#sorry no eso it didn't fit

[skyrim-forever]

[the-californicationist]

Hello Cali ❤️. Por alguna razón no te había visto más en mi muro de tumblr y me preguntaba si no estabas aquí, por eso busqué tu perfil y me di cuenta que tumblr me estaba jugando una mala pasada.

How are you??? I'm so busy because I have a loooot of work, pero me tomaré el tiempo de leer todo lo que me perdí de ti ✨✨✨

YOU ARE THE BEST, OK? I LOVE YOU ❤️💍

Quisiera que escribieras un smut de John Price CEO/Mafia con un Reader inteligente y astuto, que queda cautivado cuando John comienza a seducirla, porfis ✨

Anything for you, my friend!! I love you so much <3 <3

Wonderland

John Price is a famous mob boss... but you don't know that. All you know is that you've got a crush on a mysterious, handsome man, and you're willing to go all the way to find out if his bite is as bad as his bark.

The parking garage was dark, and the concrete seemed to hold in the cold like a freezer. It felt like ice on his cheekbone, and not even the blood from his eye socket was enough to warm the skin. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, that odd whooshing sound, and in a distant memory he could recall the first time he had ever gotten a black eye. But, all that was gone now. He had ratted out the one man that no one had dared fuck with in the past five years: John Fucking Price.

Those fucking coppers had said they’d protect him. He even had his people outside his house every hour of every day. How could this happen? He had to admit, he wasn’t even scared, he was just pissed off. Fucking bastards. They’d get what was coming to them. Maybe he’d tell them so. Not like they'd give him any more chances.

“Fuck you, Price. I hope those pigs skin you alive,” he spit out the blood that had began to pool in his mouth, and hoped it hit those stupid boots John was always wearing.

John Price slid his shoe away from the red stain that had began to swell on the ground, keeping his kangaroo leather Berlutis from ruin. The fool beneath his feet had no idea what was about to happen to him, and John almost felt sorry about it, if only for a moment. He and Vinson had been friends once. Hell, he’d even stood up at his wedding. 

“Vince, what did I tell you about that bloody mouth of yours? Said it'd get you into trouble, didn't I? Wish there was something I could do for you now, cause you and me, we used to be mates. But, I can't afford friends like you. Not anymore," Price gave the rat a quick shove with his heel and watched as the stain smeared in a thin streak across the cement. He turned to his men,

"Well, lads, I've got a party to get to. You wouldn't mind cleaning things up here for me, would’ya?"

"No, boss," was their quiet reply.

"You'll be sorry, you goddamn pussy!" Vinson was screaming now, "I hope they hang you from the fuckin’-”

Bang! The loud gunshot echoed through the hollow space.

Vinson didn't say anything after that.

"Let's get outta here, Gaz."

"Right away, boss," Gaz opened the door to the limo and prepared to drive John back into the city. There was a big gala at the Genting Casino tonight, and Mr. John T. Price was never late.

He was never early either. In fact, he was perfection incarnate. When he was younger, that wasn't always the case, but after his father died, he had needed to change. No one was fit to rule Liverpool in his stead, and he was thankful that no one had been foolish enough to try. His father had made this town what it is. Liverpool was built by his family, and even though everyone thought the Price regime had grown tired of their reign on the old docks, they couldn't have been farther from the truth.

John had his cut from all of the major casinos, and he traded security in exchange. He owned two of them himself, along with four shopping malls, five bars, three neighborhoods, two apartment complexes, and a golf course - not to mention the property that wasn't in his name. He made sure to give his men plenty of reign over their own enterprises, even if most of them were strip clubs. But, he didn't care. As long as tribute came in every quarter, he never messed around in their business.

He thought Vinson was one he could trust. He'd even given him a car dealership just last month. 

"Don't run it into the ground, Vince," he had said.

But, no. What had the little bastard gone and done? Put a tracker on his car and dropped bugs in his office. After everything he'd done for him, that's how he was repaid? To tell the truth, John never liked violence. It was awkward. But, his father had given him fists and showed him how to use them, so there was really no going against it. Violence and fear were vital pieces of the only language that men like Vince could understand. Now, with another family coming to Liverpool, John had to be on his best behavior. Even if 'best' was a little more loosely defined.

As he lit the tip of his last cigar, he reminded Gaz to grab him another few sticks on the way home. Gaz would've never turned coat on him like Vince did. He'd give him the car lot.

"You want the dealership on Sefton street, Kyle?" He offered.

"Sure, boss. Thanks a lot," Gaz smiled, knowing exactly which business he was talking about, "You want me to pull around back?"

They had arrived at the main entrance. Throngs of people were craning around the limo, trying to see who was inside. John thought about it for a second, smushed his cigar tip into the ashtray, and adjusted his tie.

"Nah," he said, "We'll give them the show tonight."

"Sure thing, boss."

Gaz parked the car and leapt out of the cab. His hand was on the door before John could take another breath, and on either side of the door, some of Price’s own foot soldiers took up their posts as bodyguards. When he emerged from the muffled quiet of the limo, it shocked John for a moment to be in such a whirl of chaos.

"Mr. Price, can I get a photo?"

"Over here, please, Mr. Price," a cute reporter was frantic enough to step in front of his men. They picked her up and put her back in the crowd.

John made sure to smile and wave, shake hands with those he had seen before, but he knew it was safer inside. 

The manager greeted him warmly and, he noted, by first name,

"John! Good to see you again, mate. We've got just the table for you, tonight. Wait til you see the legs on these girls! It'll be a night to remember."

"I'm sure it will."

"Ah, sorry, but we don't allow weapons past the main floor," the manager's face fell. So did Kyle’s. 

Gaz cleared his throat,

"I'm sure you can make an exception for Mr. Price. We'll be very discreet."

It was more of a threat than a promise, and John smiled at his friend's heavy tone. Kyle was anything if not polite.

"Uh, yes, we can certainly make arrangements. Right this way, gentlemen," and now the manager was nothing if not nervous. Perfect.

The night continued as well as it could, but he had never really enjoyed gambling. Why make all this money if he was just going to throw it into the wind? But, he could mingle with the right people here. Except that these weren't his people. He had come as a favor to his long time friend, Alex Keller, but Alex was nowhere to be found. 

"Passed out on his missus’ tits, probably!" One of the strangers guffawed at the other end of the Blackjack table. 

"He’ll show, don't you worry," another replied.

Well, John didn't have all night to wait on a man to get to his own party. He needed a drink. When he rose to head to the bar, Gaz stopped him,

"I'll get it, boss. No need to bother yourself with it."

The table was silent. The strangers who had been so brassy before were now silent and transfixed on the pair of men at their table, one of whom was important enough to have his slightest whim catered to at a moment's notice.

"It's alright, Garrick. Play my hand, yeah? I'm headed out for a smoke."

"Yes, sir."

John retreated. The awkward stares and weird glances were too much for him to bear. Surely there was a patio around here, somewhere.

By the time he found one, he was disappointed to see it was occupied.

"Oh, beg your pardon. Thought I was alone out here," he said.

To his shock, it was a woman's voice that responded from the shadows. Your voice. 

"You're fine. You got a light? Fuckin’ matches are all wet..." You fumbled with the book, striking to no avail.

He smirked,

"I have the fire if you've got an extra smoke."

"Fair trade," you smiled back jokingly. 

You were dressed in a clean chef's coat, your hair was pulled up, and you might have been going without makeup, but it was almost too dark to tell. It certainly wasn't casino makeup, that was for sure. John watched as you tugged two cigarettes free from the box, put them to your soft lips, and covered his flame with your hand. Your fingernail paint was pink and chipped. You pulled in the fire of both cigarettes and offered one to him. He took it,

"Thanks."

You grunted in a minimal response.

"So, you're a chef?" He asked.

You raised an eyebrow at him, giving him the glare he deserved for such an obvious question.

He back pedaled, 

"I mean, you work here as a chef. I just thought, with the coat...I mean, where's your big bloody hat? You need the hat."

You laughed. It was wonderful to hear, and he liked the way your mouth moved when you started to speak,

"Yeah, I work here. Have for the past three years or so. Bill signed me on as head chef, and I've been slaving away for him ever since."

"Bill?"

"Oh, he's the culinary manager. Runs all the restaurants in the casino and the hotel. When the last guy disappeared into thin air, they had to scramble to find someone, I guess. What about you? Where's your fancy hat? Based on that Hermes tie, I'm gonna assume you're here with the party."

He mindlessly adjusted his tie, noticing its feel on his neck as she called it out,

"Well, I might be."

"Yeah? You some kind of big-shot?" You eyed him again, challenging him to answer with something more than a yes or a no. You had heard yes and no plenty of times.

"I might be," he wouldn't give in.

"If we keep going like this all night, you might end up being the Queen, for all I know."

You both laughed, but then, you sighed, 

"Oh well, Mr. Mystery. Keep your secrets then," you shrugged and turned away from him.

He couldn't have that.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Sarah," you spun back around, "Rachel. Tiffany. Willamina. Might be anything."

You had the audacity to wink at him.

"Alright, you got me, love," he moved a little closer to you, "I'm John. John Price."

He extended his hand and waited for the bad news to sink in. No one who knew his name in this town would be dumb enough to be on a patio alone with him at night. He had dodged the media for a long time, but his trials always managed to get leaked. Twelve accounts of assault and battery, two separate accounts of theft, three murder charges - all acquitted of course. But, still, he was no stranger to ducking the law.

"John? Of all the names," you shook your head and smiled, taking his hand firmly, "Pleasure to meet you."

"You as well. You've never heard of me?"

"Oh, Jesus," you lamented, "Are you famous or something? Look, if I'm not in the kitchen, I'm at home asleep. Sorry. I don't even watch TV."

"No, nothing like that, I just - " He thought about it for a moment before you saw him decide to take a different trajectory, “Not famous.”

“Why is it that I feel a little bit like Alice tonight?” You took a long drag and let the smoke fall from your lips, “Like I’m following a white rabbit down a deep, dark hole.”

He chuckled, and you enjoyed seeing his eyes shine with his laughter,

“If you follow me down,” he sidled up to you, his face close enough to yours so you could smell the balsam in his aftershave, “I’ll show you just how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

A man’s voice cleared his throat behind you, and you both turned to look at who it was. 

“Garrick?” John asked, clearly annoyed. 

“Yes, sir. Johnny and Simon made it up. They said they know why Keller hasn’t shown.”

John didn’t answer. He simply turned back to look into your eyes, trying to divine some sort of future from them. He must’ve liked what he saw because the next thing you knew, you were being given a golden key card. Top floor. 

Not famous, my arse, you thought to yourself. 

“Why don’t you take the night off, love. Come see Wonderland, yeah? I’ll be right behind you.”

“My, my,” you said, palming the card from him, “No one ever tells you no.”

Another smile, a little colder than the first,

“No, they don’t.”

“Maybe I will,” you pulled the tiger’s tail.

“You won’t,” the tiger growled back.

As you watched him leave the small patio, his broad back stretching that expensive suit, his thick fingers flicking his half-smoked cigarette off the balcony’s edge, you were kicking yourself. You knew you were going up to his room, even though something inside of you really wanted to yank this guy’s chain. But, his dark, purring voice had made Wonderland sound so inviting… maybe just one little peek wouldn’t hurt?

You waited a whole five minutes before slinking off to the service elevator, cutting out for the night. No one was making dinner anyway; it was the bar that was slammed. You’d already cleaned and prepped your station, so no one would miss you. 

You ducked into the bathroom just before the top floor, getting off on the service side in an empty hallway, checking your face for stray flour or coffee stained teeth. You smelled like a pizza oven, but maybe you could sneak a shower before he showed up?.

What a slut, you heard the angel on your shoulder chastise you. 

So, what? The devil’s side replied, indignant. 

You peeled the chef’s coat off of your body. All you had underneath was a black tee. It was cropped a bit too high for work, but you wore it anyway. Your black work pants were covered in flour and dried food. You brushed them off as best you could. It would have to do. You shoved your coat into your bag and headed back to the hallway. 

Luckily, the main elevator was vacant, as was the hallway, so you wouldn’t run into any other guests on your way to Wonderland. 

The angel rolled his eyes. The devil glared at him. 

The elevator dinged, and you inserted the gold card, clicking the very topmost button to the penthouse. 

You’d been up here before. Sometimes, you picked up cleaning shifts on your off days for the extra cash, so you knew the layout. But, that had been in the cold, hygienic light of day. At night, this floor was a sparkling vision. When the elevator doors opened, huge clear windows reached all the way into the ceiling, framing Liverpool’s city center, looking more beautiful than it ever seemed from the ground. 

You took quiet, uncertain steps out of the lift, checking for any signs of life. There were none, so you made your way to the bathroom. Huge black marble monolith slabs were carved in a semicircle, a nautilus that curled around the four separate shower heads, all ready to pour their steaming water down your naked body. 

You stripped, stepping into the stream, letting yourself pretend that you lived in this sort of luxury for a moment. A soft lather of soap and a little shampoo later and you were clean. The single-use toothbrush and paste was in the hidden drawer that no guest would ever notice, so you stole an extra set, scrubbing yourself to a minty shine. 

A pair of black satin robes hung in the closet, so you stole one, tying it around your waist, fully aware that one stiff breeze and the loose-fitting garment would fly right off of you. The soft fabric lay against your skin in the most sensual way, barely touching you and yet making you feel touched. 

You explored the hotel room a bit, avoiding Mr. Price’s suitcase like it would bite you. The kitchen came stocked with ice buckets of champagne, so you helped yourself to one, pouring a glass and lounging by the window, wondering how long you’d have to wait for your date. 

Fortunately for you, only an hour had passed and you heard the elevator ding. Out from the dark lift came the man himself… bleeding from his lip.

“John! What happened?” You put down your wine and rushed over to him. 

He held you back, waving you off like it was nothing,

“Don’t worry, love. Just a bit of a scuffle, tha’s all.”

“But —”

“Seriously,” he grabbed you by your arms and looked you up and down, enjoying the wide opening of the robe as it revealed your body to him, “You should see the other bloke. Let me get cleaned up. Pour me one of those, would’ya?”

Before you could protest, he ducked into the bathroom, out of your reach. You were left standing there, worried and a little concerned for your own wellbeing. You didn’t actually know this man at all, and here you were, lamb to the slaughter, eager and bleating happily. 

While he was in the bath, you decided to do a little research. You searched up his name, and you were finding almost no hits, until you stumbled upon a mugshot.

There he was… the notorious mob boss, ruler of the English underground arms dealing circuit, enforcer and racketeering extraordinaire. And here you were, nearly naked in his room with not so much as a penknife within reach. This guy had been in the armed forces, special forces, black ops — the works. He retired and fell into the armed security world, making a name for himself by pushing out the competition by any means necessary. His father had maintained ties to the dark underground, and now John had taken over the family business, doing shady deals for the government and crime organizations alike. All of it was hearsay, of course, and none of the charges had ever landed a single hit… but you knew the truth. 

John Price was the most dangerous man in the world; Liverpool’s crime arena was just a quiet little hobby for a man like him. If he wanted to, he could make you disappear like a magician behind a mirror. Gone without a trace.

What would you do? Would you run? Where would you go? How would you explain your sudden exit? Food poisoning?

Before you could even begin to formulate a plan, John was out of the shower. He looked incredible. His hulking, heavy form was steaming from the hot water, and his hairy chest was uncovered. He’d slipped into a pair of running shorts and nothing else, so his brutal body was on display for you. He was covered in scars, and he was heavyset, but his largeness was from his strength. His core was bulky and strong, and when he moved, you could see the tight muscles rolling around beneath the skin like a snake ready to strike. 

He turned to you, but even though he wore a smile at first, the moment he made eye contact, his face fell. Somehow, he knew that you knew.

He sighed,

“What did you see?”

He rushed over to his suitcase but found it still locked, looking back to you quizzically. You didn’t move, you didn’t dare. John stepped over to you slowly, deliberately, almost as if he was ready for another fight. 

You turned your phone towards him and showed him his own mugshot.

“Thought you said you weren’t famous,” you whispered. Your voice sounded so small and far away, you almost felt like you hadn’t spoken the words. 

He smiled bitterly, tossing his towel on a nearby chair and sat beside you on the bed,

“Cat’s out of the bag, then?”

“Yeah,” you looked down at your phone, unable to look him in the eye. 

“Go on,” he waved his hand at you, motioning toward the door, “Get out.”

You didn’t move. You should have. Every fiber in your being was telling you to make a break for it. Now was your chance. And yet… you stayed. It was silent for a long while. You could feel his gaze raking over you, hot and heavy. His breaths rumbled in his chest. 

“Go!” He spat, “No one’s keeping you prisoner here, girl. That’s me, alright, and the newspapers don’t even know the bloody half of it. Just go.” 

You reacted to his volume, shirking back a bit, but you still didn’t stand. You looked at him then, searching for the kindness you thought you saw on the patio just hours before, checking to see if it was still there, if it was even real.

When you met his eyes, his fury was masking a very real pain. He was angry, sure, but the ache of being cast out was apparent, even though you were the one doing the leaving, and you just wanted that bit of brightness back again. 

John studied you, watching your every movement, trying to determine what you were thinking but coming up short. He stood right in front of you, his hips inches from your face, and he asked,

“What are you waitin’ on, love?”

A strong thumb lifted your chin, raising your jaw up to look at him again, and he used his enormous hand to grab your face, keeping you there under his will. 

“I know you’re afraid of me,” he commented softly, “I can feel it.”

“So?” You replied, trying to keep your tone steady. 

His voice was bitter and mocking, and as he leaned forward, you could smell his clean, warm skin, 

“You wanna play with the big bad wolf, hm? See if I bite?” 

He grabbed you a little too tightly, trying to scare you. It worked, but you tried not to show it. Instead, you decided to place both of your hands at his hips, your palms flat against his warm belly, feeling the dark hair that formed a faithful trail, guiding your eyes down to his waistband. 

It was his turn to be surprised. You felt his breathing catch as you moved your hands up along his ribcage, rubbing gentle circles into his skin, petting him like a skittish hound, expecting him to snap. 

Letting go of your face, he grabbed your wrist, and just as you thought he was going to stop you, he took your hand and placed it on his chest, stretching your arm all the way up from where you were sat, making you extend your spine as you reached up to him. Your fingers traced the fur that lay flat against his pectorals, and finally, you plucked at his nipples, not allowing there to be any question as to your intentions. 

The tip of his wide finger dipped into the silken collar of your robe, swirling around your neck and following it down to the swell of your breast. He didn’t find your peak, but he didn’t seem to care to. He was just exploring. 

Suddenly, John moved faster than you could even begin to understand what was happening. He had reached under you, lifting you, and then tossed you back down on the bed. You lay, sprawled, trying to catch your bearings, and then you were covered by his huge form, his wide body casting shadows over your vision, cloaking you in his own private darkness.

His mouth was on you like a hot flame, licking and burning and biting and sucking wherever he wanted to, eager to taste every inch of your skin, the imperfections of a wrinkle or a freckle seemed to go fully unnoticed as he devoured you, sucking you down like his last meal. 

You were overwhelmed by the pleasure he was stoking inside of you, and you let a small mewling sound escape from your lips that caught his attention. 

“Mm,” he climbed up your body so that you were face to face, “Enjoying your walk on the dark side, love? Think you’re tainted by me now? Or maybe that’s what you wanted, is it? Something naughty, just for a night?”

You didn’t understand his negativity, nor the self-deprecation, so you tried to protest, 

“No, I —”

“It’s alright. I’ll show you how to be a bad girl. I’ll teach you, love. C’mere.”

His voice was smoldering and sticky, clinging to your ears with some of that same bitterness from before. But, you didn’t have time to worry about that. He was standing by the bedside again, and he grabbed your arms, making your head and shoulders hang part way off of the mattress. You were left staring at his thick thighs and scarred knees, worried about what he was up to.

Then, all became clear. He had dropped his running shorts, and the fattest cock you’d ever seen hung down, shining with drool, ready to be fed into your mouth. 

Your eyes went wide, and although you reached your hand out to try and brace against his legs, it was no use. He supported your head from underneath and bent himself over until the tip of his swollen cockhead touched your lips, the gleaming precome sticking to you like gloss. 

Unwilling to be frightened by his aggression, you opened your mouth for him, laving your tongue across his turgid flesh, allowing him to press himself inside of you. 

His cock was slick on the head but dry on his shaft, so you did your best to wet him, licking and sucking as he pumped himself in and out, already nearing the back of your throat and not even halfway sheathed. 

When he nudged your soft palate, making you gag a bit, you made a noise. You tried steadying him with your hand, and he grunted, grabbing both of your arms by the wrist, holding them above your face, clutched to his hip. Then, he continued to fuck your face, ignoring your writhing gasps for breath. 

Your throat tightened around him, but you tried to stay calm. You’d never taken anyone this deep before, but you stilled yourself, ignoring the urge to panic, and you made a point to swallow, feeling your throat squeeze around his head. You could taste him as he painted the back of your throat, salty and sweet at the same time. 

That made him moan, and you felt like you’d won some sort of battle. If he was trying to frighten you, it was going to take more than just a little rough sex. 

“Mm, fuck… Maybe you are a naughty little girl, aye?”

You hummed, making sure you could feel the vibrations travel through his girth. 

He removed himself fully, taking a trail of your own drool with him, gasping from the pleasure of your mouth. 

“Fuck, I need to taste you,” he muttered darkly, crawling over you and settling himself between your legs. 

You tried to lift yourself back onto the bed, but he kept you hanging there, pinning you down with his strong arm, pressing into your belly with his hand to prevent you from sitting up. Finally, after feeling him kiss and nip at your thighs, teasing you mercilessly, you felt the warm, wet slip of his tongue as it fell between your lips, tasting your throbbing pussy for the first time. 

The robe was half-off, and only the tie around your waist was even providing any coverage, and you realized that as he began to eat you, he was yanking off your clothes as well, ripping through the knot of the robe to free you from the fabric. 

Now, his mouth moved deeper, and you felt him seal his lips to your pussy, messily drinking you in. As he fucked you with his tongue, his mouth and jaw were strong enough to rock your body up and down on the soft bed, making it seem as if he were actually using his smooth wet muscle as a writhing cock, thrusting it up into you and reaching deep into your hole.

The scruff of his beard was enough to make you want to come, much less the power that he ate you with. Every deep, curling lick sent sparks into your core, making your pussy drip with eager stickiness. It was hungry for that fat, uncut cock, forcing you to imagine how delightful it would be when he popped his giant head into your pink flesh. 

You were keening for him. Well, it wasn’t exactly for him, per se. The noises you were making were coming from your throat against your will. If you didn’t scream, you’d pass the hell out, you were sure of it. 

“Fuck, that’s it, love. Get loud for me. Ungh… you taste… mmfh… so damn sweet,” he was ruthless, speaking between long suckles from his mouth, commanding you from below. 

You wished you could see him, but all you could see from your hanging position was the giant window, looking out across the sparkling city. So, you called out to him, your voice thick with want, with need,

“John…”

That was all it took. He tugged your hips down until he was above you again, prowling over you like some sort of beast, all snarling unbridled lust and appetite. As soon as he was in position — and your body knew he was in position — everything stopped. He stopped. 

John looked down at you and became… different. The flirty bloke from the patio was back, and he smiled at you. You smiled back, out of breath and already drunk with hunger, but that was all he needed. He kissed you deeply, making you taste your own musk, and as his soft lips slid over yours, you felt the pressure of his huge cock at your hole, pressing through your folds to reach your hot, soaked center. 

You gasped through his kiss, both of you moaning in the same timbre as you felt his heavy dick fit into you for the first time, a sparkling desire swirling within you as every delicious inch of him buried itself in you. He began to thrust himself up into your aching slit, fucking you on half of his length, and then using your own sticky fluid to slip himself the rest of the way in. 

“Bloody hell, this fuckin’ pussy… fuck me,” he groaned, wrenching his eyes shut from the pleasure. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

“Yeah?” He asked, seeking your praise. 

“You’re fucking huge,” you didn’t mean to sound so concerned, but there was a part of you that was. 

He sat back on his heels, taking some of the pressure away, staring down at your body lecherously, savoring your tits and fondling them in his hands,

“Alright, love?”

“You feel so good,” you insisted, wrapping your hands around his arms as he enjoyed your body. 

“Tell me again,” he said, grunting again as he fucked his cock deeper inside of you, reaching a new end before dragging himself all the way back out just so he could start the journey again. He upped his tempo, pounding into you with his weight, the loud smack of his body against yours beating into you like a drum. 

“Tell. Me. Again,” he growled his warning, snarling down at you, pinching your nipple to punish you for your silence. 

You were gasping for breath. He was so deep now, you could feel the pressure of it in your belly. Between sharp intakes of air, you hissed, 

“You… feel.. so… fucking… good…”

“That’s my girl,” he bent over you again and that familiar pressure returned. His cock was too big, and yet you took it anyway. Your body was panic and pleasure all at the same time, and he had you pinned down for the ride of your life. 

You weren’t sure how many hours passed that night. He seemed to have the stamina of a much younger man, and every time you dozed off, you’d wake up again to fingers or tongue or cock playing inside of your folds, coaxing you to open yourself up to him. You were happy to oblige, but you were properly fuck drunk. If someone asked you for the alphabet, you weren’t positive you trusted your answer. But, when John Price asked you to open your mouth or your legs for him, you were the top scholar. 

A golden, creamy dawn was rising up over the docks as you stared out the window. John’s hand was rubbing your bare back in long, relaxing strokes, and he was leaving soft, lazy kisses down your spine. You knew you were a mess. Your hair was tangled; you’d thrown it up into a messy bun on the second runthrough, done with trying to pretend to be a pristine hot girl. Your body was covered in his marks. Bruises from his teeth and red welts from a delightful slap on the ass or two were painted across you like little tattoos to commemorate your coupling. 

“You alright, love?” He checked in on you. 

He’d been checking in all night. For all his ruthlessness, he never crossed a line, and he never forgot to make sure you were safe. Sometime in the wee hours, he’d even made you drink a bottle of water and eat some fruit to hydrate, teasing you with grapes like some sort of earthly Baccus. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Looks like it’s time for me to get out of your hair. Not sure I should be seen by the public in my current state.”

“You have work, or…” John looked confused. 

You thought about lying to him for a moment. It would hurt so much less for you to just break it off now in the soft dawn glow rather than a painful goodbye over cold breakfast. But, you didn’t.

“No, just… don’t wanna fool myself into thinking this was something that it wasn’t.”

Your truth hung there in the air for a moment, but before he could open his mouth to reply, you heard the elevator ding.

You turned to look at it, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled you off the bed and forced you to the floor. It was so fast that you didn’t even realize what he’d done until your nose was in the carpet. Then, you heard a sharp, snapping pop of something hitting the bed.

You watched in horror as John’s hand reached under the mattress and pulled out a small pistol. He held it like a professional, calm and trained, and shot twice. Then, it was quiet again. 

He helped you to your feet, and he was telling you something, but your brain wasn’t registering his words. What had happened? Why were there bullet holes in the mattress? Who had he shot?

Then, you saw it. A man’s body was laying across the door of the elevator. Wanting to descend, the elevator’s alarm wailed, beeping and beeping. 

John grabbed your jaw and made you listen to him,

“We have to go. Now. Get your clothes on. Now. Now.”

“Okay…” You couldn’t move. It was so hard to even lift your arms. They felt like solid lead. You just wanted to sink back to the floor. Maybe if you could just…

“Hey! Now!”

He shoved your clothes into your hands and you started to put them on, doing your best not to look at the elevator. John was packing a black bag, half-dressed himself, and checking the windows over and over, looking for something in the streets below. 

“There’s no time, c’mon, love.”

You felt his hand cover yours as he led you to the elevator. You watched him ruthlessly kick the body away from the doors and push you inside. Once you were in, the doors closed and you rode in silence with him. You could only hear your heart in your ears. 

“...to my car. Stay close to me.”

“Okay…” It was all you could say. No other words even dared to come to mind.

“Hey,” he held your face in his as the floor numbers dropped to the teens, “You’re alright. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Okay.”

The doors opened, and you found it extremely weird that the lobby was empty. There were no workers, no guests, not even a custodian. It was just a big, silent cavern in what was usually a lively casino. 

He was leading you out to the parking garage, and just as you stepped into the concrete enclave, you heard the screech of tires round the corner. John stood in front of you and gripped the gun in his hand, but he didn’t move away. 

The car stopped in front of you, and you braced yourself, hiding behind your lover as much as you could. 

“Get in, boss! They’re right bloody behind us. Soap, shove over,” a man’s voice came from the car. He was in the driver’s seat, and he was wearing a ballcap with the Union Jack emblazoned on the top. In his passenger seat was a man in a black balaclava, and in the back was a bright-eyed man with a mohawk who you guessed had to be Soap.

“C’mon, love,” John shoved you inside just as a black SUV rounded the same corner, the engine roaring when it saw Price’s car. 

Gunshots rang out, and you knew some of them had hit the car. You worried for John, but he stood straight up, aiming carefully for the driver, and fired his gun. As if you were in some sort of action movie, the SUV careened off-course and slammed into several parked cars. Men began to pour from it, armed to the teeth. 

John jumped in beside you and made you kneel in the floorboards, holding his body over yours protectively. 

“How’d they find out? Gaz!” John yelled at the driver, shouting his name when he saw another SUV approaching from the side. 

Gaz swerved, narrowly missing being rammed, and sped off down the highway, trying to run from his pursuers. 

“No idea, mate, but they think it was us who tore up the warf. Banno’s man must’ve turned snitch. Only explanation.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” the masked man sighed, rolling down his window to fire shots at the SUV chasing you down. 

“Who’s the bonnie hen, boss?” Soap peered down at you before turning his attention back on the car chase. 

“Uh… she’s…” John tried to explain, but you realized that you never even told him your real name, “I dunno.”

“You dinnae ken?” Soap’s brows knitted together.

“Soap! Shut up and shoot, mate,” Gaz turned his attention back on the fight.

“Well,” the masked man grumbled loudly, “She’s stuck with us all the way to Hadrian’s Wall. Heading to Katie’s house. No place else is safe.”

“Aye, good call,” John agreed. 

Finally, after leaving the city, your pursuers turned back around and left you to your escape. John helped you back into the seat and checked you for injuries. 

“John… I’m…” Your voice shook with fear, and you felt all of that stress tumbling down into your chest, turning into shock and tears. 

“Shh, it’s alright, love. I’ve gotcha. I’m… I’m sorry. Should’ve known better.”

“Better?” You whispered as he held you to his chest.

“Aye. Thought I could be a normal man for a night. Hit on the hot bird at the bar, go to a fuckin’ party. But, nothing’s normal right now. I’ve put you in this mess, and I’m sorry.”

You didn’t have a reply, not one that made any sense, and as he held you, you watched the English countryside come into view. Rolling green hills still wet with their dew made everything that had just happened to you seem so far away, but you could smell the gunpowder on his hands as he pet your cheek, and you knew that nothing could be further from the truth.

[spidybaby]

Okok but hear me out, it's okay if you don't wanna do it, I just keep thinking of this scenario😭 Reader helping Pedri shave even if she loves his beard and now that he's injured, he's growing it and one day she notices and it's like "Ok, let's do some shaving" and he's like "No, you like it and I'm not playing, the beard is staying"

"I hopped off the plane at LAX with a dream and my cardigan." You sing using the hair brush as a microphone. "Welcome to the land of fame excess"

"Woah" Pedri shouts as he walks into the bathroom. "Am I gonna fit in?"

He was helping you with your routine

You both laugh but continue with the singing, changing to a Quevedo song.

"Dale caele uh uh uhhhh," you point at him, he blush at the thought of the World Cup and the video of him singing this song. "Dance with me."

You play a bachata song, grabbing his hands and pulling him to be closer. One hand on your waist and the other intertwine with yours.

"Te diría que volvieras pero eso no se pide." He sings while moving his hips at the rhythm of the song.

You dance in the middle of the bathroom. Laughing and enjoying each others company, something you loved about him. Every moment was like the first time.

"Okay, let's finish here so we can see that movie you like." He kisses your cheek, breathing your smell.

"Can I help with your skin care?"

"Only if we match headbands."

You laugh, nodding your head. You open the drawer where you have some hair bands, clippers, bobbypins.

You grab two blue headbands, the same ones you got with the purpose of him using it while leaning how to do his skincare.

"Okay, come here." You place the headband on his head, making sure to place it right so his now dry hair doesn't get wet again. "Pepi, not to be a hater, you know I love your beard, but I think you need to shave."

You squish his cheeks, kissing his now ducky lips.

"Oh please, mom says it looks good." He pouts, bringing his hands to his face. "Plus, I'm not playing, so it's not like I have to forcefully shave it."

"And it does look good, you look amazing."

He notices how you want to say something else but you stopped.

"But?"

"But you're letting it grow a little too much."

He turns to the mirror, hands patting his cheeks, trying to make it less crazy.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, mi amor." You massage his shoulders, kissing the nape of his neck. "You know you look amazing with every look you pull."

But he's not convinced. Now that you mention he did, in fact, let it grow a little more than usual.

"Pedro?" You ask after he stared at himself for a good five minutes. "Sorry if I made you feel bad, I didn't mean that."

But it wasn't about that. It was about him maybe being to attach to this look. It makes him look older, and to him, that's good.

Being in a job where most of your workmates are older or with stronger looks makes him feel some type of way. Being young is good, but not when the ultras decide to comment on how of a kid he resemble.

"Do me a favor."

"Yes, whatever you need."

"Come here." He opened his arms to you, embracing you and making you turn to the counter of the double sink.

He kisses your head, getting out of the hug but not letting you go. His hands on your hips, lifting you carefully, making you take a seat on the counter.

"You, preciosa." He taps your nose. "Are going to be my barber today."

He prepares everything, taking a new razor, some shaving cream, and his after shave lotion.

You watch him move around the bathroom. Still feeling a little bad about the comment, not thinking it will make him feel some type of negative way.

"You didn't do anything wrong, stop with those puppy eyes, amor." He says, placing the things next to you.

"You really don't have to. I love your beard so much."

"A new look never fails, plus this baby will grow back in a few days, so don't worry." He leans over to kiss you. "Now, grab some shaving cream and apply it to my face."

You let him guide you through it, carefully smearing the cream on him. Laughing at him, looking weird.

"Pedro." You laugh, he kissed you and left some cream on you face. "Stop it, let's be serious."

"Okay, now pay attention." He says, tapping the back of the razor on your head. "Don't press it too hard, like when you shave. And don't worry about timing, we have all night."

You nod, nervous about the job. He wet the blades and handed you the razor. You think where to start and decide that you're using the same logic that you use when saving.

So you begin with his left cheek. Hand shaking a little, and tongue out in concentration.

"Ouch." He screams, backing off and turning his back to you.

"Joder. Pedro, I'm so sorry." You were panicking, thinking you were being gentle.

He turns back to you, laughing. You grab the hand towel you have on your lap and throw it at him.

"Not funny." You pout.

"You should have seen your face." He laughs, forehead sticked to yours. "Such an easy target."

"Quit it." You warn him with a smile. You push him by the shoulders. Opening the water and wetting the blade again.

After some time and some light jokes, you finished the job. You turned on your seat to the mirror, where he was retouching some areas you were scared of doing.

You helped him with taking every extra of cream. Adding some after shave lotion, carefully patting his skin to finish with the job.

"God, you look so fresh and handsome."

"I'll give you two days before you start asking me to let it grow."

You laugh, splashing some water from your wet hands onto his face. "I love every look."

"Thanks for the help, missis Barber." He jokes, arms around you, chin on top of your head.

"Same time next week?"

"Yeah, fuck no." He says, making you both laugh.

♡♡♡

🏷: Miss @gadriezmannsgirl 💕🤭

[hedgehog-moss]

hi! Just wanted to ask what you’ve been reading lately? I love seeing your book recs! Also what are some of your favorite books ?

Hi :) I've read some disappointing stuff lately, so I decided to start two books from my to-read list that felt like safe bets—Samantha Shannon's A Day of Fallen Night and Elsa Morante's Lies and Sorcery. I'm enjoying both so far!

I've read interesting nonfiction this year—Empire of Pain, about the Sackler family; Erich Schwartzel's Red Carpet about the role of the movie business in cultural hegemony; and Laure Hillerin's biography of the Countess Greffulhe, who was a fascinating woman. She was the real-life model behind Proust's Duchess de Guermantes character, and a really influential figure in the arts & sciences in the early 1900s—she financed the first productions of Diaghilev's Ballets Russes, frequented Rodin's studio, helped Marie Curie find the funds to start her Radium Institute... It was a good read. I also read a biography of Anne Perry by Peter Graham, which was so-so—the story of the murder is morbidly fascinating but the way it was told had too many trivial details and not enough depth.

Worst nonfiction books of the year so far were Niall Ferguson's Doom: The Politics of Catastrophe which didn't seem to have any point to make, and François-Guillaume Lorrain's Scarlett which was marketed as a fascinating new look into the making of Gone With the Wind but actually the author just watched his DVD's behind-the-scenes bonus content and diluted it into 300+ pages of rehashed anecdotes, it was so pointless. I found it on the "Vos libraires vous recommandent !" shelf and now I feel betrayed by that bookshop.

As for fiction, I've enjoyed Ira Levin's A Kiss Before Dying, it felt very dated in a fun way, everything about it felt intensely 1950s. Was very disappointed by Silvia Avallone's Acciaio, I'd heard good things about it but it was so joyless and meh. Álvaro Enrigue's Ahora me rindo y eso es todo was a bit disappointing in the second half, but the first half was good so I'll try other books of his. Pierre Lemaitre's Miroir de nos peines was fun in an expected way—I mean those who enjoyed the beginning of his Au revoir là-haut trilogy will enjoy this one too as it's more of the same. And I also had a good time reading Catherynne Valente's Radiance— similarly if you already like her writing style you'll probably enjoy this book. (I was listening to this as I read it and it fit really well with the floaty-nostalgic-unearthly atmosphere of the book, it's always nice to accidentally find a good book-soundtrack that enhances the experience! Now I can never listen to it while reading again as it's too intertwined with that story.)

And I really liked Madame de Staël's Delphine but I wouldn't recommend it to just anyone, it's very 18th century (though it's from 1802). If you enjoy idle noblewomen writing each other 20-page-long letters in gorgeously long-winded 18th-century prose about how the Viscount of Something glanced at them from the other end of a salon and nothing else happened and now they're having agonies then you'll love this book, it's 900 pages of this. I can't get enough of it personally, and I found it hilarious that these aristocrats had such low-stakes problems considering the story starts in 1790. They didn't notice the Revolution, they were too busy writing tormented letters about extramarital glances.

Some books I've added to my kindle recently: Virginia Feito's Mrs. March, Simon Schama's Landscape & Memory (someone I follow on GR described it as "monstrously bloated" while the NYT blurb diplomatically calls it "a work of enormous scope" which made me laugh), Seyhmus Dagtekin's To the Spring, by Night, Margarita Liberaki's Three Summers, Maggie O'Farrell's The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox, Dawn Powell's A Time to Be Born.

This got long, sorry! You can have a look at my 5- and 4.5 star shelves on goodreads, for some of my favourite books of the past few years :)

[lunarscaled]

"I wish you could have met kechizu and eso.... they would have loved you." choso murmurs somberly, dark maroon-violet gaze sweeping over the ruins of shibuya, but unseeing & near fish eyed with how dull the light of his eyes have gotten. the oldest of the cursed wombs have not really had time to properly mourn any of his brothers deaths, especially the most recent two. yuuji was the only blood relative to he had left. how depressing.

but at least lyric felt like kin to him now.... although with his track record, it was only a matter of time until he couldn't protect either of them from danger. what a pathetic big brother he was...

-> Lyric hadn't thought about their own siblings recently. Which wasn't to say they didn't think of them, but that things had been such a complete disaster lately that they didn't have time to while everything was seemingly falling apart. They hadn't seen them since they left home---long after their father had started accusing them of being the reason their mother got sick and their brother died, because they were talking to things that shouldn't be spoken to, and that was the Devil's work. How unpleasant he would find it if he knew that later down the line his now-oldest child had been swindled by a real devil, disguised as a priest to not trip wary sorcerers passing by of its nature, so well adjusted and blended into facets of human society that they almost missed when his eyes weren't quite right. And when he made them a deal. ( that deal has kept them alive this long but not without it's steep cost. the pursuance of more and more curses to feed the beast drives them from place to place as spirits grow wary of their presence. without spirits to speak to they can't accumulate abilities to use in battle, but exorcisms didn't exactly fund a luxurious lifestyle. not for them, anyways. )

"... Well. Not as much as they loved you, I'm sure."

-> It's a poor attempt at comfort. Shibuya is in ruins and Lyric can't even begin to parse together all the pieces why: why there was such destruction, or why there was a flood of curses they couldn't speak to right, or why Choso had told them to keep their distance until now. They rest beside him on the top edge of a building that is still mostly intact, and down a road strewn with debris and body parts they think they see another fight brewing; two groups of sorcerers that have locked eyes like mountain lions in overlapping territory. It seemed so senseless to them, even though they were aware of the game. The only right thing seemed not to play, but maybe even that was impossible. ( they wonder how they can comfort Choso in it, though. a hand comes up to pat the top of his head---something that they wonder if it has ever been done for him. it feels like all they can do right now, with more fighting on the brink of arising. )

"... I'm sorry you lost your brothers. But if you spend too much time thinking about it now, you won't be able to protect Yuuji. I can handle myself, so you should go on ahead."

-> They didn't know if that was the truth, but it felt like the right thing to say. That they should be some kind of full body sacrifice for whatever was waiting around here. From what they understand, Yuuji was also alone---all his family passed by some means or another. Him and Choso fit together as brothers; they could rely on each other. Lyric ran from the only family they had trying to defend themselves.

"I'll find you later. I promise. We'll all go home together."

[betweendevilanddeepbluesea]

A menudo no suelo compartir mis pensamientos porque la gente malinterpreta mis palabras, por eso soy el conejito callado. Es lo que pienso de Brandon Flowers y su religión, habrá gente que esté de acuerdo conmigo y otros no estarán de acuerdo. Yo soy deísta y creo en Dios y en otras muchas cosas como dijo Chris Martin, pero no estoy de acuerdo con la filosofía de los mormones, eso es todo. Hasta los budistas tienen mejores argumentos, por eso nunca hay que hablar de religión, fútbol y política porque arde Troya. Lo que me decepcionó un poco de Brandon Flowers es que dijo que quería calmar a la gente de Georgia como en su comunidad lo hacen, en vez de hacerlo por el sentido común de decir: Esto es un concierto de esparcimiento, no una reunión de linchamiento público hacia tu enemigo, y el muchacho ruso no era un monstruo que los iba a matar. Además, sin generalizar, los jóvenes de ahora creen que todo es nuevo, que el pasado de nosotros, los viejos, nunca existió. Pero si no aprendes del pasado, tiendes a repetirlo. Y como decía Albert Einstein: todos somos ignorantes porque ignoramos muchas cosas. Y con mucha información obtenida por las redes sociales, en lugar de enseñar, nos está confundiendo y nos está volviendo ignorantes. Y como un tío español me dijo una vez, que yo era una gran argumentadora, él ni siquiera me conocía, no soy argumentadora solo digo lo que pienso. Yo no soy de las personas que les gusta dar bloqueo o poner mis redes sociales en privado, pero voy a moderar tus comentarios si te estás pasando de lanza conmigo, porque es mi Tumblr y hago lo que quiero. 😆 Perdón, no me gusta hacer esto, pero estoy enojada. Lo sé, soy la adulta aquí y me debe caber más en mí que en los otros, pero mi paciencia tiene un límite. 😠 Y ni siquiera soy famosa en Tumblr y quieres censurarme en mi propia casa, por el amor a Dios. Ve a molestar a la más grande de tu casa, jajaja... 😆

I often don't share my thoughts because people misinterpret my words, that's why I'm the quiet bunny. It is what I think of Brandon Flowers and his religion, there will be people who agree with me and others who will not. I am a deist and I believe in God and many other things as Chris Martin said, but I don't agree with the Mormon philosophy, that's all. Even Buddhists have better arguments, that's why you should never talk about religion, soccer and politics because Troy is burning. What disappointed me a little about Brandon Flowers is that he said he wanted to calm the people of Georgia as they do in his community, instead of doing it out of common sense to say: This is a fun concert, not a lynch rally public towards your enemy, and the Russian boy was not a monster that was going to kill them. Also, without generalizing, today's young people believe that everything is new, that the past of us, the old, never existed. But if you don't learn from the past, you tend to repeat it. And as Albert Einstein said: we are all ignorant because we are ignorant of many things. And with a lot of information obtained by social networks, instead of teaching, it is confusing us and making us ignorant. And as a Spanish uncle told me once, that I was a great argumentator, he didn't even know me, I'm not an argumentator, I just say what I think. I am not one of the people who likes to block or put my social networks in private, but I'm going to moderate your comments if you're going pasando de lanza with me, because it's my Tumblr and I do what I want. 😆 Sorry I don't like doing this but I'm mad. I know, I'm the adult here and I must fit more in myself than in others, but my patience has a limit. 😠 And I'm not even famous on Tumblr and you want to censor me in my own house, for God's sake. Go annoy the biggest one in your house, hahaha... 😆

[metallic-scaled-scarf]

Long Post, Sorry.

I have put an undisclosable number of hours towards working this AU into place while still fitting in with @99corentine 's lovely lore. This is a concept page for the character, don't worry I have more on the way. Without further ado, here we are: the first pass of a...

DragonPriest!Chrysanthe AU.

Let's get into the details, shall we? These are some lore bits I've scraped off the floor of my brain so brace yourself.

DISCLAIMER (obligagory): These ideas are just nonsense I've thrown together while thinking about GOL HAH DOV. Please excuse my poor writing skills, I'm just excited and this AU has been building up in my mind for weeks.

His Race. Since Altmer weren't present in Skyrim back then (or Tamriel, arguably), I went with Chimer for our ‘original’ Chrysanthe. It resembles his current appearance and allows for those haunting blue eyes (ignore ESO's lore breaking character customization.)

His Identity. Lenrezoc sounded impressive and fit Chry's face for some reason, so it was chosen for his ‘given’ name. I pulled it out of my ass because I liked it, but we can always revise. I chose Nonvul [Noble, Honorable in Dovahzul] for his Priest Title(?) because of his dedication to the Priesthood ‘despite’ being an Elf. The only other Priest that knew he was an Elf was Konahrik, and no other mortals knew of his race.

His Indoctrination. Lenrezoc was part of a scouting group of Chimer that landed in Tamriel and wandered too far into Skyrim. He and his caravan witnessed two Dragons fighting, and consequently the death of one. Lenrezoc absorbed its soul, being Dragonborn, and in confused fear he attacked his comrades who moved too close. The surviving Dragon killed the remaining Chimer and brought Lenrezoc before the Temple, claiming the Elf as his own Acolyte. He trained and quickly rose through the ranks of his regional Temple, eventually donning the mask of Nonvul.

His Location. I didn't miss how lovely the Falkreath forests appeared through Chry's POV, so, of course, I integrated it. His temple and home city resides in the Jerall Mountains, a mountain range that strattles the border between Skyrim and Cyrodiil. Did I double check to make sure there were no other temples in that area? No. They can move.

His Temple. Nonvul's city and temple share a name; Sedinbildrun [Lit. South Defense, Southern Defense in Dovahzul.] It was built in the shadow of and carved out of the Jerall Mountains in the western Falkreath Hold. Yes, this is close to Hevnoraak. No, they didn't like each other.

His Rule. Nonvul was a firm and just ruler, often more patient and analytical than his destructive colleagues. His people were well-educated and many entered the Temple as Acolytes rather than lowly worshippers because of it. Nonvul's ‘graciousness’ was attributed to his closeness to his Dragon Patron as well as his fondness for the Restoration School of Magick. His rule was prosperous and peaceful, until the Dragon War, wherein his city fell to rebel invaders.

His Patron. Each priest served under a specific dragon– a Patron– if you will. Nonvul's was Krotumir [Sorcerer-Hammer-Allegiance in Dovahzul]. Krotumir was a Serpentine Dragon and was always more sympathetic and patient with the mortal races. He was the one who discovered Nonvul and had already claimed him before any other Dovah could open their mouth. Krotumir and Nonvul were close, though still God and Priest, and Nonvul had many opportunities to be vulnerable in front of his Patron. Krotumir was privately affectionate towards his Priest and lost many weeks conversing with Nonvul about the workings of the mortal mind.

His Fall. Once the Dragon War had officially begun, Nonvul bolstered his city's defenses and pushed harder to train skilled warriors in case of a siege. For months, all was silent in the surrounding forests. Suddenly, under the cover of night, Sedinbildrun was attacked on 3 fronts by Nordic rebels, and in seemingly endless numbers. Nonvul evacuated his people deep into Sedinbildrun Temple while working alongside the warriors and his own Acolytes to push back at the invasion. The battle lasted 6 days before only Nonvul was left defending his city. Krotumir was taken down– not killed– by the invaders just before Nonvul was also captured. The Nordic rebels brought the Priest before his dying Patron. They unmasked, berated, then beat him until his death. Krotumir died almost immediately after witnessing this, his final words being ones of hope.

His Promise. Krotumir, through his conversations with Nonvul, gained a slippery understanding of how becoming a Dragur or a Lich affected a mortal's nature. Consequently, he decided that he didn't want this for his Nonvul– not because his priest shouldn't experience immortality– but because Krotumir wanted his priest to remain coherent and capable of serving him forever. Before Nonvul died, Krotumir placed a blessing upon him:

“Neh Daal Diil, Nonvul, Vokrii Sil Keit.”

[“Never Return Undead, Nonvul, Restore Essence Promise.” in Dovahzul.]

As the words were spoken, Fate carved them on the inside of Nonvul's mask, allowing the blessing to be known to his surviving city.

His Legacy. Nonvul's death was discovered by the city's 300 survivors, who waited until silence was all they heard before emerging from the temple. Within the clearing dust laid the remains of Nonvul and Krotumir, Priest and God, near the summit of the Temple. A surviving Acolyte discovered the ingravings on the mask whilst others gawked at an exposed Elven Priest. She took charge of the situation, directing the reconstruction of Sedinbildrun while consecrating the bodies of those who had died defending it. Wanting to avoid another tragedy, the Acolyte, Felerid, used her advanced magickal abilites to ward off their Burg from enemies. She eventually cast an Illusion-Alteration spell that cost her life and that of 50 other mages: A spell that would cloak Sedinbildrun from the outside world– It disguised the city as part of the mountains. To any outsiders, the area was one of impenetrable stone and uneasy whispers. With time they rebuilt their city and their families, and even allowed travel in and out of their sanctuary. As time moved on, any outside records of this city were lost or destroyed. Those inside alone remember.

Hundreds of generations later in 4E 201, the Stronghold of Sedinbildrun stands relentless, awaiting the return of its beloved Nonvul.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ TWO COFFEES ❜

✨ REQUEST: Oh can I have a Nestor imagine where Miguel ends setting the pair of you up??? 💜♥️💜♥️💜

✨ MADE BY ANON.

Gif credits: to the author.

WORDS: about 1.6k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place or something that makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted ❤ — this work also includes sentences in Spanish, as reader can speak it.

❚❙ NESTOR OCETEVA MASTERLIST.

❚❙ MASTERLIST.

❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

“Two coffees, please”.

You were with your back to him when you heard his husky voice and a soft latin tone in it. You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow with some kind of confusion at his order. Who comes to a Starbucks just asking for two coffees? Turning at the man with your lips pressed in a funny smile, you took a second to look at him behind the counter.

He is familiar to you. You know him from somewhere.

His black braids were the first thing that caught your attention, before focusing on the red and black shirt under the jacket of his suit. His hands were hidden inside the pockets of his pants, but you noticed his nervousness in the way he had closed them in two fists.

“Normal or decaf? With or without milk? Normal milk? Lactose-free? Soya milk? Almond milk? With sugar, saccharine, or mocca? With or without cream? Do you want it hot or do you want it iced?”

“Normal, no milk, no sweetener, no cream, no ice. Just two coffees”.

You were about to laugh until you heard him talking again. A tone more firm letting you know that he wasn't in the mood for jokes. You could see him gulping a little ashamed when you changed the gesture in your face, but you didn't say anything else. The order was easy and ready in less than one minute. Closing the cups and offering him, you tried to show him another gentle smile but you couldn't. Offering you ten dollars, you waved a hand between the both of you.

“It's on me… Sir”. You told him, an instant before he threw the money inside the tips jar.

Watching him leaving the cafeteria made you feel strangely bad, not knowing exactly why. Sighing as the black car, parked in front of your workplace, disappeared from your field of vision in a jiffy. You hadn't seen that man before, but you wouldn't mind seeing him again. To apologize for being so stupid, of course.

—— NESTOR POV ——

“I fucked up”.

“Yeah, we all have seen the face of that poor girl. I bet you scared her”. Miguel laughed in the back seat of his car, taking a sip from the coffee.

“What the fuck you told him, man?” Vargas stopped the vehicle at a red light, turning at his boss.

“I asked for two coffees, and she started to… give me a lot of options, like milk and sugar and I just got nervous”.

“You? Nervous?” Miguel leaned forward, placing his forearms in both seats, sticking his head out of the gap between both. “The fearless Nestor Oceteva feeling nervous?”

“Fuck off, Mickey! I've been trying to talk with her for a week”.

“Yeah, and you scared her. Did you forget you only had to scare people while you're working?” The other man raised his eyebrows, making his boss laugh behind them.

When the night came and the cafeteria had emptied of customers, you turned off most of the lights inside and locked the main door, to count the cash and write it down in the account book. Playing some soft music on your phone, you took off the green cap and the apron of the same color. It was a long day and all you can think about was in that mystery man with two braids, and who made you feel frustrated for some reason. It wasn't like you wanted to make him smile or to know his name, or maybe get his phone number. Of course not.

Knocks on the crystal door claimed your attention, turning your head towards it and interrupting your task. Gulping nervously finding two suited men with his hands tangled in a big fist, respectively, under their abdomens, you stepped out from behind the counter to lead your feet to their position.

“Are you alone?” One of them asked without any doubt in his words.

Simply nodding, the other man walked to the car parked behind them. Then, you watched Miguel Galindo coming out from it. And now, you were fucked. Of course, you knew the man who came that morning. Licking your lips, freaking out, you unlocked the door to let him walk in.

“Buenas noches”.

“Buenas noches, se—señor Galindo”.

“Are you occupied? May I come in?”

With your heart racing, you gave him enough space to pass you away to the inside.

“I'm sorry if… he tho—thought I was making… fun of him. I didn't me—mean to be disrespectful”.

Your hands were sweating, rubbing one against the other behind your back. Barely breathing. Praying anything you knew.

“Tranquila, it's okay. Do you think I came to… make you something?” His calm attitude gave you shivers. The kind of ones that put your body to tremble. The laugh that echoed all around the empty cafeteria provoked your nausea. “The truth is… you like him. He has been some days trying to encourage himself to ask you out, but my brother is a little dumb”.

Tilting your head with confusion, just like a dog would do, you narrowed your eyes not sure if he was being serious or he was teasing you to have some fun.

“I do—”.

Miguel raised a forefinger to stop you, as soon as his phone rang inside his jacket. Grabbing it from the pocket and reading the name on the screen, he answered the call with the speaker on.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Mickey? Emily just told me you went for two coffees. The fuck you have? Five fucking years old? Leave the waitress in pace!”

Feeling like shit, you bowed down your head because of his words, recognizing the voice at the instant. The man in front of you watched the gesture frowning his brow.

“Nestor, the speaker is on”.

Pi, pi, pi. He had hung up.

“List—”.

“Can you, please, leave? I think you have had enough fun. And you should be ashamed of using your position to do this kind of bullshit to someone humble, who only wants to live her life without being a target to your free time”. Trying to be polite, you pointed at the door with a hand.

“No, no, lis—”.

“If you don't leave right now, sir, I'm calling the cops”. You ruled, taking a step forward with your eyes glued to him, about to cry because of rage. The rage that helped you to lose any fears about confronting the dangerous Miguel Galindo.

In silence, he nodded only one time, turning around to leave the cafeteria. After locking the door, you let the tears fill up your eyes and run down your cheeks. Needing a little break before finishing your work and going home.

A few days have passed since then, not being able to stop thinking about it and why you. Why they decided to play that prank. It wasn't funny. At least, it wasn't funny for you. But you were sure that, later, they commented it and laughed about your gestures. Turning the filter holder of the professional coffee maker, to fit it into the gear, you can't help but look through the reflection on it over your shoulder. Your heart jumps when you find Nestor bent over the counter with both forearms, waiting to be attended to.

“What would you like, sir?” The question comes out from your mouth with a cold tone of voice, not even looking at his eyes, ready to take his order in the TPV.

“Two coffees”. He replies trying to not show any kind of emotion, taking off the sunglasses covering his dark eyes. “One like… just coffee. And another of your choice”.

Filling up the cups with the drink and securing them with the covers, you put them over the counter to grab back the money and give him the change. Holding one with his right hand, the man offers you the other with his left.

“Do you have a moment?”

“No”.

“Por favor”.

“I said no”.

“I'm going to stay here, till you say yes”. The smile curving his mouth, showing you two perfect rows of teeth, convinces you somehow.

Rolling your eyes and tapping your co-worker's shoulder, you make him a gesture to cover you to take a short break. Nestor follows you then to the back alley, not saying a word but trying to prepare a monologue to apologize. Stopping your track and facing him, having a sip from your coffee, you wave your hand waiting for something.

“I told him to not do it”.

“So… was it a bet, or what? Were you bored and thought that could be fun making me feel stupid and ashamed?”

“None of that”. His jaw tensing calls your attention, bowing his eyes to the drink between his hands. “I really wanted to ask you out, but I wasn't sure if you were going to accept. I was nervous and… Miguel thought that he could help me”.

“He didn't”.

“I know”.

“And you, shouting through the phone, either”.

“Yeah, lo siento por eso”. Looking at your eyes again, with regret, he keeps his free hand in a pocket. “If you don't want to hang out with me, it's okay. I came to apologize for what happened”.

“Thank you”. You just whisper.

He tilts his head, pressing his lips and forcing a smile. Nestor waits one second, hoping that you add something else like you would like to have a date, but you don't talk again. Giving up, he nods turning around disappointed, walking out of the alley.

But actually, you're just making him suffer a little. It's called payback.

“I'm free tomorrow night”.

With a brow raised, the man turns around, facing you some steps away.

“We can meet at Jin's chinese restaurant. At seven”.

His smile appears again, infecting you with the same gesture.

“I'll be there at six”.

“Why?” You chuckle, not understanding him.

“To not make you wait”.

“Todo un caballero…”

[boethiah]

I get wanting to make an abstract entity gender identity that better fits your own identity and sexuality, but you can at least try and make it clearer what identity you're making it is. You only ever refer to lorkhan with male pronouns, you use the words man, husband etc. This is coming from someone who also hates lesbian erasure and wants overt lesbians in the media I consume. If I didn't see the intersex art you reblog I wouldn't know you saw him as anything other than male. 1/2

It would still be nice if things were less vague and open to interpretation. It's your headcanon and your stories, but I enjoy reading about them and your thoughts. I'm sorry I came off aggressive, I was a little hearted for some reason. 2/2

i’m sorry i just literally have no idea how to respond to this... they are et’ada. the mortal concept of gender does not even apply to them. in truth i don’t really consider lorkhan or boethiah to be “male” or “female”, they’re “the essence of creation” and “the savage desire to assert ones will”, respectively. i could write a lot about how i see boethiah’s gender and sexuality in my writings, as with all the et’ada, but are you really going to derive that much value from a cis woman’s inevitably-hamfisted rambling about the fictional god of stabbing people?  

which that leads me to this: i am not “media you consume”! i am a woman with a blog who sometimes write fanfics about daedra smooching each other. until zenimax lets me write lorebooks for ESO or something, i’m not really beholden to any standards. i get like, fifteen notes on most of my fanfics, i’m a long ways from being any sort of influential! you’re welcome to ask me about any of my headcanons because i love to ramble about it but by and large i barely post my thoughts on this blog unless i’m drunk because, well, i get anons yelling at me for it! like no shit i don’t want to be "less vague and open to interpretation”. i get people trying to argue with me when i’m explicit. i actually made a side account, @bhag, specifically so i could talk about ocs and headcanons to a smaller audience because i was so tired of the shit i get on my main. 

sorry for the long reply, i’m really trying to explain my point of view in good faith. again you could’ve just... asked me about my headcanons about bokhan and i’d have gladly told you that boethiah’s infatuation with lorkhan was religious and unrequited in the first place, and boethiah didn’t really take on a female aspect until after his death anyway, that i only really consider post-convention boethiah to be “a lesbian” even though those labels cannot actually apply to these fictional entities in the first place. but a hungover woman joking that the daedric prince of strife embodies the lesbian experience of constantly being attacked by people is not really going to do much to correct the lack of lesbian representation in media yknow