thelunaticself

[thelunaticself]

STREAMER BOYFRIEND! SIMON RILEY X READER

a/n: happy birthday @callsign-arson !! I didn't have much time so here's a short:)

cw: blowjob, cockwarming, fluff, vape, simon is "a big meanie but respects women" type

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who streams shirtless and the majority of the fans mainly stays for the biceps instead of the games he plays.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who met you randomly on a special ask stream to celebrate the 150k followers milestone. “Do you wanna see my plushie collection?” He asked for your discord to see the picture afterwards and you two hit it off.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who gets angry and jumpy, shouting slurs into the mic when his team loses. The moment you set down a plate of fruit next to his keyboard and wrap your arms around his neck, asking what he's playing, he leans back into the chair and mutters the answer into your cheek, landing an opportune kiss. His teammates cheer whenever they see you walk in the room, knowing their ears are spared.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who had an OF but quit after you came into his life. It is also not by chance that he discovers you are his biggest subscriber. You will be teased to death.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who begs you to cockwarm him during live. It took two weeks and ten dresses later to have you all dolled up for the camera. Nothing much is shown. It just looks like you're sitting on his lap and totally not clenching around his stiff cock. He leans towards the pc, chin resting on your shoulder, chest touching your back, to access the keyboard and mouse. Sometimes, if he catches you almost dozing off, Simon takes a long hit from the vape and blows into your face. The chat sometimes asks if you're ill because of your stuttering and blushes. Whenever you answer a question from viewers, Simon shifts and lodged his cock deeper, coos when you stop mid-sentence, rubbing your waist and cheeks condescendingly. “Chat, behave yourselves. Lad’s a shy thing.” The way you clench harder after that sends him straight to heaven. That night he broke his winning record.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who squeals like a toddler on Christmas when you shyly ask to suck him on live. You got bolder after the cockwarming stream. So here he is shooting a guy straight in the skull while his cock rests smugly in your warm mouth. He made a small pillow “nest” underneath the gaming table so that your knees won't be sore. When you think he is close to winning something, you sink your teeth slightly and watch as his thighs jerk. Simon yells “Fuck!”, ends the stream and tosses the headphones to the side. He gets soo mean after that. A hand yanks your head back by the neck. His cock pops out with a pop, a string of saliva connects the two of you. Simon rams his cock back in abruptly, your nose comes into contact with his pube. He presses firmly on the back of your head to keep you there, thrusting deeper in your throat until you gag violently.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who streams your shopping trips occasionally because the demand is so high (he asks you first of course!). The chat goes ballistic every time you step out of the changing room and twirl for Simon. He’s sitting on the waiting bench the whole time like a good boy, fists clenched on his thighs. He has never been this focused, not even when he was deep into the fourth battle with less than 3 teammates alive. Somehow, the shopping stream brings lots of profit even though Simon intended to do it for the shit and giggles. It's not your fault that the chat spams donations and gifts for each outfit you try on. You're giggling the whole way back in the passenger seat, knowing Simon can't help but use the money on another shopping trip for you.

Streamer boyfriend! Simon who gets called out by the chat because he is getting “soft” one year into dating you. He’s not offended though! He pulls you to actually sit down on his lap when you bring your usual fruit plate on that day. Holds and kisses your knuckles, laughs when you eye him weirdly as if he's on vape (again). Eventually, the chat asks about the wedding date for fun. You're speechless when Simon explains the whole plan with specific dates and locations. Almost as if the wedding is set to complete by the end of this month. At this point, you're not even surprised if Simon pulls out a ring during dinner.

⌯⌲ buy me a coffee?

[thelunaticself]

i hate school, i cant be on tumblr 24/7.

[thelunaticself]

I hate fic shaming bc "dont like dont read" exists and this is my hobby I dont owe u shit<3

you read stuff on wattpad for shit and giggles where most of the fics there are reader-inserted ones written in 1st person pov where y/n is a barely legal white girl with blonde hair and blue “orbs” who’s so smol and fragile that she’s dependent entirely on this morally questionable guy who’s killing people for a living but for some reason happens to have a soft spot for her.

you read real actual literature on archive of our own where it’s two middle aged men, who are each other’s sworn enemies, with tragic past, trauma and strong homoerotic tension. and while they’ve made each other bleed, killed each other’s friends and loved ones out of jealousy / possessiveness, lied and betrayed and manipulated, the rawness, depth, complexity and slow burn will keep you up all night, haunt you during your day and possibly change your life forever. and also the sex isn’t just smut. the sex is poetry that puts Shakespeare to shame

[thelunaticself]

So the grass isn't always greener...

LMFAOOOO the kind of kinktober happening on twt…

[thelunaticself]

em dashes are a hallmark of fanfiction the same way the infamous "Oh. Oh." line is and don't let any loser tell you otherwise

[thelunaticself]

While we’re talking about censorship, I need everyone to stop playing this little amnesia game where we pretend not to remember what internet and fandom has looked like for the past 20 years. Weird and taboo porn has always existed, it used to be a LOT easier to access, and you won’t die if you look at it. We simply cannot continue placating the crazy mob of people who are scared of sex and love overstating harm, they’ll call you a pedophile literally no matter what, and they’ll roll around in their cognitive dissonance like a hog in mud when you point out that the other group calling you a freak and a pedo are the conservative alt right. Fucking exhausting being a fag and a pervert in 2025.

[thelunaticself]

hear me out xx

sexist rafe first meeting reader and like conditioning her?? (if that makes sense) like slowly changing her into what he likes (me+toxic men = <3)

feel free to ignore!!! xxx

soft hands, harder rules ♡

credits: @cameronsbabydoll to sexist!rafe au

you start seeing him more.

not dating — he never calls it that. he lets you join him.

dinners, drinks, sitting in the passenger seat of his car while he takes calls, while his hand rests high on your thigh.

he never asks. he tells.

"wear your hair down tonight."

"don’t wear that shade again — it’s too loud."

"you don’t need to talk so much, just listen."

and you do.

you listen. you smile. you nod.

he starts buying you things. at first, you say no. you say he doesn’t have to.

but he just gives you that look — that smug little tilt of his mouth — and you feel stupid for even trying.

“what, don’t like being taken care of?” he asks once, pressing a delicate gold chain into your palm.

you shake your head. “no, i do, i just—”

he interrupts. “good. then act like it.”

you wear the necklace the next time you see him. he notices. his hand rests at the back of your neck the entire drive.

then one night, he invites you somewhere new. not a restaurant. not the country club.

his house.

you hesitate in the doorway. it’s too clean. too sharp. glass, chrome, a sleek couch you’re afraid to sit on without messing something up.

“relax,” he says, watching you fidget in your heels. “you look like you’re scared of getting dirt on the floor.”

you shrug, embarrassed. “i just didn’t want to be too casual.”

he steps closer. pulls a little at the hem of your dress, like he’s inspecting it.

“you’re learning,” he mutters. “still a little mouthy, but you’re getting there.”

you flush. you’re not sure if it’s a compliment.

he has you sit on the floor by his feet when he loosens his tie. pours himself a drink. doesn’t offer you one. doesn’t need to.

“this is nice,” he says. “quiet. soft.”

his hand finds your hair again. thumb brushing behind your ear. he tips your chin up until your eyes meet his.

“girls like you,” he murmurs, “are always waiting for someone to tell them what to be.”

you nod. not because it’s true — maybe it is, you don’t know — but because it makes him smile.

he leans back in the chair, looking at you like a finished painting. something he’s proud of.

“keep this up,” he says, “and maybe i’ll really make you mine.”

and god help you — that makes your heart race.

[thelunaticself]

“I feel like a time traveler: June, July, August. Summer dissolves in my mouth and I can’t remember what it tasted like.”

— Zoë Lianne, Erasure 

[thelunaticself]

ooh so you like my blog? name five of my fetishes

[thelunaticself]

middle school me reading the most jaw dropping toe curling traumatizing fanfic at 4 am when i had to wake up at 6 am

[thelunaticself]

Mean John Price is all i know to do😔

So glad u like it! You dont need to see a specialist btw 💕 (the specialist might need therapy)

FAUX PLAY

john price x reader

dead dad's best friend tries to comfort you. or shepherd's daughter! reader x john price

a/n: happy birthday @misscherry-26 :)

cw: non+dubcon, age gap (reader in late 20s), sex, bad price, wtf is this ( ；∀；)

“You missed the whole funeral.”

Click.

A flash of red. The once chilling air of the brisk evening warms up. The sweet intoxicating smell of tobacco invades your senses. Familiar. It was there when you hid in your room on Friday nights. The rumbling sounds of laughter echoed from the living room, occasionally a clink of a beer bottle thrown on the ground. It was there when you flashed the brightest smile, graduation hat threatened to fall off your head, hairy arm wrapped around your shoulders then your dad hoisted up the camera. A big girl now, huh? John Price might as well be your diary.

“Ah. Well. Y’know I don't like all that unnecessary socialising.”

A condescending smile is all you get in return for your judging eyes. You shift your foot to crush the grass beneath. He flicks the cigarette and takes a long hit. For someone who lost their 10 years partner in a murder, he seems too at peace with himself. Smug. John stares at the name engraved on the stone. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. This isn't your John. His hand creeps up to the nape of your neck, thumbing the skin there tenderly. 

“If anything, I'm here for you, alright?”

“I know.”

“Good. Good…”

A drop of rain hits your nose. John swipes it off for you and smiles cheekily in a pathetic attempt to lift your frown. He’s so close now that the smoke is starting to entice you. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be sad?”

He sucks in a breath. The rain gets heavier. 

“Of course, I am.”

“I don't believe that.”

Your coat is drenched, wet hair sticks to your face and neck. John fumbles with the lighter as the tip of the cigarette dies out, doing anything but looking at you. 

“John. What happened?”

The sound of the rain drowns out your voice. He flicks the lighter furiously.

“John. Answer me.” 

“Jonh.”

You reach out to flick the lighter to flame swiftly. The action catches him off guard enough for you to steal his cigarettes. No excuses now. You take a hit while glaring at him. John stuffs his hands in his pockets, shaking his wet hair. 

“You two drive me nuts.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he crouches down to pick up the mud stained glove lying on the grass. Your mother threw it amidst the grieving fit. His hand finds the nape of your neck again and drags you forward with him, heading back inside the mansion. 

“Come on, kiddo. Wouldn't want a second grave now, would we?”

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You don’t think your mother will ever be the same again. When the tears on her cheeks have dried, you look at her and find a dead man staring back. She still clutches your father's old coat to cry herself to sleep ever since the news hit the family. Although, if you were her, you wouldn't be so devastated over a husband who sees his kids three months max in a year. In a way, everything was functioning just fine without him until he died. That is where he steps in.

John Price has no longer been your diary. No longer just a witness. 

It reaches a point where it is harder to move John Price out of your house than the sofa nailed to the living room. Worst of all is that he is good at it. 

“Think your mom is sound for the night.”

He says as he glances at you sitting on the passenger seat. You're bundled up in a blanket, shoes off to rest your legs on the seat. The ac blows at your face. You had only meant to vent, didn't really expect any response at all when you texted him at 2am. A few “i cant sleep”  later and you heard the old gate creeked, next was the sound of your mother's room’s door, his name in her high pitched voice. Her sobs soon reduced to hiccups followed by a gruff hush voice. The thrashing completely stopped. This was the first night everything returned to how it was.

“Dunno know how you do it. She hasn't let me in there for weeks.”

“Gotta be patient.” 

He mutters and turns on the blinker.

“You plan to be her next Shepherd or something?”

You didn't mean to let the joke slip out unceremoniously like that. Halfway through opening a beer and a stupid grin. Not much of a joke. John must have thought the same because he lets it pass through like a breeze. 

“Yer gonna love this place. Promise you'll sleep like a baby after.”

“Uh huh… it's so great that I can't know the name.”

“Ask your dad, kid. He knows it pretty well.”

John chuckles. When he doesn't hear yours, he coughs awkwardly. You thought he was going to leave when he was done cooing your mother back to sleep. Turns out John Price doesn't do half ass things. A bit of lipstick was all the makeup you managed to put on while he started the engine outside. It all feels too much work even for a man like him. Like compensation.

“There it is.”

You don't even realize the car has already parked in front of an old pub. The neon letters flicker weakly amidst swirling curls of smoke from the smokers standing below. He wastes no time and leans over to buckle the belt for you, reaches up to unlock the handle afterwards conveniently. He pats your back and you jump from the contact.

“Out you go.”

You don't think you’ll sleep tonight. Your dead dad best friend is taking you to a fucking pub at 3am. Typical weekend. 

“I'm not sure about this…”

“You don't have work tomorrow. Plus, your dad didn't have any problem coming here with me every Friday. Just trust me on this one.”

With that, John ushers you inside. 

An hour in and you start to understand what he meant. Maybe it's the yellow light. Or the soft cushion. Most likely it is the whiskey John keeps calling for you shot after shot.

“Fuck, that year was a disaster. Had a big fight. Told dad I could date anyone. Not even two months later, lil shit stole my favorite heels, sold them and ran.”

The story ends with you taking another shot. He rubs his hand up and down your back when you cough violently. He was right. This feels good. Like letting go of something you never knew was there. Repressed grief. 

“I guess I do miss him.”

John only hums along. He turns away from you a bit to shuffle something out of his jean’s pocket.

A handkerchief is softly pressed onto your lips to wipe off the ridiculous whiskey mustache. Your lipstick leaves a red smudge on the cloth. 

“Ready to go back?”

“Huh?”

He hoists you up by the waist.

“Your mother would be pissed.”

You think that sentence is meant for himself. 

The drive home is uneventful except for the fact that you can't even buckle your own belt. John huffs out a laugh, places his hand over yours and pushes in swiftly with a soft click. 

What happens after is lost to you. A warm hand is always either on your waist or your head so that you wouldn't tip over. Now lying on unfamiliar bedding, lights out, one is kneading the inside of your thigh, the other finds its place on your back, under your shirt. You can faintly make out John’s face in the dark room. 

“John, why is it so hot in here? Isn't there like…like a fucking ac?

Your fists hit his chest weakly. With a grunt, he manhandles your whole body to lie on the bed fully.

“Sorry, baby.”

There is no safe banter to keep the thin wall between the two of you tonight. He is eerily quiet, only curt replies or ignoring your blabbering altogether. Observing. It starts an alarm in your head even in your drunken haze. 

“John, why are you so mean to me?”

He pulls the neck of your shirt down and just stares at the exposed flesh for a while. It would be more reasonable of him to go after your mother. Someone more his age. If anything, he learns that he is not as good as he’d like to be. A soldier and all. At the end of the day, John Price is but a man. 

You laugh at him dumbly. Fucking brat.

“Uh, John? What are you-”

John Price rubs his fingers down there causing you to grip his shoulders, the underwear adds more friction. When your breath hitches and your thighs close tight around his hand, he bet he can see the outline of your cunt if he's hard-working enough to dip his head down. John almost cums on the spot at the thought alone but he chooses to bend down and nuzzle your neck instead. He keeps you in that position until your scent is all he can register, feels your body shaking, your erratic breath fanning on his cheek. His own erection rubs your thigh.

“J-john I-i think-”

“Let it out, baby. I hate it when you think too much.”

He says as he presses down harder and increases his pace. You bite his shoulder when you come, thighs clench around his waist, pulling him down to collapse on you. When he feels your breathing return to normal, John lifts his head from your chest and looks down at you. You are not the embodiment of beauty. Not the kind to end up on the magazines Shepherd used to hand him. Lipstick smeared and messy hair. A wet trail of tears at the corner of your eyes. Ugly and blunt in all the right way. Prettiest thing he has ever touched. 

Your mother swirls the spoon aggressively in the coffee mug she insisted on making for you first thing in the morning. She pressed you to sit down on the dining chair when she saw you scouring the fridge (the price of refusing to eat John’s cooking). You can't blame her for being so anxious like that. Your morning attire doesn't exactly scream “sleep like a baby” even if you did last night. 

“I know you're all grown up and have a job now, but it wouldn't hurt to tell your old mother before going out all night.”

“Mom, I wasn't doing drugs or anything-”

“I have to wait until you actually do it?”

She sits opposite to you and puts the mug down a bit too harshly. You don't dare to reach for it yet.

“So, who?”

“Who?”

“Don't act dumb.”

Her slender fingers reach up to toy with one of the pearls of the necklace. 

“This is ridiculous. I'm almost thirty-”

“You're still my daughter.”

“Fine. John Price.”

Her movements come to a halt. Eyes widen just enough for you to see the realization settle in.

“I couldn't sleep. We went out for a drink. Nothing happened. I even saw him sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh. Hm.”

This is her most tight lipped smile you have ever seen. She stands up rigidly and heads to the living room, sipping the mug of coffee. Your stomach is still empty.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

They say don't repeat your mistake twice. John says it is not a mistake at all. How could he when you are under his sheets, on his bed, tummy full of his cooking. It's not even his own doing. Your mother booked a trip to Venice on her own to start her “healing journey”. Apparently, it was a group trip with widows all from upper families like her. In fact, he wouldn't have been lying here with you had he accepted her offer. The group was just the second choice. One night in and he already received your text. 

The first night was a disaster. He took you to the pub as usual, got you drunk, passed out on his bed. He even got to kiss you on the lips before you blacked out. A success if it wasn't for the fact that he was woken up by the sound of vomiting. John could only see your back from his point of view. Your whole body shook, half still covered by the blanket. You vomited straight on the floor next to the bed then plopped back down to sleep. John rushed out to fetch the rag. 

Tonight he wants to keep it simple. A home cooked meal. Although, it is not without its turbulence. The first night you really sleep with him. No more moving to the couch early in the morning and pretending to sleep. Without the heavy alcohol, small talks will have to suffice. For now.

“My mom’s into you.”

“Hm?”

John pulls the sheet higher for the both of you. 

“I know you heard that.”

“Hey, don't laugh. I'm serious.”

You hit his arm and he snorts. You're telling him this like you're gracing him with some sort of forbidden knowledge. 

“Okay, okay… M’ not blind, alright?”

“You just don't like her?”

“She’s a good gal.”

“You didn't answer me.”

“Look, kid. I've already set my mind elsewhere.”

You nudge your toes against his.

“ ‘M not a kid.”

“If you say so.”

John turns his back to you, ending the conversation. That was faster than you expected. You keep eyeing him to see if he moves out to the couch. After a while, you give up. Not like this is your house. 

It's still night time when you wake up. Heavy rain smashes against the window, the ac on max capacity, John's hand under your shirt. What? What the fuck?

“J-john.”

Trying to pry out his hand on one of your tits only results in a tight squeeze. The other goes down to circle your clothed cunt on autopilot. He grunts into your neck, half-awake. 

“Go back to sleep.”

“You need to get off-”

His fingers find your clit and you let out a yelp. Suddenly, he stops, grabbing one of your hands. It comes into contact with something solid and slick. 

“No, stop-”

His big one is placed over yours, forcing an up and down rhythm. You haven't looked at him during the entire process. The fact that you're getting wetter even without his hand makes you never want to go home again. A big palm cradles the back of your head and turns your face towards him. John pecks your lips.

“I love you.”

The distraction works because you don't have time to realize he has already pushed the tip inside. Your hips bruised from how hard he grips it to keep you still. Sweats gather on his forehead, eyebrows furrowed because you're clenching around him so tight that it's almost impossible to push in further.

Something wet on his arm. You're crying. Your tears lazily roll from your eyes to land on his arm. 

“Easy, easy. I got you.”

John stops moving his hips and leans down to lap at your tears. Landing a final kiss at your nose, your breathing slows down, your eyes droopy but looking at him at last. He smiles, moves a strand of hair out of your eyes and tucks it to the back of your ears. So gently you can't believe this is the same man who has his tip lodged into you right now. 

“So pretty, baby.”

Your bite down on his arm as John pushes all the way in. This time, when John has finally found his home, he truly kisses you for the first time ever. Wet and messy. His tongue explores all the opportunities to have a taste of you. Not a dance but a chase. Slowly, he drags out. Agonizing like chalk sliding over blackboard. After a while, the two of you settle into a routine. Him pistoning in and out of you while your only job is moaning into his arm.

“Shit. I was right. Fucker’s better off gone.”

John mutters in between the thrusts. He too is starting to lose his wits. The sentence is so jarring that it drags you right back for a split second.

“Wh-what?”

He answers that by slamming in particularly hard. His balls slap your ass cheeks then everything comes to a halt. Not because he plans to answer your question or anything. His cum leaks out of your cunt from how much there is. A warm and gooey feeling spreads from your core to your entire body. You have your toe curling release right after. 

“What did you say?”

John pulls you into his chest and kisses your cheek. 

“Just an old man’s blabbering. Nothin’ important enough.”

“Drop it. You've been weird ever since the funeral.”

“I told you. Something just slipped. That's all.”

“Is it about my dad?”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“You killed him.”

His silence is all you need to confirm. The lulling after sex atmosphere is gone. A flip switches in your head. John lets you wring out of his arms, stumbling out of the bed. The blanket slips. You're not thinking straight. You're not thinking at all. Your elbow hits the nightstand and you hold onto it before your wobbling legs give out. 

“Listen, I can explain-”

“Shut up!”

John keeps a straight face as your scream bounces off the walls hauntingly.

“You fucking disgust me!”

He also only props an elbow up to watch you pry open the nightstand to look for your phone he put in at the start. There is a gun in there. Nice and handy thing he keeps in case of a night intruder. Next to the gun is a neatly folded handkerchief with a lipstick stain that you easily recognize. But of course, that isn't important right now.

Your pretty fingers wrapped around the trigger. Fucking majestic he might say. Naked with his gun. Pointed at his head too. He might cum again. 

“I won't be mad. Promise.”

John grins up at you from below. Your tears land on his cheeks. Shaky hands keep clenching and unclenching the gun. Trembling thighs wrapped around his torso. When one of your hands presses down on his chest for balance, his palm gently wraps around your wrist, brings it to his lips and he softly kisses each of your knuckles. You're crying so hard the tears blur out everything. 

Smack.

John's left cheek is burning red. The tingling pain spreads across the flesh. The gun lies limply on the floor in the opposite direction from where you threw it. 

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Tap. Tap.

John rasps his knuckles against your car window. You have just parked outside your usual lunch spot. The window slowly rolls down.

“What are you doing here?”

“Wanna go have lunch together?"

He looks ridiculous bending down to peek inside to talk to you right now. A man of his size never fits right anywhere. 

“You were stalking me or something?”

John cracks a smile.

“Oh, come on. You already texted me your entire schedule. Just think of this as payment for picking you up for an entire week.”

“ ‘S not my fault that my ass car broke down.”

“How about I just miss you?”

God, this man. You fall back into your seat and sigh.

“Fine.”

John braces a hand on the window frame and leans in. You roll your eyes.

“This is unnecessary."

“Come on, baby.”

“Lemme just get out-”

John cups the back of your head, guiding your lips towards his. You’re slightly peeked out of the car window. Your left hand grips his shoulder. His tongue meets yours. Not a chase anymore. 

Later when you finish talking to him on the phone that night, your mother knocks on the door. Her voice is muffled from the other side.

“We need to talk.”

The first thing she shoves at your face is a polaroid picture in her tight fist. She growls.

“What is this?”

“Oh.”

It's you and John standing at the beach. You were wrapping your arms around his torso. Just thrifted this old shit. Want to see if it works. You swear you hid it well at the bottom of your coat.

Your mother gives you a tight lipped smile.

“Before you ask, I was vacuuming.”

“Don't we have a housekeeper?”

“Just explain whatever the hell you've been up to.”

“He’s just not that into you.”

[thelunaticself]

FAUX PLAY

john price x reader

dead dad's best friend tries to comfort you. or shepherd's daughter! reader x john price

a/n: happy birthday @misscherry-26 :)

cw: fem!reader, non+dubcon, age gap (reader in late 20s), sex, bad price, wtf is this ( ；∀；)

“You missed the whole funeral.”

Click.

A flash of red. The once chilling air of the brisk evening warms up. The sweet intoxicating smell of tobacco invades your senses. Familiar. It was there when you hid in your room on Friday nights. The rumbling sounds of laughter echoed from the living room, occasionally a clink of a beer bottle thrown on the ground. It was there when you flashed the brightest smile, graduation hat threatened to fall off your head, hairy arm wrapped around your shoulders then your dad hoisted up the camera. A big girl now, huh? John Price might as well be your diary.

“Ah. Well. Y’know I don't like all that unnecessary socialising.”

A condescending smile is all you get in return for your judging eyes. You shift your foot to crush the grass beneath. He flicks the cigarette and takes a long hit. For someone who lost their 10 years partner in a murder, he seems too at peace with himself. Smug. John stares at the name engraved on the stone. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. This isn't your John. His hand creeps up to the nape of your neck, thumbing the skin there tenderly. 

“If anything, I'm here for you, alright?”

“I know.”

“Good. Good…”

A drop of rain hits your nose. John swipes it off for you and smiles cheekily in a pathetic attempt to lift your frown. He’s so close now that the smoke is starting to entice you. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be sad?”

He sucks in a breath. The rain gets heavier. 

“Of course, I am.”

“I don't believe that.”

Your coat is drenched, wet hair sticks to your face and neck. John fumbles with the lighter as the tip of the cigarette dies out, doing anything but looking at you. 

“John. What happened?”

The sound of the rain drowns out your voice. He flicks the lighter furiously.

“John. Answer me.” 

“Jonh.”

You reach out to flick the lighter to flame swiftly. The action catches him off guard enough for you to steal his cigarettes. No excuses now. You take a hit while glaring at him. John stuffs his hands in his pockets, shaking his wet hair. 

“You two drive me nuts.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he crouches down to pick up the mud stained glove lying on the grass. Your mother threw it amidst the grieving fit. His hand finds the nape of your neck again and drags you forward with him, heading back inside the mansion. 

“Come on, kiddo. Wouldn't want a second grave now, would we?”

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You don’t think your mother will ever be the same again. When the tears on her cheeks have dried, you look at her and find a dead man staring back. She still clutches your father's old coat to cry herself to sleep ever since the news hit the family. Although, if you were her, you wouldn't be so devastated over a husband who sees his kids three months max in a year. In a way, everything was functioning just fine without him until he died. That is where he steps in.

John Price has no longer been your diary. No longer just a witness. 

It reaches a point where it is harder to move John Price out of your house than the sofa nailed to the living room. Worst of all is that he is good at it. 

“Think your mom is sound for the night.”

He says as he glances at you sitting on the passenger seat. You're bundled up in a blanket, shoes off to rest your legs on the seat. The ac blows at your face. You had only meant to vent, didn't really expect any response at all when you texted him at 2am. A few “i cant sleep”  later and you heard the old gate creeked, next was the sound of your mother's room’s door, his name in her high pitched voice. Her sobs soon reduced to hiccups followed by a gruff hush voice. The thrashing completely stopped. This was the first night everything returned to how it was.

“Dunno know how you do it. She hasn't let me in there for weeks.”

“Gotta be patient.” 

He mutters and turns on the blinker.

“You plan to be her next Shepherd or something?”

You didn't mean to let the joke slip out unceremoniously like that. Halfway through opening a beer and a stupid grin. Not much of a joke. John must have thought the same because he lets it pass through like a breeze. 

“Yer gonna love this place. Promise you'll sleep like a baby after.”

“Uh huh… it's so great that I can't know the name.”

“Ask your dad, kid. He knows it pretty well.”

John chuckles. When he doesn't hear yours, he coughs awkwardly. You thought he was going to leave when he was done cooing your mother back to sleep. Turns out John Price doesn't do half ass things. A bit of lipstick was all the makeup you managed to put on while he started the engine outside. It all feels too much work even for a man like him. Like compensation.

“There it is.”

You don't even realize the car has already parked in front of an old pub. The neon letters flicker weakly amidst swirling curls of smoke from the smokers standing below. He wastes no time and leans over to buckle the belt for you, reaches up to unlock the handle afterwards conveniently. He pats your back and you jump from the contact.

“Out you go.”

You don't think you’ll sleep tonight. Your dead dad best friend is taking you to a fucking pub at 3am. Typical weekend. 

“I'm not sure about this…”

“You don't have work tomorrow. Plus, your dad didn't have any problem coming here with me every Friday. Just trust me on this one.”

With that, John ushers you inside. 

An hour in and you start to understand what he meant. Maybe it's the yellow light. Or the soft cushion. Most likely it is the whiskey John keeps calling for you shot after shot.

“Fuck, that year was a disaster. Had a big fight. Told dad I could date anyone. Not even two months later, lil shit stole my favorite heels, sold them and ran.”

The story ends with you taking another shot. He rubs his hand up and down your back when you cough violently. He was right. This feels good. Like letting go of something you never knew was there. Repressed grief. 

“I guess I do miss him.”

John only hums along. He turns away from you a bit to shuffle something out of his jean’s pocket.

A handkerchief is softly pressed onto your lips to wipe off the ridiculous whiskey mustache. Your lipstick leaves a red smudge on the cloth. 

“Ready to go back?”

“Huh?”

He hoists you up by the waist.

“Your mother would be pissed.”

You think that sentence is meant for himself. 

The drive home is uneventful except for the fact that you can't even buckle your own belt. John huffs out a laugh, places his hand over yours and pushes in swiftly with a soft click. 

What happens after is lost to you. A warm hand is always either on your waist or your head so that you wouldn't tip over. Now lying on unfamiliar bedding, lights out, one is kneading the inside of your thigh, the other finds its place on your back, under your shirt. You can faintly make out John’s face in the dark room. 

“John, why is it so hot in here? Isn't there like…like a fucking ac?

Your fists hit his chest weakly. With a grunt, he manhandles your whole body to lie on the bed fully.

“Sorry, baby.”

There is no safe banter to keep the thin wall between the two of you tonight. He is eerily quiet, only curt replies or ignoring your blabbering altogether. Observing. It starts an alarm in your head even in your drunken haze. 

“John, why are you so mean to me?”

He pulls the neck of your shirt down and just stares at the exposed flesh for a while. It would be more reasonable of him to go after your mother. Someone more his age. If anything, he learns that he is not as good as he’d like to be. A soldier and all. At the end of the day, John Price is but a man. 

You laugh at him dumbly. Fucking brat.

“Uh, John? What are you-”

John Price rubs his fingers down there causing you to grip his shoulders, the underwear adds more friction. When your breath hitches and your thighs close tight around his hand, he bet he can see the outline of your cunt if he's hard-working enough to dip his head down. John almost cums on the spot at the thought alone but he chooses to bend down and nuzzle your neck instead. He keeps you in that position until your scent is all he can register, feels your body shaking, your erratic breath fanning on his cheek. His own erection rubs your thigh.

“J-john I-i think-”

“Let it out, baby. I hate it when you think too much.”

He says as he presses down harder and increases his pace. You bite his shoulder when you come, thighs clench around his waist, pulling him down to collapse on you. When he feels your breathing return to normal, John lifts his head from your chest and looks down at you. You are not the embodiment of beauty. Not the kind to end up on the magazines Shepherd used to hand him. Lipstick smeared and messy hair. A wet trail of tears at the corner of your eyes. Ugly and blunt in all the right way. Prettiest thing he has ever touched. 

Your mother swirls the spoon aggressively in the coffee mug she insisted on making for you first thing in the morning. She pressed you to sit down on the dining chair when she saw you scouring the fridge (the price of refusing to eat John’s cooking). You can't blame her for being so anxious like that. Your morning attire doesn't exactly scream “sleep like a baby” even if you did last night. 

“I know you're all grown up and have a job now, but it wouldn't hurt to tell your old mother before going out all night.”

“Mom, I wasn't doing drugs or anything-”

“I have to wait until you actually do it?”

She sits opposite to you and puts the mug down a bit too harshly. You don't dare to reach for it yet.

“So, who?”

“Who?”

“Don't act dumb.”

Her slender fingers reach up to toy with one of the pearls of the necklace. 

“This is ridiculous. I'm almost thirty-”

“You're still my daughter.”

“Fine. John Price.”

Her movements come to a halt. Eyes widen just enough for you to see the realization settle in.

“I couldn't sleep. We went out for a drink. Nothing happened. I even saw him sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh. Hm.”

This is her most tight lipped smile you have ever seen. She stands up rigidly and heads to the living room, sipping the mug of coffee. Your stomach is still empty.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

They say don't repeat your mistake twice. John says it is not a mistake at all. How could he when you are under his sheets, on his bed, tummy full of his cooking. It's not even his own doing. Your mother booked a trip to Venice on her own to start her “healing journey”. Apparently, it was a group trip with widows all from upper families like her. In fact, he wouldn't have been lying here with you had he accepted her offer. The group was just the second choice. One night in and he already received your text. 

The first night was a disaster. He took you to the pub as usual, got you drunk, passed out on his bed. He even got to kiss you on the lips before you blacked out. A success if it wasn't for the fact that he was woken up by the sound of vomiting. John could only see your back from his point of view. Your whole body shook, half still covered by the blanket. You vomited straight on the floor next to the bed then plopped back down to sleep. John rushed out to fetch the rag. 

Tonight he wants to keep it simple. A home cooked meal. Although, it is not without its turbulence. The first night you really sleep with him. No more moving to the couch early in the morning and pretending to sleep. Without the heavy alcohol, small talks will have to suffice. For now.

“My mom’s into you.”

“Hm?”

John pulls the sheet higher for the both of you. 

“I know you heard that.”

“Hey, don't laugh. I'm serious.”

You hit his arm and he snorts. You're telling him this like you're gracing him with some sort of forbidden knowledge. 

“Okay, okay… M’ not blind, alright?”

“You just don't like her?”

“She’s a good gal.”

“You didn't answer me.”

“Look, kid. I've already set my mind elsewhere.”

You nudge your toes against his.

“ ‘M not a kid.”

“If you say so.”

John turns his back to you, ending the conversation. That was faster than you expected. You keep eyeing him to see if he moves out to the couch. After a while, you give up. Not like this is your house. 

It's still night time when you wake up. Heavy rain smashes against the window, the ac on max capacity, John's hand under your shirt. What? What the fuck?

“J-john.”

Trying to pry out his hand on one of your tits only results in a tight squeeze. The other goes down to circle your clothed cunt on autopilot. He grunts into your neck, half-awake. 

“Go back to sleep.”

“You need to get off-”

His fingers find your clit and you let out a yelp. Suddenly, he stops, grabbing one of your hands. It comes into contact with something solid and slick. 

“No, stop-”

His big one is placed over yours, forcing an up and down rhythm. You haven't looked at him during the entire process. The fact that you're getting wetter even without his hand makes you never want to go home again. A big palm cradles the back of your head and turns your face towards him. John pecks your lips.

“I love you.”

The distraction works because you don't have time to realize he has already pushed the tip inside. Your hips bruised from how hard he grips it to keep you still. Sweats gather on his forehead, eyebrows furrowed because you're clenching around him so tight that it's almost impossible to push in further.

Something wet on his arm. You're crying. Your tears lazily roll from your eyes to land on his arm. 

“Easy, easy. I got you.”

John stops moving his hips and leans down to lap at your tears. Landing a final kiss at your nose, your breathing slows down, your eyes droopy but looking at him at last. He smiles, moves a strand of hair out of your eyes and tucks it to the back of your ears. So gently you can't believe this is the same man who has his tip lodged into you right now. 

“So pretty, baby.”

Your bite down on his arm as John pushes all the way in. This time, when John has finally found his home, he truly kisses you for the first time ever. Wet and messy. His tongue explores all the opportunities to have a taste of you. Not a dance but a chase. Slowly, he drags out. Agonizing like chalk sliding over blackboard. After a while, the two of you settle into a routine. Him pistoning in and out of you while your only job is moaning into his arm.

“Shit. I was right. Fucker’s better off gone.”

John mutters in between the thrusts. He too is starting to lose his wits. The sentence is so jarring that it drags you right back for a split second.

“Wh-what?”

He answers that by slamming in particularly hard. His balls slap your ass cheeks then everything comes to a halt. Not because he plans to answer your question or anything. His cum leaks out of your cunt from how much there is. A warm and gooey feeling spreads from your core to your entire body. You have your toe curling release right after. 

“What did you say?”

John pulls you into his chest and kisses your cheek. 

“Just an old man’s blabbering. Nothin’ important enough.”

“Drop it. You've been weird ever since the funeral.”

“I told you. Something just slipped. That's all.”

“Is it about my dad?”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“You killed him.”

His silence is all you need to confirm. The lulling after sex atmosphere is gone. A flip switches in your head. John lets you wring out of his arms, stumbling out of the bed. The blanket slips. You're not thinking straight. You're not thinking at all. Your elbow hits the nightstand and you hold onto it before your wobbling legs give out. 

“Listen, I can explain-”

“Shut up!”

John keeps a straight face as your scream bounces off the walls hauntingly.

“You fucking disgust me!”

He also only props an elbow up to watch you pry open the nightstand to look for your phone he put in at the start. There is a gun in there. Nice and handy thing he keeps in case of a night intruder. Next to the gun is a neatly folded handkerchief with a lipstick stain that you easily recognize. But of course, that isn't important right now.

Your pretty fingers wrapped around the trigger. Fucking majestic he might say. Naked with his gun. Pointed at his head too. He might cum again. 

“I won't be mad. Promise.”

John grins up at you from below. Your tears land on his cheeks. Shaky hands keep clenching and unclenching the gun. Trembling thighs wrapped around his torso. When one of your hands presses down on his chest for balance, his palm gently wraps around your wrist, brings it to his lips and he softly kisses each of your knuckles. You're crying so hard the tears blur out everything. 

Smack.

John's left cheek is burning red. The tingling pain spreads across the flesh. The gun lies limply on the floor in the opposite direction from where you threw it. 

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Tap. Tap.

John rasps his knuckles against your car window. You have just parked outside your usual lunch spot. The window slowly rolls down.

“What are you doing here?”

“Wanna go have lunch together?"

He looks ridiculous bending down to peek inside to talk to you right now. A man of his size never fits right anywhere. 

“You were stalking me or something?”

John cracks a smile.

“Oh, come on. You already texted me your entire schedule. Just think of this as payment for picking you up for an entire week.”

“ ‘S not my fault that my ass car broke down.”

“How about I just miss you?”

God, this man. You fall back into your seat and sigh.

“Fine.”

John braces a hand on the window frame and leans in. You roll your eyes.

“This is unnecessary."

“Come on, baby.”

“Lemme just get out-”

John cups the back of your head, guiding your lips towards his. You’re slightly peeked out of the car window. Your left hand grips his shoulder. His tongue meets yours. Not a chase anymore. 

Later when you finish talking to him on the phone that night, your mother knocks on the door. Her voice is muffled from the other side.

“We need to talk.”

The first thing she shoves at your face is a polaroid picture in her tight fist. She growls.

“What is this?”

“Oh.”

It's you and John standing at the beach. You were wrapping your arms around his torso. Just thrifted this old shit. Want to see if it works. You swear you hid it well at the bottom of your coat.

Your mother gives you a tight lipped smile.

“Before you ask, I was vacuuming.”

“Don't we have a housekeeper?”

“Just explain whatever the hell you've been up to.”

“He’s just not that into you.”

⌯⌲ buy me a coffee?

[thelunaticself]

Good ol' time

[thelunaticself]

Hey

You were asking for opinions on your fics and I'm a bit shy so here I am...

I just read your "Dog on a Leash" Price/Reader series (Both fics) and I want to say as a survivor of dub con, you did a really good job in potraying the dub con aspects from both Price and reader. You nailed the dynamic perfectly including the manipulation from Price, reader's discomfort and also controlling behaviour from him.

So, Thank you for that. Thank you for taking the time to write this fic. You have no idea how much it means to me to see this kind of stuff presented in fiction. I wanted to let you know your fic meant the world to me. The fact that you care and worry about making people uncomfortable or "Stereotyping" after too much in your works, says a lot about you as a person. Your doing just great and fine.

I also saw your post in The John Price Wives group asking if there was anyone who wanted to help you brainstorm or go through ideas with. I want to say that if your still looking for someone to do this with, I'd be more than happy to help you do that! I may not write but as a COD fan I love talking to anyone who likes the games or reading fanfic about it! Just let me know if your interested!

Thanks for taking the time to read my message. No pressure to reply or anything. I just wanted to let you know, since you was asking for opinions. Have a good day/night!

You CANNOT imagine how happy you make me 😭🤍 best day in my life everr (I'm hanging this on a wall).

The dubcon fics made me use a lot of brain juice haha. I'm also a survivor so hey! So glad we get to meet

You can ask box/ dm / tag me anytime! I'm always eager to hear you out :) whether its fics or just talk in general

[thelunaticself]

i think people are reading the first option as “girl no u ate” instead of “girl u no ate”

Thanks for the clarification 😭😭😭

[thelunaticself]

i love fic authors who are gooners with such closely held artistic sensibilities that it nearly eclipses the goon. we shall goon, but first we shall follow 70k minimum of a meticulously-plotted and spectacularly-executed character arc replete with several devastating psychological portraits and some trenchant political commentary on what it means to be a human in this world.

[thelunaticself]

Heyyy! I came across your question and I've been here for a while, so I'm gonna try to explain a bit. Tumblr doesn't really have an algorithm (if it has it's pretty shitty), if you wanna see something you have to actively search for it — that's why tagging is so important, both for people finding content and being able to block it.

It's considered etiquette to not tag posts with characters that don't appear in the post (if you're in fandom espaces) but it's also very common to use the tags to add things you don't wanna put in the main post, like rambles and such.

That being said, the way Tumblr works without an algorithm is through reblogs. Likes don't boost posts like in other social media (neither do comments), reblogging does. That's because when you reblog a post, all the people who follow you will see it (unless you reblog privately) and then they can reblog and more people will see.

This is especially important in fandom spaces, liking fics and fanart, or even original works don't do much to help the artists, but reblogging helps them expand their audience. That's why you may see creators thanking the likes, but asking for the reblogs too.

That's basically it, I hope you find these tips useful and have a nice day ;)

Thank a lot !! Tumblr is so confusing sometimes bc its different from other apps i use