#teeth clip price

[sabka-dentist07]

Dental Clinic in Majura Gate Surat

Sabka Dentist Dental Clinic in Majura Gate Surat It offers a relaxed and unique dental care experience, coupled with the highest standards of dental treatments. Dentistry need not be anything less than a pampered pleasant experience. Dental treatments in Majura Gate, Surat at Sabka Dentist Dental Clinic in Majura Gate, Surat confined in a calm surrounding and, will amaze you with how painless and fast most of the modern dentistry is! At Sabka Dentist, we aim to provide good oral health and create beautiful smiles. In the process of achieving this, we provide excellent implant, preventive, restorative, and conventional dentistry. Our commitment to these goals provides you with unparalleled service with the highest standards of dental hygiene in a comfortable and pampering environment. We know you will be delighted with the treatment and the way you are treated. Here you will find a welcoming ambiance with warm, friendly staff and total transparency. At Sabka Dentist, people not only receive top-class treatment for their oral troubles but will also get to enjoy among the finest in-clinic patient experiences across India. Irrespective of the background or occupation of an individual, we guarantee that all our patients feel comfortable and experience no difficulties when approaching or getting their dental complications across to our dental specialists. We are amongst the top dental clinic chains in Majura Gate, Surat, and have a legacy that is unrivaled by any other dental clinic in Majura Gate, Surat, India. Our dentists are some of the best dentists in Majura Gate, Surat. Dental treatment at the Sabka Dentist Dental Clinic: -Dental Check-up -Dental Implants -Dentures -Orthodontic Treatment (Braces) -Root Canal Treatment -Teeth Scaling and Polishing -Teeth Cleaning -Teeth Whitening and Bleaching -Overdentures -Oral Health Guide

Email — info@sabkadentist.com

Phone number — 9081105511

Address — Office C/1, Mezzanine Floor, Swami Narayan Complex, H.No: 2/1932/1, Majura Gate, Near ITC Bldg, Kailash Nagar, Majura Gate, Surat, Gujarat 395001

[dentalclinic023]

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[vivid-adventurer]

I binge watched a playthrough of Peach Showtime and man she has so many cute fits I had to draw ALL of them

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I also will be selling these as stickers starting mid-May so 👀 keep ya eyes peeled on my kofi perhaps?

[knightowl-studios]

Portrait commission for Avmire on Flight Rising. This one took much longer than I expected, but I think it really turned out well in the end :] Getting to draw an Undertide for the first time was so fun, too!

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining the 141 looking for a medic because all of the ones they sign on keep dying or getting poached by other task forces. And you're a baby medic who is shadowing your higher rank and well esteemed teacher (who is actually the one on the 141's radar). But something goes horribly wrong...

You've done everything you possibly can but he's still drowning in his own blood.

He's tried walking you through everything through wheezing, wet breaths. He has a knowing look in his eye, this isn't working and it won't work. You're in the EVAC helicopter, but the time it'll take to get you back to base is too long.

"I-I'm sorry." You whimper, tears forming on your lashes. "I'm not a very good student."

Your mentor smiles sadly, his eyes glassy. He was always sweet to you when he was no nonsense with everyone else.

"You're doing great, kid." He huffs, blood leaking out the corner of his mouth. He winces and sputters up more but you're there. You try to fill up his vision and give him something to focus on. "People crash. Don't give up on 'em till it's over."

You cradle his head, memorize every wrinkle, scar, and patch on his kit. And then, it hits you.

He's right, its not over yet.

You rip through your medical supplies with shaking hands. It feels like it takes forever but it's merely seconds before you're sticking a needle from your vein into his. You watch the bag as it quickly fills with your blood before entering into him.

Your mentor chuckles and shakes his head weakly. This is nowhere near anything he taught you. But he knows it might just save his life since you're both the same blood type.

You go through multiple more needles releasing pressure on his lungs until he's even more stable than before. He finally has a shot and that's all that matters.

You're so close. Fifteen minutes out when he starts to crash again. You've exhausted everything. Your medical supplies are dwindling. You have no more blood to give. Your teacher just continues to smile at you. And he keeps smiling at you and he keeps smiling at you. You rub at his face, his eyes are far away. You feel for his pulse.

You scream.

It's not one of fear, but a deep, mournful cry. You turned your comms off forever ago but you know everyone could hear you, even through the wind. It carries your scream off and away as the heli's motors clip around you. You feel empty. He was supposed to teach you more. He was supposed to live.

You scream again and throw yourself over him. You sob and scream and grab at him, trying desperately to look for vitals. You know you won't find one but you're delirious. He's supposed to live! You did everything right!

Tears blur your vision but you notice someone out of the corner of your eye. It's one of the members of a different task force assigned to help your squad with this now terribly failed mission. He's their Captain, you think. He tries to reach down but you hiss at him. You don't care about rank. You don't care about the social ramifications. You scream to be heard over the wind.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!"

The man's eyes soften. You don't imagine what you look like. You probably look wild, feral, gnashing your teeth and growling. You don't care. He's YOUR teacher, he's YOUR responsibility. Quite frankly, you don't trust any of the other strangers watching you. You hiss at them too. Then you cry again.

You bury your face into your now dead mentor's chest and sob.

- - - - -

The look in your eye is like nothing he's ever seen before in a medic.

Price had watched you exhaust every possible avenue to save your superior's life. When all else failed you gave him your own blood. And when he finally succumbed to his injuries you threw yourself over him, not allowing anyone or anything to get close.

Even when they arrived on base, when your other superiors tired to swoop in, you stood your ground.

"I don't care! Even in death he's MY patient!" You yelled at your own Captain.

And surpisingly, they let you take care of him to the end. They even let you escort his body to the morgue. It's where Price finds you hours later.

You sit in a rusty old folding chair just outside the morgue doors. Your eyes are glazed over, far away, and still brimming with tears. He kneels in front of you to get on your level. He doesn't say anything, just waits for you to finally see him. You blink slowly and look up at him.

"I-I'm sorry..." You apologize. "I d-didn't mean t-"

"It's alright, Love." He hums and offers you a tight smile. "I understand."

He pats your knee in a fatherly way before standing up. His knees pop and he winces. You immediately stand up, your eyes searching him up and down.

"S' alright, I promise. Just a lil' stiff s' all." He soothes. "I need you to come with me."

He notices how your pretty lil' eyes widen. He shakes his head and offers a hand to help you out of the chair.

"You're not n' any trouble, sweetheart. I just want to talk with you."

He looks down at you with a knowing, sweet smile.

Your commitment is exactly what he's looking for.

[beloveds-embrace]

I love your writing so so much, it brings me so much joy and comfort too!! Sometimes all I need is to think about those strong men protecting me when I need and your work is the the best example I could ask for <333

Do you have any new thoughts on the roommate au?? I am such a sucker for this trope and yours is just aaaaaaaaa fantastic

Thank you sm!! 🫶🏻💕💕 i will always have thoughts about them trust i love them 🙏🏻

Roommate au masterlist

Listen, if you get anxious easily about not turning things off when you leave the apartment and the boys aren’t home, you video it and send it to them, and they adore how you act and look in those clips.

It started as something small- just you filming the stove knobs and unplugged appliances, your voice soft as you narrated each check for the camera. “Oven off. Stove knobs turned off. Coffee maker unplugged. Straightener unplugged and cooled down.” You’d pan the camera slowly, sometimes with shaky hands, capturing every detail just to ease your own nerves and show them that you can, in fact, be trusted.

The first time you sent one, Kyle responded immediately with a thumbs-up emoji and a text that said, “Looks good, love. Don’t worry about a thing.” But what you didn’t realize was how intently he’d stared at the video before replying, noting the way your lip caught between your teeth as you whispered to yourself, your brows furrowed in concentration. He didn’t tell you, but he saved it to his phone, alongside the others that followed.

Price had been the one to gently encourage you to keep sending the videos. He called it a “good habit,” his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s smart of you to double-check. Just send ’em over anytime, sweetheart. We’ll always let you know if it’s all clear.” But even he couldn’t help how warm he felt when he watched them- when he saw your sleepy eyes and bedhead on mornings you had to leave early, or the way you looked in a cozy sweater with your phone angled slightly upward as you held it with both hands.

Simon never said much about the videos, but you could always tell he watched them immediately. He’d text back short replies- “Checked.” or “You’re good.”- but what you didn’t know was how many times he replayed them. There was something about seeing you move around the kitchen, your voice quiet and trusting, that set him at ease. If he was away, somewhere cold and distant, those clips grounded him. They reminded him what he was protecting, what was waiting for him back home.

Johnny, on the other hand, teased you endlessly the first few times. “Afraid the toaster’s gonna grow legs, bonnie? Or maybe the microwave’s plannin’ world domination?” But the teasing softened quickly, especially when he caught one video where you lingered a little longer than usual, chewing on your lip before whispering, “I think I checked everything. But I’m still worried. Is it okay?” His teasing stopped completely after that. Instead, he started sending voice messages back.

“You’re fine, love. Swear it. Everything’s perfect. But if you need me to check it again later, just say the word.”

And they all noticed the way you fidgeted- how you tugged your sleeves over your hands or adjusted the strap of your bag. They noticed the way you bit back a nervous smile after saying goodbye to the camera, even if it was just to show them one last shot of the locked door.

What you didn’t realize was how much those videos had become part of their routine- how they looked forward to seeing your face and hearing your voice, even if it was just to confirm the stove was off.

Over time, they noticed the changes- the steadier voice, the quick smiles, the trust woven into your words. You started teasing them in the clips, calling Johnny out for double-checking the oven too often or joking that Simon should inspect the locks himself next time.

They replayed those moments more than they’d admit, holding onto your voice during long nights away. And when they finally came home, they saw the difference the way you leaned into them, letting them take care of everything.

[gloriouslyunlucky]

Folie à Un

Sylus x afab!reader, pre-relationship

Summary: Sylus thinks of you a little too hard and has to face the consequences. And so does his chair.

Warnings: smut, mdni, sylus finds pleasure all on his own, afab reader, lingerie, no beta bc i have no one i can safely throw this at

Word count: 928; Read time: around 8 minutes

It’s rare for Sylus to lose himself to lust as he has now. He isn’t pure, or prude, or adverse to his own perversion by any means. However, he likes to think he has control over his lust.

Afterall, you haven’t even kissed yet and you’ve been seeing each other since… Well, it’s been months since this seduction dance started between you. Lingering touches here and there, cunning jabs, gifts, confessions, and a million other ways he has shown his interest. Days upon weeks upon months. And he has kept his head cool.

But Sylus is anything but cool, seated in his office, his chin prompted on his hand, his eyes unfocused. The business deal he was looking over is abandoned on the other side of his desk. His attention, feeble treacherous thing, is on the playback of Mephisto’s feed. He’s replayed the recording five times already.

It’s an innocent clip. One that shouldn’t have such an effect on him. You leaned forward towards the bird, to pet it or something of the sort, and your shirt slipped low enough to show the hint of a familiar lace bra. All that’s visible in the clip is the top petals of the flowery design which spans the whole length of the cup, cradling your breast. Sylus knows it well enough. He bought it for you after all. It was nothing more than a coincidence, of course.—it’s too early for this type of gifts. You ogled it in one of the shop displays when you were walking down a busy street in Linkon and he insisted he pay for it. Why wouldn’t he? You deserve far more than the set you got, for far more money than the price you haggled for it. He already gifted you countless jewelry, weapons, dresses, bags, all molded to fit you. And yet, it’s this flimsy cheap piece of polyester that has him in a frenzy.

Frenzy is an understatement. Sylus is almost panting like a dog as he strains against his suit’s pants. Any movement brings friction and friction brings tension and tension brings back memories of you. You, leaning down, not even an inch of bra peaking, and he goes mad. He lets out a frustrated grunt and pushes his chair back enough to give him access to his belt. The buckle falls limp against his hip, his zipper is undone and his boxer is bunched up underneath his length. He pulls his shirt up to his mouth, biting down on it in hopes of muffling any sounds that might escape him. Then, he leans as far back as he can.

He barely has to work himself until he is rock hard. His fingers find the most sensitive spots with ease—he imagines you would to. He doesn’t need to replay the clip anymore. It’s engraved into his mind, into his heart, into his very being. He only needs to conjure the thought of you before his mind is invaded by the sight of your figure straddling him, your hands prompted against his desk, your top hiked up to reveal that torturous bra of yours. You smile at him—he lets out a strained breath. You move your panties out of the way, just enough to grant him access—he bites down harder. You lower yourself down until his tip is inside of you—something between a moan and a grown escapes him.

He’s no better than an animal. Raw, vulnerable, and driven by some primal instinct to keep going. To imagine you bobbing up and down his tights to the rhythm of his own hand. Painfully slow at first—the way your hip dips down, meeting the base of his cock, staying there before shooting back up. His hand is not on himself but on you, digging into your skin, seeking purchase into your hip bone, helping you sustain the rhythm.

More.

It’s a mutter let out between clenched teeth—a thought more than anything—but it leaves him nonetheless and your smile widens. He imagines his other hand cupping that bra, pulling your breast out of it, teasing your nipple as your smile shatters into an expression of deep pleasure. In reality, his fingers are squeezing the arm of his chair until the leather creeks and gives in under his grip—not that he notices.

He’s close. Oh, so close. The rhythm picks up, becomes erratic, forceful, and yet not fast enough. You’re panting—he’s panting. You’re moaning in his ear—he’s moaning into his shirt. Your lips find his neck—his collar rubs against his jugular. You bite down. He comes undone. His hand keeps pumping erratically, his head lolls back, and for a few seconds—maybe 10, maybe 15, maybe an eternity—he is only pleasure, and euphoria, and yours in ways you can’t even imagine.

The fog lifts slowly. Sylus is a little dizzy at first, still lost in the intensity of this, of you. When he comes back to reality, to his empty office, to his business deals, and to the frozen feed of your smile, a brief moment of shame washes over him. His abdomen is dripping white, his pants are stained in key spots, and his shirt is soaked with saliva where his teeth managed to break through the cotton. Not to mention, the arm of his chair broke completely off, now it’s nothing but plastic shards flimsily stuck together by the leather and filling.

He will need a cold shower. Maybe several cold showers. Maybe an ice bath.

And a new chair.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's note:

I've decided to create a new writing blog to get back into writing and who to better start with than Sylus! And what a delight it is to have him so whipped and so needy omg. I strongly believe that he is so down bad that he doesn't need anything but a smile from the reader before he gets all hot and bothered--or a bra for that matter jhdfkd I wanted to show more of that vulnerable rare side of him bc he's always so in control all the time, I wanted to depict him losing himself in pleasure so much that the world disappears for a second and he gets to let go. At least for a little bit. And the chair pays the price lmao

Anyway! Thank you so much for reading this! Let me know if you have specific suggestions or requests!

XOXO,

Physically just a girl, mentally a chair

[shotmrmiller]

tw: simon's mean and a sexist.

Simon who doesn't like you. He respects Laswell, who's intel is vital to their missions. Price as the leader of the Task Force. Gaz because he's proved his mettle time and time again, and Soap whose stubborn self has burrowed under Simon's thick, knotted flesh.

Not you, though.

You've yet to do anything substantial.

As a sniper, your job is to aim and kill; provide overwatch. Why Johnny insists on giving you praise for doing what is required of you is beyond him.

You aren't taken to below-zero temperatures as emotional support. Why you're taken at all is also another mystery.

Without your gun, you're utterly useless. And Simon proves it, time and time again during training spars at base.

He comes at you as if you're the enemy, with dangerous precision and quick movements. Simon gets enjoyment out of seeing your eyes widen when he moves, like an injured gazelle who's just spotted a ravenous lion.

His grip is bruising— the force that he slams you to the ground with devastating.

Simon can hear the air punched out of your lungs once your back hits the mat, and the time it takes for your vision to sharpen, he's already pinning you down viciously with a knee to the sternum.

Useless. Women don't belong in combat. He's seen that big brute from KorTac. He'd crush your pathetic little head under his palm, he'd kick your ribs hard enough to crack and the splintered ends pierce your lungs.

He'd kill you without a hint of effort.

And Simon intends to remind you that there is no place for weak, bitty things like you in the front lines. Unless you're to be used as a distraction by flashing your tits at the bad guys.

Out of place.

Every time you go up against him, he uses his size and strength against you, just like every other person will. He launches you across the floor with a single arm, only to watch you struggle to get up and continue this sham of a fight.

Confidence born of ignorance.

As if sheer will would ever beat physical prowess.

If your feet won't touch the ground, then the rest of your body will. Through spilled blood and bruised flesh, may you learn.

He whistles at Johnny, gesturing at him to take his place, only for the end result to be the same, albeit much more gently.

Simon watches you through half-lidded eyes as he leans up against the wall. You fight against inevitability.

Pathetic.

And then one day, you come at him with a snarl on your lips. Blunt teeth that have never had to sink into someone's neck and rip a throat out, out of utter desperation. An unblemished face that's never felt the sting of a sharp blade as it's sliced open contorted into 'rage.' Frothing at the mouth like a lap dog with rabies, barking out words that are as empty as your future.

A forceful wave of his hand abruptly halts you mid-sentence, causing you to involuntarily flinch in response. Good.

"If ya have a complaint, take it to Price. I am not obligated to humor your stupidity."

He spins on the balls of his feet, leaving you to sputter indignantly.

Then on a mission, you get shot. Simon grabs the handgun that's holstered on his chest, and places it in your bloodied hands. "Keep them off of us, or we're both dead!"

His fingers are curled around the thick strap of your tac vest as he drags you toward the LZ; his pace never faltering even while getting clipped by stray bullets. But you?

He'd think you got your legs cut off. Wailing like a cat in heat over a wound above your hip. A clean in and out, nothing vital hit.

Simon has seen Gaz fall out of a helicopter, dangle from a rope, and still use his gun. He's seen Johnny cross a town full of Graves' Shadows bleeding from his shoulder, armed with nothing but the makeshift weapons he crafted on the way to the church. Price inhaled toxic gas and made it out just fine. Even Laswell was taken hostage and didn't crack under the pressure, going as far as killing her captor with her bare hands.

And you're decomposing in front of his very eyes over a superficial wound.

Landing at base, he walks out without a glance back and heads straight for Price's office. He didn't join the 141 to babysit anyone, least of all someone who belongs in either intelligence or a kitchen.

[meowpupp]

Hi , im here with a thought, i can just imagine puppy reader crying to price about what kyle did and how she was just curious and she didnt really wanna disobey and to please not get rid of her and stuff like that , so kyles punishment is eating the reader out just exactly as price wants , price i feel like is more aggressive and less forgiving towards kyle compared to reader , i feel like price has that "nothing is your fault ♡" attitude for his sweet pup

pt1

owner!price x chubby!puppgirl x pup!kyle

tw//: p in v, oral (fem reciving), hybrid receiving, collars, rough sex, slight mention of overstim, fem reader, collars, probably my most filthy smut yet

prices heart breaks as you cry into his chest, clinging onto him tightly. in all his time with you, hes never seen you so distraught. your body is almost shaking, tail low and ears pulled back as you sob and babble. he just holds you tight, rubbing a big hand firmly up and down your back. “Shhh, s’okay pup. Talk t’me when youre ready, okay?” 

It takes almost ten minutes, tears still spilling down your face as you pull back to look up to him. “please, m sorry captain. i didnt mean t’break the rules,” your words are interrupted by uncontrollable hiccups and stutters, hands gripping his shirt tightly, “please sir, please don get rid of me. i promise ill be good!! wont ever break the rules again, please!!!” you break down into a fit of sobs again, whimpering into his chest as he holds you tight.

He easily lifts you up, your body melting into his as he sits you ontop him. you now straddle his lap, burying your face into his neck. its almost sweet, how youre so desperate for his comfort despite your expectation of rejection. price just holds you tight, hands firm and secure on your body, breath steady and soothing. once you calm, he slowly pulls the story out of you. every little detail. 

he tries to hide the way his face darkens as you speak, his eyes narrowing as you explain what kyle had done. once youre done, he sighs, hands still rubbing circles on your back. he glances over your shoulder, eyes lingering on the garage door. 

“stay here, okay? Be a good girl f’me and strip. kyles gonna say sorry for bein so mean.” with a kiss on your forehead, he lays you down on the couch, leaving you to follow his instructions. 

within ten minutes he returns, not even glancing at you as he enters. his eyes are trained on kyle, watching him closely. a leash is clipped to his sprenger collar. a new addition. 

he forces the other pup to kneel at your feet, hands forceful and grip rough. kyle is huge, broad-shouldered and muscular, looming over you between your spread legs, his eyes trained on your pretty cunt. you can almost see him drool, licking his teeth as he looks over your exposed body as if wanting nothing more than to grip onto plush waist and bury himself 9 inches deep. 

youre snapped back into reality as price tugs harshly on kyles leash, making the collar dig into his neck. “Speak, mutt.” the tone of his voice almost makes you curl into yourself. he sounds vicious, angrier than youve ever seen him. 

kyle eyes meet yours for the first time, “im… sorry.” he mumbles half-assed. you can tell hes itching for your soft body. its almost torture having you spread out for him, yet denied the permission to touch. 

price almost growls as he tugs the leash harder, causing kyles eyes to widen for a moment. “fuck, im sorry, i swear.”

price lets out a huff, pushing kyles head down, making him come face to face with your pretty cunt. “Show her, mutt. Apologise properly.”

its almost instant the way kyle buries his head in you. his hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you flush to his face. his nose bumping your clit as drinks in your slick. its perverted, the wet noises that fill the room, the way he groans as ruts into the couch as he devours you. 

price doesnt allow him an inch of space, denying him reprieve from your drooling cunt. his voice cuts through the mix of moans, directing kyle exactly what to do. telling him how fast, how slow, whether to suck your clit or thrust his tongue. hes almost cruel, tugging kyles collar harshly each time he doesnt listen, leaving angry red marks around his neck. 

but to you? well, how could he ever be mean to his sweet girl? a calloused hand cups your cheek, his low, growly voice talking you through your nth orgasm. he kisses your forehead, letting you hold his free hand tightly as your legs shake and your hips buck, your voice filling the room as you cry out. 

its only once kyles face is completely covered in your slick that he lets the pup pull away. hes panting, cock straining against his pants as he aches for release. kyles eyes meet prices, desperate and needy. “Captain, please, fuck,” his hands twitch as they hold your thighs, resisting the urge to pull your twitching cunt closer, “let me fuck her, ill make her feel so fucking good, have her screaming for you-” 

hes cut off, eyes wide as price harshly grips his jaw. “When are you gonna learn?” price reaches down, palming kyles growing tent, making the pup whine, “shes not yours to fuck.” he lets go, pushing kyle to the ground, denied and throbbing. 

price makes him watch as he gently picks you up, pulling you once again into his lap. your back presses to his chest, legs hooked around his knees, forced to spread. Price is quick to unbutton his pants, sinking you down on his fat dick. you can feel his hot breath tickle your neck as he laughs, finding amusement in the way your back bows as he forces himself deep inside you. 

his hands trail up the curve of your waist, coming up to cup your tits. he squeezes the fat, grinning as it bulges between the gaps of his fingers. you can both hear kyles whines, eyes trained on you as price starts to toy with your nipples for a moment. “moan for me pretty girl, let him hear how good i stretch out your tight fuckin cunt, how your pretty body belongs t’me.” his beard tickles you as his lips brush your neck, “bounce f’me pup, show kyle what hes missing out on.”

the roll of your hips is hypnotising, kyles eyes wide as he drinks in the sight. your tits slightly jiggle each time you come down, your thighs spread wide as price shows off your swollen cunt. “see that kyle? how she takes me?” price reaches out, gripping kyles arm and pulling. he lands with his cheek pressed against the soft pudge of your tummy, able to feel as price fills you with each thrust, “feel that?” price fucks up harder into you, making your body jolt as you squeak, “thats only for good fuckin pups.” 

he pushes kyle away again, leaving him to fall onto the floor, cock throbbing and aching as he watches your pretty cunt get ruined by your rightful owner <3

[rose24207]

Mafia lando smut where reader was mad at him from an argument the other day, so she spends heaps of money on his bank account. He doesn’t find out till the bank calls to make sure it wasn’t fraud. And he punishes her

Stress Shopping

Summary: After a heated argument, you storm off on a stress-shopping spree with Lando's card, prompting a call from his bank, but the fight ends in heartfelt apologies and a reminder of his love for you.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: arguing, spending way too much money

A/N: loved the idea but I changed it a little! Hope you don’t mind! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The sound of the door slamming reverberates through the mansion, shaking the antique fixtures on the walls. You stomp into the grand foyer, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, your anger palpable in the air. Lando's sharp voice follows you, his British accent more clipped than usual.

"Don't you dare walk away from me, love!" he barks, his footsteps quick behind yours.

You spin on your heel to face him, eyes blazing with fury. "What do you want me to do, Lando? Stand there and listen while you talk to me like I’m one of your employees? Like I’m beneath you?"

His jaw tightens, the muscles working as he clenches his teeth. He’s wearing that infuriatingly expensive suit you helped him pick out, and right now, you’d love nothing more than to rip it off him—not in the fun way. "I don’t treat you like my employees," he growls. "But I am in charge, and you seem to forget that sometimes."

You laugh bitterly, crossing your arms. "Oh, how could I forget? You love reminding me every chance you get."

Lando rakes a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up slightly. Normally, the sight would make your heart soften, but right now, it only fuels your fire. "You’re being unreasonable," he snaps. "We had an agreement—"

"No, you had an agreement!" you interrupt, your voice rising. "I never agreed to this ridiculous, controlling nonsense, Lando."

His amber eyes flash dangerously. "Watch it," he warns, his voice low now, like a storm about to break. "You’re pushing me, and you know I don’t like being pushed."

But you’re too far gone to care. "And I don’t like being treated like some trophy wife who needs to follow orders. I’m done with this conversation."

Without waiting for his response, you grab your purse from the console table and march toward the front door. His voice chases after you. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you snap. "Don’t wait up."

Before he can stop you, you’re out the door, the evening air cool against your flushed skin.

The mall is your sanctuary. Under the glow of bright lights and the hum of happy chatter, you lose yourself in racks of designer clothing, rows of shoes, and glass cases of sparkling jewelry. Lando's black card burns a comforting weight in your purse, and tonight, you intend to make full use of it.

You start at Chanel, swiping the card for a pair of heels and a matching bag without so much as glancing at the price tag. Next is Cartier, where a sleek watch catches your eye. After that, you make your way to Dior, where a silk gown feels like the perfect antidote to your frustration.

Each purchase soothes the ache in your chest, replacing anger with satisfaction. By the time you leave the mall, your arms are laden with bags, and the backseat of your car is filled to the brim with boxes and tissue paper.

But your phone buzzes just as you’re pulling out of the parking lot. You glance at the screen and see Lando’s name flashing. You don’t answer.

Back at the mansion, Lando is pacing his study, his phone pressed to his ear. The man on the other end clears his throat nervously before speaking. "Mr. Norris, this is Daniel from Barclays. We’ve noticed some unusual activity on your account and wanted to confirm if your card has been compromised."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "What kind of activity?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"A series of high-value transactions," Daniel replies. "Chanel, Cartier, Dior... altogether totaling a little over seventy thousand pounds. Should we freeze the card?"

Lando smirks despite himself, shaking his head. "No, Daniel," he says, his tone resigned. "It’s just my wife... throwing a tantrum."

There’s a brief silence on the other end. "Ah," Daniel says finally, clearly unsure how to respond. "Very well, sir. Shall we flag the transactions as authorized?"

"Yes," Lando says. "And don’t call again unless it’s life or death."

You return home hours later, your anger dulled by exhaustion and the satisfying sight of your new purchases. You push open the door to the mansion, your arms laden with bags, only to find Lando waiting for you in the foyer. He leans against the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp features unreadable.

"Have fun?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

You ignore him, stepping past him with your head held high. But before you can make it far, he grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm but not painful, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Don’t ignore me," he says softly, dangerously.

You whirl around to face him, the fire in your eyes reigniting. "What do you want, Lando? To scold me for spending your money? Go ahead—I’m sure you’ve got plenty of lectures lined up."

He doesn’t rise to the bait, his gaze steady on yours. "It’s not about the money," he says. "You know that."

"Then what is it about?" you demand. "Because I’m tired of fighting with you over every little thing."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he speaks. "It’s about us," he says. "About you running off every time we argue instead of dealing with it. You think throwing my money around is going to make things better?"

"It made me feel better," you snap, yanking your wrist out of his grip.

"Fine," he says, his voice cold now. "If that’s what you want—things, clothes, jewelry—then take it all. But don’t pretend it’s going to fix what’s wrong between us."

His words hit harder than you’d like to admit. You stare at him, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back tears. "Maybe if you treated me like your wife instead of your possession, we wouldn’t have these problems," you say quietly.

Something flickers in his eyes—guilt, maybe. But he doesn’t respond, and you don’t wait for him to. You turn on your heel and head upstairs, leaving him standing alone in the foyer.

Hours later, you’re sitting in the walk-in closet, surrounded by your purchases. The excitement you felt earlier has faded, leaving behind a hollow ache. You sigh, running your fingers over the soft fabric of the Dior gown, wondering if you went too far.

A knock at the door startles you, and before you can respond, Lando steps inside. He looks tired, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled. In his hands, he’s holding a small box tied with a black ribbon.

"I brought you something," he says, his voice soft.

You raise an eyebrow. "More things? Haven’t I spent enough of your money today?"

He ignores your sarcasm, setting the box down on the bench beside you. "Open it," he says.

Curious despite yourself, you untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside is a delicate necklace, a simple gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. It’s nothing like the flashy pieces you bought earlier, but somehow, it feels more special.

"It’s not to bribe you," he says quickly, as if reading your mind. "I just... I wanted to remind you that I don’t care about the money or the fights. I care about you.“

You look up at him, your heart softening. "You have a funny way of showing it," you say, though your tone lacks its earlier bite.

He kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. "I know," he admits. "I’m not perfect, and I don’t always know how to handle you when you’re upset. But I’m trying, love. I promise I’m trying."

For a long moment, you say nothing, letting his words sink in. Then, finally, you reach out and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his stubble. "I’m sorry too," you say. "I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. It wasn’t fair to either of us."

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. "So... we’re okay?" he asks, his voice tentative.

You smile softly. "We’re okay."

The next morning, you wake up to find Lando already dressed, his tie perfectly knotted and his usual confidence back in place. He leans over to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.

"Breakfast is ready downstairs," he says. "And I told the bank not to call me again if you go on another shopping spree."

You laugh, pulling the covers over your head. "Good. Because I might need a few more things."

He chuckles, his hand brushing against your hair. "Just try not to spend the GDP of a small country next time, yeah?"

You peek out from under the covers, grinning. "No promises."

And for the first time in days, everything feels right again.

Thank you for reading!

[the-californicationist]

he washes your hair

Injured in the line of duty, you can't even manage to wash your own hair. Captain John Price decides to help you out.

MDNI/18+

TW: hurt/comfort, injury

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50663425

The medics did the best they could to patch you up, but the damage was extensive. The terrorist’s pipe bomb had exploded against your back, slamming shrapnel into your arms and shoulders, tearing your flesh and breaking your left collarbone. The doctor had tried to put your arm in a sling, but you couldn’t raise either arm above the midpoint. As you dragged your body back to your quarters, you did your best to get undressed, but you were now stuck, sitting on the floor, crying a bit from the pain and frustration of your injuries. 

There was no one to help you. You were stuck out here with the task force, but Soap and Ghost were still deep in enemy territory on recon. Gaz had gone with Laswell to find the weapons shipment that she’d promised you, and the only one left in the makeshift house-turned-base was Captain Price. 

You told yourself you’d do the same thing for him if the tables were turned, but it didn’t lessen the shame at all. You called his cell, 

“Cap?”

“Sparrow? What’s wrong?”

You never called him like this. Not at this hour. But, knowing you were injured, he picked right up. His voice was full of concern. You could picture his blue eyes shining with his worry. 

“Nothing…” you paused, “Well, I…”

“Gonna die of old age before you tell me, soldier.”

You smiled, biting the bullet,

“Cap, I need your help. I’m stuck in here. Can’t move my arms.”

“On my way,” he hung up. 

You waited, listening for his heavy footsteps. Eventually, you heard him in the hall. He knocked on your door.

“Come in,” you said, turning your eyes to the floor, unable to meet his gaze, full of shame. 

You were sitting there, in nothing but the shirt stuck around your arm and a pair of panties. You’d been successful with the rest of your outfit, proud of yourself for using a coat hanger to take off your bra from the back clip, but now you were trapped, unable to move even a little without being in excruciating pain.

“Poor little bird. Broke your wing, hm?” Price smiled down at you, his tone so different than his usual sarcasm.

“I must look pretty pitiful for you to be so sweet about it,” you rolled your eyes, “Go on, have a laugh. I’m a muppet who trapped herself in her own shirt.”

He didn’t say anything. Price walked over to you carefully, bending down so he could reach you, his hulking body darkening your vision, casting his huge shadow over you, almost protectively. He snaked his hand under the collar of your shirt and guided it up and over your head, careful not to disturb your bandages. 

Shirtless, now, and in just your underwear, you moved to cover your breasts, wincing as you made the attempt, your shoulder angry at the bent angle. 

“It’s alright, birdie. Let’s get you up,” he set your arm back into its neutral position and guided you to your feet. 

“I’m so sorry you had to come,” you whispered, shameful to the point of pain. 

Price guided you to the bathroom, his strength making you feel weightless. You were dizzy from it. His warm body felt like a salve on your wounds. 

He didn’t ask for permission when he stripped off your panties, kneeling to pull them off of your legs, letting you step gingerly out of them, one by one. You steadied yourself on his huge shoulders, the agony too high for you to complain any longer. Your breath caught in your chest when a sharp spike of hot pain shot through your chest. 

“Ah! Christ,” you gritted your teeth. 

Blue eyes looked up at you from below, looking like a man in prayer, looking up for his gods, for a sign. 

“Alright, Spar? Here, sit. Sit down,” he guided you to the side of the shower-tub combo, placing you between the open plexiglass doors. 

“Captain, I…” you tried to make your excuses again. 

“Shh,” he wiped some of your dried blood off of your cheek, and furrowed his brow at you, “No more of that. That’s an order, Corporal.” 

“Yes, sir,” you grimaced, trying to turn on the water. 

“Stop, birdie. Let me help you.” 

You were too tired to fight him. He turned on the water for you, and he started to remove your bandages. Your wounds needed to be cleaned and the bandages replaced. You weren’t sure how the medics expected you to do that by yourself. You thought the captain might be willing to stay, so you tried to be good, tried not to be a burden to him. 

“You know,” he commented as he waited for the water to warm up, reaching for clean towels, “Laswell called. She said you saved those two girls, the ones in the upstairs room.”

There had been a mess of civilians on this last mission, and you had blocked the bomb with your body, trying to shield them from the blast. 

“They made it through?” You wanted to be sure.

He nodded, smiling,

“Sure did, little bird. You did good. Made us proud,” then, he corrected himself, staring at you with fiery intent, “Me. Made me proud.” 

You smiled back, 

“Thanks, Captain.”

“C’mon, let’s get you clean,” he took off his shirt and you gaped in awe. 

His body was huge in the small bathroom, enormous shoulders bulging off of his heavy frame, and his core was thick but the top of his abs were sticking out, suggesting a well-fed but strong man. He was covered in dense hair, laying straight and flat against his skin, unshaven and untrimmed. No one to trim it for, you supposed.

“What are you doing?” You asked, shocked by his undressing.

Price unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking as it dangled, and started to take off his pants, using his toes to pry off his boots from the heel,

“Can’t wash yourself, and I can’t reach you from out here. Gonna jump in and help you,” he paused, looking at you carefully, “That alright, birdie?”

Your nickname was your favorite thing you’d ever gotten from him. When he used it, in his thick accent, it made your heart race. 

You nodded, resigning yourself to be as professional as you could, averting your eyes.

He chuckled, rich and deep,

“Might as well have a butcher’s now, love. Gonna be up close and personal.”

You looked at him then, accepting his challenge. But, as your eyes raked over his nude form, you saw his skin flush pink, a little more self-conscious than he let on. 

“I know, I know. Old dog like me, I’m nothing to look at. I promise, I’ll just wash you and get back out. Sorry about all the…” he made a general motion toward his cock, which was hanging heavy and half-hard at the sight of you, “Can’t help that you’re a pretty bird.” 

“John, you’re plenty to look at,” you grinned, blushing right along with him. 

For once in his life, John Price didn’t have a snappy response. He just checked the water again and helped you stand up, guiding you into the shower and repositioning the head so that it wouldn’t hit you directly. 

You let yourself soak under the stream, eyes closed, hearing him shut the door behind himself. You felt him steady you with a hand on your hip as he used a gentle washcloth to clean blood off of your skin, careful not to touch your wounds. 

“Turn ‘round, love,” his voice was so low, you almost couldn’t hear him. 

You turned toward him, watching him stand before you, breathing heavier, trying his best not to stare at your chest. It was easy at first. As he cleaned your face, his touch soft and platonic, he stole a few glances down. But, as he began to take care of your collarbone and chest, he lost his nerve a bit. At one point, he stopped mid-swipe, trying to clean blood from you and then watching as a long, thin rivulet ran directly over your nipple. 

You smiled, and he saw you, chuckling again.

“Got me. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Captain. Just a natural response.” 

He pulled back his lips from his teeth and ran a wet hand down his face, looking exasperated,

“Do you want…I mean, do you mind if I…” he let out a labored sigh, shaking his head. 

“You can, John. I…” you waited until he could look you in the face again, “I want you to touch me, if you want to.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, not really to you, “Look, I don’t want you to feel - ”

You leaned forward, a bit unsteady, and kissed the skin on his sternum, feeling the hairs on your lips, his wet skin sticking to you as you pulled away. 

“Little bird,” he was warning you. You could hear it in his tone. 

“Kiss me, John. Please?”

“I can’t. I can’t because I won’t stop. I don’t have an abundance of self-control. Not after a mission. Can’t be trusted.”

“I trust you,” you looked up at him, praying back to him, hoping he wanted you like you had wanted him over these last six months. 

Price leaned down, holding you steady, and kissed you very chastely. You kissed him back, not chastely at all. He moaned, pulling away,

“Don’t, Spar. I can’t…You’re injured.”

“Yeah, injured. Not dead.”

He smirked, unable to keep the grin off his face. His cock was as hard as a stone, and it was long enough to rub against your belly as you stood together in the small space. 

“Let me wash your hair. I’ll think about it, birdie…you little minx,” his last comment was said under his breath, full of hungry desperation. 

He turned you around again, and he reached for the shampoo, pouring out a quarter-sized amount into his calloused palm. Rubbing it together in his hands, he ran it through your scalp, massaging it until it foamed, making sure to take care of the ends. Then, he held you while you stood under the spray, letting the warm water soak your tresses, running the suds down the drain. 

As he prepared to wash your body, Price took a deep breath. He stayed away from your wounds, but as he started to wash your trunk, he hesitated to soap your breasts. 

“John, it’s okay.” 

He smiled at you, 

“Just enjoying you, little bird. Might not get another chance.” 

“I’ll make sure you get plenty of chances.” 

He was on you then, gently caressing your breasts and nipples with the soap, rubbing his body on yours, washing himself as he cleaned you. He ran his hands over your ass cheeks, down your legs, making sure to take care of your whole body as if it was his.

“Alright, all done,” he sighed, “Let’s get those dressings replaced, and I’ll take you to bed.”

You raised your eyebrows suggestively. He exhaled, smiling down at you in disbelief, his voice deep and ragged,

“Fuckin’ hell, birdie. Keep teasin’ me and I bloody will take you to bed.”

You smiled, laughing with him, enjoying his warmth as you leaned your body against his, letting the soft spray from the shower protect you both, cocooned together, safe and sound.

[dentalclinic023]

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[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Yall are gonna have to ignore me being horny right now. Just some thoughts I had about our war criminals.

18+ mdni (may become a mini series and you all can name it)

You're bent over at the waist, smushed into the cool marble of the kitchen countertop. Your body rocks back and forth, and your panties are a soaked mess of your slick and Johnny's precum. He's got a hand in your hair, normally a big a no no for you, but tomorrow is wash day, oh and he's rutting into you so you don't care as much. It's the hard, messy grind of his bare hips into your covered ones, one hand gripping into the plush fat of your waist.

"Fuck" He whispers, he nudges your spread thighs together, and starts fucking them. His hard and leaky dick is flushed an angry red. It's not what he wants either, he wants your pussy but he can't have that till the Captain gets home. "Fu-fuck" he whines at the feeling of being edged, you answer him with a barely audible groan of your own.

"Johnny, put in the tip. He doesn't have to know." You squeeze your thighs together on this pass of his needy little humping, the tip of his dick presses into the soaking wet fabric of your very thin panties.

"I can't..." He shivers, "ol man has cameras everywhere." It's a fact that you both know, they everyone knows. Cameras everywhere but the bathrooms. "If ye hadn' teased us- fuck" He groans as he switches his hips back to grinding against you, "if he wasn' try'na ta get ya pregnant right now."

That's right, John did want a baby and for the last few days this week he'd been the only one allowed to fuck you. He'd been the only one allowed to cum deep inside of you. It wasn't the fact that the others didn't want a baby with you. It was just the principle that Captain John Price told them he was having it first. So until his seed took, Johnny, Kyle, and Simon had to find other ways to take the edge off (they could fuck you, but none of them were even entertaining the idea of a condom).

The front door opens, and you look up at the sound of heavy boots stopping in the doorway. Kyle glances at the mess that is you and his boyfriend and smiles in a teasing manner. There's a dick print in his pants. He's probably been hard for a while, and this sight is pushing his already frayed nerves. He comes over to your side of the counter and grips Johnny by the hair, and pulls him into a kiss. It's messy and mostly tongue. He kisses the side of Johnny's neck.

"You're an absolute dog, got our birdie in such a state." Kyle's voice is gruff with lust. "You're gonna cum between her thighs and where will that leave her?"

You try to lean up and look at Kyle with pleading eyes, but Johnny's grip on your hair tightens. His thrusts speeding up, becoming rougher. Each pass the tip clips your covered clit at just the right angle. "Ah- ah- ah-" your moans are breathy and high pitched, voicing the rhythm thrusted into you.

"Maybe she'll think twice bout teasin us during this hell week of goddamn ovulation." Johnny grits out between his teeth. He's so close. His balls are twitching, but he knows he can't get there.

"You need help?" Kyle traces his fingers up your spine.

"Yes," you both moan out to his question, but only one of you is getting a release.

Kyle pulls Johnny off of you gently, and he helps you up too. He kisses you on the lips, slowly pushing his tongue in and out of your mouth. An imitation of what he really wants but knows he can't do right now. You moan into the kiss and lick at his tongue, trace along his teeth, and suck at his tongue again. When he pulls away, there's a little bit of spit connecting you both. He smiles at your needy pout and nips your bottom lip.

"Sorry love, down you go." And he eases you onto the kitchen floor. "Just suck the tip. I got the rest"

You whine in protest, "I want you to suck my on my pussy."

Kyle tsk and sucks his teeth with a gentle eye roll, "It's ovulation week, Captain will be home in an hour. He and Si got held up." He gently nudges you forward, "remember, just the tip birdie."

You place your plush lips around the ruddy red and dripping tip of Johnny's dick. He lets out a shaky breath and tips his head back. Hooded blue eyes stare into your and, you can practically see him holding himself back. You only suck at his tip, and you watch as Kyle grips the rest of Johnny and slides his hand up and down. It's slow and methodical in his movements, clearly trying to edge him some more until you realize that's not what's happening.

Johnny lets out a whine of discomfort and curses "fuck me Gaz." He is panting and wriggling now, "please-" He begs softly, "if ye're gonna play with my ass at least fuck it."

Kyle only huffs a laugh, "you were teasing birdie, knowing she wouldn't get to cum that way. It's just a taste of your own torture." He looks down at you and winks. His hand wrapped around Johnny's dick speeds up. "Suck a little harder, love."

You do as you're told, but this is driving you up the wall. Your hands find purchase on Johnny's fatigues. He only had mind enough to pull them down to his thighs, and you settle yourself on his boot. Slowly, you rock yourself back and forth and build up your speed. The friction of his laces against your soaked panties was enough to make you groan. Your suckles on Johnny only got rougher and faster. The poor man was losing his mind if the sounds of his hitched moans were anything to go by.

"Fuck, fuck, fu-" He chanted like it was a mantra, "I'm gonna fucking cum, please lemme cum." He was begging.

A hand gripped your hair, and it was Kyle pulling you away from Johnny. There was a wicked grin on his lips, "No. We ain't cumming until our girl does. Thems the rules and you know it."

Johnny just whines as all stimulation stops. He's glaring at Kyle, "damn rule follower." There are tears in his eyes and his cheeks are flushed red.

You whimper as you still grind yourself against his boot, but Kyle pulls you to your feet. "No, I was close." You cry.

He kisses you on the lips, "Sorry, but the house rule is, no cumming unless Captain says so."

Ovulation week was the worst.

[fatherfushiguro]

juno, you know! || geto suguru x superstar!reader (not proofread lolz)

it hadn't set in for geto that he'd be seeing you up close and personal in just a few minutes. he managed to keep up his nonchalant facade throughout the car ride as shoko and gojo serenaded him. he told them he's only going because gojo went out of his way and bought him a ticket; he didn't actually care to be there or whatever. hes standing with gojo and shoko in the merch line, he glances around while they bicker about the prices.

"you suree you dont want a shirt geto? im paying!" gojo teases geto while shoko chooses out her merch, geto scoffs like hes actually offended "m not interested in this over-hyped one hit wonder" crossing his arms before taking a peek at the merch.

his eyes widen at the suggestive pictures printed onto the shirts. the other merch at the stand is lined with subtle, vulgar phrases, which honestly isnt surprising considering how lewd you and your songs are. despite telling gojo he wasnt interested, he made a mental note to order your merch as soon as he got home tonight.

gojo damn near howls at his new merch, holding it up while they walk into the stadium. every advertisment leading up to the entrance had your face plastered onto it, he enjoys it silently, hoping nobody notices.

everyone in the stadium is on the edge of their seats with anticipation, watching enticing pictures + videos of you flash by. it doesnt take long before the whole stage goes black and the sound of a record starting up plays.

a montage of you in black and white is portrayed, the clips of you play in a seductive manner meant to grab the audiences attention, it goes on for awhile before the main screen divides down the middle to reveal you in a white lace bodysuit with white lace tights. you were laying on a rather vast, heavily decorated soft pink bed with more decorative pillow than what was considered normal.

the stage set up was nothing short of alluring. you lied on your stomach with your legs up behind you kicking them playfully, singing into an old school telephone before getting up and dancing along with your backup dancers.

geto stared, astonished at how close you are. the whole stadium roared out your name and rumbled with excitment. gojo is going absolutely nuts, losing his voice and singing his heart out.

geto cant help but feel like this is a fever dream, not that he's complaining. although, he can feel his facade crumbling as he cant help but stare at you, just a few mere feet away from him.

his jaw is dropped, and your body is on display like a porcelain doll. you move with such care and precision, almost all of your moves are calculated. everyone around him is enjoying the concert joyfully, but he is so stubborn keeping up his act to appease his mind and tell himself that he's not enjoying this.

you walk down the stage's runway during the extended intro of your third song. interacting with smiling faces and waving hands, recording a few videos and accepting thrown gifts.

you're catwalking so smoothly down the pink-glittered runway, it's all smiles around and everything is going absolutely peachy, that is until you notice an emotionless stare in the crowd. it kinda breaks the effect and your ego. you're so used to people flashing teeth at you, so this is completely unprecedented.

you signal for the mixer behind the stage to keep playing the extended intro while you deal with this.. problem. pouting before putting your hands on your hips and bending down towards this charming, "nonchalant" stranger.

bringing the mic up to your lips before speaking "hm, you there point, are you not having fun?" your voice echoes through the dome and through his head, bringing the mic to his face as the crowd is questioning who youre talking to before the jumbotron has geto's face on it. he may have his perfected poker face on but the blush on this face is a telltale sign. your hair is flowing in the soft artificial wind of shibuya's dome, seducing eyes looking right at geto. his mind is running 13 million thoughts every second he gazes at your face. he's absolutely enamored as he stares back at you that he almost forgets to answer you. "not really" he spits his words out. you straighten up and pout once more "aweee, okay' well i hope you enjoy this next song. im dedicatin' this to you" you flash him a smile and a wink as the lyrics start. the crowd is jumping with life as it starts.

"oh, i leave quite an impression.."

geto, gojo and shoko are straight up flabbergasted. gojo turns to geto with a deranged smile, "suguru. m' forsure beating your ass in the parking lot after this watch out." shoko seconds that but geto's mind is somewhere else, he can't even focus after that encounter. his heart is racing and his face is covered in red. suddenly it's hot and hard for him to breathe.

the concert goes on for the next 45 minutes, gojo and shoko get to hear all their favorite songs, fireworks go off whenever a song got to a peak moment, pink and white confetti fall from the sky occasionally. you ended the concert with the new single that has been #1 on billboard for 3 weeks.

the ending was grand. a helicopter with a banner tied to its end that had your name on it circled the dome, and the screens showed your logo and initials written in script across it.

now you're rushing through backstage in your robe to get to the signing event. however, your mind was still occupied with that unsatisfied, beautiful stranger from earlier. you've never had anyone show any signs of unhappiness at your shows! this was something completely new to you and it was festering at the back of your mind.

you go through multiple objects of merch, signing them mindlessly like a robot.

after signing a few vinyls, you're met with a familiar face or, er, maybe familiar hair. the white-haired boy who was next to the boy you called out was flashing pearly whites, asking for his vinyl and shirt to be signed.

after signing his merch you noticed, lurking behind him was the other boy. you tilted your head to get a better glance but he had been avoiding eye contact. "you want' me to sign something f'r you?" although he had nothing for you to sign he quickly grabbed shoko's shirt out of her hands, dismissing her protests and making you sign it.

writing your name so smoothly and carefully, you glance up at him "ssooo, how was the concert? did it meet your criteria?" smiling so sweetly at him. this was a feeling you had to shake off, you'd never say it out loud but you wanted this stranger's validation so badly it was killing you.

the fact that you kept up the conversation with him was enough to make his front fully break, if this was an opportunity, he was not going to lose this. putting his hands on the signing table and leaning down towards your face, "mm, i wont lie, could've been a little bit better." he can tell you're used to being given praise all the time, wouldn't hurt to kill your ego a little. you look up at him with such confusion and embarrassment.

in fact, you're so embarrassed right now that you're gripping onto the dressing room walls like your life depends on it. one of geto's hands is tangled in your soft, luscious locks when he pulls on them while the other one is pressing your hand against the wall. the sound of skin on skin, his balls slapping your overstimulated, throbbing clit.

he's practically fucking the moans out of your throat with every thrust, you keen with every movement, clenching around his rock-hard cock. "y' like being treated like this princess, hm?" breath hitching every time he pulls out, "you were being so bratty on stage, weren't you? did you enjoy embarrassing me on stage?" you're so blissed out, looking back at him, biting your lips with your eyes rolled back. he pulls your hair and asks you the question again, "n-no, iswearr m'so sorry daddy" he swears he can see heart eyes appear when he hits your sweet spot repeatedly. "daddy? yr' so sweet baby"

he's slamming his dick so deep inside of your tight little cunt, you're so mindless and pliant under him that you can't help but fuck back against him, clenching his dick like it's nothing.

desperately trying to match his pace as he starts jerking his hips so sloppily like a madman while you're milking him so deliciously. he's hitting your spot so quick and rapidly. "t-think m' gonna cum" geto grabs your face while holding your lower stomach. his dick is sunken, damn near in your cervix. "m' gonna c-cum too baby" your pussy twitches and pulses along with his dick as you both cum at the same time. your moans come out in a sweet cacophony as geto basically growls when he spills all his worth into your cunt.

you're slumped against the wall and geto's sweat is beading off of his nose as he looks down to where you two are connected. the look on his face is nothing short of predatory when he flips you around so your body faces him and he lifts you up with ease.

you can't even care to ask what he's doing, your way too fucked out and sensitive. he lays you down on the nearby couch, and you finally get a good look at him, his body is completely sculpted and lean. his cock is flushed, wet, and glistening. he's absolutely gorgeous, his eyebrows are pinched and he's breathing rapidly. he has lust written all over his face.

he gets on his knees but you don't register what he's doing until your whole body jolts from his tongue on your clit. "you're doing so well for me" his words of validation send you over the top and you think you might be in love. he kisses your clit all over causing you to leak more, your little whimpers and whines make him hard again.

he starts to suckle gently on your clit "p-please– don't tease me" you yearn for more contact. "so mean princess" his voice sends vibrations through your chasm, but he decides not to tease you and more and works two digits into your sweet little cunt.

pumping his long thin fingers through your cunt and curling up at your love spot has your eyebrows furrowed and your chest heaving with moans. he continues his ministrations and continues swirling his tongue around your clit, suckling it occasionally. your moans are lilted and sweet, "sing for me, beautiful" his words are so subtle but completely turn you on.

the pleasure is too much for you that you start to squirm upwards on the couch, to at least you try– suguru's quick with his actions, he maneuvers his biceps around your thighs, locking them in place. he doesn't give a warning before he completely motorboats your pussy.

your jaw drops and your hands lunge at his hair, clutching it and pulling him closely towards your cunt, suffocating him. he plunges his tongue into your greedy hole, "ooh– my godd, m' cummingg" your face is contorted in pleasure as your body jerks against his face "g've it to me baby" your orgasm washes over you and prolongs as he keeps working his finger inside of you.

geto cleans you up gently after, "so, have i made you a fan after this?" even after he's fucked you into oblivion, you still want your answer. "still think you sound like a dying animal sweetheart–" you fake gasp and throw one of the couch pillows at him, he chuckles. not noticing how his phone is blowing up silently with calls from gojo and shoko.

"buuuutt, i'd be lying if i said you weren't the best fuck i've had"

authors note 愛 / hes so cocky and annoying like boi u know u was dying for that choochie + don't worry guys they exchange numbers after ;) also thank u to @/strbrysherriez for the jumbotron idea and thank u to sabrina carpenter cus i lowk stole her swag with this...

taglist 愛 / @cherryredribbons @startwithrecords @ayumigotabitlonely

created by @ fatherfushiguro. rbs appreciated, no plagiarizing allowed.

[cutiecusp]

One last call.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x König x Reader.

TW. Talks of death, rivalry, filthy language, angst, betrayal, an established relationship, NOT a HOA! kissing, mild inappropriate boundary crossing. MDNI! (Also, I couldn't find the credits to this image, if someone does, lemme know!)

You were bleeding out.

A mission gone wrong.

Bad Intel means you were the only one left alive.

Hiding behind a crate, you manage to drag your body out of the snow, using the wood as a shield from the elements. Teeth chattering, you call Simon, your ex fiance.

"Ghost." He answers.

The breath gets punched out of you by the cold, so you take a minute to gather your breath, and your thoughts.

"Si." You murmur, just loud enough he can hear you.

"Why are you calling me?" He answers bluntly. Your relationship has been rocky for months, missed dinners, birthdays, missed milestones, the anger issues after a tough deployment... You had regretfully called things off before this deployment.

"I.. I got hit, Si. Dodgy Intel." You explain, pain low in your body.

You hear him grip the phone in his hand, his voice gruff.

"Fuck! I can get Price to get Nikolai-"

You interrupt him, wincing as you shake your head.

"No, It'll be too late, Si. I just wanted to hear your voice."

"I'm on my way." Came the clipped reply.

You let out a dry chuckle.

"Always so bossy."

You pause, your breathing shallow.

You manage to roll onto your back, your eyes glossy with tears.

"Sorry, we never got to fix this." You say softly.

A gunshot rings out in the silence, before heavy footsteps crunch in the snow.

"I'm not alone." You whisper.

"Stay on the line, love. Don't leave me." Simon replies.

Over the next few minutes, the sound of singular gunshots ring through the snowy compound. A single pair of boots crunch through the deep snow that's piling up on the ground.

"Whoever it is, they are making sure people are dead." You whisper, fear taking over you as you realise you can't move, your injuries won't allow you to escape quickly.

Simons heart sinks.

"Play dead, hide in the snow, stay alive till I come for you, I'm getting in the chopper now.. please love. I'm coming."

All you can do is lie there, tears frosting down your cheeks as you realise you are next. The door to the storage room you are next to is kicked open, but you are silent.

Large footsteps sealed your fate as the imposing figure spots your boots.

"Oh, I forgot one." Came a thick accent, causing you to freeze.

"Ah, a little maus... far away from home."

He kicks your boot, pain throbbing through your body as you swallow a scream.

"Such a pretty one, too.." in your eyeline, you see a behemoth of a man, a hood covering his face, blood staining his entire front. He pauses when he sees your face.

"Ah, I've been looking for you."

Fear grips you, but you dare not move.

Your phone falls from your hand as he stands on your wrist, and your eyes finally meet his. Deeply dark, crazed and focused on you.

"Who's there with you, love?" You hear Simon say over the phone.

"Ah, Geist..." the masked man calls out.

"König?" Splutters the reply.

"In the flesh."

"Leave her out of this!" Simon yells, his voice loud through the call.

König laughs, squatting over you, pulling you by your tactical vest to pull you flush against him, his eyes roaming your body.

"She's a pretty one, would make such a lovely trophy." He calls out, antagonising Simon more.

He traces a gloved hand down your cheek, and you can't look away from him. His body is pressed tight against yours, and you can feel every inch of him.

"She's pretty broken, too. It looks like my men did their job in getting her to me."

Your eyes widen, he was behind this?

"Why?" You whisper out, cursing your shaky voice.

"Why? He took everything from me, my wife, my future... so I'm here to repay the favour. An eye for an eye, you call it?"

He removes his helmet, uncovering his face, scarred and war torn, pale and seething.

"Beg for your life, I want him to suffer like i did."

You shake your head, refusing to play his game.

"Don't touch her!" Simon roars down the phone.

"I'm on my way to you, and I'll finish what I started." He continues.

König laughs dryly.

You try and pull away, pulling his fingers off your vest. He grips harder, forcing you closer, his breath warming your cheek.

"I like a struggle, little lamb." He warns, his eyes deadly cold. You pause, your body limp.

"Ah, there's still some fire in you. I see why he likes you." He pulls out his pistol, the metal shining in the low light.

"I won't tell you again. Beg."

You spit at him, his cheek coated in your fluids. Scoffing, he swipes it from his cheek and brings it to his lips.

"So. Fucking. Defiant."

His gloved hand slaps your cheek hard before pressing his fingers into them, tilting your chin up, demanding him to look at you. He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips, surprisingly soft. Marking his territory, claiming a victory.

"I didn't want to do this, but he left me no choice. I wanted you for myself. I even tried recruiting you to my team a few times, but you were his.." he spits.

"Now, I want to give you the opportunity yourself. Come with me. I'll get you medical treatment. I'll give you a good life. Or you can die in the snow, I'll make it quick."

You hesitate. You weren't ready to die. You had unfinished business with Simon. But you were tired of being second to everything, tired of making excuses for him, tired of being let down. Your vision was starting to get spotty, and you knew this was the biggest choice of your life.

You look at König, and realise you two were the same. Your lives had been taken apart by a common denominator.

His eyes soften. He nods, understanding your unspoken answer. He picks up the phone, addressing his rival for the last time.

"I won." He says simply, while shooting into the wooden crate behind you, the loud gunshot echoing the painful cry from the phone.

Hanging up, he looks down at you, your shocked gaze never leaving his.

He gathers you in his arms, striding back to his vehicle.

"Time for a new life, little lamb."

Your eyes flutter as your body relaxes for the first time in what feels like forever. Almost missing the way he snaps a picture of you, sending it to Simon via your phone.

"An eye for an eye. She's mine now."

...........................

A/N I wasn't sure about this one. I'm not good at angst, but I hope I did the idea justice! Back to matchmaker later! Xxxx

@xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @livingoutsidethetardis @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations

@evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-love-letter

[eowynstwin]

Re: this post. Because we all know what Price would do.

cw: Infidelity. Implied rape (coerced sex is rape). Implied murder. Price is Price.

-

The scent of ozone is sharp in your nose. The air around your husband gathers, electricity coalescing, taking on a slow, heavy pulse of its own as he sits there, arms crossed, expression closed. Hard.

John Price is a hard man. You knew this when you married him. Appreciated it, even. He suffers no fools, loathes a point belabored. To him, there is an unbroken, straight line, gloriously clear, between himself and his objective; a simple, beautiful connection between means and motive. Anything inconsequential is merely scenery on a road trip. Meaningless visual noise.

Between you, the wallet sits in the middle of the dinner table like a live grenade. Leather; worn around the edges.

Not his.

“Who,” he says. It is not a question. It is an order.

Your lips are pressed together tightly, so it might keep your chin from trembling. Stray tears are hot down the corners of your nose.

You can’t look him in the eye.

“It was,” you stutter, “the man, the—the man—for the car—”

Suddenly you have to take huge gulps of air. You pull them in raggedly, like they claw at your throat, refusing to go willingly into the cage of your lungs.

“It was only—only for—” you heave past a sob “—for the payment, he said—he said either this or—or—”

You cry out in fear as John stands from the chair, whole body shaking now.

Your husband does not suffer excuses, either.

You’ve never been afraid of him; John keeps his anger away from you, when he can. Takes it outside with a cigar and a bottle of scotch, to the gym and the sparring mats, or all the way out there where inevitably he must kill to keep from being killed.

But now it fills the house like tear gas. Billowing, noxious, whipping against your skin, pressing sharply into your eyes.

You squeeze them shut, tightly. He approaches you. Instinct, something written deep in your bones, seizes up, knows it feels the predator closing in. Resigned, like waiting for the jaws to close will make it hurt less when they snap your neck.

It’s why you flinch when his mouth lands, far too gently, on the crown of your head. His hand cups your nape like a newborn.

“Order some dinner,” he murmurs—not gently, but in memory of gentleness. “Have a bath, with those bombs I got you.”

You choke on your own breath. He withdraws, and finally you look him full in the face—

His brow is low. His gaze is shuttered away from you, fixed on some far point.

“John,” you whisper.

“I’ll be back tonight,” he murmurs.

“John!”

He turns his back on you and walks out the door.

-

You order pad thai for two, jasmine rice, crab kanob jeeb with spicy dipping sauce. You splurge and have fresh cookies delivered, against better judgement—not your own, you demonstrably have none, but certainly someone’s.

When you close your teeth around a dumpling, broth spurts against your tongue, like an artery punctured. The sauce clears your nostrils in a sudden punch, no lead up, no dancing around what it is and what it’s supposed to do. It’s delicious; exonerating.

You would think guilt would close your stomach, but in fact you eat like a man on death row, inhaling every flavor like you can take it with you into your next life. You have to stop yourself from digging into what your ordered for John.

He said he’d be back. He isn’t a liar.

You do have that bath. You pour yourself some of his scotch, light candles, fasten your hair up with a clip and rest the back of your neck against the slanted lip of the bathtub. You and John had bought this house in part because of this tub; you’d fantasized about doing just this as often as you pleased.

He’d joked about its great capacity for draining a body. You’d told him if he ever used your tub for murder, you’d leave him.

The bath bombs fizz next to your thighs, dying the water in pink and gold, bubbling along your skin. Steam rises visibly from the water; tension bleeds from you slowly, like your body is unwilling to give it up just yet.

When it begins to cool, you open the drain and shower off. You wash yourself from top to bottom, lathering soap between the palms of your bare hands, reacquainting your body with your own touch. There, the dips in your pelvis; there, the folds of your stomach; there, the backs of your knees, calves, the knobs of your ankle bones.

Everything as it was before. Clean. Unblemished.

You take your post on the couch in your softest pajamas, pulling a blanket up to your waist. There’s a game on tonight, a Liverpool friendly that you remember John wanted to watch. He should get back soon, then. He wouldn’t want to miss it—

The front door opens.

You whip around. Your gaze locks with your husband’s. You hold together motionless, staring, as if evaluating each other.

You’re not sure how you expected him to arrive but you find yourself surprised that he’s clean. He’s in the same clothes, even, jeans and a T-shirt and a bomber jacket and work boots. The picture of nondescript.

The air he brings in with him is…different. Not miasmic; more refined. Almost satiated. You can’t read his expression, but the line of his brow is softer.

“Alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, and find yourself surprised that you mean it.

Words sit heavy in your stomach. Serious, needful. But you know John; and suddenly you realize if there was a time for them at all, he wouldn’t want them anyway.

He comes over to you, toes off his boots and slings his jacket over the sofa back. Sits, gathers you into his side, bringing your legs over his lap and pulling your head into the crook of his neck. He’s warm; warmer than he should be, having just come in from the cold.

“Needed a walk,” is all he says.

“Sure,” you agree.

He smells like your John. Clean, evergreen body soap and fresh laundry and earthy, like the smell of turned humus. A little thread of gun oil that never goes away—metallic, in a way you’ve grown used to, and couldn’t imagine being without any longer.

He cups your shoulder with one hand, lays the other across your lap. Squeezes your thigh. His knuckles are chapped a deep, bruised red from the cold; you notice a dark spot beneath the nail of his pinky.

“What’s the score?” he asks. His deep voice rumbles in his chest.

“They’re losing,” you say. You inhale his scent, hold it in your lungs, and breathe out slowly, calmly.

“Eh,” he says, giving you a squeeze, kissing your hair. “They’ll get away with it.”

-

You buy a car on a loan from some shady fuck like an idiot and John takes care of it, idk. Don’t worry about watching the news babe he’s a professional