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tetsutits · 2 years

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𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 — hanma shuji x f!reader

SYN: you challenge hanma to a round of poker, and the both of you place your bets. if you win—you get his Bentley and $250k. If he wins, he gets to fuck you in one of the private rooms in the back. surely you'll win, right?

CW: toman and bonten make an appearance. gambling. swearing. reader wears a dress. smut. unprotected sex. creampie. groping. pet names (baby, princess, doll, pretty girl). let me know if i missed anything! wc: 3.4k

AN: LISTEN UP! i have absolutely no idea how gambling or casinos work but i did my research and tried my best! this might be inaccurate so i'm apologizing from now hehe. either way, enjoy! (ignore the fact that i changed my fic format again oops)

ty for @megumi-divine and @utahimeow for beta <3 | @tokyometronetwork

MINORS DNI. barely proofread. tr masterlist

"if i win this round," your eyes never leave his as you make your way to the opposite side of the table, "then of course, I get my share. along with your Bentley—and everything that's inside of it."

you see hanmas face turn stern, lip slightly curving down until it's right back up. he's smirking at you, and you already know that he's not backing down from a challenge.

it's a good thing you don't back down, either.

"alright, and if I win," his golden eyes stare into yours, as if they're looking right into your soul, "then I get to fuck you in one of the private rooms in the back."

a course of whistles and gasps fill the room, and you see rindou give hanma the deadliest stare possible. a rush of adrenaline fills your body and you feel your knees weaken.

you half expected him to ask for something materialistic—something that has to do with money or expensive items. but to your shock (well, not so much, actually), he'd rather get his dick wet over anything he could possibly have.

you smile at him, and he follows the movement of your perfectly glossed lips as you point to the table and say, "that's a deal then. shall we?"

you ignore the looks and shocked faces of the executives, and let it pass as just a playful round of poker. surely, you'll win. . . right?

and so it begins, you and hanma decide it'll only be one round. no repeats, no second chances, whoever wins gets what they've already decided on prior to the round.

being in these types of places isn't something new to you—casinos, high-end bars and clubs—they're places you frequent with bonten. but there are times where you don't like to involve yourself with their business.

toman and bonten, they regularly meet for business and events. but the two gangs have been rivaling each other for the longest time. they haven't been at each other's throats, they never purposely go out of their way to hurt the other gang—but at the same time, they aren't exactly friends .

you sit right in the middle, between the two. yes, you technically 'belong' to bonten, but you find a certain member of toman interesting. so you never miss out on the opportunity to come along when bonten is meeting with toman.

all because you want to see hanma.

(he wants to see you, too.)

you've been taught how to play poker, but you've never taken it as seriously as they have.

as the round goes on, rindou's eyes never leave yours, he watches like a hawk the entire time, and if you weren't so focused on winning, then you would have told him off.

on the other hand, the way hanma looks so confident and unbothered makes your blood boil. it's not that he's playing carelessly—he isn't. he plays with full concentration but at the same time doesn't look like he's putting much effort at all.

the sight of him, so well put together in his suit, hair perfectly styled, and his demeanor so calm and collected—it makes your thighs squeeze together and you feel warm heat pool inside you.

"what's goin thru that pretty little head of yours, hm?"

your eye snap up to meet his hazy, golden ones. the dim lighting of the casino makes it look like his orbs are glowing, the earring he wears glistens and swings as he moves.

"nothing," you smirk at him from across the table, "i'm just thinking of that Bentley of yours and the $250k that sits in the trunk of it."

you've never seen a man's smile drop so fast in your life. it made the smirk on your lips linger, proud of the subtle reaction he was giving you.

the hand that sits on the table tightens into a fist, and you think you see his veins through this skin.

"oh, yeah? and how would you know that i've got that much money in the back of my car?" he asks, tone neutral but his lips slightly turn up at the corners of his mouth.

you stare at your chips that are stacked on the table, each one varying with value. if you go all in—you could possibly risk losing the entire round and let hanma have his way. but even if you do play safe—you never know what kind of tricks he has up his sleeve.

and one thing that you do know, is that hanma will do anything to get what he wants.

"i guess you can say that i have my sources." you wink back at him.

as the game goes on, you notice his eyes lingering on you—tracing your body in the silky, black dress that you wear. he feels his pants become unbearably uncomfortable at the sight of you, the way your tits sit nice and pretty, the way your neck is a blank canvas all ready for him to mark up with dark bruises and love bites.

and it would all be simply his if he won this round.

mikey and some of the bonten executives are off somewhere finalizing deals and speaking to other gangs here—but rindou has not once left your side. he goes as far as placing a hand on your shoulder while you play.

"you really don't need to babysit me, y'know," you turn to him, speaking quietly enough that it's only you two that can hear, "i'll be fine alone."

rindou's brows furrow but he doesn't say anything, he's always been a little protective of you so this behavior isn't something foreign. instead, he pulls away but speaks right into your ear.

"it's not that i don't trust you," he says as his eyes flick over to hanma's, "i don't trust him."

if hanma can hear, he's definitely ignoring him.

"you can go, and i'll find you once we're done." he finally lets out, giving you a curt nod.

it's obvious he doesn't want to leave, but at the same time he wants to respect your wishes. reluctantly, rindou spares one more glare hanma's way and then slowly takes his leave.

the game goes on, and you feel your palms become even more sweatier by the second. the air feels thick, and anxiety swims through your blood.

opposite of you, hanma pulls out a cigar, lighting it, taking a long drag as he watches you.

the glowing lights create an atmosphere around the two of you that makes it seem like nobody else exists here. the world stills. it's just you, hanma, and this little game of poker.

you must be too absorbed in the game because he laughs, and you think it's the first time that you see his pearly white teeth as he throws his head back slightly, "c'mon, pretty girl, don't be so tense. this is all fun and games, right?"

you pout, mostly because you're frustrated with the way the round is going. you'd been so

sure that you made the right moves in order to be on the winning path—but then again, anyone that plays with hanma shuji should know that their fate is set in stone the second the round begins.

at some point in the round you find yourself at a disadvantage.

hanma is making moves that you'd think would be better for you — but instead it's giving him the upper hand.

your leg bounces under the table, but your face remains stoic in an effect to conceal his true effect on you.

hanma makes move after move, each one calculated precisely. he makes sure that whatever he does—it'll be in his advantage in the end.

as much as you try to counter him, you conclude that your best efforts don't compare to his natural skills. he knows too much—too many tricks, too many ways to get himself out of a situation.

you're like a puppet on a string that he controls. even if he's playing against you, it seems as if he has been pulling certain strings this whole time, jeopardizing every single one of your movements.

before you know it, the round is over. it's inevitable—you think. but now you're doubting yourself and your confidence as you register the results of the round. you stare at the chips, the cash and the drinks sprawled out on the table—and you try to recall where you went wrong but nothing comes to mind.

you sit there, shocked and unable to say anything. you've lost—but a part of you doesn't seem to be upset about that fact. yes, you could have come home with a shit ton of money and a brand new car—but you find yourself already slowly accepting your defeat.

you know you could get anything you want, anyway. but you play for the fun, you play for the thrill of it you play for the rush of adrenaline you get every time you place a chip down.

you're snapped out of your daydream when you hear hanma whistle, loud and long. he has a grin on his face that makes you scowl in return. the taste of losing is bitter in your mouth.

"i think we already knew this was going to happen, princess." he says, tone low and deep.

you sit back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest, he follows the movement with his eyes, shamelessly eyeing your chest, "you must've cheated somewhere, y-you cant just win that easily. i've nev—"

"i've won fair and square." he cuts you off. "no need to make excuses. and for the record, no, actually, i didn't cheat."

you pinch the bridge of your nose. your palms are clenched in a tight fist under the table. hanma brings out an anger inside you that you've never even known you harbored.

he leans forward, large body towering over the table. he's close enough that if he whispers you'd be able to hear him, "i think you owe me, pretty girl."

you bite the inside of your mouth to keep yourself from saying anything, and you think you taste blood. he's not wrong, you do technically owe him something. but at the same time, you're not mad at how this round has ended.

hanma gets up from where he was sitting, dusting off his pants, and making his way over to you.

he stands looming over you, looking down as he reaches his hand out, "shall we?" he says mockingly, repeating the same words you told him earlier.

you look up at him through your lashes, and he swears he feels his dick get even harder from the sight.

"don't keep me waiting, doll," he says, a slight smile to his lips.

you give in to him, you just got a free chance to fuck Japans 2nd most dangerous criminal. the same one you've been pining after for the longest time.

you take his hand and he leads you away from the table and crowd. you catch rindou's shocked eyes as you're walking hand in hand with hanma.

“w-where are we going?” you ask in a hurry, ignoring the stares that you're getting from the onlookers.

hanma doesn't look back at you, but he keeps the grip on your hand firm, “i'm not actually taking you to the private rooms. that's where all the ugly business goes down.”

he leads you through the tables and the crowd, taking you all the way to the bathrooms that are located at the corner of the casino.

“you're fucking me in the bathroom? are you serious?”

he pauses, looks back at you but doesn't let go of your hand, “well would you rather me fuck you in front of all the other executives? have them watch as you take my cock right in front of them?”

you're shocked into silence. mouth opening and closing, but no words come out. “I—no. no i wouldn't.” you look away from his unwavering gaze, and suddenly you feel so small compared to him. “could you just hurry up?"

he chuckles, deep and gravely, “impatient, are we?”

you scowl at him, and it just makes his grin even wider.

you enter the empty bathroom, and the second the door closes he turns to you and asks, “there's still time to back out if you don't want this. it was just a silly bet and i'm not pressuring you to do this.”

you feel his hot breath as he traps you between him and the door, he's looking down at you, but you don't think you could handle meeting his eyes.

in a small voice, you tell him, “I'm sure. i-i want this.”

he brings one hand to your face, his other is placed sturdily against the door. his thumb traces over your lips and he pulls the bottom one out, keeping you from biting and playing with it.

“may i?” he almost whispers. you can't bring yourself to say anything, so you give him the green light by nodding in return.

his lips are soft when they meet yours. they move perfectly as if they were always meant to be slotted against them. he sucks and bites your lower lip and your bring your hands to grip the front of his suit—pulling him even closer to you.

his body presses on to yours, and you think you feel him everywhere. he overwhelms your senses—towering over you with his height and his broad shoulders.

his tongue slips into your mouth with no warning, exploring and swiping over yours. his hands are wandering all over you, groping and touching—and you already feel your panties starting to dampen. you can feel him everywhere around you, like he's the only thing that exists in this moment.

“fuck, you don't know how long i've wanted to do this,” he says, squeezing your ass through your dress.

“hanma,” you whisper, you don't know why you're saying his name, but he sure loves it.

you tug at the hair at the base of his nape, and it brings out a deep groan from his throat.

“fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?”

you sigh in satisfaction when he starts kissing down the column of your neck, marking and leaving dark bruises all around the sensitive skin.

“shuji, please,” you whine, its uncomfortable how your panties are soaked at this point. your thighs rub together to ease the ache that's built in your core.

he buries is face even deeper into your neck once he hears his first name, the hold he has on the back of your thighs almost hurts from how hard he's gripping you.

“tell me what you need, use your words like a big girl.”

you feel hot heat rush up to your face, and you shy away from his gaze, “please just fuck me . .” you say quietly.

“Mm, can't hear you. you're gonna have to speak up, doll.”

he's teasing. you know he's teasing you. and you squirm in his hold, "s-shut up! can you just fuck me already?" you huff out.

his smirk deepens, like it seems that he's got you exactly where he wants you, "only 'cause you asked so nicely, princess,"

his large palms make their way to the bottom of your dress, and he looks up at you wordlessly asking for permission.

he yanks the fabric up over your waist once you nod, and sighs deeply at the sight of your bare legs. he massages your thighs and hands smooth over the skin, “you've been hiding this from me this entire time?”

you swallow the lump in your throat, “you never really payed attention to me whenever i came along to meetings a-and stuff.”

his eyes widen like he's shocked, and pulls away to look at your face, “you fuckin’ serious?”

you pause, and you meet his eyes in shock, “no, i don't know. . . i almost gave up on trying to reach you,”

“c’mere,” he says, leading you to the mirror, bending you slightly over the counter as he stands behind you.

“i would see you all the time, sitting all pretty in those little dresses of yours,” he looks at you through the mirror, moving your hair to the side, “and it would take everything inside me to keep it together.”

he kisses the back of your neck, and his arms move forward to grope your tits through the fabric, “i think i could die a happy man right now.”

you smile shyly at his words, and push your hips backwards so your ass meets the front of his slacks. you rub yourself against him, feeling his hard cock stiffen at the touch.

“shuji, what're you waiting for?”

he drops his head on your shoulder, and you hear the zipper of his slacks. soon enough, his cock is freed from the confines of his pants.

one of his hands come up to rub you through your panties, "already this wet for me?" he runs two long fingers through your wet folds, collecting the slick that continues to drip out of you.

“ah—fuck! feels so good,”

he smirks at you through the mirror, and you shudder when they run over your swollen bud. the bundle of nerves aching in need for stimulation makes you jump when he massages a certain spot.

“fuck, baby, i cant wait any longer,” he groans, holding your hips in place, “need to be inside you, now,”

you do him a favor and reach behind you where his leaking cock is, you wrap your hand around it, slowly stroking him as you angle your hips.

“c-could you—”

the air is suddenly knocked out of your lungs when he pushes inside you with no warning, you gasp as you feel the burning stretch of your walls.

“shit—slow down!”

he buries his face in your neck and starts a grueling pace, wasting no time at all. the force of his hips has you weak in the knees and if he weren't holding you so tight, you think you'd be a puddle on the floor.

“so fuckin’ perfect for me,” he bites your bare shoulder, muffling his groans.

"a-ah, shuji!"

"fuck—ive waited so long for this," he huffs out, hips snapping right back into you at an unforgiving pace, "to fuck you until you were cryin' on my cock" he laughs in your neck, the hot air tickling the hairs on your nape.

he hits a spot that has you seeing stars, your breath caught in your throat, and you try so, so hard to keep quiet, but with the way he's fucking you right now—you bet everyone loitering around near the bathrooms could hear everything.

“fuck—!” you cry out, the tears building in the corners of your eyes.

"look at you," he pants, the sheer layer of sweat glistening on his forehead, "takin' me so well, see?" he thrusts even harder, and it takes everything in you not to scream out loud in pleasure. it's just so much—but it's so fucking good.

your nails dig into his forearm where you're grabbing on, "there's no need—ah, fuck, no need to deny you want my cock, baby"

you feel the pressure tighten in your belly, and it only takes a few more thrusts before you're crying out, cumming on his cock.

“so fuckin’ warm,” he grunts, “gonna fill this pretty pussy up,”

his movements don't stop even when he spills deep inside you with a long groan, filling you all the way to the brim with his warm release.

your body falls limp over the bathroom counter, tired and all fucked-out. you feel like your world is spinning as both of you take this time to catch your breaths, basking in the afterglow.

he chuckles, breathless with a wide grin on his face, “maybe we should play more poker, huh?”

you lift your head to look at him through the mirror, “so there's a next time?” you ask playfully.

he pulls your panties up for you, smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress, “don't act like you didn't enjoy this.”

“i don't mind a next time,” you say quietly, standing up and turning around, “i was kinda hoping this wouldn't be a one-time thing.”

he smiles softly at you and cups your cheek with one large palm, “anything you want, baby.”

feedback and reblogs are appreciated <;3

#hanma x reader #hanma shuji x reader #hanma x you #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tr x reader #hanma x reader smut #hanma shuji #hanma shuji x you smut #:tokrev #:spicy #add to masterlist

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threadbaresweater · 9 months

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Ex-husband Nanami, who never remarries after your divorce. You're both well into your thirties when you decide to call it quits. It's a mutual agreement– the constant bickering has left you both exhausted and disenchanted. It's not like you didn't try to hold it together. A lot was at stake: a mortgage, a savings, a reputation...a child. But the divorce is amicable. You agree on most every front, and your daughter spends her time with both of you, whenever she desires.

He can't possibly think of loving someone else the way he loved (and still loves) you. You don't remarry either. There are dates, sure. One or two flings that fail to satisfy. Dating in your thirties is kind of a crapshoot anyway. You know in your heart that you can't love anyone else, nor do you have any desire to. Your career is thriving, you have incredible friends and family who are always there to help, and you have Nanami, who would bend over backwards for you still. If you can't be lovers, you can still be friends, and you count your lucky stars that he feels much the same way.

He's respectful enough to not reveal his true feelings, though. How he'll never stop loving you, how he'd jump at the chance to reconcile your marriage. It's enough for him to be close to you in any way you'll allow.

@/mydiluc posted about ex-husband Nanami weeks ago and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I hope it's okay that I expanded on your idea 🫣

#nanami kento x you #add to masterlist

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whereianonymouslypostfics · 1 year

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Intruder

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~1.2k

Summary: Fletcher reminds you that she’s a cat

A/N: This just popped into my head. I'm posting this to delay the baby fic. I suddenly hate it. Enjoy.

Warnings: cursing, dead animals

You laugh as you and Wanda stumble out of the car and head to the house. You’re not drunk but you feel like it as you giggle and drag your wife toward you for another kiss. Wanda just laughs as she pulls you in and wraps her arms around your neck.

“You’re my favorite, you know that?”

You hum in response as you hug your wife and kiss her nose before leading her inside. You squeeze her hand and quickly open the door so you both can get out of the cold. You and your wife had gone out tonight for one of your rare date nights that were both extravagant and private. Wanda had taken you to dinner where you were the only two dining, and then she’d taken you to an aquarium after hours and let you run wild. She was only mildly interested in the many species that were there; however, watching you run around excitedly between the exhibits was what the only thing she really cared about. She loved seeing you unwind and enjoy yourself in a way that you didn’t get to often. It also gave her time to spend alone with you which is also something Wanda feels like she can never get enough of.

“Thank you for tonight, love. I had a great time.”

Wanda smiles widely as she shuts the door behind her and follows you into the kitchen. She ate plenty at dinner, but given that was nearly 3 hours ago, she was getting hungry again. She either needed to go to sleep soon or eat, and given that she didn’t want today to end she was already trying to figure out what to eat. She’s distracted from her thoughts of food by your gasp and she turns to see you staring at something in shock.

“What is it?”

Wanda rounds the counter and she spots the animals all sitting on the living room rug. Boone and Rogue are on either side of Fletcher who’s hissing at them as she stands over a long, scaly--

“What the fuck!? Fletcher no!”

Wanda runs forward to stop her cat from playing any further with the snake that she’d brought in from outside. She didn’t have time to wonder how she’d gotten outside, let alone dragged something so large into the house when you rush forward too. Once Fletcher is removed you have a feeling that the dogs will try to investigate and you don’t want to have to deal with that. You stop short though and Wanda screams as she reaches for her cat only to have the snake at her feet start to move.

“Shit!”

You curse as Wanda runs away with her cat dangling in her arms. Fletcher tries to climb her mom but Wanda’s too distracted by their slithering house guest.

“Eww, Y/n get it! Get rid of it!”

You shoot the slithering snake an incredulously look before you try to figure out how to do as your wife asks. You’re still thinking when Rogue decides to investigate closer and you nearly shout at him in panic. He flinches but Wanda is quick to reach out for him as you and Boone take off.

“Rogue no! Stop it!”

You snap your fingers at Boone and he comes to sit next to you as you look around frantically for a solution. You smile slightly as you look to your wife who’s just staring at the snake in horror as she clutches both her cat and dog close to her chest.

“I’ll be right back, Wands!”

You run back out into the garage and try to find what you desperately hope you still have from last winter. You miss Wanda shouting after you as you frantically search the garage for a bucket and a…

“Found it!”

Boone follows you back inside and you tell him to sit behind you as you look back to the snake that has continued to move, but its doing so in a way that makes you think it’s not really intentional. You don’t know nearly enough about snakes, but you don’t worry about that right now as you set the bucket down and reach out for the snake with the grabber.

“Okay, okay.”

“Be careful, Y/n. Oh, gross…”

Wanda watches as you attempt to pick up the snake with the grabber unsuccessfully. It’s a little difficult because the snake is unexpectedly heavy and it keeps slipping from your grasp and falling to the carpet again with a thunk. Wanda feels a little sick as she watches the snake stain the carpet with something viscous and you even look mildly disturbed as you grab the bucket and try a different tactic.

“Sorry, snake, sorry. Sorry.”

You cringe as you slide the definitely dead snake into the bucket before breathing a sigh of relief. You look to your wife who’s still holding her cat, but she’s let Rogue go at this point. She tries to peek into the bucket, but she shakes her head and changes her mind. She meets your gaze with a questioning look and asks you something that you hadn’t really considered yet.

“What are you going to do with it now?"

Wanda’s just finished purchasing a new carpet for the living room when you return bucketless and with a tired look on your face. You sigh heavily as you head to the kitchen to wash your hands and then turn to your wife with a smile.

“That was fun, huh?”

Wanda just rolls her eyes before shaking her head as she points to the den. She had ordered a new carpet and then dared to explore the house to try and figure out where Fletcher had escaped. She does this sometimes and despite it scaring her and now grossing her out, she’d never caused too much trouble. The most annoying thing was figuring out what window or door she’d snuck out of.

Luckily the security system helped with that, and Wanda had figured out quickly that the cat door in the den that she’d made sure was locked when they weren’t home had been tripped. She isn’t quite sure how Fletcher did this, but that’s a problem for tomorrow because she’s exhausted.

“Fletcher brought it in through the den, so we’ll probably have to make sure there’s no blood in there tomorrow.”

You sigh at the thought of this, but decide it's a concern for later as you finish drying your hands before walking over to Wanda. You pull her close to you and kiss her hair before leading her towards the stairs.

“I think I’ve had enough excitement for the day. How about we head upstairs?”

Wanda simply smiles at you as she nods in agreement. You’re halfway up the stairs before you see something in the hallway. It’s Fletcher, and she’s licking her paws without a care in the world. It’s not until she looks up and you and Wanda that you realize how wrong you are, and you can’t help but gag at the sight of an eviscerated mouse in your cat’s paws.

“What the fuck, Fletcher!”

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x reader #wanda x you #silver springs #silver springs drabble #silver springs au #add to masterlist

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mymainwastoocluttered · 1 year

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Five Night's At Freddy's (Silver)

Thank you for 1000 followers! Hope you enjoy the Horror Event!

Requested by the lovely @wearywisp

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Silver learned very quickly to not mind his condition. Sure, falling asleep at random can be very inconvenient, specially when he’s trying to fulfill his duties as his liege’s guard. However, it’s not like he can do anything about it, and it’s not for lack of trying. But when even Lilia, the Father who raised him with both muscle and magic, the fae who is known in all of Briar Valley as one of the very, very best in matters both of mind and power, couldn’t find anything wrong with him, it’s clear that Silver is, as his friends would say, Just Like That™.

But right now, in this cramped room, surrounded by noises that only serve to make him paranoid, his condition makes his blood boil in rage.

The situation is dangerous, far too dangerous for a nap. He is without magic nor sword and his enemies are but metal monstrosities that simply do not stop. Even if he somehow manages to break pieces of them, they won’t stop, they will wobble and crawl their way into the room. The heavy doors are the only things that can stop them, and even those are not permanent solutions.

Even worse, and perhaps the biggest reason why he hates that his eyes feel heavy, he is not alone.

No, his beloved (Y/N) is with him in this hellish nightmare, and if a trained knight like him feels defenseless, he can't even imagine how she feels. She's courageous, one of the many qualities that endeared his heart to her, but he can tell she's scared when her breathing comes a bit too shaky, or when her fingers hold the tablet a bit too tight. And Silver—Silver can't even comfort her with his presence, not when staying in that minuscule room makes him so sleepy.

He grits his teeth, sitting on the floor near one of the doors so he can respond quickly in case they hear footsteps or his girlfriend sees something on the cameras.

He can't even be reliable enough for her.

Damned be this cursed sleep of his.

He blinks.

When his eyes open again, things have changed.

The most obvious change being that now Silver is completely alone.

No signal of his girlfriend anywhere.

The clock tells him two hours have passed since he "blinked". Ice takes over his heart. Heat rushes through his blood vessels. He gets up with a leap, heartbeat in his ears as he searches the room.

He finds nothing.

He truly is alone.

There's noise coming from the corridor.

Noise that sounds like dragging.

Noise that's definitely something relatively big dragging on the floor.

There's a bitter lump inside his throat.

Silver takes one step towards the door.

And another.

Until he's leaning on the doorstep.

Slowly, inch by inch, he moves, leaning forward so his head is out in the corridor.

There is dark.

There is a puddle of blood.

There is a limp hand vanishing within the darkness.

There is the sound of the bracelet he gifted his lover rasping against the floor.

There is a scream.

“Silver!”

Silver wakes up with a startle, sitting up so fast he chokes on his own breath. A warm—warm and alive—hand rubs his back gently, his lover's voice soothing his terrified heart. Without thinking twice, he hugs her tightly, allowing the tears gathering on his eyes to fall on her shirt.

Silver never hated his condition.

He might start now.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #x fem reader #twst silver #silver vanrouge #twst silver x reader #horror event 2022 #add to masterlist

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watatsumiis · 1 year

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Orpheus' Mistake (Childe x Reader angst)

Summary: Childe would follow you anywhere, regardless of whether you asked him to or not. The question remains, would you follow him?

A Childe x Reader oneshot, in which Childe descends into the Abyss to save the reader, on one condition - that he not look back on the way out.

Content: Gender neutral reader, angst, no comfort. Reader death. Vague implications of suicidal thoughts at the end. Not proofread (or reread for that matter)

Tap tap tap tap.

The Eleventh Harbinger’s footsteps sound empty and lonely in the halls of the Abyss. They always have. He tells himself. No matter how many monsters join the fray, humanoid or otherwise. My footsteps are all that can be heard.

The urge to look back is like an itch he knows he isn’t allowed to scratch, a tickle in his throat that he doesn’t dare to cough out. He opens his mouth and tries to talk, to comfort you, to let you know that you’ll be out soon, but the Abyss eats his words like a starving creature, ravenous for everything he has to give and more.

What if they’re not there? Childe’s critical thinking skills don’t often kick in - most times they do, he immediately wishes they wouldn’t.

Of course, it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. He’d trust you with his life, his favourite blade, his family, each and every single thing he has, he’d hand over to you a million times over. His love is like a tidal wave, crashing down and surrounding everything around you both.

He can recall the faces of the abyssal creature that guided him, as clearly as he can recall yours. Its twisting tongues and branching horns, every single eye and tooth and scale as it rasped out its advice in a hollow voice that clacked dryly from its twisted maw. “They shall follow along behind as you leave the Abyss. You know the way.” Teeth and bone scraped as it had talked, convulsing as it spat the words out. The mere memory sends shivers down Childe’s spine anew. “Do not look back until you are on the surface, else the Abyss will know what they mean to you and take them, for good this time.” The guttural chitter it had let out was somewhat akin to a laugh. “Even one glance, and your love will be torn asunder without mercy.”

Childe had always silently judged his fellow Harbingers for their zealous hate of the gods and higher powers of Teyvat, but now he’s starting to realise why they feel so strongly. A wretched feeling seeps down his shoulders, settling in his chest and in his gut, bubbling away like overcooked fat.

Tap tap tap tap. Hollow footsteps echo on.

Not knowing pains him, more than any battle wound he’s ever received, any hit he’s taken. He’s never been a patient man, and he’s not about to start, but he knows that for now, he has to be.

He pictures your face as he pushes forward. It’s a paltry comfort compared to the real thing, but he forces himself to stay strong.

My muse, my love. Childe gulps, and it sticks in his throat awkwardly like a fish bone gone down wrong. My reason for moving forward. My reason to fight. He brushes his fingers across one of his blades, and his chest aches. Every step feels like it takes a million years, every breath a million more.

He’s not sure when the tears began streaking their way down his pale, freckled cheeks, but they’re there now, dripping openly onto his scarf. At least they don’t have to see me like this. He thinks wryly. It barely even provides a paltry amount of comfort. He scrubs at his face with his sleeve and forges onward, up the ever-spiralling steps. It can’t be far now. The thought is almost a prayer, a hopeless plea to the gods he ceased believing in the power of long, long ago, when he’d first fumbled his way into this dark, hateful place.

The dreadful anxiety continues to linger in his mind. What if it lied? The voice whispers, digging cold claws into the spaces between his ribs and sucking all the air out of his diaphragm. He clenches his fists so hard his fingers feel numb.

They wouldn’t abandon me. He knows this is a fact. They’d follow me to the ends of Teyvat. It provides him no solace now he knows your fate is at the whim of the Abyss.

Just one little peek. The idea grasps his brain and won’t let go. One tiny look. Just to make sure. I need to know they’re with me. Before it’s too late.

He clenches his jaw and tells himself no, but the feeling lingers, growing stronger and stronger, louder and louder, until it’s all he can think about. Worse even than the ringing in his ears.

It’s starting to get lighter. Childe isn’t truly sure if that’s the case, or if he’s just fooling himself. He redoubles his pace, but time seems to melt together and spread out all at once. He can’t seem to keep track of the steps beneath his feet. I can’t take this. He speeds up again, and again, until he’s running. They’ll keep up with me. His faith in you is as strong as ever, but his belief in the ones pulling the strings is waning fast.

It’s not until he slows down to catch his breath that it all hits him. He’s halfway through turning around before he catches himself. No. No no no. He closes his eyes and snaps his head forward once again, his heart fluttering like a trapped bird inside his chest.

Childe stops dead in his tracks, unable to breathe around the lump in his throat. I can’t do it. I have to know. We can’t be far from the exit now. Just one look. And with that, he finally, finally glances over his shoulder.

His shoulders slump and all his worries disappear the moment he sees you there - a thin, wispy shadow, but you nonetheless. His heart soothed, he turns back. One look didn’t hurt. It’s fine. With that, he marches onward.

A few more steps up, and he’s met with a door that materialises seemingly out of thin air. A delighted laugh bubbles in his chest and is out of his mouth as he steps out of the Abyss once and for all, turning back as he steps onto the warm sand, a crooked grin still on his face as he sets his gaze on you.

He’s too distracted basking in his joy to realise that something’s wrong until it’s too late. Dark shapes surround you, taking hold and dragging you back before you can even make it to the door.

Childe’s face falls, and his feet scramble on the sound as he tries to throw himself back in, only to collide with what feels like a solid wall. He pounds his fists against the invisible barrier as he watches how you get dragged back down, one arm outstretched as if he’s able to take it.

He throws everything he’s got at the barrier, as if that will somehow negate the very rules of the world he lives in. Every attack, every power, every curse and plea, but none of it budges the boundary between the dawn-soaked sand and the cold, dark Abyss you’re now trapped in. The door fades, and before he knows it, Childe is throwing violent attacks at the empty air, kicking up sand and screaming his wrath to the gods.

It’s my fault. The thought hits him like a blow to the chest as his legs give out beneath him and he stumbles into the warm sand, gloved fingers digging into the course material as he sobs dryly. It’s all my fault. He curses himself and his impatience. If I’d just waited. Just a little longer. They’d still be with me. He tries desperately to bargain with himself. I can get to the Abyss again. I can find them. He chokes on the feeling of hope rising in his throat, and it plummets down, back into nonexistence, into the Abyss that Childe holds inside of him, growing steadily larger with your absence.

Tears soak into the sand, clumping it together in little brown spots as Childe’s shoulders shake. I had one chance. One chance. And I fucked it up. A short, sharp breath wheezes in and out of his throat, and an awful feeling prickles up his spine. I can’t stay here. I can’t. He drags himself up, wishing with his whole heart that it had been him who had been punished for his impatience and distrust instead of you.

But he knows that this is simply the reality he lives in now, the cards he dealt himself, and he loathes it. He drags himself to his feet, draws his weapon, and begins the arduous trek in search of a fight.

For the first and last time in his life, Childe doesn’t step into battle for victory. Instead, it’s in hopes that, eventually, he will lose, and the gods might be kind enough to finally let you be together once and for all.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or used to teach bots!

#add to masterlist #childe #childe x reader #ajax #ajax x reader #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #childe x you #genshin childe #genshin ajax #genshin tartaglia #childe angst #ajax angst #tartaglia angst #x reader angst #genshin angst #my writing #angst no comfort #idk what else to tag this. have fun :)

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protags-fic-blog · 8 months

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Amnesia Memories - Pets

———

Day 1 of Otometober! No prompt for today. Tagging @misschimotosuwa-blog and @hellcatinnc because I know they enjoy Amnesia, and they’re also partially participating like I am! Go check ‘em out <3

———

Shin

he'd love a big, strong dog. something loyal like a german shepherd

doesn't want anything small. has a fear that he'd step on it or kick it when he isn't paying attention

with any other dogs he wouldn't put up with anything but with his own, he's a total pushover

Toma

indoor animals

birds, rabbits, housecats, maybe a mouse

i think a rabbit would pair well though. definitely doesnt like the idea of something running away, and rabbits are very indoor animals so he should be fine

Kent

lizard vibes

definitely got it when he was younger and is still attached (in his own way)

maybe he owns fish too

perhaps this is my anti-kent propaganda but i can't see him having a dog or cat

honestly one non-forced, totally neutral headcanon that this made me think of was that he probably has a fur allergy

Ikki

a snow bengal cat (he thinks they look exotic), otherwise a white persian cat

definitely owns a swivel chair to turn around in with his cat

kent tolerates it because of minimal shedding (a win for ikki too because he doesn't want cat hair all over his clothes)

Ukyo

horse.

miniature horse if he can afford one of those too (a forever baby for his full sized horse!)

the headcanon of him lowkey wanting to be a farmer is engrained so deep in my head, he wants to pet cows and sheep and thinks goats are the cutest thing until he gets rammed once

(might go in to animal photography to justify it)

#add to masterlist #otometober #amnesia memories #protag-writes #headcanons #shin amnesia #toma amnesia #kent amnesia #ikki amnesia #ukyo amnesia

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ashesbreadandbutter · 1 month

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Adding monsters and cryptids to the list of things you can request and commission!

As a member of the monster fucker clan how can I not you know?

This goes for characters in and outside of fandoms so for example you can request Valdemar (The Arcana) or if you have some sort of monster OC or something you can request for them as well!

Honestly just itching for some at the moment hehe!

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mistymark · 2 years

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[09:21pm] req: dirty text in public with mark [M]

this was the longest dinner you'd ever been to. well, not really but it felt like it. when you told mark you wanted to take him out to dinner on his first day off in almost 3 months, you weren't exactly planning on his friends coming, too.

but here they were.

you'd spent the whole day with them, and you loved them so much, but it wasn't your fault you wanted to spend some time with your boyfriend, was it? especially you hadn't exactly been... physical with him, you could say.

for weeks, you'd been waiting for an opportunity to spend some alone time with him, but every time you managed to catch him alone he was on his way to another scheduled activity. and you knew it was taking a toll on him, too. he was exhausted, and he certainly needed a day off.

you looked at him from the other end of the table. he was sitting in a pair of loose fitting trackpants and plain black t-shirt, his hair sitting flat against his forehead. he was wearing his glasses in public for the first time in a while. and this outfit shouldn't be doing something to you... but it was.

you watched his hands as he dished some food into his bowl and began eating, nodding fervently at something taeyong had just said.

'y/n?' yuta grabbed your attention, and you were brought back into the conversation with he and johnny at your end of the table.

'hmm? oh, yeah,' you mumbled, taking a big bite of your food, trying to ignore the heat flooding your whole body as you watched your boyfriend.

johnny raised an eyebrow at yuta but didn't question you any further, instead changing the subject to their current project that they were working on together.

when mark licked a drop of soup of the end of his finger, you couldn't take it anymore. you grabbed your phone from your jacket pocket and sent a quick text to your boyfriend.

it took him less than five seconds to pull his phone out from his own pocket and read your message, and his eyes widened at the sight. immediately, his eyes met yours, darkening at the sight of you biting your lip to hide your smile. his mouth made a little 'o' shape, and he had to clear his throat before putting his phone down on the table next to his food.

satisfied, you turned back to your own food. but, when you looked up once more, you found him picking his phone up again to reread your message, his other hand moving under the table to his jacket, covering his lap as subtly as possible.

then, you received a response asking if you wanted to leave now. when you looked up from your phone, his eyes were practically burning into yours. his gaze drifted downwards then met your eyes once more. you smiled and nodded.

#nct dream #nct #nct fluff #nct imagines #mark smut #mark lee smut #mark lee fluff #nct mark fluff #nct 127 #nct dream fluff #nct 127 fluff #nct smut #nct dream mark #add to masterlist #;; requested!

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micro-after-dark · 2 years

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Home. Hanma X reader

MINORS DNI THIS IS AN 18+ ACC, ya'll read and interact here

----

Love, Hanma thinks, is found in the way he shares his cigarettes with you, even if it's the last one in his pack.

It's the way the sunset stretches across the Tokyo horizon and he'll still say you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen. The way the wind blows through your hair as you stand on the sandy shore made his heart melt, you looked ethereal.

It's the tapestry he crudely hammered into your wall with a screw and a shoe, because you had just moved in and didn't have any tools but he insisted "It has to feel like home." anyways. He remembers how you were so proud to have a place of your own, even if all you had was the clothes on your back and a duffle bag of shitty decor. The way you laughed when he hauled a screw out of the wall and grabbed your boot when he told you to grab a corner of the fabric still makes him smile.

Love is dying your hair together in your far too small bathroom with his shitty Bluetooth speaker playing some underground punk band, and you screaming when it falls into the bleach puddle in the sink. Your loud singing trailing off into a shriek hurt his ears at the time and caused him to drop the brush he was holding, but he just wound up laughing at you as you tried to scrub the bleach from the plastic. It’s still stained, and he still uses it even though it’s damaged from the water.

Love is late-night stargazing on rooftops, where he pretends to care about the constellations you point out to him. When really, he's spending the whole time staring at the side of your face and memorizing every curve, every line, every perfect imperfection that makes you, you.

It's screamed over loud music at concerts and laughed out when you stumble into him when you're both drunk and walking home from some party, and he just has to carry your shoes because your feet are hurting. It's whispered under covers late at night when you're asleep, and even though he knows you can't hear him, he just needs to tell you anyway.

It's the way you fight girls who can't leave him alone and how he kisses your bruised knuckles with a proud "That's my baby." It's the bandages you wrap him with after every fight he gets in when the two of you get home. You never need to ask if he won because you already know, after all, he brings you to every brawl to sit there and watch, as his own cheerleader.

Love is being a little stupid, sorta reckless and getting into trouble, it's jumping over fences and running from the cops after breaking into buildings just to dance to that shitty waterlogged speaker. Hanma loves the way you had to cover your mouth to keep yourself from laughing while you hide, and how your eyes sparkle with mischief.

It's the way he's your best friend, and how you know all the words to his favourite song, even if you don't like it all that much. It's the way he can't imagine life without you.

Love is convoluted and kinda fucked up, but he knows your overly complex coffee order by heart, and you have his preferred brand of cigarettes on your bedside table. It's his clothing in your closet, the motorcycle helmet he bought you two months after you met, the way you wear matching socks, and the cologne in your medicine cabinet.

Love is the way he does skincare with you, even if he doesn't know what the products do, just because it makes you happy. It's the way Hanma keeps every card you ever gave him in a box under his bed marked “for rainy days” for him to read when he’s sad.

It's sharing a candle-lit pasta dinner on your living room floor the week you moved in because he wanted a "nice meal" but you didn't own furniture except for that damn tapestry. He loves the way you propped your phone up on an empty take-out box so you could watch some shitty horror movie, and how you’d talk the whole time. Part of him misses that empty room.

Love, Hanma thinks, is when "home" is wherever you are.

#hanma shuji #hanma shuji x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #add to masterlist

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safety-pin-punk · 4 months

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Punk 101: A Guide To Critical Thinking

We all know that critical thinking is important, and it's something that any punk will tell you is an essential component of advocacy and pushing for societal changes. But, what exactly is critical thinking? As defined by the dictionary, it's “the objective analysis and evaluation of an issue in order to form a judgment”. And that's a good, short definition! But it can make the act of thinking critically seem a bit hard and over complicated for some people. So lets phrase it in a way that seems more manageable:

Critical Thinking is the act of taking in information, understanding it, and forming or connecting ideas because of it

Sounds easy enough, right! So then what are the steps one has to take in order to be a critical thinker? I’m glad you asked! Here's a list in no particular order:

Learn About Things - In order to fully understand information and evidence, you need to know about the topic! Whether the issue is social justice or environmental protection, you need to have a base knowledge on the topic in order to form opinions on it. Researching topics on your own or taking classes are great ways to get informed!

Recognize Bias From The Source And Prejudices From Yourself - No source of information will ever be without bias. A good example of this is how different new networks discuss the same event. One might praise it, while another says it was bad. When trying to understand the information to form your own opinions, it's important to separate the information from the biases of the source. In general, it's good to remember that a pure fact is just the information without an opinion attached to it. On a similar note, you also need to be aware of your own bias! When you form opinions, ask yourself *why* you have that opinion. Do you have a reason? If you were to have grown up with different life experiences, do you think your opinion would be different?

Go Straight To The Original Source - A good way to try and avoid bias is to go to the original source. Maybe news network A and news network B have differing opinions on a Tumblr post. Instead of trying to navigate those conflicting opinions to find the facts about the post, you can just go straight to the post itself!

How Reliable Is The Source And The Evidence - How much should you trust the source that you got the information from? Do they have a reputation of giving factual information? Can you find the information on any other sources? Or maybe someone is yelling about something online, but they’ve failed to add a link. It might make sense to trust what a well established researcher says without a source for their information, but maybe not some random person on twitter. Even if you have a primary source for where the information came from, it’s good to be cautious of the information itself. Sometimes false information is spread around on purpose or because of misunderstandings.

What Is Being Excluded - Because biases exist, it is always possible that the source you are getting your information from is excluding more information either by accident or on purpose. To avoid missing information about a topic, it's good to check multiple sources and see if any have information that the others didn’t. A simple example of this would be two children playing on a playground. Child A pushes Child B, who gets hurt. When asked about what happened, Child A would say that Child B got hurt, but exclude the fact that it was their fault to avoid getting in trouble. Meanwhile, Child B and any bystanders would likely provide that information.

What Is The Other Side Of The Issue And Why Does It Exist - You don’t have to agree with other sides of an argument, but it’s very important to be able to understand what they are, who thinks that way, and why they think that way. This will help you to see other points of view and counter any points they make in a discussion with understanding rather than anger or frustration. This is also important because it can expand your own opinions and judgments on a topic. Maybe the other side has points that you have never considered before, but now thinking about them has developed your own beliefs.

Avoid Black And White Thinking - Remember that the world does not exist in a good/bad duality. Everything will have problems, and the things that have problems might even have benefits. The world and its problems exist on a grayscale. To incorporate this into your thinking, try to understand *why* someone or something is doing something, the impacts it may have on multiple different communities, who it helps, and who it hinders. It's important to understand all facets of something before you form your opinion, otherwise you may be lacking very important details.

Don’t Forget To Fact Check - Never trust just one source, no matter how reliable it is! I usually recommend finding the information from at least 3 different sources before you confirm whether it's true or not!

Be Willing To Change Your Mind - Part of being a critical thinker that is often forgotten about is remembering to keep an open mind. Because critical thinking is based on the practice of learning new information, understanding it, and then forming/linking ideas, it is an opportunity to grow and change. You may start out advocating for one thing, but then through time, experience, and thinking, end up advocating for something slightly (or majorly) different. That is more than okay, and it's a sign of growth and maturity!

Resources to help learn how to think critically:

The Foundation for Critical Thinking https://www.criticalthinking.org/pages/index-of-articles/1021/

The University of Tennessee https://www.utc.edu/academic-affairs/walker-center-for-teaching-and-learning/thinkachieve/critical-thinking-resources

The Element of Thought https://theelementsofthought.org/further-exploration/links/thinking/

The Better Future Program https://www.betterfutureprogram.org/liberation-library.html

My entire masterlist can be found here!!

#punk 101 #add to masterlist #critical thinking #okay so it wasnt out by jan 6 but in my defense my dad is currently radioactive ☢️#also. i didnt proof read because TIRED and lifes been wack so have fun with that

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tetsutits · 2 years

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⌗ hurt/comfort. dom ran. mild toxicity. fluff. arguing. mentions of brothels. n.sfw but no smut - mdi. @tokyometronetwork tr masterlist

"baby, c'mon—why wont you just look at me?"

"i'm tired of this, ran," you cry out as you make your way into your shared penthouse, throwing your heels that he bought you haphazardly across the foyer, "i'm-i'm tired of your lies, tired of being manipulated all the time, it's not fucking fair to me,"

you don't look back at him, continuing to walk straight into the bedroom, your blood feels like hot fire as it boils in your veins.

"aren't you listening to what i'm trying to say?" he replies, feeling his frustration build, "she means nothing to me."

he trails behind you, stopping the bedroom door with his fist when you almost slam it into his face, "you say it every time! and you even told me you blocked her—you didn't need to lie to me, ran." your voice cracks and you start feeling a lump build in your throat. the feeling of betrayal sinks deep into your bones and it takes everything inside of you to not break down in front of him.

"princess—"

"you don't get to call me that." you cut him off, brows knitted together, and as much as you tried holding back your tears—you felt them bead at your lash line, blurring your vision, threatening to fall.

he sighs, clenching his fist. he makes no effort to move from his place by the door of your shared bedroom. he watches as you pace around the space, stripping yourself of the silky, tight dress you wore to the dinner date he took you out to.

he'd be lying to himself if he said it didn't make his blood run south.

"and you gave her the freedom to call you whenever! it's almost like you want her to call. honestly, ran—i feel stupid for trusting you," you ramble, and he lets you. watching as you run around the room putting things away, and making sure your face is turned away from him as you talk.

if this was any other time—he'd punish you for raising your voice and giving him an attitude. but this time, he lets you pour your heart out—wanting to hear all of your pent up emotions.

"i just—i don't know what there is about her, th-that i don't have, i don't-" you feel a large hand suddenly grip your face, cutting you off, firmly squishing your cheeks together. he forces you to face him.

"you done?" he asks, violet eyes staring down at your teary ones.

"fuck off-" you try turning your face away from him but his grip doesn't waver. it keeps you in place, right where he wants you.

"look at me when i'm speaking to you." his fingers dig into your cheeks, but not hard enough to hurt you, "i asked, are you done?"

you sniffle, choosing to look anywhere but his eyes. your heart burns and aches in your chest, and the growing lump in your throat hurts.

"is t-there something i lack?" you whisper, and the tears finally fall. they travel down your cheeks, wetting your skin.

ran's eyes grow soft as they look at you. his thumb that rests on your cheek wipes away the tears under your eyes—not caring that his palm is getting wet.

"oh, baby," he says softly, the corners of his lips turning down at the sight of your tears. he doesn't like seeing you cry, especially if it's because of him. "you're everything i've ever wanted."

"it doesn't seem like it, ran," you say, your watery eyes finally meeting his, "you can't keep doing this to me," your voice wavers, and more tears continue to fall as you try your best to choke back a sob.

he takes this moment to fully admire you—your eyes, the way your lashes darken with the tears, your lips glossy and puckered. and all he can think is—

he is so lucky to have you.

"she's nothing to me. but you? my baby is everything to me," he says, "i was only speaking to her because she manages one of the brothels i own."

you look away, but his eyes never leave your face, "'n my baby has nothing to worry about."

you stay silent for a moment, thinking about "we could've avoided this is if you just told me."

"well if you would've given me a chance to talk this would've been over a lot sooner," he laughs softly.

"you really know how to get me worked up, huh?" his hold weakens, fingers lightly tracing your face. "silly girl, you know i love you so much, right?"

you feel heat rush to your face at his words, and you roll your eyes playfully. "oh? well i don't know-"

"hush, you little crybaby," he says, smiling at you.

"she could never be you, she could never do this to me," he takes your hand with his free one and guides it to the obvious bulge in his pants, "see what you do to me?"

you laugh, sniffling and wiping your tears, "you're just saying that to cover up the fact that you got hard over me yelling at you.”

his grin widens, "can't help it, you're so hot when you're angry." he loosens the grip on your face and instead, cups your cheek with one large, calloused hand.

"i'm sorry for lashing out, i was just–frustrated," you tell him, fidgeting with your fingers.

"you better be," he smirks, "if this were any other time, i'd take you over my knee for raising your voice at me."

you visibly shudder, reminding yourself that he really isn't joking.

"c'mon, pretty girl, join me in the shower?" he pulls away from you, turning his back and walking towards the master bathroom while unbuttoning his white dress shirt. the fabric slowly peeling away from his body.

you don't reply to him, choosing to watch him slowly rid himself of his clothes, his broad shoulders flexing with every movement. you trace the large, black tattoos that litter the entire half of his body.

you join him. again, and again—he shows you how much he truly loves you the entire night.

reblogs & feedback appreciated <3

#ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #haitani ran x reader #tokrev x reader #tr x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokrev x you #:spicy #:tokrev #my work #add to masterlist

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artbydjklikdavid · 5 months

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#Homepage #Start page #Home Page #add to masterlist #save link

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sprout-fics · 5 months

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Mind the Drop

(Captain Price x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: M Wordcount: 7k Tags: BDSM AU, Dom/Sub, Subdrop, Comfort fic, Non-sexual kink, Non-sexual intimacy, Aftercare, Pet names, Platonic BDSM, Cuddling, Subspace, Sleeping together, Praise kink, Mutual pining, Safe Sane and Consensual Warnings: Subdrop A/N: This is an experimental piece that takes place in a BDSM AU verse, where a certain segment of the population is hormonally disposed to being a submissive or dominant. This is not inherently sexual, as you see in this fic. Dom/Sub negotiation is commonplace, but societal stigmas surrounding these roles persist, such as discouraging subs from entering certain industries, such as the military. For more details on BDSM AU within a CoD context, I highly recommend you read "Surviving You" by WhisperedWords12

“Do you know why you’re here, sergeant?”

Price’s voice is calm, firm. There’s not a reprimand there, no gruff warning or the cold, leveled anger of immense displeasure. No, your captain stares at you with his hands folded under his chin, as you stand at a lazy parade rest before his office desk. His eyes are intent, focused in the way he always is, but there’s a concern there hidden by the attentive glint in his eyes.

You don’t look at him, staring down at the surface of his desk instead, not answering. Your eyes rest on a mug of coffee sitting atop a coaster, the steam gone. It’s long since gone cold. It speaks to his own distraction. With what, you’re not really sure. You can’t find yourself to care.

You haven’t slept in days.

It’s nothing to do with your workload. Nothing in regards to any sickness or fever of any sort. In fact, things have been rather quiet recently as the team awaits new marching orders. You’ve all been taking advantage of the downtime as much as possible, relishing the long lapse of respite for your own enjoyment. You’d even taken the chance to recently meet up with someone.

Being a sub requires a certain level of attentiveness to your self regulation. Doms, such as the ones on your team, can go long periods without needing a scene. Eventually they will need to scratch that itch, have someone soft and sweet kneel at their feet and be good for them. The aspect of control, of caretaking and dominance is a necessary part of their existence. It makes them good soldiers, able to take charge and provide insight into their missions.

Subs are uncommon in the military, and the surrounding societal stigma of their existence often relegates them to desk duty or intelligence work. It’s rare to find one in the field, and even then they don’t last long due to the frequent harassment from their dominant counterparts. It’s the reason you’ve concealed yourself for so long, posturing to stand alongside these men who are your comrades, feigning an aura of authority as you go willingly to your duty.

It doesn’t erase the thing inside you- the urge to kneel for someone safe, to listen to their low, rumbling voice as it rocks you into a floaty, warm surrender that relieves you of all tension and stress.

Too long without a scene, without subspace meant you were prone to an itchy, uncomfortable sort of irritation. It manifests as annoyance, a short temper, but eventually transitions into a depressive spiral with little end. Most of the time you can use one of the endorphin injections provided free by the infirmary to even yourself out. Such medical kits, known as SubStop and DomStop, were common in the field, designed to even out the irregular moods and imbalances left by a sudden twist in hormones. You’d gotten used to the nasty side effects, the inevitable crash that came in the wake of the adrenaline. It was easier than dealing with the team knowing your true designation, that you’ve been concealing yourself from them all this time.

Even so, sometimes you required a little extra handling to be able to regulate, feel comfortable and get out of your own head.

In your recent downtime you found someone just like that. A local dom who was calmer, more level headed than younger men on base who were interested purely in the sexual side of submission. You had talked for some time, had explored each other, and had ultimately agreed to meet up for a single session. You had both enjoyed yourself, had a welcome release of rushing endorphins, and for a moment you wondered if perhaps this would lead to something more. It all came crashing down as he began to dress following your scene.

“I don’t do aftercare.” He said blandly, and left.

You haven’t been the same since.

You’d gotten back to base tired, drained, and had curled into your bunk that night to cry yourself to sleep. In the days that have followed you’ve been exhausted, listless, entirely unfocused. Constantly dazed, you try to ignore the whimpering, festering emptiness inside you, feeling as if the world is too big, and you yourself are so very small. You turn into your bunk early in desperate search of sleep, trying vainly to power through the dark loneliness that permeates your entire being.

Subdrop. You knew as soon as your one night stand left, and promptly ghosted you. You knew by the sudden wash of cold, the tremble in your limbs, and the clenching, terrible regret of something wrong. Like tossed into an ice bath straight from the fire, the shock to your system makes you gasp, clutch at your chest at most random moments, wanting to double over due to the phantom pain there.

You know the solution. You know that pure, blissful aftercare will alleviate the effects of your scene gone wrong, but there’s no one to turn to. You can’t disclose to anyone on the team about this. They understand, they know, and they’d be ready to help you. It wasn’t that they weren’t available, but that disclosing yourself might somehow change your rapport with them. The idea that somehow they’d change their view of you, see you as less than was worse than the spiraling side effects of your freefall drop.

Maybe you can find someone to help off base, but even then you don’t trust your own judgment when your insides constantly feel scrubbed cold and raw. If anything, it might make it worse.

You have no choice but to just bite down and deal, and hope that in the coming days that the drop will naturally work its way out of your system. Nevermind the sleepless nights, the hours scrolling mindlessly in the darkness of your bedroom, the way you stare off into space and don’t hear the voices of others.

The team is concerned about you. You’re not hiding your inability to cope very well. The bags under your eyes deepen with each passing day. You move as if pushing through water. You excuse yourself from the rec room when others enter for fear they’ll pull you aside and ask about your listless, depressive state. It’s all for nothing though, because here you find yourself in Price’s office, glassy eyes avoiding his stare.

“Sergeant?”

You blink as his voice prompts you from your reverie, and force yourself to glance up into his eyes before averting your gaze once more.

“Apologies, Sir.” You force yourself to rasp, and frown, not knowing what you’re even apologizing for.

Price is silent. Observing. You feel pinned beneath his stare, try not to squirm under his scrutiny.

“Sit.” He tells you, nudging a chair beside you with his foot. The command itself plucks inside your chest, the needed authority of his voice making something uncomfortable twist inside you. You slide into the seat, perching uncomfortably on the edge, hands folded in your lap. “Look at me.”

You do, you make the effort to look up into his unwavering stare, trying and failing to hide the fatigue in your eyes.

“You’ve not been yourself lately.” He tells you, voice soft, and you grimace. “You’ve been walking around base like a ghost, barely completing your duties, and you’re clearly ignoring the rest of your team.”

The unsaid “Would you like to explain yourself?” Hangs in the silence that follows as you offer no response. There’s nothing to say, nothing you can say without the repercussions that follow.

“I’ve…just had a rough few days.” You tell him, voice tight. “It’s nothing I can’t manage.”

“You know you can rely on your teammates, love.” He reminds you gently, and you swallow hard at the endearment, feeling your shoulders tense. “Whatever it is, we’ll find a way to help. We all care about you.”

Find a way to help. Of course. With the one thing they can’t help you with.

“You can’t help.” You tell him, composure crumbling. “There’s nothing you can do.”

Price is silent, and if you were to look at him, you’d see the inklings of distress etched into his face. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, mouth pressed into a bitter frown as you try and hide it from him with little success.

Price rises from his chair, circles the desk to you before hesitantly laying a hand on your shoulder. You shudder a sigh at the contact, feeling yourself relax under the needed contact.

“There’s always something we can do.” He reassures you. “But I can’t help unless you tell me what it is.”

If only he could. If only your unwavering, steadfast captain with his guiding hands and gentle, smoky voice could help you, could alleviate the festering emptiness inside you. If only he could hold you the way you so desperately want, remind you what happened wasn’t your fault, allow himself to comfort you from the hurt clenching deep in your chest.

It all comes crashing down.

It starts as a hiccup, a stifled little sound you try to hide, and then your eyes are warm, wet with tears. They spill down your cheeks as you take an unsteady inhale, trying desperately to rein in your volatile emotions, conceal them from the man you admire so much. Try as you may, it’s without any success, because soon you begin to sob quietly with your head bent, face scrunching in an effort to stop your tears.

“It’s alright.” Price encourages softly, hand squeezing your shoulder. “Let it out.”

You do. It’s not a proper cry, not the true chest squeezing kind of cry that entirely empties you, but it serves a purpose in relieving a bit of the pressure inside you. Price stands beside you throughout, his hand drifting to knead gentle circles into the top of your spine as you shiver.

When you finally manage to get yourself under control, you scrub at your face with your jacket sleeve, heave a final shuddering exhale before summoning your resolve.

“Sorry, Sir.” You try again, voice muted, throat raw. “Truth is I…had a bad experience off base. It just shook me. I’ll get over it.”

You don’t need to go into further detail. It’s common knowledge soldiers hook up off base all the time, and Price knows this.

Yet suddenly his hand is tilting your chin up so you look directly into his grave, serious eyes.

“Did they hurt you?” He demands, voice suddenly deeper, grim with a scarcely concealed anger. You blink at the sudden change, the fierce protectiveness in his eyes that sets something in your stomach aflutter.

“N-no.” You manage, realizing what he’s referring to. “No, nothing like that-” You feel warmth crawl across your face, embarrassment prickling your skin. “It was all consensual.”

“Then…?” He presses, and you bite down on the words, refusing to bare this secret to him.

Price pauses then, shifts every so slightly and narrows his eyes. He’s thinking, considering, and you fear he’s seen straight through you. You don’t expect the words that come next.

“Are you dropping?” Price asks, strangely hesitant.

You freeze.

The silence that follows, heavy and persistent, tells Price all he needs to know.

At last, he sighs, letting go of a breath you didn’t realize he was holding.

“Oh love.” He murmurs, voice sad. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

You hunch over at that, hiding yourself from him, curling in on the physical sensation of disappointment that he’s given you.

Price sees it for what it is instantly, realizing his words have only furthered the festering ache inside you.

“Easy.” He gentles, and his hand is firm as it strokes between your tight shoulder blades. “I’m not angry.”

You sniffle into your shirt. “You…you’re not angry I hid my designation?” You ask in a raw whisper.

“No.” He replies instantly. “Only that we failed to make you feel safe enough to tell us.”

“...’s not your fault.” You murmur quietly.

“And what happened isn’t yours.” He offers, just as gently. His hand continues its long, slow strokes between your shoulders, and you feel yourself easing under it, comforted by the mere touch of another person.

“Do you have anyone to…?” He presses carefully, retaining space between you. Not advancing, not without your permission.

It takes you a moment to snap yourself out of the glow beginning to simmer across your senses to understand. He’s asking if you are seeing someone, if you have a partner to provide assistance with your drop. A bitter frown tugs your lips downwards, remembering the words of the man you met before he vanished.

“He…he said he doesn’t do aftercare.” You confess, voice small.

Price freezes.

You hear him take in a deep breath to steady himself, releasing it just as long in an effort to measure his anger.

“He did not do right by you.” He tells you, and in his voice you hear the ire, the offense on your behalf that clenches his hand atop his knee. Yet he unfurls it, and reaches out gently between you to gingerly rest it on your hand perches in your lap.

“I don’t mean to overstep.” He begins. “However, I can offer some assistance with this. Entirely on your terms. If you need someone to help, I can act as a…stand-in, as it were.”

You blink, face falling open in surprise as you stare down at your lap where his hand is. Reassuring but respectful, not crowding into your space. Asking for permission.

“You mean that?” You ask, finally looking up at him, voice cracking in a whisper that speaks of hope.

Price’s eyes are steady, calm as he regards you, Unflinching, intent, an anchor from the storm of your emotions.

“I do.” He returns easily, voice firm.

You swallow, face pinching as you consider. “And…what about after? Will it…” You trail off, the unspoken thing hovering in the air between you.

Will it change anything?

“No.” He replies quickly. “This is strictly between us. If you want to pretend like it never happened after, that’s what we’ll do.”

You hold his gaze for another minute, finally able to bear the stare of his blue eyes. You look for doubt there, an inkling of hesitation. Yet all you find is resolve and open, offering hands.

“Take some time to consider it.” He tells you in the lapse of silence that follows. “If you decide you’d like some help, you can come to my quarters tonight. If you decide against it, let me know.”

You manage a nod at that, swallowing the thickness in your throat and adjusting your hand under his in a small squeeze of thanks. It seems to be enough for him, because Price offers a smile, one that feels like it eases the tension radiating from your form just a little more. It takes a moment, but you sniffle and return the smile shyly.

“Right.” He announces, and gently withdraws from you to stand, assisting you to your feet as well and gently escorting you to the door of his office. You lean into his touch eagerly, feeling the firm grip of his palm at the small of your back. His voice rumbles with a gentle authority as he guides you forward. “In the meantime I want you to take the rest of the afternoon off, and to visit the infirmary for a check-up. You’re sleep deprived and dehydrated. Let them sort you. Understood?”

“Understood.” You echo dutifully, and once more that hand returns to your shoulder in a familiar grip, offering a small squeeze before he opens the door for you, his voice soft in a parting farewell.

“Take care, love. Let me know what you decide.”

—

In the end, you come to him.

It’s not a hard decision, but it does take some thought. You know his offer was genuine, with no ulterior motives. Almost clinical, doing his duty as your superior, in a way. You don’t deny that it hurts, considering the beginning of your feelings for him, but the doubt there is pressed down by the need for the assistance he offers. You hesitate only because you’re terribly afraid that things will change despite his words.

Would he try and bench you during missions? Have you hang back, underestimate you because of your designation?

You trust him, and that much is clear to you. You know Price won’t take advantage of you while you’re down. He’s a good man. You’ve handed your life to him in the field any number of times, trusting him to keep you safe and whole. This shouldn’t be any different.

…Right?

You swallow thickly as you knock thrice on his door, and almost instantly you hear his voice beckon you inside.

It’s dim, you notice, warm. There’s several blankets folded at the foot of his bed, a small assortment of snacks and water bottles set out on his dresser. Yellow light from his bedside light paints the room in quiet shadows. There’s a distant scent of cigars that lingers in the air, as if he’s done his best to air out the room before your arrival. It’s comforting in a way, a reminder of his scent in the few instances you’ve gotten physically close to him.

Price himself sits on the edge of the bed, limbs relaxed as much as he’ll allow them. He’s staring at you as the door shuts behind you, and if anything the dim shadows seem to make his eyes glint all the more.

“How are you feeling?” Is the first question he asks you, and something aches inside you at the purposefully slow, soft tenor of his voice, still accompanied with a hint of his gruff rasp.

“Shaky.” You tell him honestly, holding your trembling hands before your back.

Price makes a small, considering sound, examining your rigid, tense posture and letting silence hang heavy between you both for a few moments. You squirm under his gaze, eyes averting shyly at the fixation of his gaze on you.

Then he stands, takes two steps towards you. He stands just outside your personal space, tilts his head down to examine you with an unwavering, focused gaze. You have to restrain yourself from pushing forward, wanting desperately to fold into his arms, to let him hold you. It pulses inside your chest, tethered to the uncomfortably, empty ache sitting below your ribs.

“Will you let me help you?” He asks, voice a soft lull to your ears. It takes effort to not let your eyes flutter. You can already feel it creeping on you, that floaty, comfortable haze that offers to drown your senses in pillowy softness. You give him a small nod, only for a finger to tip your chin up towards him. It startles a breathy little sound from you, and you bite down on it a moment too late, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

“Need to use your words, love.” He rumbles, and damn if your knees don’t wobble at that alone, the deep tenor of his voice, the gentle but authoritative force of his words. You can see the shadows of his eyes as he falls easily into his role, a gentle, insistent domination that you can’t help but follow like a moth to a flame.

“Yes.” You manage, heat rising to your face. “Yes.”

He smiles then, and this time you have to use your strength to stay upright, already wanting to go down to the floor in front of him, feel the wood beneath your knees.

“We’re going to take this slow.” He tells you, his thumb brushing over your chin with a purposeful graze. “Need to work you through it, put you down and then bring you back up again. Can you do that for me? …Words, darling.” He adds when you once again nod silently.

“Yes, sir.” You offer, trusting, sincere.

There’s a dark look in Price’s eyes then, a hunger so swift and sharp it steals your breath in the single moment before it’s gone once more.

“Good girl. Can you tell me your safe word?”

You blink at him a little dopily, distracted by his thumb circling slow circles on your chin. You wonder what it would feel like pressed on your tongue.

“Just colors, please.” You tell him breathily.

Price nods at that, satisfied.

“Kneeling? Physical touch? Praise? Commands?” He goes on, and you nod eagerly at all of them before remembering to tac on your vocal approval. It seems to amuse him, your distraction, because you hear a chuckle rumble deep in his chest.

“Very good, darling. Going to keep this nice and slow, get you all sorted. Can you be good for me?”

That does it, and you shudder a little into his touch, tilting your head so your cheek brushes against his knuckles with a whispered little “Yes, sir.”

Maybe it’s the drop, maybe it’s him, but you already feel like you’re gently descending into total relaxation, a surrender and trust to be taken care of.

“That’s it.” He coos, wrapping one strong arm around your waist and gently guiding you back with him until his knees hit the bed. He sits, keeps you standing, one hand still tucked around your waist, just observing you. After a moment he reaches for a pillow, drops it to the floor just at your feet.

“Go ahead and kneel for me, sweet thing.”

You try to gracefully lower yourself down, but with your wobbly legs you fall more than you descend. A careful glance up at him proves Price is trying to hide his mild amusement, his hand snaking from your waist up to your shoulder as you sink to your knees. It takes a few moments to settle, and once you do Price’s hand once catches your chin, tilting you to his gaze.

Oh. This…this is nice. You think, eyelashes fluttering. Here, kneeling comfortably, safe in his room, the quiet lull of base a distant murmur in the backdrop. It’s cozy, serene, and you can feel the low, cloudy sensation of subspace slowly wash over your senses.

“Look at you.” He purrs, tapping your chin once to indicate you remain tilted up to look at him. “So far down for me already. Doing so well.”

The part of you that’s yet to let go, that clings on to that remnant, persistent tension of you swallows down the whine that threatens your throat. He seems to notice, tilting his head a little and blinking slowly, considering.

“What do you need, love?” He asks, and you shake your head mildly, trying to find your answer amidst the confusion of your clouded senses.

“Don’t know.” You tell him honestly, and begin to fidget. “I…”

“Shh, that’s alright.” he soothes easily, knuckles grazing your cheek. “Need you to listen to me, angel. Can you do that?”

You nod quickly, eager, willing to entrust yourself to him, to listen to whatever commands he has to offer.

“Good girl.” He returns, pausing to watch the shiver that traces across your limbs. “Go ahead and wrap your arms around my legs…just like that. Put your head right there on my knees. There you go.”

He maneuvers you slowly, gently, shaping you to his command as your arms settle locked behind his calves, chin pressed in the dip between his closed knees. He’s warm, and like this you can drink in the scent of him- smoky, musky, a hint of cologne he’s used to try and smother the smell of cigars.

In the dim, warm light you can see his eyes- dark, focused, unblinking as they gaze down at you settled comfortably at his feet. There’s a hitch in his breathing- a shallow indication of his reaction to the sight of you, with your hazy eyes and parted lips, well on your way down into subspace.

“Give me a color, darling.”

“Green.” You breathe almost instantaneously.

“Very good. How are you feeling?”

Your brow pinches at that, feeling the remnant tug of tension still pull as a dull ache in your ribs.

“...Better?” You offer after an uncertain pause. Price looks a little dismayed at that, with his furrowed brow and down turned lips that tug the corners of his beard. It sends a little bit of alarm pulsing through you, afraid of his disappointment, perhaps a reprimand, and he feels it instantly in the way you stiffen against him.

“Easy, relax.” He gentles, a hand reaching to cup your nape. “Just checking in, love. There’s nothing wrong. You’re safe.”

You ease at that, eyelashes fluttering, sinking back into him once more.

“Good girl.” He purrs, thumb stroking in lazy circles across your nape.

“Thank you, sir.” You reply, voice slurring a little as you sink down.

If his fingers pause on your nape, you don’t notice, too distracted by the warmth and smell of him in your comfortable position.

It’s nice. You can feel yourself unwinding bit by bit, head propped in between his knees as you look up at him in the dim, warm light. There’s the beginnings of a relaxed sort of glaze to his eyes as he stares down at you wordlessly, taking in the soft, sweet sight of your open face. He’s falling into domspace, you can tell, allowing himself to relax into the role of taking care of you.

“We’re going to try some breathing exercises, sweetheart.” He announces after the long silence. “Deep breathe-” He sucks in a long, heavy inhale, and you mirror him, holding as long as he does, before releasing. “And out. Very good. Doing so well for me. Again.”

You mirror him as he breathes, feeling the tension slowly relax from your shoulders. With each inhale you drop your chin further into the cradle of his knees, feeling a warm haze descend over you. Each exhale releases a little more of the stiffness in your limbs, like loosening a knot tied in your chest.

You don’t even notice it when your cheek lolls against one of his knees, eyes half lidded as you gaze up at him. Nor do you notice the purposefully slow, even breaths he forces himself to take at your loose, pliant form crowded so close to him.

“There we go, angel. All the way down. So sweet and soft for me. Tap twice on my leg if you can still hear me.”

A small tap twice to the inside of his knee, and when Price smiles you feel gooey warmth bleed down into your bones.

“Very good.” He coos, knuckles grazing over the cheek not pressed to his knee in a featherlight touch. “Going to let you float for a bit. You can go down as deep as you need. I’ll be right here. Tap on my knee when you’re ready to come up.”

You cast a lingering gaze at him, eyes vaguely worried, but his voice hushes you easily.

“You’re safe. I’m right here, not going to leave. I’ve got you.”

You blink at him, slow, trusting, before you finally allow your head to drape across his knee, arms relaxing but maintaining their hold on his legs. A deep, fulfilling sigh breezes past your lips, and you feel yourself go sweetly down into a blissful haze of warm, dewy softness. Your breaths slow to deep, even inhales and exhales, and you feel your heartbeat pulse low in your ribs, where the ache and emptiness of your drop slowly begins to alleviate.

“There we go.” Price murmurs above you, a hand petting gently at your hair in a tender touch. “Went down nice and easy for me, didn’t you, sweet girl?”

You make a little hum against his leg, too comfortable and floaty to do much more than that. It seems to amuse him, somehow, and when he chuckles the sound warms you right through.

God this is nice. Just sitting here at his feet, pressed up close to his legs, snuggled in as close as you can get. With your cheek pressed against his knee you can drink in the heavy, comforting scent of him, let it cloud your thoughts and drift you further into blissful tranquility.

You don’t need to speak, to think or make decisions. Duties, secrets, resilience, you don’t need any of it. All you need is to just be here, pressed against Price, pliant and sweet as he rumbles soothingly down at you.

“Doing well, love. Take as much time as you need. You’re safe.”

Yes. You’re safe. You’ve always been safe with him. There’s nobody in the world you trust more than Price. He’s saved your life many times over, has dragged you to safety, has slung your arm across his shoulder as he helped carry you, has offered careful, firm murmurs as he’s wrapped bandages across your wounds. He’s always taken care of you, in his own way. Each debrief comes with a hand across your shoulder, a long, sideways glance that says more than he can.

You’ve never let yourself get close to him, too afraid of him finding out what you are, too afraid of his prejudice and judgment.

Now that you’re here, curled up at his feet and drifting serenely, you wonder why you ever worried at all.

You stay like that for a long while, simply breathing, thoughts empty as you hug his legs, absorbing his warmth. The room is quiet, and in the soft after hours of base the only sounds you can hear is the slow, steady thump of your heart and Price’s low, measured breathing.

You wish you could stay here forever, just being sweet and good for him, but eventually your knees begin to cramp up and you shift uncomfortably with a little whine.

“Eyes up, love.” Price tells you, words belaying a hint of firm command, and instantly you prop your chin to look up at him with soft, dewey eyes.

You’re too lost to notice the way his eyes glint, the unblinking fixation of him as he simply takes in the sight of you- lost in the dopey haze of subspace, lips parted as you stare at him with a glassy, lidded gaze.

“Look at you.” He breathes with a soft sigh, raising a hand to cup your face. You lean into it with a blissful little sigh. “Gorgeous thing.”

You squirm a little at that, skin warming with the praise. As you move to hide your face in his knees, Price keeps a hold of your chin, forcing you to stare up at him.

“Mm, eyes on me. Just like that. Good.”

You wonder, amidst the cottony softness of your thoughts, what the purpose of this is, with him taking his time to just drink you in like he’ll drown without the sight. You can see his eyes tinted with the same wayward longing he offers you when you catch his gaze after missions- when he aches for you, longs to make sure you’re safe.

The ache in your knees returns, and a little whine bubbles up your throat, brow pinching with discomfort.

“Feeling sore?” Price inquiries gently, and you nod into his hand. “Alright angel, sit up for me. Slowly…good. Good girl.”

You raise up a little on your knees, and soon Price leans over you, securing his hands on you to drag you further up and onto the bed. You allow him to arrange your heavy, sluggish limbs so you’re braced with your back against the headboard, nestled in his pillows. You go willingly, easing into his touch, content at letting him maneuver you as he pleases.

When he moves away from you, however, you startle a little at the sudden absence of his touch.

Price notices instantly, and once more you feel his hand stroke across your face, thumb descending to press against the plush bed of your bottom lip.

“Just getting some snacks and water, love. Count to ten for me, I’ll be right back.”

That eases you some, and you nod, slowly counting. You get to eight before Price returns, dropping a bottle and a snack bar on his bedside table.

“Scoot forward for me.” He instructs, and you obey as best you can, allowing him to shuffle you a little forward further down the bed. It takes some maneuvering, but soon you find Price sitting up behind you, dragging you back so you sit inside the nest of his legs, back pressed to his front.

If you thought kneeling at his feet was nice, this must be heaven.

He’s so big and warm, and when an arm wraps around your front to keep you from falling too far down the bed, you distantly wonder if you ever want to come up at all.

Price adjusts, and you hear the sound of a wrapper being put aside before the snack bar appears in your line of vision.

“Just a few bites.” He tells you, but makes no motion indicating for you to take the bar from his hands.

You lean forward obediently, taking small bites from his hand as he provides them to you, quiet and appreciative, until the entire thing is gone.

“Very, very good.” He murmurs, chin braced atop your head, huffing a pleased little sound when you squirm a little in his lap at the praise. “Like being told you’re good, don’t you, angel?”

You want to hide your face in his chest, but unable to do so your instead let your head drop forward a little, avoiding his eyes.

“Shy thing, aren’t you?” He rumbles, pleased, and it only makes a rush of warmth trace across your skin at the deep, purring tenor of his voice in your ear.

You get the feeling he wants to tease you a little more, but opts instead to wrap a hand under your jaw in a careful grip, lifting you up so he can graze the water bottle across your lips.

“Just a few sips.” He encourages. “Then we can lay down and take a little snooze. How’s that sound?”

You nod eagerly at that, and readily drink down the water when he offers it to you. You’re about halfway down when you finally tilt your head away, and Price wordlessly deposits the bottle on the table.

“Tell me a color, love.”

You have to think about it, past the hazy softness of you, brow pinching as your brain turns over the question.

“Green.” You reply with a little sigh, one that Price mirrors behind you.

“Good girl. You ready to come up yet?”

You shake your head at that, frowning. Honestly, a part of you knows you have to come up at some point, but if you had it your way you’d stay like this forever, caught in his arms, warm and fed and cared for as his chest rises deep with every inhale.

Price chuckles at your pouting little expression. When he bends forward to reach for a blanket at the bottom of the bed, he’s forced to curl over you, pressing you down with his weight. It’s startling how quickly you have to stifle a moan at the sensation, with his larger frame bracketing you in, engulfing you with the firm line of his body against yours.

He pulls back all too soon, drapes a blanket across your lap and up to your shoulders. It’s soft, a little worn, but it smells like him, and that’s all you need. You snuggle happily into it with a little hum, leaning back against him a little more until you’re completely situated.

“There we go, angel. How’s that feel?”

“ ‘S nice.” You slur, tucking your head a little further down to nestle into the blanket. “Comfy.”

Price hums a pleased little sound, one hand still wrapped around your front, and now the other resting easily on your thigh, pressing in soft, lazy circles. It’s instantly soothing, and once more you can feel yourself drifting a little further down into that wordless, worriless meditation.

“Close your eyes for me, love.” Price murmurs gently. “Slow, deep breaths.”

You comply readily, and as you feel his chest rise slow and deep behind you you force yourself to match it, dragging in a warm inhale that’s heavy with his scent. You follow him as he exhales, and then repeats once more.

“Just like that.” He murmurs as you grow completely limp in his arms. “All the way down. Perfect.”

You’re too far under to even acknowledge him, senses heavy and sated as he curls himself a little further around you, hand stroking lazy patterns along your thigh.

“Rest now, darling. I’ll be here when you come up.”

Regardless of the command, you find yourself drifting easily into stillness, a languid little sigh releasing all the tension in your body before sleep descends dusky and tender over your senses.

—

It’s still dark when you finally wake up, sluggish and heavy. The room is still warm and dim, quiet with the low, steady thump of your heartbeat. It’s the first thing you notice aside from the contented weight of your limbs.

The second is the pair of arms wrapped around you, tucking you close into Price’s front as you both lay on your sides.

“Awake?” He rumbles, and with the soft hoarse of his voice you can tell he’s been dozing as well, not fully asleep, still present for you to wake up and he told you he’d be.

“Mhm.” You mumble, ignoring the self conscious little flutter at being caught in his arms like this.

“Feeling better?” Price asks, and makes no move to shift away or dislodge you from his hold.

“Much.” Your eyes are level with his collarbone that peeks beneath his shirt, and there you see an old, silvery scar that snakes up towards his jugular. You wonder about the story there, about how this man has seen so much violence and yet somehow can still be so gentle.

“Thank you.” You whisper, feeling that warm haze now gently ease, and in its place a comfortable awareness free from the empty, clenching side effects of drop. “For all of this.”

Price is silent for a moment, and you wonder if perhaps you said the wrong thing. His voice is low, deep as he speaks.

“He shouldn’t have treated you like that” He rumbles, and there’s a hint of darkness there, one that melds with his hold on you tightening just a fraction, as if he’s too possessive to let you go. “If I-”

He stops himself then, words biting into nothingness. You hold your breath, waiting for more, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the silence envelops you both, soft and warm, a touch bitter with unspoken words.

“I understand why you didn’t tell us, love.” He speaks at last. “And I trust you’ll understand when I say we will never judge you for anything but yourself.”

Emotion, hot and thick, rises up through your belly. It scrunches your face, warms your eyes as you sniffle against him.

This is what you wanted. The entire time, all of this hiding and secrecy and anxiousness. You wanted to be accepted, to be held, to be cherished, by him.

“I wish it was you.” You whisper, scarcely audible. “The entire time, I wished it was you.”

Price stiffens at that, and you’re certain he’s going to pull away, to declare this scene is over and gently escort you out. You wonder vaguely if you’ll hurtle straight back into drop with his rejection.

“If I had known-” He murmurs in an echo of his previous words. “I would have offered myself much sooner.”

You look up at that, tilting your head so your eyes no longer look at his chest, but into his eyes. Soft, sincere, achingly tender in a way that plucks the defenseless heart strings inside you.

“You mean that.” You state then, voice scarcely containing your hope.

Price makes a little rumbling hum down at you, his hand flexing at the small of your back.

“Only if you’ll have me, angel.”

Angel.

Now, here, out of subspace, away from the cottony softness of him guiding you down. Instead he calls you this beloved endearment because it’s you, because he wants you.

It’s all you’ve ever wanted- to be here, to be in his arms, to entrust yourself to him so wholly and completely that he becomes the only thing for you with his gentle guiding hands and stern, smoke laden words.

“I’m your captain.” He tells you, one hand grazing your cheek in a beloved touch. “But if you ever need more, all you need to do is ask.”

The words inside you seem to buzz soundlessly in the cavern of your thoughts. There’s so many things you want to say, to confess, to ask of him. Yet here, in this moment, the only thing you can offer him is the thing you’ve said from the beginning.

“Please.”

And- oh. Oh, his smile, the way it tugs at his beard and makes the smile lines crinkle at the corner of his eyes, pleased and soft even as his eyes glint in the darkness. A quiet, profound gratitude of which he speaks little, and yet feels so deeply.

“Can I stay?” You ask, voice small but hopeful, and Price’s eyes twinkle with an amusement that swoops low in your stomach.

“Who said you were leaving?”

You smile at that, and if anything it makes the corners of his lips tug tighter, a low, pleased rumble vibrating through his chest pressed close to yours.

“Rest, darling.” He encourages once more. “There will be time in the morning.”

There will be. There will be time come morning, and there will be time after. There will be time for the touches that follow, and the words that precede them. There will be time for his familiar control to settle comfortably over you, for you to slowly but fully surrender to him. There will be time for you to become his entirely, and for you to go willing into his guiding hands.

Yet here, in his arms, safe and whole, you silently wish that dawn will never come.

I already posted this over on AO3 but figured I would post this on here as well. Enjoy!

#price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x you #to add to masterlist

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