opportunity to wrap around you more tightly. You feel him then, against your ass, in the cleft of it—he’s hard as iron, and ramrod-erect.

You suck your lips between your teeth, swallow, exhale a shaky breath from your nose. Pleasure radiates from the tips of his fingers, from the flex of his palm, as he traces the outlines of your sex at a pace too leisurely for early-morning sensitivity to handle. But you won’t make a sound. You’re going to be good for him. The ache between your legs begins to throb, and John must feel it, because finally he presses the pads of two fingers against your clit.

Your hips jerk against him. Sound almost makes it out of you. A gasp, a sharp inhale, but you swallow it down, and John smiles against you. He releases his teeth from you, presses a soft kiss beneath your ear, and takes up the same rhythm he’s been maintaining this whole time, a slow, steady caress that you want to whine at. His hand slides down to your throat, dwarfing the breadth of your neck—not squeezing, but monitoring. He’ll be able to feel any noise you make.

“I didn’t say you had to be silent, love,” he murmurs, fingers sliding down from your clit to swirl around your entrance—and squelching loud enough to let you both know that you’re drenched. “You just need to remember who that noise belongs to.”

You gasp when he slides a thick finger into you with not a moment of warning. “You—ah—you have to be specific, John,” you whisper, hyper-aware of your walls fluttering around him as he languidly pumps in and out of you. “I can’t be good for you if I don’t know the rules—ohh.”

He pushes in to the knuckle, curls his finger against the spot that has black spots dancing across your vision. Before they can blend together, overtake you, he withdraws, pulls out to circle your clit again, and you only wonder for a moment if this is the new rhythm before he gives the bundle a hard tap before pushing back in again.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, mouth open on your jaw, slipping a second finger into you. You have to clench your teeth to keep your mewl from becoming a moan. “And I did just wake you up, didn’t I?”

The stretch, the burn of new fullness, steals your ability to respond. The slow thrust of his hand picks up just a little, as if he wants to make it even harder for you to reply, but you’re determined. “Mm, John,” you breathe, “Let me be good for you.”

He goes still for a moment, fingers halting inside you, body tense as a drawn bowstring, and then his hand suddenly tightens around your neck—not cutting off your air, but utterly possessive, and he hooks his knee under yours to spread your thigh outward. Immediately he’s pistoning his fingers into you alarmingly quickly, and you only remember to stifle yourself at the last moment, turning a surprised shriek into a series of quick, high-pitched mewls. He thrusts against you, grinds his cock against your ass.

“You’re always good for me,” he growls into your ear, shoving in to the knuckle, flicking wildly against your g-spot. “Even when you’re not. I don’t fuckin’ deserve you, love, not a single thing you do for me.”

You want to refute him—want to tell him everything you give him is just a return on what he’s given you. But you can’t, and the only reason you can’t is that he’s fucking the breath out of your lungs with nothing but his goddamn fingers, meanwhile his cock tucked against your ass is so hard you can practically feel the throb of blood running through it.

And anyway, he doesn’t want you to tell him. This is no morning confessional, no whispered prayer to absolve his greed for you. He isn’t saying this because he thinks he’s taking advantage of you—it’s just the naked truth of what John believes, laid bare as if in offering. It’s the best way he knows how to tell you he adores you.

He’s explained all of this. You’ve told him he needs therapy. He’s laughed, and he’s agreed.

“Just don’t stop taking any of it,” you whisper, turning your head, finally opening your eyes to see his face, to drink in the muss of warm brown hair and the fray of uncombed beard. A gentle blue gaze, incongruous with the furor of his hand between your legs, meets yours. “Just don’t stop taking me.”

Dark brows draw together, etching a crease into his forehead. That blue becomes electric. “Never,” he growls, and takes your mouth with his.

His hand leaves your throat to join the other, and a third finger enters you as he resumes the massage on your clit that he’d left off. His tongue sweeps along the ridge of your teeth, probes inward to dance along your own, and at the same time he spreads his fingers inside of you, stretching you so far that you don’t think there isn’t a place in you that he isn’t touching. You think he’s filled your entire body with just his fingers, because there isn’t room in you anymore for your lungs to expand beyond shallow, whining breath. Your legs are shaking of their own accord, muscles twitching every time his fingers brush just the right spot on your clit, and you know he’s realized what he’s found when the flicker of his touch does not leave that spot.

You moan, low and breathy, keeping the sound in the back of your throat. You feel nothing but John, know nothing but the warmth of his arms caging you against his body, the searing burn of his fingers stretching you almost as wide as his cock can. His body is moving with yours, his hips pressing yours forward, shoving you farther into his hands and onto his fingers. The sheets are a mess of wrinkles around your moving bodies, and you finally remember your own arms, your own hands as they’re gripping the fabric without your input.

When your touch finds his forearms, when your nails dig into the broad muscle of them, you feel it coming fast. It’s fluttering around his fingers, pulling tight against the muscles in your thighs. Foreshocks have your body undulating against his, and you know, when his fingers thrust deep and stay there, that he can feel it coming, too.

“That’s it love,” he growls into your lips, kissing you between words. Three fingers curl into you, and you wonder if your body can break apart from the pleasure of their simple pressure behind your clit. “You’re being fucking perfect—I can feel it, fuck—come on, you’ve more than earned it, come for me—”

And all it takes for you then is his words, the rasp of his breath against your mouth, for ecstasy to explode in you from the tips of his fingers, pleasure bursting outward in a shockwave that wracks your entire body. Your breath comes short and quick as it takes you, and you whimper John’s name until he kisses you again, saving you from having to control your own volume as you lose control over everything else. He keeps fucking you as you shudder against his body, keeps up the frantic pace of his thrusting hand and the vice-like pressure he has around your clit, sending aftershocks across your body that keep you shaking and near-sobbing against his mouth. He does not let you get away from it, does not let you escape his hands, and does not stop until you go limp and boneless in his arms.

You come back to yourself, eons later, still breathing hard, panting in sync with John. His hold on you has slackened, arms still around you but loose enough that it’s easy—if not prompt, as it still feels like your muscles are jelly—to turn over to face him. He’s gazing at you, as if he wants to drink you in with his eyes alone, and that gaze is heavy-lidded and content. Neither of his hands have gone southward, searching for his cock or his own release. This is not unusual. He’s told you before that he knows he’ll get his eventually. And you know by now, too, that sometimes John finds more satisfaction in your orgasm than his own.

Every sense has come back to you now. His facial hair is softer than it looks, as you cup the side of his face, and the smell of detergent and shampoo is mingled now with the humid weight of the perspiration you two have worked up. The taste of him—you realized belatedly that he must have gotten up and brushed his teeth before this, because it’s lightly minty—is still on your tongue. His breath is heavy, but even and quieter than yours, obscured somewhat by your own pulse thrumming loud in your ears.

But the best experience is the sight of him—painted in the warming tones of a day starting to get on, t-shirt tight across his chest, skin a little flushed and shimmery with moisture. He smiles at you, blue eyes liquid with open affection, as you stroke his mustache. He’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I can’t believe you did that with your fucking fingers,” you laugh.

The smile spreads, creasing at the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad you let me.”

It’s a softness that he always expresses after he’s done anything to you. Whatever he thinks he deserves from you, he never hides his gratitude for what you give him.

When you lean in to kiss him, he meets you halfway. It’s a kiss that he lingers in, lips moving softly against yours as one hand comes to rest lightly on the back of your neck. Your elbows don’t want to prop you up for much longer, though, and you have to break away to lay your head back down.

“Good morning, John,” you say, smiling softly.

He shifts, moves closer, eyes tender as they remain settled on you. “Good morning, love.”

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an0nwr1tes · 2 months ago

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Galtean Klance you have my heart-

Thinking about Galra Keith who’s slowly becoming more and more Galra and developing weird habits that he just isn’t sure how to deal with and Lance who’s reeling from the fact that he’s now Altean and having no idea what that means or how to deal with it so he set all his attention on Keith.

Lance who’s helping Keith deal with all the weirdness of being half Galra by hesitantly going along with everything Keith needs, because the last he screamed when Keith dropped a freshly killed animal in his lap Keith just looked so sad, and ignoring Allura and Coran as they try showing Lance more about Altean’s.

Lance and Keith’s alien discovery’s and experiences being both so similar and so so different, Lance who’s more or less been forced into this position because he died and Allura healed him and brought him back but not quite right and Keith who finally knows who he is and that he’s not weird or different he’s just Keith.

Keith’s parents loved each other, they loved him and he’s proof of that.

Lance’s death was real and he’s constantly forced to remember that when he looks in the mirror.

Lance who loves Keith and tells him that everyday, Lance who forces Keith to sit in his huge Galra form so he can brush through his fur and make it all shiny.

Keith who loves Lance and presses kisses to each mark under his eyes because he knows how hard it is for Lance to look at them sometimes, Keith who whispers “You’re beautiful,” every morning when they get up and every night before they fall asleep.

Lance who can’t stand too look at himself anymore, who freezes when he catches sight of his white hair and blue marks and has to remind himself that that him.

Keith who finally feels right when he catches sight of his reflection, the mark on his face and the fur and ears in his Galra form and wonders how he ever thought that he was anything but this.

Lance who loves Keith in any form, Keith who loves Lance in any form.

Keith who couldn’t stand his Galra form in the beginning, Lance who approached Coran and Allura for help because he wanted to show Keith that he was perfect as he was.

Keith who goes stiff at the sight of a strangely familiar Galra in the hanger when he gets back from a blade mission, Lance who smiling hesitantly and explains what he’s been doing and Keith is falling in love all over again.

Suddenly the Voltron team is forced to get used to two big Glara’s cuddling on the sofa, Allura attacked them once before they turned back in a panic.

Lance who doesn’t know how to make himself only half Galra so he end up taller than Keith.

Keith who’s all for picking up his large boyfriend and carrying him around, because that’s his boyfriend.

Lance who starts giving Keith little trinkets to keep on him and pretty little hair ties to braid his fur with.

Keith who starts cooking the hunts he brings back with them because Lance doesn’t like his things getting bloody.

Lance who’s doing so well and then he’s in the bathroom and freezes at the sight of himself.

Keith who’s doing so well and then he’s sees someone flinch at the sight of him.

Lance who promises Keith’s that it’s ok and holds his cheeks in his hands and kisses his eyelids, who stays in his Altean form so Keith can wrap himself around him and they can cuddle.

“You’re so precious, how could anyone be scared of you and your cute button nose and your fluffy paws!”

Keith who presses Lance to his chest and counts the beats of his heart with him, who runs his hands down Lance’s side and mutters.

“Can you feel that? See, you’re here with me Lance, you’re alive.”

Just Galtean Klance being each others anchors.

#galtean klance #klance #galra keith #altean lance #Lances death has consequences fuck off dreamworks!#this was meant to be cute how’d it turn into angst???#Langst #I fixed it! the Angst didn’t win!#nevermind. it won….#I think I brought it back ;)#these dummy’s are too cute #voltron legendary defender #Voltron #VLD

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vittanni · 7 months ago

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i heard we're gonna be roommates

#dead poets society #dps #neil perry #todd anderson #anderperry #i hate color correction #everything is fine in photoshop and on the screen but when i upload art to tumblr - boom - depression greyness apathy #nevermind i kind of fixed it

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billiuspendragon · 6 months ago

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I have a headcanon that Saiki's telepathic speech is sort of like a cat's purr in that you can feel it more than hear it

#literally just thought of this because i was stroking my cat and she started purring #but she was like only JUST purring so I couldn't really hear it eith my ears I could mire feek it in the air #I love creaturifying my faves #saiki k #saiki kusuo no ψ nan #I know I've made typos in the tags but I don't wanna delete them all and fix it so nevermind #saiki kusuo

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pumpkster · 2 years ago

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nickelodeon itself told me to draw this

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non-plutonian-druid · 11 months ago

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look guys i actually did some spirit designs

[ID: the Hargreeves' spirits in the Paranatural au - or at least, the five of them that are kids in this au.

Luther's is an ape that looks like his body from the comics. Diego's is a creature that looks a bit like a small porcupine. Allison's is a large snake with its mouth duct taped shut. Klaus' is a blue raccoon with three eyes and a pink tail, and Viktor's is based off of the White Violin from the comics, except its head transforms into reaching arms. End ID.]

sorry, the ID got REALLY long this time. that's a summary for anyone scrolling, theres a more detailed one under the cut!

[ID: Luther's spirit is labelled First Simian In Space: THE MARTIAN APE. He looks like the ape that supplied Luther's body in the comics, drawn in the paranatural style; blue, with one eye. He is wearing an astronaut helmet and sitting in a coin operated rocket ship that is much too small for it. He has transformed the world around him into a scifi martian landscape; cardboard standups with doors and lockers scribbled on them are the only indication of the real world. Luther is sprawled on the ground staring in shock, while the Martian Ape says "Y'know, you should totally just kill your dad".

Diego's spirit is a very small creature that looks a bit like a porcupine.

Panel 1: Diego holds his spirit in his hands and says, "So, what's your name?". His spirit responds "I am called..."

Panel 2: A caption appears; Projectile Extraordinaire: KRAKEN. The image is in full color, focusing on Kraken, which glowers cutely and shows off her spines.

Panel 3: The same shot as panel one, except Diego now looks very skeptical. He says "..." and then "Why." Kraken responds "It sounded cool."

Allison's spirit is a giant green snake coiled around a tree branch, with a pattern down his back that looks like open mouths.

The first two images are centered on Allison, who is scowling in both. Someone unseen says "It can force people to do things, honey!" and "It's too dangerous to leave you alone with it." and finally, "So we fixed it."

The final image is of the spirit. He is captioned Muzzled Mind Controller: THE RUMOR. His mouth has been duct taped shut. He does not look pleased.

Klaus' spirit is a blue raccoon with dark purple legs and a fluffy striped pink tail. It also has three eyes.

Panel 1: The large colored closeup of Klaus' spirit. It is captioned Mystical Conartist: THE SEANCE.

Panel 2: Klaus asks it "With a name like that, what's your power?" The Seance, its nose just high enough to fit into frame, replies, "Oh, I can sense ghosts"

Panel 3: Klaus looks supremely unimpressed. In the background, a ghost says "Hi" to Allison and Luther, and they say "Oh, hey" back.

Panel 4: Klaus asks, "Seriously?"

Panel 5: The Seance, viewed from above, says "Hey, I can sense them even when they're not visible! Like behind walls and stuff!"

Panel 6: The Seance adds "Also I can float." It is demonstrating, floating about eye level with Klaus and emitting a cloud of cyan spectral energy as it does so. Klaus looks more pleased with this and says "Okay, that one's pretty good."

Viktor's spirit is a Wight, a spirit so warped by rage and pain that it has permanently been changed, its spectral energy has become white, and has gained massive, devastating power. It looks a lot like the design of the White Violin in the comics, but it manifests too many or too few arms from where its head should be.

There are three images of it. In the first, it is kneeling. It has manifested six arms in varying degrees of completeness, and all of them look sad.

In the second, the matter of its head has split into many small pieces that almost look like parts of mouths, save for two clawing hands. It screams, in the Wight spirit language from Paranatural, WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME.

In the third, the largest, its knees buckle as it stands and manifests one reaching hand. It is captioned Violent White: THE WHITE VIOLIN. End ID]

#tua #the umbrella academy #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #uhhhh...#vanya hargreeves #?#thats definitely not viktor. and its not REALLY vanya either but it IS made to look like her #space boy #the kraken #the rumor #the seance #the white violin #i feel like those are all fair game #some notes in no particular order:#look i did a spirit language from the webcomic! literally the easiest one to make (and read) but still!#its called Wight Wail btw bc Paranatural is mostly puns by weight #omg guys should i do something where delores speaks in Cursed Words?#in order to speak cursed words you have to have killed people but. she deserves it #also after i finished lining almost all of them i wore out my wrist and have been waiting like a week for it to heal enough to draw #i can do most of the heavy lifting of coloring and shading left handed which helped stave off the boredom #but it still hurts and its been a week and i WANT TO BE DONE so i gave up on ever lining klaus' and colored the sketch i had #there was stuff i wanted to fix and change but... well nevermind doing that i guess lol #also hence the typed text instead of handwritten. i would have used the sketch text but that was ACTUALLY illegible #extranatural #paranatural au

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