#please feel free to send asks at ANY time ever

[tojiswhore-aventurinesslut]

Part 2 to this post where you find Aventurine again, thinking you're gonna settle the score. But instead, he has you right back where you were before: pinned against the wall and aching for him. Except this time, he doesn't stop.

Warning: NSFW, fingering, rough face fucking

You're breathing hard, clit throbbing, as he kisses along your neck and pinches your nipples between his fingers.

"I thought you would have more to say but you've been awfully quiet. Nothing but moans and pants leaving that pretty little mouth of yours." He says against your neck before working his way down further to your exposed breasts, taking a nipple into your mouth and biting, eliciting another moan from you.

He holds both of your wrists behind you, not letting you touch him while he works your nipples with his tongue and hand. You clench your thighs together, trying to relieve yourself of some of the tension, but it's not enough.

Aventurine notices. He always does.

"I told you to come back to me when your mouth was ready to work. If you want something, you're gonna have to use it." He said, detaching from your nipple to look down at you.

You breathed hard, something about Aventurine always left you speechless and at his every whim. His aura engulfed you. You were his plaything and you didn't know any other way to be.

He looked down at your lips, pressing his thumb down on the bottom one to open your mouth wider before looking back into your eyes, "Well?"

"I-I want....more.....please." You begged, breathless.

He smirked, "Ask and you shall receive."

His lips came crashing back down onto you, pushing you against the wall with your arms still pinned behind you.

Except this time, his free hand moved down to between your legs, right where you ached the most.

He stroked you over your panties, making you moan into his mouth and buck your hips. Finally.

"Someone's eager." He teased against your lips.

He let go of your hand to take both of his gloves off, sending a shiver down your spine. He only ever took them off when he was going to fuck you.

With his now bare hands he slipped your panties to the side to feel at your wetness, dipping a finger in easily and making you arch your back when he curled it.

He sucked on your neck while he worked you with one finger. It felt good, but you wanted more. As if sensing this, Aventurine whispered into your ear, "If you want more, you're gonna have to let me hear how much you want it," before nipping at it.

Your pussy throbbed, "I want more Aventurine. Please. More." You quietly whined.

"Hm? I can't hear you. I need you to speak louder." he smirked, looking down at you.

You breathed hard as he fingered you a bit faster. Just enough to make you ache even more. To feel what you're missing out on.

"I want more Aventurine." You moaned, louder this time.

Suddenly, two fingers were in you, making you gasp at the added fullness. Curling his fingers every time he pushed them in making you moan loudly.

"See? See what you get when you use that pretty little mouth?" He teased.

You kept moaning as he worked his fingers in and out of you, feeling the pleasure ripple through you with every slide of his digits.

"C'mon, I think you can be louder." He said, adding his thumb to the mix to rub circles on your clit.

"Oh fuck!" You yelled, bucked your hips, panting now. Your wetness was trailing down his wrist and you could feel yourself climbing to your release.

"Just like that, right?" He cooed, relishing in the way you were coming undone on his hand. Curling his fingers and rubbing your clit just how you liked it. It was impossible to control yourself as he fucked you so expertly with his fingers.

"Yes! Yes!" You all but screamed as your orgasm hit you, gripping onto his shoulders as you rode his hand, clenching and unclenching around him.

"Good girl." he whispered, kissing your neck while you rode out your orgasm before removing his fingers.

You were breathing hard as you came down, face flushed.

Aventurine palmed at the aching erection in his pants.

"Let's see what else that lovely mouth of yours can do." He said as he undid his belt and pulled his cock out.

You looked down at it as he stroked his shaft, smearing his precum over it in the process. Your mouth watered at the thought and you sank down onto your knees immediately, looking up at him, waiting for his direction.

"So obedient." he breathed, pushing his tip against your lips, signalling you to open for him.

As soon as you did, he thrust deep into your throat, making you gag. He held himself up against the wall with one hand and held your head with the other, giving him the perfect leverage to piston his hips into your mouth.

You gagged and choked, tears running down your cheeks as he moaned above you, praising you for taking him so fucking well. His pace was brutal, but you did your best to rub your tongue along his shaft and tip, earning a groan from him. It was all you could do to keep your mouth open, breathing hard through your nose as he stuffed your mouth full with his cock.

"Just like that. Keep that pretty mouth open for me." He panted, hips stuttering.

After a few more deep thrusts he was cumming with a groan, hot spurts of it trickling down your throat as you did your best to swallow it all around his dick.

He sighed, releasing your head and slowly pulling out. You did your best to suck and lick his shaft clean before he fully exited.

Once he did, you looked up at him, cheeks wet and lips swollen, breathing hard.

He smiled down at you, wiping at your cheek and then stroking his thumb across your lips, "I knew this mouth would be good to me."

#WHEWWWWWW #lord #i just had this idea and had to run with it lol #aventurine x reader #x reader #aventurine smut #hsr smut #hsr fics #hsr #aventurine #my writing

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Which one? (Hannibal/Will)

Description: Both of them like Y/N and when she finds out she was to choose

Word Count: 714

Request:

Hi could you please write a fanfic, where both Hannibal and Will are -obsessively- interested in the reader, who is completely oblivious. After she finally realizes their interest, she needs to choose one of them (preferably Hannibal) and it ends in smut?

Author’s note: I completely forgot to add the smut I’m so sorry but I hope you like it! Also feel free to send in request. I’m currently on a Challengers kick but I’ll take anything!

Hannibal and Will have lots in common even if they don’t want to admit it. Hannibal though does but Will would rather die than admit to anyone that he is like the physiatrist. They share something that one could kill the other for: feelings for Y/N. They both knew it and hated the fact that they both liked her. She was oblivious to it which made it better for them but also annoying.

They both wondered if she had feelings for one of them. She never showed signs of it but that didn’t mean she didn’t have feelings for one of them. It was rather annoying to everyone around the three watching it all go down. Will would glare at Hannibal anytime he talked to Y/N and Hannibal planned to eat Will anytime he talked to Y/N. Y/N just thought the two guys were just being nice. “Will, Y/N probably wants an older man that can show her the best time.” Hannibal told him as they walked away from her. “I am an older man to her, Hannibal. You would be an elder to her.” Hannibal snorted at his comment.

Y/N was almost 30 so both men were older than her. Y/N wasn’t ever picky with the ages of her partners, as long as they were around her age or older. The day that Y/N realized that they both liked her was when she overheard their conversation. “Y/N would choose me. I’m smart, good looking and I have an accent.” Hannibal told Will. “She would choose me. We have more in common and I make her laugh harder.” Both had great points but Y/N was too shocked to even think about it. Both of them liked her? She had to get away before they saw her listening to them. 

The next day was like any other except that she was well aware of what they were doing. Fighting for her love, attention. They both were good looking men. How could she choose? “Guys we need to talk.” She tells them, her voice had a hint of sadness in it. They looked at her waiting for her to continue. “I know that you both like me.” She states at looks at the two of them. Hannibal hides his shock but Will’s eyes widened. “Oh my how did you know?” He asked. “I overheard you guys talking about it.” Hannibal looked down as did Will. She had to choose one of them. “Who are you choosing and why is it me?” Will gave Hannibal a weird look. “You don’t know that.” He said. Y/N looked between them….

Will’s Version 

“Hanni you’re very nice but I like Will.” She said to the older man. Will wanted to celebrate and laugh in Hannibal’s face but he was too mature for that. Hannibal nodded and gave her a small smile. He was embarrassed that Will was right and sad. “But we can still be friends.” She told him. “I’d like that.” He said and walked away. Will walked up to her and cupped her face, “Thank you.” He said before leaning in and kissing her. 

Hanni’s version 

“Well because I like you Hannibal.” She answered his egotistical question. Will looked shocked. Hannibal smiled and turned to Will. “And see I was right.” “Hanni, don’t be mean I can always change my mind.” She told him. He nodded and turned to her. She looked at Will, “You’re a nice guy Will you will meet someone.” He smiled at her words. “Thank you Y/N.” He said and walked away. Hannibal held out his hand for Y/N to take. She took it and they began walking. “Don’t be mean to him.” Y/N said. “I won’t.” He lied, knowing that he would. 

Both 

“No, I can't choose.” They looked at each other and then back at Y/N. “What do you mean?” “I like you both.” She said. Neither of them saw that coming which changed everything. “So you want us both?” Will asked. Y/N nodded, feeling ashamed. Hannibal noticed the guilty look she had. “Hey, don't be ashamed. I’m sure we can work something out.” He said and looked at Will. Will smiled and nodded. That something happened to be both guys kissing her neck on her bed as she sighed in pleasure.

#hannibal #mads mikkelsen #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hugh dancy #will graham #hannibal imagine #will graham x reader #will graham imagine #hannibal x will #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter x reader

[poisonouspastels]

(Prev anon asking for lore) BITING YOUR LOREDUMP SM!!!!/pos It's so interesting!! I absolutely love how you wrote it, it like, in an way started picturing an painting in my mind of how part of the stories went down. Like with Groda and the way she wanted to be a leader with all the revolts then sending herself and her loyal followers into the underground and what was describe with the people above. And how she seemingly got even worse(?) down there while now sesrching for that enternal life. And the way Herobrine finds it!!(and how hes trying to keep himself alive D:!!) Your writing for it is intriguing to me and I can say you definitely got me into it.

THANK YOU!!!!!! Legit it is SO nice to finally be able to talk about universe building stuff with someone that isnt my partner (NOT THAT I MIND TALKING TO HER AT ALL but its just nice to get it OUT THERE) and its always so hard for me to just lay out stuff unless someone asks about specific stuff which usually people dont!! and i cant just talk about the ENTIRE thing all at once because i wouldnt even know where to start or where to end!!! or what to detail!!! my brain is exploding at all times because of all the fucking writing in it. i want to talk about EVERYTHING!!! and i want people to ENJOY CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA!!!! I am incapable of being normal but people engaging with my content and asking questions brings me indescribable amount of joy ANYWAY enough about me, im glad u liked it!!! I am by no means a professional writer but getting ideas out there is so satisfying, even if it isnt really in a professional formatting. And my MC au is something im REALLY passionate about bc it brings me a lot of comfort so i just have so many ideas and things in my head and im glad they come out cohesive and actually kind of cool sounding!! And u are right Groda got VERY worse she is so up in her head about being better than everyone else and ensuring her own success that she kind of lost sight of what she was actually fighting for and now even that is gone. Like congrats bitch!! Ur a ruler of an empire that collapsed under your own fucking reign!! What now!!! Don't worry when she comes around to finding that humans exist once more in the modern time she's gonna make it everyone's problem AGAIN. Or at least the main four players. SPEAKING OF THE PLAYERS Herobrine is genuinely so fun to just do anything with. Dude literally spawned in and weeks later dedicated a majority of the next years of his life to chasing some mystery. He, at the time, is far more obsessed with the past than caring about the present where he's just this scrawny twig of a man who's barely managing to keep himself on two feet. The spider bites on his leg are IMMENSE and he even has scaring on his arm from his encounter with the Warden. As well as that facial scarring from improper use of magic

he is a CAVE RAT and i love him deeply. most ppl make Herobrine some paranormal entity thing which can be really cool!!! but i really did say hey what if i just made him some weird fucking guy. Would u believe he first met the other main players properly through Rana finding him having tripped over face first in a berry bush after trying not to be seen by them. I would. And as I put it on Discord:

#minecraft #THANK U ANON #please feel free to send asks at ANY time ever #ily #minecraft au mastertag

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You love James but he loves Lily. It's simple, until it isn't so simple anymore.

Genre: Angst (happy ending)

Warnings: James x Lily mentioned, "unrequited" love, idiots in love, swearing, violence, harassment, crying, arguments, protective!james, jealous!james, stupid!james, Lily isn't a villain—pls i love her!

You know two things for certain—

You're head over heels in love with James. 

He's head over heels in love with Lily.  

In the beginning, you saw the entire situation as some messy game of cat & mouse, and you'd been determined to win. You had foolishly been convinced Lily didn't like James in any way. It never seemed like she had any interest in him. 

And James? Well, James adored your attention. It very clearly sparked his already enormous ego, and you couldn't deny you liked the thrill of him liking your shameless flirting. 

It was fun and harmless while it lasted and it seemed like there was a mutual understanding to both pretend you didn't notice the stolen looks, or shy smiles, the feel of his hand brushing yours in the hallway, the small written notes in class, or the letters he'd sent over the summer…and of course the present he'd left you for your 17th birthday; a small, necklace with expensive tiny rubies. 

It felt surreal. 

It was surreal because the moment you find out James has been dating Lily since Christmas break you feel sick. "Lily? Lily Evans?" You ask your friends, almost choking on your scrambled eggs. 

"Yeah. Apparently, Marls said that Lily kissed James in the Common Room after his practice yesterday," Mary says, immersed in the gossip, "Either way, I heard from Sirius Black that they've been inseparable ever since New Year. He says it's rather annoying."

You hear her muffle a yelp as Pandora kicks her shin from underneath the table. "Oh, I forgot you like James, Y/n," Mary says and sends you a sympathetic smile. 

You feel crushed inside but you force a smile, "Me? Oh, please. I can find so much better than Potter. He was just a silly crush," you swat your hand in the air, "I'm already over him," you say.

Pandora doesn't look like she believes you but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she and Mary let you sit in silence and pretend not to know you're unintentionally staring at James and his friends from across the dining hall. 

James is laughing and your chest tightens. He seems over the moon as he has his arm around Lily's shoulder and she looks at him with a look you've never seen her wear. She actually looks like she's enjoying his jokes now. 

You can't help yourself as you start to compare yourself to Lily. You chew on your nails as you start to remember every insecurity you've ever had and you feel miserable.

You aren't really supposed to feel miserable, you reason, deep down you knew James wasn't yours. He was always hers. He was just waiting for her to claim him and you were a silly distraction.

You pry your eyes away from James and Lily when he stands up. You think he sees you for a moment because you can feel his stare. However, when you lift your head and make eye contact for a moment. James's expression is unreadable and he's the first to turn his head. He grins and continues his conversation with Lily as you're frozen in time.

"Y/n?" Mary calls your name and time resumes.

"Yeah?" you whisper, composing yourself and crossing your arms on the table. 

"Here," she hands you a crumpled-up note and points behind her, "It's from Danny."

You take the note from Mary and tilt your head to see Danny Dulac staring at you from the Slytherin table. Danny Dulac is the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. He's tall, extremely smart, and has the silkiest blond hair. 

Danny sends you a smile and motions toward the paper in your hand which reads:

~I heard Potter is out of the picture now. Does this mean you're free for a Butterbeer on Saturday?~

You think it's a joke but when you look up, Danny looks dead serious. Mary leans over and when she sees the note over your shoulder, she exclaims, "Oh my Merlin, Danny just asked you out!" she pushes on your shoulder excitedly and you shush her. 

You stare at the cursive and your mind races. You spent so many years liking James that it had never even crossed your mind that you could like other boys, or that they could like you. 

"Well? Answer him," Pandora insists and makes a little circle motion with her hand. 

Once you find a quill from inside your book-bag, you reply with a small, enthusiastic, 

~Yes!~

* * *

Over the week leading up to Saturday, you try to pretend James and Lily don't exist. 

It's much easier than you imagined because you have Danny's to pay attention to now. Turns out Danny Dulac is a gentleman who carries your books in the hallway and compliments you whenever he has the chance. 

You don't feel the loss you felt when you found out James and Lily kissed—at least not when James isn't staring at you from afar. You knew James wasn't that fond of Danny—being the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and all—but ever since Danny has been hanging around you it seems like James can't stand the guy. 

It's confusing, especially because James hasn't made any attempts to talk to you since his relationship with Lily became public. 

You sit in Potions next to Marlene when Remus Lupin comes up to you. "Y/n?" he asks in a quiet voice and you look up at him, "It's from James," he shows you the note in his hand and you stare at it like it's one of James's stupid pranks. 

You thank Remus and open it anyway, 

~Meet me at Hogsmeade on Saturday?~

Without a word to Remus, you scribble an answer, 

~I have a date~

You fold the torn parchment and hand it to Remus. You watch him walk back to James and Sirius. When James sees you've actually written him a response, his eyes sparkle and he hides a smile. However, his smile disappears once he reads the contents and you’ve never seen him so perturbed. 

He starts to scribble on the paper and, with his eyes focused on you, hands it to Remus. 

Remus shakes his head adamantly so James then tries to hand it to Sirius, who also shakes his head. James's last option is Peter but the poor boy has fallen asleep on his Potions book. 

You smile. Your attention is pulled from them when you see Danny next to you.

"Hi," he smiles.

"Hi," you answer and the last thing that could possibly be on your mind is James Potter. 

* * *

You pull at the hem of your dress and adjust your jumper nervously. Danny has just made the same joke he made a few hours earlier and you really try and force out another chuckle. 

"You ok? You look a little warm," Danny says foam from the beer lays across his upper lip.

You blink. You like him, you try to convince yourself, he's smart and super handsome and he carries your books for Merlin's sake— 

"I'm completely fine, continue?" you smile sweetly and lean in towards him from across the table. You want to look interested.

Danny smirks and looks around. "Wanna go somewhere quieter?" 

No, you want to say. You won't want to go anywhere with him because that means you have to listen to him some more and he's oh so boring.

Only you don't say no, you say, "Sure," and allow him to take your hand.

Once you've found a small, empty corner of The Three Broomsticks, Danny pushes you to the wall. His hand is resting near your forehead and he leans in as if he wants to kiss you. You panic and push him away, "Oh I'm super warm actually. One second," You turn and your hands tremble as you pull your jumper over your head and let it slide down your arms. 

Danny looks a little annoyed when you turn back around. His eyes lower and he frowns, "Pretty' necklace. Who's it from?" he points out and you look down. 

James's necklace.

"Oh. A friend," you say dismissively and rush to unclip it as it falls into your hands.

"A friend huh?" Danny crosses his arms, "Is it from Potter?"

You feel your cheeks become warm. Why would he ask that? You aren't sure what expression you're making but it cannot be a normal one.

"No!" you say and Danny yanks the necklace from your hands. Your heart sinks as you try to take it back instantly.

Danny holds it away from you, making you feel small, "You can't keep this." 

"Why not? It's mine," your lip wobbles.

"Because it's from him and he has a girl. It's completely inappropriate." 

You lower your arm and your heart hurts. Is Danny right? Maybe you have thrown away the necklace as soon as you found out about James and Lily? Why are you still wearing it? 

"Plus, if you want to be my girl you'll throw away this dirty necklace," Danny snarls as he runs his fingers along the silver chain. You freeze. 

"What?" you can't believe he just said that. 

"What?" Danny counters. He seems confused at your sudden shift in tone. 

"I am not your girl. I don't want to be your girl."

"Bullshit, Y/n," Danny rolls his eyes and stuffs your necklace into his robe. He walks closer, this time menacingly, and you feel stuck. Your hands press against the wall and you look at him. Your eyes brim with tears, mostly in hopes he'll leave you alone when he sees them. Danny just raises his hand and harshly brushes them away with his thumb, "You should feel lucky someone like me even likes you," he smirks. 

You feel like someone just punched you in the gut and you stutter, "Get away from me."

"No," Danny says and leans in. Only, he's suddenly ripped from in front of you and you inhale, surprised. You blink as Danny stumbles when someone seizes his collar. You feel someone else's hand on your shoulder and you turn to look at them. 

"Are you okay?" Kind, considerate, Lily Evans whispers, concerned at your tears.

"What the fuck?!" You hear a loud crack as Danny groans in pain. You look towards the sound and see James Potter take Danny's collar again, his knuckles already stained a little crimson. James looks furious. 

"Did you hurt her?" he hisses and shakes Danny like it's nothing.

Lily soothes you by rubbing your shoulders and she calls James's name as a warning.

"Hurt her? We're on a date, Potter. She wanted it," Danny snarls and you wince. You didn't want it. James looks at you and Lily from the corner of his eye and his heart breaks when he sees your expression.

"Fucking nutter!" James exclaims and punches Danny in the stomach. This time, Danny doesn't just take the hit. Instead, he tackles James and they trip onto the ground. Lily screams at her boyfriend and you scream Danny's name. 

You try to pull Danny away from James but it's only when you hear a loud crack as Danny lands on his left thigh that he pauses. You gasp, covering your mouth with your hands, which makes James pause and he looks confused as Danny pulls out your necklace from inside his robe. The small rubies have shattered and when Danny opens his hand, the chain and the shards drop onto the ground. 

He stands and taunts, "Some gift, huh Potter?" James's expression falls. 

 You crouch down, scooping the, now completely ruined, necklace into your palms. You try to hold in your tears and the world around you turns silent as you look at your present. "Shut it," You hear Lily snap at Danny and she doesn't hesitate to help you stand. Her arm holds yours and she looks almost as furious as James. 

"She's crying because of you, you prat! Does that make you feel good about yourself, huh?" James points out with frustration.

You know he means well, but it doesn't help that he basically announced to the entirety of The Three Broomsticks that you're in tears. You sniffle and look at Danny. His blue eyes shine with a mixture of embarrassment, pity, shame, and resentment.

"Whatever," he just snarls, "She's not worth it. She never was," he says as if you aren't standing directly in front of him. 

"You piece of shit," James hisses but Lily interrupts him.

"James. No," she scolds like a mother and James whips his head around to glare at her.

Instead, he makes eye contact with you and his face falls once more. His posture softens and, to your surprise, he doesn't move when Danny bumps his shoulder to leave. 

"I'm sorry, James," you say sadly, still holding his present. 

He looks confused and tilts his head as walks closer to you. Murmurs drift around the room as students continue to watch the scene. Lily looks around, seemingly just as uncomfortable as you, and James does the same. 

He gestures to the door and raises one of his eyebrows in a question. Lily nods. Quietly, you follow them outside and as you walk.

James and Lily somehow find their way next to each other. It's almost automatic for them and your heart breaks. Lily whispers into James's ear and his eyes glance at you. You look away, insecurities burning your chest. 

"You okay?" Lily asks, turning around when you start to fall back behind them.

You hum and pick at your nails, "I- I'm gonna go," you mutter. Lily wants to protest but, without a word, you stand before James and let the broken necklace fall into his open hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and then clutches his hand around the necklace so fiercely. He shakes his head and your name leaves his lip but you don't wait for him to continue. You turn to leave—what can he possibly say now that will make you feel better?

"I like you!" His voice resonates in your ears as your breath leaves you. You turn around, almost hurting your neck. You couldn't have heard him correctly. Your eyes bounce to Lily but she doesn't look hurt. She doesn't even look surprised. Instead, she sends you a small smile.

You blink, "Pardon me?" You walk a little closer to James, "You like me? As in romantically or as a person?"

James starts to stutter, "R-romantically."

You look towards Lily, bewildered. "But, you're dating her!" 

  James turns to look at Lily just as she speaks up, "No, we broke up. We didn't even last more than maybe two weeks, Y/n." She laughs, "You two should really talk—" 

James nods at her and then turns to you once more. His arms stretch out as if he wants to make sure you won't run away from him. "Please, Y/n. Hear me out." He sounds so small and for someone with such a big personality, you're suddenly afraid.

You find yourself nodding slowly and let him lead you behind The Three Broomsticks. James lets you lean against the wall and then he nervously runs a hand in his hair.

"James, I don't understand," you say quietly, "You like Lily. You have always liked Lily—I was always just some girl you entertained because you liked the attention. I've always known that."

James's face falls as he listens to you and you see his hands hesitate towards you. "You were never just some girl," he says adamantly.

You frown, "Yes, I was."

"No, you weren't," His voice rises and you press your back against the wall, staring at him as he explains, "Listen, I ended things with Lily. It was my decision. I realized I couldn't stay with her and do you want to know why?" 

You shake your head instantly but he tells you anyway. 

"Because she wasn't you. She didn't make me feel as full as you always do. When she laughed, I never had the same butterflies in my stomach," James pressed his hand to his chest, "My heart didn't feel compressed in my chest whenever I looked at her. I didn't blush at her compliments like I would yours, or want her to smile only because of me. Just like you used to. Bloody hell, I thought of you when I kissed her."

Your entire body feels warm as embarrassment washes over you. "Why did you then?" your voice breaks, "Why did you put me through that? You knew what I felt for you and you chose Lily anyway. How can I trust you now, James?"

You watch his lip tremble as he looks at you with his doleful brown eyes and your heart shatters for the fourth time this hour alone. 

"I don't know," he buries his face in his hands, making an exasperated sound, " I know that answer isn't good enough for you, and I know I can't take back the pain you felt when you saw me with her. I do know that." 

You don't know what to answer. 

James runs a hand over his jaw and looks at you, "I suppose I couldn't let the fantasy go," he admits in a whisper. 

You turn your head away, "Y-yeah—Lily Evans, the fantasy. I understand." 

"W-what? No, that isn't what I meant!" James assures you, "I've been stuck on Lily for years. I know I didn't see you, but—but I see you now."

You stare at him. He looks so upset that your anger turns into pity, "James—"

"Y/n, please don't reject me. I can't bear it," his voice breaks as his eyes water. He walks closer and drops the broken necklace he'd given you in your palm. Your hand closes around it without thinking. "I've been such an idiot but I can't imagine losing you like this."

"You lost me the moment I saw you with Lily. You don't deserve to have me—not like this, and definitely not anymore," you say sternly and watch as you break the heart of the boy you're madly in love with. 

"James, you strung me along for months and months, and then threw me away without hesitation for her. If you liked me, you would have never let me cry over you for weeks," your voice becomes louder. 

James's hurt expression twists and his eyes darken, "You spent your days with Danny Dulac for fucks sake! What the hell was I supposed to do?" he also raises his voice.

"You aren't allowed to be jealous!" you say and push your index into his chest, tears streaming down your cheeks, "You ruined this," your voice dies as your hand flattens on his chest and he grasps it in his. James pulls you closer and leans his head onto yours. 

For a moment, you let it rest there, but then you pull away. "I can't do this," you mutter, "you only want what you can't have, James," you whisper and you know your words would hurt him but you don't care. You hear him call your name as you walk away from him.

* * *

Over the next few months, it's as if you and James never existed. 

You don't speak in class and when James wants to talk outside of classes, you ignore him. Eventually, he stops trying. He doesn't go back to Lily like you'd expected him to. Instead, time goes by, you both graduate, and it isn't until Marlene's 21st birthday that you see James Potter again.

He's in the middle of a small crowd: his smile as bright and wide as you remember. He's laughing like he would in school and you stand to the side of the room, suddenly unsure what to do with yourself.  

When James sees you, his smile falters for a moment. He looks you up and down and when his eyes land on the necklace you're wearing, his heart thumps in his chest and he can't help but wander over to you. You almost run from him, but enough time has passed for you to stay still.

"Hi," James says, looking into your eyes. 

You look up, your voice merely a whisper, "Hi." 

Weirdly, conversation flows easily. You talk about work, hobbies, and eventually you land on relationships. Somehow you've found each other in a secluded side of the room, you're leaning against the wall as James's arm rests near your head. It isn't confrontational—no, instead you feel safe caged in his strong arms. Your eyes train on the muscles of his arm—of course he plays Professional Quidditch now. You need to remind yourself to pay more attention to Quidditch from now on. 

"You seeing anyone?" James hums, his eyes flickering to your necklace again. You fiddle with it subconsciously and shake your head. 

"You?" 

James shakes his head too and he finally asks the question that's been burning his lips, "You fixed it," he raises his arm and his thumb skims the rubies. 

You hum and nod. "I did."

"Why?"

You laugh and look at James. "Because I love this necklace," you pause a moment and you whisper, "And it reminds me of someone."

   James seems surprised and he runs a hand in his curls. He looks at you and leans in a little. "C-can I?" he asks and a part of you wants to shake your head…tell him to fuck off. But, this is James Potter. He's the only boy you've ever loved—no matter who came after him. You nod and James's hand cups your cheeks as his lips press against yours. 

"I've been thinking of doing this for years," he says breathlessly through his kisses. 

I have too, you want to say but instead you just pull him closer. 

"I love you," James says suddenly and pulls away. He looks flustered as he tries to explain himself. "I- I never stopped."

You look at him and utter three words James didn't think he'd ever hear, "Neither did I." 

#james potter #james potter x reader #marauders #james potter fluff #james potter smut #james potter fanfic #marauders fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter x you #marauders imagine #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter imagines #marauders imagines #james potter blurb #james potter x y/n #hp marauders #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #james potter drabble #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x lily evans #maraduers harry potter #marauders harry potter #mauraders #the marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #harry potter fandom

[ohbother2]

Okay….Adam sfw and nsfw headcanons? I cannot believe I have begun to simp after this trashbag DAMN YOU ALEX BRIGHTMAN-

I have an admission... I fucking love Adam pls keep sending Adam requests in I can't get enough of this man

Also, sorry I've been MIA, I've got a lot of deadlines coming up so updates will be more spaced out over the next few weeks :)

I love Adam but he's quite difficult to write, so pls lmk what you guys think! I tried to keep him in character! (This was far longer than planned lol I just love this man)

NSFW - Minors DNI

---

Adam x f!reader - General Headcannons

SFW

You'd been in heaven for many decades, possibly even centuries, before you had ever even entered Adam's radar

He was the 'original dick', as he liked to constantly remind everyone within shouting distance, and spent all of his time surrounded by the higher-ups of Heaven, attending meetings, court-hearings, and dealing with training his danger-tits army for the next extermination

It would take a lot to enter his radar, having to work your way into the correct circles, gain the right connections and attend the right events

But once you're in the circumference of society he haunts, you're on his radar immediately

He's a man with fine tastes, look at his previous wives, he has a type ("fucking bombshells" as he would describe them) and as soon as he sees you in his peripheral one afternoon he's zoned in and absolutely entranced

No one has ever said no to him before, so when you do, he's taken aback. Hiding his confusion and deep-rooted offence with a flippant comment "Oh, playing the hard to get game, babe? Lucky for you I fucking love the chase."

Inwardly, he's fucking fuming, why on earth would you reject him? Alas, he's sure he'll win you over eventually... right?

He's arrogant, he's cocky, he's a self-entitled piece of shit, but he's also determined, passionate, and is anything but a quitter

You will not know peace for months after your reject him

He'll storm into your office whenever he feels like it - which is whenever he has enough free time to do so - bugging you relentlessly as you try and finish your work. He never stops asking questions about you: your day, your hobbies, your love life, what're you doing after work tonight? He's free, he could take you somewhere nice, show you a real fun time

When you stop answering he starts bitching about his day to you, about the local gossip, about some Seraphim that pissed him off, about some bitch at the bar, which he could totally take you to, did he mention he was free tonight?

He doesn't just hound you at work, and you often find yourself coming to a screeching halt in the street and abruptly turning the other way when you spot his iconic mask - he's a tall man, his horns poking noticeably above the crowd as he tries to find any excuse to find and talk to you

When he gets really desperate, after months and months of unsuccessful attempts of gaining your attention, he finally turns to Lute with the all too familiar question "You're a woman, right? What do you-"

The advice she gives is not one he is happy to receive, 'stay away and tone it the fuck down', but he listens, ego taking a massive hit as he watches you carry on as normal

Funnily enough, you start to miss the annoying dick, and you begin to look forward to his far less frequent visits, which mainly consist of you both bumping into each other at work and making polite conversation

When he really can't take it anymore, and he happens to hear rumour about another man planning on asking you on a date, he practically breaks down your office door with a bouquet of flowers, thrusting them unhappily into your hands and asking incredibly politely for you to please go on a date with him

You're both surprised when you agree, and he can feel his face heating up beneath his mask as he whoops, calling a "I knew you'd come around babe, I'll pick you up at 8 tonight. Can't wait to see what you wear." over his shoulder as he bustles back out of your office, practically vibrating until he can tell Lute the news

He's 'The Original Man', and once you become his girl there is nothing he wouldn't do for you - he's constantly swinging by your office and pulling away the less important paperwork, commenting that he can get one of his workers to do it and freeing up time for you both to hang out; he's constantly flying through your balcony with bags of some new takeaway and chatting about this amazing new food place he found as he drops the heavy bags on your counter; someone causing you trouble? If he can't personally deal with it due to some 'relationship' he has to upkeep, he's sure to inform Lute who will have the situation handled before sunset that same day

Basically, he has authority in Heaven, and he's going to use that to make your life as easy as possible

Having a bad day? He can fix that. Oh, not in the mood for sex? Well, he's an amazing cuddle buddy, and he has the softest wings, let him just grab some snacks from the kitchen and then get ready for a night on the sofa wrapped in his strong arms and soft wings

His wings are insanely soft, and big, and despite his best efforts, no matter how long you've both been dating, they will flutter if he hasn't seen you in an extended amount of time, or if you're wearing something particular nice - he can't control it and it thoroughly ruins his bad-boy persona

You're the only other person beside Lute who he feels comfortable with letting preen his wings, and after you start officially dating he only comes to you with the issue, batting his eyelashes and pleading with you to 'take care of him'. You do, and he always breaks his promise not to 'make it weird' until you give him a firm smack on the back of his head - he's fallen asleep more times than you can count with your hands in his wings

He returns the favour, of course, and he sticks to his word like a gentleman, hands remaining firmly against your wings and not daring to wander. He's not a saint, however, and he will whisper less-than-holy things in your ear as he works - he'll stop if you don't play along, and finds himself enjoying the innocent intimacy of it. If you do play along? Oh, boy, his hands don't stay on your wings for long

He uses his wings a lot in his body language, and in your initial stages of courting he'll constantly puff them out to make him seem bigger, trying to impress you with his sheer size - embarrassingly for you, it works

PDA is not approved of in heaven, so he has to maintain his distance from you in public but that is a completely different matter in private

He will take every opportunity to touch you, innocently, whether that be a had on your jaw to bring your attention back to him or to guide your gaze wherever he wants you to look, a hand on your bicep to pull you this way and that, a large hand between your shoulder blades if you're being too slow

In public, completely subconsciously, whichever wing is closest to you will outstretch, barely noticeable to the majority of people, corralling you in closer to his side, and protecting you from whatever might happen - there's no danger in heaven, but still, he likes to know you're safe, and his wings reflect that desire

In private, he's constantly got a hand on you, oftentimes both, on your arms, your shoulders, your waist, the small of your back, your thighs, fucking anywhere - he likes having you on his chest on the sofa, and he finds it funny when he tries to do the same and crushes the air from your lungs

He loves when you cook and he can just stand behind you with his chin propped on your head or shoulder and his arms around your waist. You constantly have to tell him off for whispering foul things in your ear, but he quickly shuts up when you threaten to send him away, his grip tightening against you as he pouts playfully and watches silently

He will actively stretch out his wing when it's cold or windy or rainy, shielding you from the elements with his large wings and loving the excuse to pull you close. "What're they gonna say babe? I'm just keeping you dry."

The biggest difficulty in your domestic lives is the housework, he's an old fashioned man and he's never really had to do housework before. He's gotten better throughout your relationship, but he still absolutely hates washing dishes, but he'll happily sit in the kitchen and keep you company and talk mindlessly as he watches you work. He always thanks you with a kiss

If you ever make him do it, expect to be sat on the counter right next to him and no you cannot leave until he's done and yes you will listen to him complain the entire time and yes he will always slap your ass with a wet hand as payback, cackling as you yell half-heartedly

Deep down, incredibly deep, oceanic levels of deep, past the many many levels of crude jokes and brash humour, of over-compensating confidence and attempted witty one-liners, past the smirk and the puffed chest and the domineering presence, is a man who is cripplingly doubtful and insecure - two of his wives have left him for the same man, and he's absolutely terrified (but would rather burn in the fiery pits of hell than ever admit it) that it's going to happen again

He can seem rude and brash and uncaring, but he really is trying his best, and he's desperate to prove to you, in his own way, how much he really cares (He's scared to admit even to himself how much losing you would crush him)

Because of this, no event is ever half-assed - it's your birthday? He's got the biggest cake he can find and he's made some of his exterminators set up a surprise birthday party for you. It's your anniversary? He's pretending he's forgotten until the morning of and suddenly you've got a reservation at one of the nicest and most in-demand places in all of Heaven

"Come on, sugar," He'd reprimand you mockingly, shit-eating grin on his face at your excitement "you really thought I'd forget my special girl?"

He can doubt himself sometimes, worrying about your feelings for him, but he hides his insecurities whenever you catch him in deep-thought with some lame sex-joke

He doesn't ever want to talk about his insecurities, and he'll never outright tell you what he fears more than anything, but you pick up on it after enough time together

You don't pry, but you do card your hands through his hair when you see his eyes go particularly glossy one afternoon, pressing a kiss to his temple and scratching at his scalp, making your way slowly to his wings and back and taking your sweet time. He closes his eyes and listens to you ramble about your day, which eventually turns into you rambling about him, how handsome he is, how hard he works, and how much you love him and how you don't know what you'd do without him

He doesn't realise it, but you say just the rights things he needs for him to regain that pep in his step and for his cocky words to have more meaning behind them

NSFW

He's the Original Dick, and you'd hope he had the goods to back up the talk with the amount of bragging he does

He does; he does have the goods, and some would say he's being humble because what the fuck

He's the oldest human in history - he's seen it all, done it all twice, and he's more than willing to share some of his tricks with you

He's too proud and self-centred to ever let you have complete control, but when he's particularly lazy he'll let you go on top (as rare as this occasion is) but he'll still guide you as best as he can, lifting you easily with his strong arms and sweet-talking you with his sharp tongue

The first time you ever see him without his god-awful mask is during an intimate moment - you're first intimate moment, where you downright refused to continue if he didn't take the cursed thing off his face

Again, he's insecure, and it takes a lot of reassurance and just the right amount of kisses on his jaw and neck for him to be convinced that taking his mask off was worth it

He lets you look at him for several moments, and then he's had enough and he took his mask off for a fucking reason and he's pulling you into his lap and kissing you properly for the fist time

You can compliment him later, he has other things on his mind right now, the main one being fucking you until you can't even conjure a coherent thought

After that encounter he slowly takes his mask off in private with you more and more, learning to appreciate how nice it was to be able to kiss your temple and actually feel you against his lips, as well as how nice it was to feel your lips against his cheek

Still keeps the mask on sometimes, especially when you ask so nicely

He absolutely loves receiving head, resting back in his office chair or against the back of the sofa and letting you get to work, grunts and groans falling from his lips as his hands grip your hair tightly and guide you exactly how he wants you

He will give head as well, he's not selfish by any means, but he much prefers kissing you as you fall apart beneath him - for him, he'd much rather swallow your screams and mutter dirty things in your ear as he brings you to release

Be careful with his wings, especially when he lets you preen them - gentle touches can easily be misinterpreted as passionate caresses and before you know it you're pinned on your back with a red-faced and disheveled looking Adam hovering above you, muttering about how you're a "fucking tease" and if "you wanted it so bad all you had to do was ask, sugar. I'll never leave you wanting."

He knows the power of wings, and his heavy touches against your own when he needs to "Just sliding past babe, what's that fucking look for? Can't a man work?" are no accident. He loves getting you all wound up. He takes it as a personal challenge to do it in public, and his shit-eating grin remains the entire day before he's pressing you against the door of his office or your plush bed and muttering about how fucking needy you are.

He doesn't take being teased well, and he'll glare at you the entire time until he can do something about it - he'll have even less patience than usual, especially for people who aren't you, and often has to do damage-control after he's regained his bearings a few hours later

He's a big man, and he uses that to his full advantage, man-handling you with ease, positioning you exactly where he wants you, pinning both of your wrists easily with only one of his large hands, pushing your legs apart like butter

He can lift you easily, and he'll hold you against the wall, or countertop, or wherever the fuck you guys are, and he'll keep you there until he's done

Lute has walked in on you both far too many times, and she always hurtles back out of the door cursing at you both angrily

He likes pinning you beneath him, spreading his wings over your forms and completely shrouding you with his form - you're fucking his, and no one else will take that from him

He fucking loves dirty talk, and it's a challenge to get him to shut up - he'll carry on talking at you long after you're able to respond, and he'll just start talking about that instead: "Aw, look at you, can't even fucking say my name you're so fucking dumb for this c-"

As said before, he's insecure based on the way he lost his two previous wives and the reflects into the bedroom

If you do degrade him, he'll just challenge you, telling you you've obviously not learnt your fucking lesson and picking up the pace, desperate to prove he's the exact opposite of whatever had just spilled from your mouth - you'll pay for trying to goad him on, he won't relent until you're a babbling shaking mess, stuttering out apologies and taking back everything you had just dared to say to him

Any praise you offer him he absolutely laps up. Call him handsome, tell him your his, tell him there's no one else in the world who would ever compared to him, how good he's fucking you - he'll get so wrapped up in the praise he'll even stop talking, completely focussed on his task of making you feel good, making sure you know there's no one else who could give you what he does

Dig your hands into his wings and he becomes a groaning mess, and it'll only be a few seconds of you muttering those sweet praises in his ears and your nails digging into his wings before he's collapsing on top of you and panting raggedly, still trying to mutter out curses and praises through his gruff gasping

When he really loses control his wings will flap of their own accord, and you've had to completely clear your side tables because he kept accidentally smashing everything that was on them

He likes to rest afterwards, and he usually tries to encourage you into going another round.

He'll tug you into his sweaty side, pulling you half onto his chest as he breathes deeply, immediately asking if you enjoyed it, and when you agree, he'll always mutter something along the lines of "Of course you fucking did, it's me."

#hazbin hotel #Hazbin Hotel adam #Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel x reader #Hazbin Hotel Adam #Hazbin Hotel Adam x reader #Adam x reader #lute #Hazbin Hotel lute #Hazbin Hotel smut #Adam smut #Hazbin Hotel Adam smut #Hazbin Hotel x reader smut #smut

[sugurizz]

(Smut/ NSFW +18 - minors DNI !)

Nanami always keeps clear boundaries with his subordinates. He's a highly professional man who never crosses a line when it comes to mutual respect with everyone around him.

It's almost admirable in your eyes..How efficient he is, how perfectly he executes every task of his job. only does he seem different at times...

You're just so thoughtful it almost annoys him. You've already picked up on each and every one of his little habits; the way he likes his coffee, exactly when he takes his coffee breaks, where he usually hangs his freshly ironed jackets, where each piece of paperwork is kept in his office...

...Might be the old age but it makes him feel things when you knock on his door, when you greet him with the "Morning, Nanami-san, I sorted the documents from yesterday for you", or when you get his jacket for him without him even asking, with a sweet "Nanami-san, please don't forget your umbrella tomorrow, it's going to be rainy."

You're the only one who's allowed to adjust his tie when it's a bit loose, the only one allowed to lay your hands on his chest and fix his collar -breathing in the scent of his colone along the way-, the only one igniting his primal desire despite his exhausting life.

Might be the old age but he certainly wishes he could get this kind of treatment at home as well. He's rather lonely, overworked and tired whenever he gets back to his empty apartment..

Wouldn't it be better if you were the one to bake his fresh bread and prepare his delicious sandwiches for him? Give him a kiss before he heads to work and send him pictures of your legs spread with one of his designer ties barely covering your pussy?

Wouldn't it be so much better if he came back to strip you naked and take a steamy shower with you? push you on his king-sized bed to devour your sex, then have you all prepped and pretty to take his cock?

He'd be so happy with any of that, so happy he's now stroking himself and fondling his balls, trying his best to picture the way your tits pressed on his chest in the cramped elevator yesterday.

He knew your birthday was coming up but you never thought he'd even remember something so seemingly 'irrelevant' to him. So you didn't expect to find a luxurious box delievered to your doorstep, with a handwritten wishcard that had a familiar scent to it.

A note saying "wear them with your black heels, it'd look perfect" was inside the box, signed with a beautiful -Kento- on the corner...

---

"Nanami-san, your morning coffee." You greeted him with a smile the next day, leaning down as you gently posed the cup next to him.

"Nanami-san, I'm wearing your gift for my birthday. And the fabric feels so soft on me..."

a large hand pulled you back by the arm as you were about to walk off..

"Don't go there, sweet cheeks. you know I'll ruin you.."

"Then ruin me, Kento..."

I'll be at my desk if you ever need me."

You closed the door behind you, flashing him an innocent smile on the way...

---

Nanami san was missing at work that evening, secretary y/n was not there either. But thankfully your coworkers didn't know the reason behind your absence..

Nanami is busy training your throat in his spacious apartment. Your ass is on the cold floor tiles, body stripped to the lacy lingerie he bought you, caged between the wall and his lower half as he goes balls deep in your throat.

His tie is leashed around your neck with his leg pushing between your thighs, the tip of his expensive leather shoe bumping against your tiny clit.

"How much did this pussy think of me, hmm? does she like my shoe kissing her? playing with her?"

His leg presses harder, your eyes cross in pleasure as you suffocate on his veiny length..

"Look down princess, she's dirtying herself, drooling on my shoe.."

he frees himself from your mouth, leaving you with a drooly tongue and snotty nose as you shiver under him.

"Nanami..my pussy wants you, put it in her..please!"

"Nasty minx." He flicks his tongue with a grin, tears his shirt open to reveal his broad shoulders and toned chest, then tirelessly lifts you on his biceps.

"Aww...I want her too, princess.."

he kisses you senseless, giving himself a few pumps before he splits you open.

He's fevereshly rammimg inside you..golden strands sticking to his sweaty forehead, blushy cheeks blooming and hazel eyes almost teary as he finally feeds the hunger for you..

"Y/n...I need a wife! I want you-fuck-" you hug on him tighter, pussy clenching at the way he growls it against your lips... he paints your stomach white, his embrace deliciously crushing your body.

---

...A few days later the rumors started circulating among the coworkers; Both y/n and Nanami suddenly started wearing rings around the same time, and Nanami's office door started getting double locked, too often...

#nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #nanami x y/n #nanamin #nanami headcanons #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk nanami #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #kento x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen

[gay-dorito-dust]

Dick loves your plushie collection.

He doesn’t find it embarrassing in the slightest! If anything he finds it more offensive that you’d think it embarrassing having plushies as an adult. After he himself has a plush bunny dressed in his nightwing attire -escrima sticks and all- that he won at an arcade game a while back perched on the top of his bed back home.

He calls it dick jr and cuddles it when he has a rough night of crime fighting.

So he’s the last person to ever cast judgment on your plush collection.

If anything he lets his imagination run wild with them and takes full advantage of them. So if the instance came where you weren’t home, Dick would always send you photos and mini videos of him taking excellent care of a plush hare called Sir John Roderick Wellington the third by tucking him in bed at night, pretending to brush his teeth, etc

Or he’d make enact a photo shoot with a couple of them and send the results to you as your left asking where’d he manage to get all sorts of accessories for them…you’re still awaiting the answer to this day. Another thing he’d do with them is take them with him as company while he’s doing mundane chores in the apartment and act as though the plush is helping him.

You were quick to catch on that Dick having a hell of blast with it with how often he spammed your phone with a plethora of photos and videos that kept you up to date with the daily misadventures of your plushy. And yet you weren’t any better either as you kept them all in a album in your phone and are still wondering why your phone keeps informing you that you are running low on space…

Your favourite picture of your plushy was one where Dick had it tucked in bed, a picture of you on its lap, meanwhile Dick’s face could be seen peaking up from the bottom corner of the screen followed by the caption; ‘he misses you and can’t wait for you to come home and cuddle him. Oh and also me. :(

It’s became your Home Screen now and it was the best decision you’ve been made because it never failed to make you smile even on a bad day.

Jason loves it when you wear his clothes.

It’s free therapy for the man seeing you in his clothes and you can quote me on that.

He fucking loved coming home to see you do your own thing while looking all comfortable and relaxed in his shirts or hoodies doing so. For all Jason could ever want for you was for you to feel comfortable with him however you saw fit.

Also it gives him the more reason to stare at you shamelessly, well more than he did already, but you get the point. Jason is a simple man who’s not above letting it known how much he absolutely adores you.

So you wearing his clothes only added onto that adoration that he had for you. No one else could be more perfect in his eyes then you and he stands by that that statement.

‘You look perfect.’ -Jason

‘Jason, I’m wearing sweats and one of your shirts while eating pizza.’ -you

‘Yeah, perfect.’ -Jason

‘Doofus.’ -you, smiling.

Some days Jason would even go out of his way to leave his clothes on your side of the bed as a hint that he wants you to wear it for the day. Other days however he would be outright and blunt with the fact that he’d rather have you in his clothes than your own at this point.

‘Why are you wearing your clothes?’ - Jason

‘Because they’re my clothes and I feel bad wearing all of yours all the time.’ -you

‘Well I on the other hand don’t, take this shirt and go back into our bedroom and change.’ - Jason says as he takes off the shirt he was wearing and hands it to you, uncaring of the fact that he was shirtless in the living room.

‘You’re being dramatic Jason.’ - you as you take the warm shirt from his hands.

‘No I’m not, I just like you in my clothes a lot better than anything else.’ - Jason said, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘You’re getting jealous over clothes now?’ - you asked, raising a brow.

‘Yes.’ Jason responds instantly. ‘Now for the sake of my sanity go back and put my shirt on please.’

You kiss his cheek before leaving for the bedroom to change. ‘If you insist.’

‘I heavily insist chipmunk.’ - Jason says as he watched you walk away before following after to grab another shirt.

Jason loves it when you’re in his clothes. It’s his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.

#jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagines #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x y/n #nightwing x you #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing imagines #dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc x y/n #dc comics x reader #dc fic #dc fanfic

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Choke On The Sun

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd known John ever since the Academy, and even after losing touch, the love you had for one another was never gone. Like a snake, it had stayed hidden in unseen places. But it was always there.

WORDCOUNT: 13.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, torture, detailed descriptions of torture i.e. electrocution, loss of a finger, gunshot wounds, knife wounds, discussion of torture, canon-typical violence, death, near-death experiences, guns, weapons, abductions, betrayals, intended for mature audiences, happy ending, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You remember a story you’d been told when you were a rookie—fresh off the cut and eager-eyed with far fewer scars. A more of a glass-half-full type of outlook on life, unknowing of what you’d experience during your years with the SAS: what choices you would have to make.

It went something like this. 

There was a herd of deer that had jumped over the side of a bridge. On either end of that bridge, there were two trucks with their high beams on—not moving but sitting there; the deer got pressured. Spooked. One by one they just…hopped over and died on the rocks below—no noise above the breaking of bone and the clatter of antlers shattering to pieces. 

You have to wonder if it was the fault of the first one who had jumped over for leading the rest to a quick end, or the drivers of the cars just trying to get where they needed to go; ignorant of the way they’d been ogling to see the panic in wide, black eyes. Either way, a whole herd of ten met their fate and left their bodies to feed the larvae and the birds. 

The story had been told over drinks at a pub, at the time you’d taken an interest in it with no more than a slow comment of ‘poor things’ before you’d brought your glass to your lips. You don't know why you’re thinking about it now. 

The timing could have been more opportune.

You send a bullet into the man’s kneecap, hearing the bone disintegrate and the flesh open like a flower. His scream follows, loud and hoarse—sobbing trapped behind a bitten tongue that drips blood down his chin. 

Hand snapping up, you grasp the lower half of his face with a grunt, head shoving itself forward until you lock onto fluttering eyes and get consumed by a whining sob.

“I asked you a question,” you lick your lips, tasting sweat as it slithers down your skin. Your voice is slow and even, grip tight. With a shove, you push back the man’s face, wrist limp with the Basilisk as you wipe at your nose with it, unblinking, when you get to your full height. 

The room wasn’t anything different from a million other black sites you’d been to. A single chair where your mark sits tied up, a desk that had been pushed to the wall, and a single door placed into the cracking foundations of a concrete wall. No windows. No vents. 

Hotter than hell, too, and that place was something you were acutely in tune with. 

“Anthony,” you say, waving your free hand as the scent of blood gets stronger, pools of it already on the hard floor. “I’m gonna call you Tony, alright?” 

Tony yells, wrenching his arms against the zip-ties and screaming until his voice is hoarse. 

“Damn you! I told you I don’t know anything!” He sobs. “My leg—I can’t feel my leg, oh, God it hurts.”

You frown, glancing at the door. 

“Stop lying to me,” you look back, eyes unblinking in the low light. “You still have one left—tell me where your buyer is and I let you keep the ability to walk upright with a cane.” 

“I don’t know his name—!”

“I don’t need a name, Tony,” you growl, irritated. “I need a location.”

“Copenhagen!” He wails, body spasming and hair dancing atop his head. “The warehouse is in Copenhagen, please, that’s all I know!”

You blink. 

“Denmark?” You mutter, brows furrowing. 

“Fuck!” Tony screams long, his skull tilting forward as he releases his guts to the floor through quick gasps. Backing up a step to stay out of the spray, you watch him silently; thinking. The flood of the man’s crimson fluids ripples. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

“Denmark,” grumbling to yourself once more, you shake your head and sigh aggressively. “Of course.” 

Without another glance, you turn and exit the room, pushing your Basilisk into its holster as the gear on your chest clinks lightly like the sound of rain hitting a metal roof. The door closes behind you, voice calling to one of the guards as he looks up quickly. His face is pale. Tony’s wails still echo out; water filling a bucket. 

“Get a medic,” is what you settle with—slipping past on a fleet foot and new intel to pass on to Laswell. She’ll be intrigued, no doubt. 

One step closer, your mind hisses to you. Just a little bit longer.

It’s too late to gain a conscious now.

Emmett Kinsman had been dodging you for years—dodging the Task Force—but with one of his suppliers giving away a location you’d been unable to pin, there was hope for a swift resolution to this mess. 

The radio on your chest sizzles to life.

“Hart, sit-rep. How’s it lookin’ on the black site.” Kate’s American accent leaks into the earpiece attached to you, the cord looping the back of your neck and inserted into the shell; a device of black metal and plastic. 

“I have a location for Kinsman. Copenhagen,” you ease out, moving a finger to the earpiece and pressing. Glancing at the rows and rows of doors in this endless hallway of dark smoke and obsidian mirrors—you’re eager to get your boots to the ground. Your other hand snatches at the rag swinging from your belt, taking it out and rubbing at your face with it until the stain of oil and flecks of blood smear like frosting on a cake. “Where are the boys? I need to be wheels-up to meet them ASAP.”

“Coming to you.”  

“They’re here?” Your face twists as the words settle in, confused. “Why? Thought they were tracking another lead in Romania.” 

Kate’s voice is smooth in your ear, moving like water as you turn a corner, stuffing your rag back into your belt. 

“Are you surprised?” The woman jokes in a monotone; you’d only taken it as such because you knew her dry state of humor. “Really, Hart, you know he can’t stop until you’re back at his side. I was going to tell you sooner, but you were…occupied.” 

Your feet pause for a moment at the beginning of her sentence, instinctual heat moving the length of your neck until you clench your jaw and continue onward at a slightly slower pace—eyes narrowed on the floor ahead of you. 

“It isn’t like that, Kate,” you mutter. A low hum echoes the line and you fight a scowl as a group of soldiers walk past. Itching at your forearm, you shake your head. “John just likes having everyone together on missions like these. If it had been different, I’m sure he would have told me to fly back to them regardless of the intel. We’re tight on time.” 

“I’ve known you both for more years than I can remember,” Laswell sighs. “Don’t try that with me, Captain.” You frown, clicking your tongue. “They’ll be arriving on the tarmac—get ready for a quick exit. We need Kinsman by month’s end.” 

“Copy,” you utter, removing your hand from the earpiece and glaring ahead of you. A still-air silence envelopes the hallway, the only sound of your boots to the concrete and the reverberation that booms after. 

It was so quiet here. 

John Price—Captain Price—and yourself had a… complicated history. You’d joined up together; gotten through SAS selection neck-and-neck until time and its grubby fingers had forced your lives in different directions. Like two vines of reaching ivy, it had only been three years ago that you’d seen the other again, though you’d heard stories as you’re sure he had about you. 

Hart: not the kind that beats but the kind that bleats, you had to explain to most—you weren’t unknown to the darker side of the job and the people that specialized in it. Your file was stretched with so much black ink that when you’d gotten the call on your phone, an unknown number, you’d recognized the gruff voice behind it and the first question you’d asked was how the hell he’d gotten clearance to track you down. 

“No hello, then, Hart?”

“Not one for pleasantries, John. Explain. Quickly.”

“Business as always.” He’s wasted no time, voice going to a low grumble over the line that day. “Laswell took in a favor. You’ve been busy, Love…Room for one more joint-Op?”

It hadn’t panned out to only ‘one more joint-Op’. 

After the mission was over, it had been raining on base. The sky had shed tears from clouds deeper than the gray shades of your gear, splattering packed dirt and concrete. Above your head, the thin overhang off of the armory door had spared you some of it, but when the wind had shifted your clothes absorbed specks of water like spots on a fawn. Your eyes had been looking out—expression open. 

When the man exited the building and came up beside you, you both didn’t speak for a long time. You had been aware of his form, devoid of vest and gear, while yours was still layered with it to the utmost degree. You’d expected to leave that night—a good old-fashioned Irish Goodbye with a C-17 already waiting for you to board. To carry you off to another hellish deed done with ravaging cruelty for the sake of people who would never even know you existed.

The storm had stopped you…or, maybe something else had.

“Good to see you again, Hart,” John had stated, still not looking over at you as his arms had crossed, feet situating themselves. “Been too long.”

You had stayed silent—watching. The drain across the street was flooded. Sticks and leaves stuck at the drain as a whirlpool formed; only dangerous to bugs and the bits of garbage blown in by the wind. 

Only after the wind shifts again did you speak.

“And what has John Price been up to in that time?” Your eyes had slid to stare, piercing in the low illumination of the armory’s outside light. 

A huff of a chuckle, the one you’d remembered in the days of selection—coated in mud from crawling through man-made trenches and a sharp smirk of a snap when the barbed wire had grazed his back. 

There were too many stories here. Too many. So many it became impossible to wonder what could have been and what couldn’t—all that existed were the little moments of fondness.

The two of you were nothing else but souls long past redemption; stuck on that knife’s edge and waiting for the hand to shake and send you through it. 

You are made of memories. 

“That’s a story told over bourbon,” John’s lips had flickered, and you’d blinked slowly, head tilting. “Not anything worth reliving, yeah?” 

“Everything is relivable, Captain. You just need to find a reason as to why.” 

The man had nodded his head your way, conceding with his blank eyes ahead to the rain. A rumble of distant thunder had flown out, making your ears twitch. You couldn’t stop watching him now that you had the chance—the brunette strands; the fatigues, and that accent. The muscle you don’t remember him having in that specific place all those years ago. The wrinkles on his forehead from age and stress are shown in yours as a mirror. 

Tall; formidable. 

There was a tension in the air that you chose not to dwell on—the same that had been brewing for as long as you’d known him. 

“I want you to join up with me,” the sudden comment had made your body tense, eyes snapping away. In your pockets, your fingers twitch with surprise. 

“Join?”

“Thought I’d catch you before you disappeared again, yeah?” A sheen of slight embarrassment is over your skin. John chuckles again. “Extend a formal offer—Laswell was the one who suggested it.”

“Well,” you’d huffed, licking your lips. “Now I’m surely not accepting.” 

“Let me fuckin’ finish, Love,” John’s lips were pulled in a slight smirk—beard shifting. A pause as the wind whips again, shaking the trees before he grunts. “One-Four-One. My Task Force. Been thinking I’d need someone like you, but I knew you’d never agree to it.”

“Oh?” Your brow raises. 

“Not bloody stupid.” He sighs. “Thought I’d ask anyway. Give you a proper goodbye if you weren’t so keen on handing it out.”

“I don’t like goodbyes,” you mutter, hearing John’s feet shift—his boots scraping. 

“I know.” It’s low and even—not a prod or a dig. An observation. 

A hand is moved out to you, hovering. 

There isn’t any need for words when you glance down at it, and then up at him; staring into those blue eyes that so perfectly illustrate the hues of a roaring river, hidden away in the confines of a verdant forest.

A slow smile pulls at your lips, and you see the corner of the man’s eyes soften.

“Knew I’d get one out of you again,” he mutters as you slip your hand into his, a firm and all-encompassing heat of flesh and care. 

“Don’t get used to it, John.” Shaking his hand, you smirk, legs shifting. 

“Never,” he chuffs, squeezing your limb. 

You don’t know why you stayed under that overhang with him that night. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to explain it as you had looked up and seen the C-17 fly off without you in its cargo hold, hands resting on your vest collar and blue eyes watching you, slightly narrowed. 

You never even verbally told him you were sticking around…it had happened like a stray cat under the porch of your childhood home; taken in and cared for. Just the same, John never mentioned it beyond paperwork. 

Shaking your head, you blink back to the black site, turning that last corner and making it to one of the exits. Pushing the metal-reinforced door open, you shift outside and move a hand to cover the glare of the setting sun from your eyes, grunting. 

Laswell’s voice peaks back in as you jog toward the far-off body of a whirling plane, three figures just managing to walk down the ramp. 

“Hart? It’s Laswell.”

“Copy,” you say, knees taking the brunt of the heavy items you carry in pouches and have strapped to your form. “What is it?” 

“The Task Force is a go for Denmark—when you get there, I need everyone searching; we can’t lose him again.”

“Affirm. I’m on it, Kate.” You breathe. “John and I’ll get him. It’s personal for us, you know that.”

“That I do. Make sure to keep your heads on with this, Hart. Out.”

You lick your lips, nodding even if she can’t see you. 

Slowing as you near the plane, friendly smiles spark up from the two Sergeants. Gaz comes over, grasping at your shoulder and speaking above the engine behind him. 

“Ma’am! Good to have you back.” Soap chuckles, tilting his head your way as you grasp Kyle’s forearm—squeezing in greeting with a twinkle in your eye.

“Surprised to see us?” The Scot calls. 

You scoff. “Laswell gave you up.”

“Damn,” Kyle moves back, fixing the cap atop his head and glancing back at his fellow Sergeant. Simon nods from behind the two to which you respond in like. “She bloody betrayed us.” 

“Not as much as Kinsman,” the mood sours; lips thinning as you speak firmly. “Where’s John?” 

“Right here,” the man in question comes down the ramp, blue eyes meet yours. A second of inspection passes, eyes from both parties flickering up and down forms for any mistreatment—any ailments. “Kate already told me. We’re leaving now that we have you.”

Bumping Simon’s fist with yours as you pass him, you ascend the ramp, Soap muttering under his breath about the flight time from behind. 

Standing beside John, you pause like a bird, eyes half narrowed. “You didn’t have to pick me up, you know? I could have gotten another plane.”

The man the same rank as you hums, making sure the men are all inside and taking one last look out to the black site, eyes missing nothing down to the concrete structure to the lights that will soon illuminate the pure nothingness of the fields of this area.

“Wait time would have put us back.” Tiny eyes blink, a hand coming up to rest on his collar as his face shifts to you. “You good?”

“Always,” you mutter without hesitation. “Nothing from Romania, then?”

He grumbles, clenching his jaw and taking in your words. “Negative.”

A silence settles in which you quirk your brow—a small flicker of a smirk makes him turn away and stalk back into the hull, grunting in annoyance. You follow on silent feet. 

“That’s it? It must have been horrible, then. Care to explain?” 

“Get in your seat, Captain.” 

You hold back a low chuckle, walking beside him until you both come to the back of the plane—easing back into the hard plastic, you huff as you clip in your seatbelt. 

It’s all relative silence until the large metal beast is in the air; everyone's bodies shifting as the floor evens out. John and you take long breaths and, feeling the occasional jostle of the plane, you occupy yourself by picking at the dried blood all over your hands as the flight begins—Tony’s blood. 

Blue eyes blink down at you, watching from the side.

“He know anything important?” You stifle a yawn on your lips, one hand coming up to cover the open-jawed expression of tiredness. 

Glancing, you shrug with a slow response of, “Only a location. Even then I don’t know if it’ll pan out like we want it to, John.”

Everyone had been hoping for more, but they also knew that you were the best at interrogations and information retrieval. If you had called it that the man only knew a city and nothing else, John wasn’t one to question you. He knew better. 

A large hand shifts to grasp your right bloody one, picking it up and bringing it to his lap. You let him do it without protest, shoulders loosening at the roughness of his calluses moving across yours until the familiar ritual begins to take part like a black mass. 

Fingers twitching, you hear a hum as John takes out a rag from his pocket, opening it with a flick of his wrist. Moments later, the water bottle on the seat next to him is taken and the droplets that are left are scattered like rain over the fabric until they absorb. 

“All dirty, Love,” he grumbles as your eyes soften, watching him trace the lines of your palm with the wet rag—dabbing away the beads of red. Watching, you listen as he continues. “We’ll figure it out, eh?”

Blue locks with you, holding your gaze until the permanent set of his brows slowly loosens. “We will,” he reaffirms firmly.

“...I should have shot him when I had the chance,” you whisper to John, words low and tone nothing more than a mouse’s murmur; a small pebble hitting the ground. “Don’t lie and say it wasn’t my fault.”

“You’re going to fucking ruin yourself with that, Hart.” He advises, his cleaning of blood coming to a slow halt. “You did what you thought was best,” John leans in closer, not blinking as you try to move your head away with a half-hidden scoff. A damp hand grabs lightly at your chin, shifting it back as you blink in mild shock into John’s face. He doesn’t falter. “It’s all any of us can do, yeah?” 

As if it were nothing, he lets you go and shifts his focus back to cleaning your hand. You watch for a long moment, oblivious to the elbows hitting sides from farther down the hull, quick glances tossed between Sergeants and a Lieutenant who quirks a brow under his mask, huffing a sound in his throat.

“If I had,” you force back the stutter in your voice. “More people would still be alive.”

“Maybe,” John tilts his head, the rag brushing the length of your fingers. “Maybe not. We don’t know that, do we? No use wasting our breath talking about it then. What matters, Hart, is how we fix this.”

You sigh, repressing a shiver as his thumb brushes scars and blemishes, moving like moss over stone. 

“And we don’t leave our bloody problems for the next poor bastard, do we?” You puff air from your nose, shaking your head at the smirked comment. You watch John’s beard move with it—taking in the crinkling of his eyes and the way his knee hits yours. 

“Wonderful pep-talk, Captain.” You lean your head back against the netted sides of the aircraft, letting your eyes flutter shut; oblivious to the way he watches you. “The service is lost on you—therapist is right up your alley.”

“Fuck’s sake,” John scoffs. “I’d sooner go back to the academy than that.” 

“The food was utter shite, wasn’t it?” You agree.

“No need to bring it up,” John comments lowly, amusement thick in his words. 

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you do know that the pressure around your limb stayed there for a long while—the rag moving over every sliver of skin until only the base was left behind; like a painter creating an ocean scene, shrouded in mist, every bit of red was gone. 

Your dreams are plagued by Emmett Kinsman. His sharp face; his sly eyes and his knack for being undetected.

He’d been a part of your and John’s class in the Royal Military Academy—when all was done, he’d graduated and begun to serve in the 22nd SAS Regiment just as the both of you had. There was never much interaction there, beyond shared drinks and a few good words, a single operation, but the bonds of brotherhood run deep. If given the chance over any deployment or service, John or yourself would have given your lives for him—for the boy you’d bled and persevered with to a point of utter loyalty akin to beasts; unrestrained by any threat of violence, sharp attitude, or past faults.

And in the end, he’d thrown that all away to get into bed with terrorists. 

Location: London, England

Time: 1718

Operation: ‘Purple Cloth’

Your eyes rest behind the glass of the bookstore, gazing out over the street from the second floor with a level of new-found skill and a surety in yourself. Fresh off the cut, you aren’t overly eager for this, but you’re assured in your abilities. 

There can be no failure.

Emmett is down below, sitting at a café and sipping tea as John is stationed at a building farther down the street; waiting. Another man, directly relaying information to Emmett, is at the café as well, sitting in the corner reading a newspaper and facing the individual you’re supposed to follow. Only the four of you for this, and you’re not overly familiar with half of them. John was your only shining grace. 

“Target’s getting the bill,” you shift your head into the collar of your shirt, muttering. “He’ll move soon.”

“He carrying?” John’s voice slithers in, a soft murmur. 

You stare, expression lax at the large body that shifts and stands with a tight shirt on, waving off the barista when she tells him to have a good day. “If I had to guess? Negative. Nothing big—no bulge at his spine. At the very opposite end, I’d say an X13 could be concealed and accessed via a slit in the pant’s pocket and in a holster at his thigh. They’re baggy enough for it, but the draw time’ll be longer. Drug runners are sloppy.”

John grunts, and you address Emmett. “How are we doing, Mate?” 

A smooth, suave, tone moves into your ear. “Not too bad, Sweet Thing. Else, I'd be better if you were sharing a drink with me before I disappear.”

“Only in your imagination, Kinsman,” John interrupts, unimpressed drawl taking your attention. “Keep on it.” 

“I swear I rank the same as you, Price. Where do you get off ordering me around like your dog?” The comment is so easily dismissed as a joke between comrades that there’s no hostility there.

“Since I was given oversight,” the amusement is easily taken in John’s voice. “I’m the one keeping your arse alive, eh?” 

The other addition to your team speaks up, a voice that in the future you’ve already long forgotten. He says to cut the chatter, and you have to agree. 

Emmett and the target are nearing an alley. 

“I’m heading down,” you utter, already turning and heading to the stairs, swiftly moving down them and exiting the building. 

“Copy,” John’s voice fizzles the line. “I’ll head them off.”

“Emmett,” you move to link up with the fourth member of the team as he joins at your side, both of you sharking a glance and a jerk of your heads. “Keep him away from civilians. We can’t deal with casualties in this populated of an area.”

“He won’t have a chance to shoot them,” the comment makes your brows furrow, the tone not a cocky gloat but rather...quiet. A moment of silence wafts out. “What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, Kinsman?” You frown tightly, your gut swirling with something unidentifiable. The X12 in the back of your baggy sweatshirt is heavy—suddenly ten times more so. 

In the corner of your eye, you see John far across the way shift, leaning before on a trash can, now standing upright. You swear you lock eyes with him, both gifted in all sense when it comes to war. Perhaps it was ingrained into both of your DNA—a knowledge of all things deadly; of threats unseen. Some primal and horrible understanding spanning back to when man had first raised a fist to another. 

“Oi,” your voice pushes. “What does that mean?” Feet pivoting, you move closer to the alley where the light shade of hair disappears. 

The line is silent. 

Silent before a loud gunshot rings.

Birds scatter, and you instinctively duck down, hand snapping to your service weapon as your eyes go wide. Head snapping about, you dash to the alley opening above the screaming; pushing past fleeing people.

“Hart!” 

“He’s in the alley!” 

“Do not engage until I get there, do you hear me?!” You’re already at the entrance, X12 ahead of you, and the safety flicked off with a heavy finger. “Hart!”

The body of your mark is on the ground—a bullet in the back of his skull. 

“Fuck!” You shout, feet slapping the concrete as you zoom past. “Price—target’s down, Emmett shot him in the damn head, on his tail now.”

“Fucking hell.” The man is growling out at you, voice heated.

Your eyes snap this way and that, weapon at the ready as you take a sharp turn. At the very end of the opening, you see him. 

Kinsman slips his service weapon back into the base of his spine, pulling at his shirt to cover the grip as a mass of the crowd is just behind him. He rushes quickly on long legs. 

“Emmett!” Your voice makes him freeze. There’s a long pause before anything is spoken; you have your sights trained—a perfect line-up to the roundness of his skull. 

“I had hoped to be fast enough,” the man tells you, head tilting to the side, “but I should have known you’d move head-long into danger without backup.”

“Hart,” John’s voice nearly startles you from the line. “Sitrep, now!”

“Why would you do that, Emmett?”

“There’s more to this than being pawns, Hart,” Kinsman growls at you. “I play my game right, I always come on top. I needed to earn their trust; our target had a price on his head and no one else could get as close as me. Well,” he pauses, “us.”

“I’m taking you in,” you grit your teeth, hands tight on the gun. You don’t even want to think about what he means by ‘their’ or his ‘game’. It was always word puzzles with this man—one second you had the right piece, and the next the entire picture had changed like sand in the waves of a tide.

“Are you really that torn up about a drug runner?” A scoff makes you hold back a snarl, but your resolve is shaking. This was a man you had trusted—now fast can something that was forged with steel break?

“He was just some filthy nobody, Hart.” Emmett starts walking into the crowd ahead of him, and in your mind you know if you take that shot you run the risk of shooting an innocent civilian. “I’ll be more than a nobody. Or a grunt soldier. People are going to know me.” 

Bodies flee quickly—screams. Mothers, children, husbands.

Kinsman smirks, and as your finger tightens on the trigger, he’s already swallowed by the hoard. 

“I’ll be seeing you.”

John and you sit in the safehouse, for a moment, surrounded by quiet and the smell of hot tea. One week in Denmark, and you have no leads. The other three are away, sleeping in the rooms down the hallway. 

“You’re still thinking about him,” John speaks up, eyes on you. It’s blunt, but that was just how he was. 

You peek your eyes open slowly, your body slouching in the chair and feet outstretched under the table. Your boot lightly touches John’s own. A long sigh exits your nose, grumbling on your tired lips. 

“John,” you level, drawing the name out like the years of your life. A thin warning. 

The man clenches his jaw slightly, bringing up his cup and taking a slow slip. You see the flesh of his throat bob with the liquid as it goes down, the overhead light of the kitchen only a single bulb of warm glow. 

“Been chasing him for years, Hart,” he says when the item is back to the woodgrain. Voice a deep murmur—a scrape of vocal chords. “We both have.”

“He knows too much,” you reply. “I can’t let him get away again. Strategies, operators, everything.” Your eyes shift as your head raises, blinking away the sleep in your glinting orbs. “For years he’s been under our nose, getting away with who knows what—”

“Hart,” your rant is interrupted, and you stop with a snap of your teeth. Blue eyes lock a concerned sheen to them. “Breathe.” 

Your face moves away, arms loosely crossed over your chest tensing. 

John’s body shifts to you, leaning forward until his elbows are resting on his knees. He stares, brows a line on his flesh. You send a swift glance, lips pulling. 

“...Stop that,” your voice murmurs, echoing off the walls of the kitchen. John blinks, not speaking as you move in your seat. The man tilts his head, a slow something making his lips go back slightly. Gradually, your face goes hotter, blinking at him a few times; sucked in like a fox to a trap. “John, quit it.”

“M’not doing anything, Love.” 

“Bullshit,” you try and glare at the looseness of his expression, his smirk that makes your gut tighten. Goosebumps move up your arms. “You’re a horror.”

A low chuckle wafts out, John shrugging casually before he leans back. 

He takes up his cup again and takes down the last of the remnants. “Go to sleep,” hits your ears as your pounding heart takes a breather. It’s a grumble on the air—not as much an order as it is a suggestion. “It’s late.” 

You decide to sip at your own drink as well, eyes drooping at the steam that wafts around your face, nose twitching to the scents. 

“You?” John hums, looking you up and down; seeing the fatigue you carry. You’d been relentless for the week you’d all been here, holding the few strings of the lead you had to your chest—five-fingered grasping with a desperate prayer to all things unholy.  

“I’ll be here.” You tilt your head his way, eyes still half-closed in your seat. Your answer is easy, pushed out in a slow sentence. 

“Then so will I.”

John sighs under his breath. It’s a moment before an exasperated chuckle moves through your earbuds. You smile, eyes slipping closed fully. 

Yet, they startle back open as the cup is taken from your hands, your chair moved back firmly. 

“Up you get, then,” John grunts, and his arms snake around you. Blinking quickly, your jaw is slack as you get taken up into a tight carry; John’s chest firm and your nose brushing the side of his chin. 

Air getting sucked into your lungs, you stifle a hitch in your breath. 

It’s only after he starts walking forward, hiking you farther up into him, and his fingers gliding over your clothes, that you start to relax. His heat seeps like a warm fire.

Head sagging to the side, you grumble into his neck as you miss his eyes looking down at you, eyes soft in a way only you would have been able to see. “Can walk, y’know.”

He hums, head shifting back to the hallway as he carries you to the last door on the right, bumping into the wood with his shoulder and shifting to walk in sideways so you don’t let your legs on the frame. 

“Remember Preu? 05’?” John asks you, moving over to the bed and setting you down slowly, a tiny huff exiting his mouth. Your body sinks into the mattress, head to the pillow as your hand comes up to rub at your eyes. The man moves to grab the blanket at the end of the bed—knowing your trained habit of sleeping atop the comforter on operations; not tangled up in sheets just in case. He slips off your boots. “Carried you two miles.”

“I recall it,” you grunt, a tired flicker coming to your lips. “Bleeding out and all.”

“Well,” John hums, quirking a brow. “Wasn’t about to let my Hart die on me. Blood was the least of my worries.” 

Your pulse flutters at the title, even if it’s just your codename and not the beating muscular organ inside of your breast. 

My Heart.

But it’s never that simple. 

A hand moves up your cheek, a kiss pressed to your forehead. 

The both of you already know you love each other. It wasn’t a secret. You were smart; eyes sharper than a blade—you caught the way he watched you, saw the softness of his expression, and felt the drag of his hand. Just as he caught the way you stayed beside him, an ever-present pair of eyes watching his six. The content nature that only you showed him. 

With feet so eager to leave at any moment, it said much that you chose to exist near him simply because you wanted to. 

You loved each other. 

Boil it down, and you’d both known even back in the Academy that it would be the two of you at the end of all things. The rivers said your name. The valleys rustled with the breeze of your breath. You saw John in the bits of water that sloshed the rocks and in the earth beneath your palms. 

Over the years you’d been apart, the yearning hadn’t been any less sharp—any less potent. In every birdsong, the echoes of the other's voice flew and disappeared on wingbeats. In everything that existed, there was a fraction of what should be. 

What should be. 

“John,” your voice is a whisper, nothing more than a rustle of a cloth. He keeps his lips to your forehead, resting there for a moment against all sense and responsibility. John’s eyes droop down, lashes resting on the swell of his cheeks. “You know I love you.”

He takes a breath. Rain is in the air—the movement of a storm’s wind. A leaving C-17. 

It’s a low mutter into your flesh.

“I know.” 

You grasp at his wrist, pulling lightly. Without a noise, John slips in beside you, kicking off his boots with a single clop of the soles to the wood and the movement of your blanket. He grunts, pushing his nose into your scalp, arms going around your middle. Your head slots under his chin, lips to his Adam’s apple.

The house is silent beyond the murmur of the pipes—the buzz of awaiting electricity. 

So many memories. So many lost dreams. It was akin to two skeletons lying in a grave of their own making, forever holding the bones of the other. Duty and honor are etched into the fractures. 

But he still holds you, he still murmurs into your ear, “Sleep, Love.”

“And you?” You ask, mirroring the conversation in the kitchen.

John’s lips move along your flesh, moving into a soft smile as he glances down at you. His beard scrapes you delicately.

“I’ll be here.”

Then it is here you’ll stay, dreaming of deer and the way nothing could compare to how he held you in his arms.

—

“I have eyes on,” your head snaps up, blankly staring ahead as your fingers hover over the hanging beads of a wind chime. You stand outside of a restaurant in the heart of Copenhagen. 

Laswell had sent in more eyes for the Task Force to use—local soldiers that knew the layout of the city better and where would be a good place to look. For days you’d been moving through the streets; far-off storage units and hidden buildings providing fruitless harvests. Anthony had said a warehouse, but that was panning out as nothing as well.

False information? Possibly, but unlikely. The man had been genuine in his pain and pleading, and it only served to confuse you more.

You had Gaz with you and five others, taking over as the leader of this fireteam while John headed the other with Johnny and Ghost. They were on the opposite side of the city, and you can’t help but compare this to the moment Emmett had become an enemy. 

But divide and conquer was the only option in times like these.

Emmett had become someone, just as he said he would. The man was in charge of supplying arms to terrorist organizations all over the world, and with his knowledge of how the SAS operates as well as any number of special forces, he’d utterly disappeared off the radar.

A wraith of lies and murder.

He had locations all over the globe with his goods, shipped out for money and power. 

And now you have a positive ID.

“Where are you,” your voice is hard and stiff, the body already moving back from the chime and leaving its little bits and bobs swinging. 

“Café down the street,” feet nearly locking together, you continue down the street to where you know Gaz’s last position was. “He’s just…sitting there.” A pause. “You want to know what it’s called in English, Ma’am?”

“The café?” your brows furrow, jogging across the street. 

“‘The Warehouse.’” Growling under your breath, you shake your head and send a curse into the air after a pause.

“I think the man thought he was clever,” Kyle’s voice is smooth and teasing. 

“Should have shot his other leg,” you grunt. “You told Laswell? John?”

“Negative, I’ll get on it—”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupt. “Tell the others to group up at your position and spread out to create a choke point; we can’t let him get away.”

“Rog. Will do.” 

You patch into John’s frequency.

“We have him,” you instantly breathe out. “Down Holbergsgade—café called ‘The Warehouse’.”

It’s swiftly that an answer hits you. “Get him surrounded, we’re coming.” 

Your heart is moving rapidly, fast in your chest as you pass people and business quickly. You didn’t like this—didn’t like the similarities, the…nostalgic dread that builds. A café of all places? Sitting down? Waiting?

It was so ironic it made alarm bells go off.

“John,” you lick your lips, glancing at faces as they pass. “I think he knows we’re here.”

“Explain.”

“A café?” John’s low grunt lets you know he understands. “Just sitting there? He knows—he’s not dumb enough to throw away all of his secrecy just as we so happen to get here and begin looking for him.”

“How sure are you?” The man takes your words into account, and you hear his breath puffing as he runs to your location. 

“Ninety,” you breathe. 

“Then I’m callin’ it off.” Your eyes widen, feet skidding as you come to a stop. 

You have no clue as to how far John will go to keep you safe—even if it means potentially letting one of the SAS’s highest HVTs go. There wasn’t anything that could compare to the thought of you getting in harm's way. Not you. 

John had spent his whole life watching soldiers die in the worst ways possible; they haunted his dreams and he knew they’d follow him to his grave—men he’d led down paths that they never should have been on. 

Not you. 

Losing you would break what little was left of him, the remnants held on by tape and sheer stubbornness. One of the last old faces he could still look at anymore; could draw comfort from in the thin hours. To hold and to love. 

You both knew you wouldn’t stand for it.

“No,” your voice cuts across, monotone. “I’m not allowing that.”

“Bloody hell, Hart, listen to me—do not,” John growls, making your spine tingle, “go after him. If he knows we’re fuckin’ here, we need to pull back and close off the area.”

You’re walking forward, that same pressure of a gun at the back of your spine. It was almost poetic. 

A thought sparks. Years of knowledge and understanding lighting up. 

Emmett was a snake. 

A snake that liked to play games and prove points; greed stuck into his brain for reasons you can’t quite say for certain. Even if you did catch him, he would never tell the locations of his goods or the buyers.

But there was one way to find out. One way this might turn.

“There’s a tracker in my arm,” you speak, growing more sure of your actions with every fast movement of your body. The café is just up the street, and a head of blonde hair is a knife to your vision. “I asked Laswell to insert and monitor it years back when I had to infiltrate a cell before I joined up with you again. Cautionary procedure since I had to forgo my rig and gear.”

A sharp bark. He knew what you were insinuating. “Hart!” You were going to get yourself taken hostage.

“Get Kate to watch it, John.” You move off his frequency before he can comment again, half of a roaring refusal cut off. Speaking to Gaz with a restricted throat, you say, “Kyle?”

“Right here, Ma’am.”

“Good. Don’t engage—I’m moving in.”

A stiff breath is taken in. “W…what was that?”

You don’t reply, only saying, “Whatever happens, I order you and the others to stay back, yeah?”

Your hand pulls the earpiece out and shoves it into your pocket right as you slip into the chair directly across from Emmett Kinsman. 

“Emmett,” you say in greeting, moving up a few fingers to a barista with a low call of your order. The individual nods and moves off before you lock on green eyes; they nearly make you flinch. 

You can only imagine what Gaz is telling John right now. 

Kinsman blinks at you, but he isn’t surprised. You were right.

“Hart,” the man smiles. His voice is still the same, though he looks older. “Pleasure seeing you again. Enjoying the sights of the city?”

“Not particularly,” you stare at him.

He chuckles, tilting his head before he brings his drink to his lips. He swallows and continues. 

“You always were serious. No fun.” You take the insult without any emotion, blinking at him slowly. What was his play?

“Why?”

“You already know why,” he shrugs, dressed in a nice suit. “I’ve made a name for myself—my name will be remembered for ages.” A twinkle in his eye. “SAS soldier turned weapon supplier; isn’t it exciting.”

“It’s a disgrace,” you lean forward, only stopping your voice from rising as a cup is placed down in front of you by the barista. 

Your face plasters a fake smile and you nod, moving it in front of you. Emmett watches with a smirk.

“I call it a change of heart.” He sighs, smirk simmering to a casual smile. “But I am glad to see you, you’ve been creating a big mess of things and I took it upon myself to have a meeting between us as old friends.”

“I’m not your friend,” you growl. “You’ve killed innocent people for no more than a fucking paycheck.”

“Well,” he snorts. “I don’t kill anyone. I’m the middle man—there’s a difference.”

Rage makes your eyes go to slits.

“And innocents, Sweet Thing?” Emmett leans in closer, face so smug and open you want to pull your weapon on him and worry about the consequences later. “What do I call what you do then?”

“A necessary evil,” you huff. “One I carry on my shoulders just like every other soldier does. One that was far better than supplying terrorists.”

Kinsman shrugs, moving back and picking up his drink, swirling it. “If you say so.” He hums. “You have to try the pastries here, you know. They’re very good.”

“I know you’re here because you expected us to find you, what I can’t figure out is why you broke your cover in the open instead of turning yourself in.” You look around at the faces in the outdoor seating, studying them trying to pinpoint if they’re civilians or in league with Kinsman. “Tell me before I decide to shoot you right here and now and end this regardless of hidden goods.”

“You already tried that, Hart,” Emmett laughs. “Pointing a gun at me didn’t work last time.”

“I’m not going to use a gun,” you ease out. “I’m going to take the butter knife on the table and slit your throat.”

“Uncivilized,” Emmet grumbles, frowning at the silver object near your hands. “It isn’t even sharp.”

“Good.” Green eyes narrow, unimpressed. He sighs, fingers moving in an outward gesture of exasperation. 

“If you must know before the main finale, I wanted to bring you here to say that I’m thoroughly impressed with your drive.” You try to stave off the shock in your stomach at the words coming out like a charmer’s flute. Raising a slow brow, you’re caught off guard. Emmett chuckles. “You nearly caught me at several instances throughout our game of cat and mouse. Many times I forget who the assigned roles were even given to; I’m telling you that I had fun.”

You stare, face tight. 

Emmett hums and his eyes go to slits. 

“But every game has to come to an end. I’m growing tired of it.”

The building across the street erupts into a great ball of fire.

—

John hears the explosion in the air, the shockwave that leaves his body halting to look into the sky in time to see black smoke.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “Fuck!” 

He rushes into the panicked crowd, memories stuck in his head and a bone-deep fear he’d been feeling since you cut the connection in your earpiece. Gaz had been relaying to him what was going on action for action—a football game, only the difference was that your life was on the line. 

“Kate,” John shouts. “Get the authorities down here now! We have an explosion on Holbergsgade.”

“Explosion?” The woman’s voice is sharp and disbelieving. “What’s going on—”

“Hart’s in the bloody crossfire, there’s no time!” John’s face is tight, wind whipping past his ears as screams fly on the wind; crying. “The fool is trying to get herself taken fucking hostage for intel!”

Whatever else was said was lost to the wind—Gaz comes over the line, calling to him in a panic as Johnny and Simon join in. 

“The entire building just went up in—”

“Fucking Christ—”

“Price, what is this?”

“All of you get down here!” John sprints past people on the ground, ripping his gun out of the back of his waistband. There’s no arguing. 

When the Captain turns the last corner, carnage greets him. 

The building across from the café was reduced to nothing but rubble and a still-burning flame. Eyes wide, John only looks at it for a few moments, too preoccupied with you.

Where were you? 

His jaw clenches, eyes burning with rage. Such a perfect soldier yet such a flawed sense of teamwork, he had a feeling you’d try something like this—had left Gaz with you for that very reason. Fuck he should have been at your side. He should have known. 

A low grumble moves through his lips, head snapping all around. There are bodies on the ground. Blood pooling under thick building material—fabric in the breeze. 

“Hart!” John yells, running to the café and seeing the remnants of a fast fight. 

The Captain’s heart drops to his feet, face burning with hellfire so much that a sheen comes to his cheek. His hand moves out to touch the handle of a butter knife that had been slammed into the table now half-fallen over, eyes stuck on only one thing on the ground under it.

Through the wails and the call of sirens, the man stares at the two long fingers sitting in the dust.

Never in his life had he felt a fear like this.

—

“I wanted to be kind about this,” Emmett fiddles with the wrappings of his bandaged left hand, only three fingers remaining. “I was going to make it quick.”

You’re locked in a cell-like room, head to the side and blood leaking out of a cut face. Burns travel up your arm, the sticky puss leaking out only serving to make you shiver. You don’t know where you are—don’t know what happened after you severed Kinsman’s fingers with that knife.

But you know the pain isn’t something that you haven’t already gone through before. 

Your voice is hoarse but firm as it leaks out of you, vision spotty. You’d been thrown in here after a ride in the trunk of a car. The ground is concrete. 

“...Don’t make me laugh.”

Emmett growls, eyes wide with hatred. 

“Pathetic!” He barks eyes looking you over with disgust. “Look at what you did to my hand!”

His other hand connects with the bars of the cage, producing a metal ringing sound as you push yourself up with one arm, eyelids flinching in pain. Sitting up, your body falls back to the wall behind it, and you grunt when the air in your lungs is expelled. You lick at your dust-coated lips, your head ringing and your focus failing. Concussion. 

“Least of your worries,” you roll your jaw, a wave of pain making your body seize up and your hands tense with quivering shakes. Your mouth opens with sharp pants. Bile pools in the base of your throat. 

It’s nothing. 

John will come soon. The tracker. If Laswell can get it working again, you’d be out of here and you would have whatever this location turns out to be and the intel that it can offer you—computer databases would be a one-and-done game. You would get names, coordinates, and buyers. It could all be over. 

Your clothes are melted into your skin, and when you move, they peel away with the remnant of your epidermis. The flesh of your left thigh and arm had taken the worst of it—and the cut from flying debris over your left cheek hasn’t stopped bleeding. 

Blood drips from it, and a loud ache makes your head pound all the worse. 

You’ve gone through worse.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Emmett snarls, the crimson bandages thick over his hand. “But it isn’t a problem,” he says, moving his other hand to slick back his hair. “It isn’t a problem,” the man utters again. “You’re going to help me. Yes…I’ve made up my mind. I need you to understand why I do the things I do.” 

Your brows furrow, but above this burning in your head, it’s hard to understand what’s being said to you. Shadows move and Emmett orders one of his men to open the cell door.

You fight the black dots at the sides of your vision, leaking until you’ve accepted the reality of yourself going unconscious. As your body slouches to the side, hands ruthlessly grasp under your arms and drag you to your feet. 

“Everyone has a breaking point.”

—

“What do you mean,” John glares at Laswell, his arms crossed over his chest; hands tightly grasping at his biceps. “You can’t find her?”

“The tracker was old, John,” the woman tries to explain, furiously typing at her computer that rests on the table in front of her—her spine bent over as the rest of the One-Four-One stay in a limbo of anxious looks. “To get it working again, it would need something to restart it. I don’t know if you can see,” Kate’s eyes are hard as they lock with his, “but I can’t do anything if she’s not here first.”

“Well of course she’d not bloody here Laswell, fucking Kinsman has her!” He shouts, hands moving out in a display of aggression. 

“Captain,” Kate rises to the challenge, hand moving flat to the table and glaring with the heat of a thousand missiles. “Do not take that tone with me.” 

John snarls and jerks his head away, feet on the ground trading weight. 

The man was borderline feral—all snapping teeth and sharp glances. Gaz had seen him like this only a handful of times, MacTavish even fewer. Ghost, of course, knew, but even his brown eyes wouldn’t leave his Captain, absorbed in the way he was unable to stay still for even a moment. He was in full gear, too. Had put it on directly after returning to a local base. 

John was ready to go to war, down to the rifle that swung from a strap at his side, the ammunition stuffed to his chest—sidearm at his thigh. A rabid dog with intelligence and the knowledge of where teeth needed to be applied to a neck for a clean kill. Simon doubted he wanted it to be clean.

John was ready to rip people to pieces. 

“Give me something,” the Captain says in a low growl, beard shifting. “Give me what I need.”

Kate splays her hands. “All we have is surveillance of a car leaving the area—the smoke covers all chances of the drone we had flying picking up a clear picture. John,” Laswell eases, standing up, “there’s only so much we can do. We need to wait—”

“We can’t bloody wait,” Gaz speaks up, “What’ll he do to her in the meantime?”

“Garrick’s right, we need to be on the ground with this.” Johnny nods, mohawk bobbing. “That’s one of our own—we’re not sitting around with our thumbs up our arses, Laswell. Not with Hart.”

Simon blinks, humming. Laswell’s eyes shift to him, near pleading for one to be on her side with this and see sense. Ghost shrugs. “I’m with them. Hart’s one of our own; we’ll do what needs to be done.”

John’s chest swells with pride while his eyes get stuck on your file on the table, your printed picture, and your black ink—he’d never loved an image more, but nothing could beat the real thing. He needed you back. He’d gone through hell with you for his entire life; you’d suffered with him and only locked your hands together and held on tighter. 

That was love—that was duty.

John Price wasn’t against skewing his morals for the sake of your safety. You would always be his most important mission. The man didn’t want to think about what might happen if he found you too late.

“Give me the video of the vehicle,” he grunts, jaw tight and his eyes beady. His body slightly leans forward to Kate, love going lower. “Or I’m going out there myself.” 

Laswell frowns tightly at him. 

“I just sent it into forensics—they’re trying to get a match. Go out if you want, but I won’t be able to stop the firestorm that comes out of it.”

She closes her laptop and moves past him, sending one last comment into the stone man as he towers ever taller.

“She’s strong, John. If you’re smart, you’ll keep yourself out of the crossfire until we have a definitive hit.” 

Her voice echoes from behind him as his hands slowly move to clench into knuckle-whitening fists.

“If Kinsman gets a tip we’re still onto him—you’ll never see Hart again.”

—

Day Three:

Your days start blending. One moment you hear the snapping of your bones, and then the next you’re wasting away in this cell—ears ringing and eyes buggy. So much blood. Blood on the walls—blood on the chair they strap you into in the other room; even stuck in the groves of your flesh. 

You don’t think you can stop closing your eyes and seeing a deer at the bottom of a bridge drop-off. It’s stuck in your head like a virus; those car lights in the back of your mind just waiting for you. 

There’s no sense as to what they do to you—all its purpose is, is to prove a point to Emmett. A sort of broken retribution for your interference and his fingers. 

Vain man, really. You’d told him as much when he was watching you get your own finger torn off my pliers; spit it at him as the blood from your bitten tongue stayed his suit. You remember the feeling of the knuckle popping first, and then the burning heat of the flesh being twisted to the side. Two firm yanks and the flesh had sprung like elastic, fissuring, the tendon snapping. 

You think you blacked out after that, but you can’t be sure. All you remember doing is screaming. 

You woke up with your left pinkie finger completely gone, resting outside in the hallway to mock you from past the bars. Your eyes could see the bone sticking out of it, and all that was left on you was a badly cauterized stump. 

When Emmett had come to gloat, you started slurring out laughter. 

“I’m going to rip you apart.” Your broken body had jerked back and forth like a marionette doll, only succeeding in spreading more red over the floors as green eyes widened and went dumbfounded. 

It sounded like a choking fish.

All he’d done was left, quickly passing the pinkie left limp on the ground.

Day five:

You can’t move your body as they dump you back into the chair—the drain below you flooded over with crimson and bits of hair; vomit and torn-off fingernails. You’re unable to open your eyelids fully. 

A hand grasps at your face, yanking it up into the overhead light until a bucket of water is dumped directly over your head. Your body jerks, coughing and darting forward until you’re shoved to the back of the chair and the rope is tied around the front of your shoulders, the second at your wrists.

Trying to suck down air, you shiver with the strength of an earthquake. Whoever said that they would never be afraid while being tortured was a liar; whoever thinks that they would be able to push through it—a fraud. Emmett was right, everyone had a breaking point.

But you admitted yours would only come after your death.

Your legs are seized, bent up as you hiss as well as you’re able, teeth snapping. 

They’re dumped back down into a bucket of ice-cold water as droplets drip from your nose—wet skin for the moment only holding streaks of gore. Even with your scattered mind, you know what this means. 

Heart tight and eyes widening, you try to push back in the chair; try to fight the rope and the way your body won’t respond. 

A battery is rolled up beside you on a metal cart. Jumper cables. 

There’s a low chuckle at the way your face goes fearful. 

—

John shoves open the door to Laswell’s temporary office, already talking before it hits the far wall. 

“Do we have her?” His hands move beside him, brushing the grip of his sidearm. He hadn’t been out of his full gear for more than five minutes in days. Waiting day and night for any word; sleeping in it, eating in it. The forensics team had been stumped, unable to get more than a model out of the picture. 

But this might finally give him something to act on. 

Kate is moving, grabbing documents and her laptop, speeding past him and out of the door. 

“Kate!” John shouts, following after. “Hey,” he calls, grabbing at her arm to stop her. 

The woman only halts to say, quickly, “We have a hit. Follow me.”

John’s heart is rampaging, pulse wild under his skin as his gloved hands twitch. Finally. He can only smoke so many cigars—only think of so many scenarios until he feels he needs to vomit. You’d been gone for too long. Every moment had been like trying to walk with a cloth over his head; lost. 

He’d grown stiff. Stiffer than normal. Everyone had seen it.

“Where is it, then?” John asks as Laswell pushes open the door to the meeting room, the other three already inside.

“A property outside of Copenhagen—bought through a proxy on a fund that was linked to blood money in South America; it all went directly back to Kinsman. It was found only ten minutes ago.” A pause. Electricity in the air. “But that’s not how we found it.”

“How,” Simon asks, moving closer. 

John gives the woman his full undivided attention, hands moving to rest at his collar in a soothing gesture. 

“Her tracker came back on.” Eyes go wide, all sharing rapid glances as Kate opens her laptop and opens a man, turning the device for them to see. “Same location.”

Johnny blinks, his eyes narrowing. “And what does that mean?”

“That can’t have just done that by itself,” Gaz mutters, brown eyes sliding over to John who’s stiller than a wolf. The Sergeant pauses. 

His eyes are dead set on that screen. His thighs were so tense it was nearly like the Captain was about to sprint out of the room. Kyle’s face goes blank at that, never quite seeing the extent that your disappearance had on the man. His superior had bags under his eyes; far more pale than usual. His apparel was ruffled, too. Even in the more serious of situations, the Sergeant had never seen John so…out of it. He was always the one with the even head, even if he had a short fuse with certain things. Nothing was ever done without thought, he should say. 

But this is something else. 

“Torture,” Simon gives his two cents and John’s cheek twitches at the word. “Electrocution. They jump-started it and didn’t even know.” 

“Bloody Jesus,” John breathes. Everyone had already had a hunch, but no one had wanted to name it. 

It’s a low rumble that makes the rest of them freeze, though. It was so dead in tone that it even made Kyle’s spine lock up; Johnny’s eyes went a smidgen upward. Simon, although his face was covered, felt his lips twitch.

John looks at nothing but that dot on the computer screen.

“Am I green, Laswell?”

Kate looks at John. It’s like setting a hellhound loose. 

“You’re green, Captain.”

—

You’re tossed into the cell and your body rolls along the floor, bouncing and flinching until your back slams into the wall. Air is forced from your lungs, coming out in a loud grunt before you land on your stomach in a heap. Staying there, your nerves are fried. 

Every moment you think the twitching of your fingers will stop—the dance of your muscles responding to the aftereffects of electrocution, it only starts back up again. Your eyes blink rapidly; your clothes have the scent of smoke to them. 

Gasping for breath, you feel like you’re drowning and being set on fire all at once. 

Yet the question in your head was a simple one, one you’d been asking for days.

Where was John?

Emmett enters the cell, clicking his tongue as the metal hinges squeak. 

“I’m not surprised it’s taking this long,” he explains. “But I am surprised you’re still alive, admittingly.” 

A boot comes out and places itself atop your shoulder, pressing down slowly until its full weight is on top of you. Your mouth opens in a shuddering sound of a dying animal, blood dripping from your ears and nose. 

“I know you’ve taken torture before—even taken a part of it,” Kinsman sighs. “But, shit Hart, you really do scare me when I know you’re strong enough to get through th—”

Your body jolts up, grappling Emmet’s leg and twisting it to the side. Regardless of pain—of agony—there’s such primal rage inside of you that what little adrenaline you can bring forth is all that more addictive. 

The man collapses in a heap, gasping, but you’re already on top of him, wrestling your hand to his neck, missing finger and all. Blood moves, staining his precious suit and dripping from your mouth into his hairline. You bare down your weight on him, teeth clenched and eyes wild—one orb holding nothing but red from burst veins and the other full of a vicious gleam of ferality. 

Hands snap up to your wrists, mouth opening in flapping panic. 

But Emmett has grown weak; he’s out of practice. All of those years out of the SAS, giving up on the training of the body to match the mind. The idiot wasn’t even carrying a gun when he walked into the cell of a charging stag, its antlers dripping gore, sharper than any knife. 

When the flaps of his eyes fall there’s no gloating speech—there’s no snort of a tall and proper victor. All you do is take the front of his face, grasp it, and start sending his skull back into the concrete floors. 

Crack.

…Crack.

….Crack.

Only when the sound of his head breaking open meets your ringing ears, do you force your wheezing lungs to take a large breath. 

Emmet Kinsman died as he lived. 

A fucking piece of shit.

“Fuck you,” you spit on his corpse, saliva bloody; his jaw is loose as you release the man’s face, eyes bulging. Falling to the side, you groan in pain, your body curling into itself until you resemble a sleeping fawn. You’re shaking more and more with every second, coughing with the force of an earthquake until your shredded vocal chores force you to stop. 

But the brain is a funny thing. 

In times of danger, survival is the only thing that takes priority. It was why, in a long shove of your hand to the floor, with your bones creaking and your vomit meeting the ground, you’re able to stand. It isn’t enough to help you heal the snapped bone of your right leg, however, and in a steadily failing stupor, you drag it behind you. In this state, nothing else matters to you besides a simple command: get out.

Your shoulder slaps the metal of the cell as you stumble out of it, careening into the far wall and letting out a loud shout. 

Eyes fluttering, you connect your temple to the cool concrete, trying to breathe. 

It hurts too much, your mind says. God, I can’t feel my limbs. 

A long trail of blood follows you down the hallway as you slide along the wall, using it as a brace. 

You want to see John, you whisper inside of your head. You want to be held by him—be taken into his chest; cared for away from all of this fighting. 

A trip back to Herefordshire with him, to go deep into the country together; rest in the green grass where no one can find you for just a few good hours. It didn’t have to be forever, you would say. Just a few hours. A few hours of sky and earth wrapped in a time loop of just your own. 

You want to kiss him there. In the open, out in the wild. You want to stay by his side, your mind thinks as you stumble over the three dead bodies in the left corridor, bullet wounds in their heads. You want to be by his side forever, no more gaps in years, not more longing. It’s so close you can nearly reach out and grasp it—

Your name is yelled on a heavy breath, and hands capture your shoulders as you fall straight into them with no more strength.

Blue eyes lock with yours as you’re hurriedly settled to the ground, body limp and eyes trying to stay open. 

Blue eyes on a grassy hill.

“Hart, fucking hell.” Hands move your body, pressing and sliding—finding every opening and spreading blood like water. “Fucking hell! Hey!”

You’re yelled at, and the ripping of pouches and the familiar sound of bandages being wrapped come to the back of your brain. A hand shakes your head, locked under your chin as you take slow, broken, breaths. 

“Please, fuck sake, please,” it’s a desperate growl, so familiar and yet a world away. Your body is moved and manipulated as every leaking wound is packed with so much gauze it hangs out of you like you’re a mummy. The burns along your flesh are crust and infected, open skin peeling back. 

But the pain is lesser now. Easier to manage. 

There’s such a ruckus that it’s hard to focus on John—the man on the hill. In the grass and the wind. Brown hair moves in the breeze as white clouds roll past. On the air, there’s the scent of rain, and in the far distance, you can see a group of ten deer grazing, ears twitching.

Maybe you’ll ask them if they blame their leader, or the two trucks on the end of a bridge.

“Keep your eyes on me!” You blink into John’s tiny blues, that mist rolling back. You stare for a moment as he frantically screams into his radio; night vision rig on his head and all-black gear covering him from you. His face is pale, his eyes glossy. “Look at me, hey,” he blinks as he notices you watching, surging forward. “Hey, keep 'em open, yeah? You keep them fucking open, Love.” 

Your chest is heavy. 

“John,” you push out a flicker coming to your lips as your vision slightly unblurs itself to the sight of a flood of blood on the man’s body—an unimaginable amount.

“I’m ‘ere,” his accent grows deeper with emotion, one hand holding your cheek and the other at your shoulder, keeping you still to stop any additional damage. “I’ve got you, you understand me? I’m not letting you go, so don’t you think that I will.” 

It’s a double-edged sword.

A smile peels back your chapped lips, red running from the corner of your mouth. You glance at his stained gear again. The abyss swirls at the corners of your eyes.

“Is that your blood, or mine, John Price?” 

You hear him scream for a medic, and then it all goes numb.

—

You dream of deer on a hill, but every time you search for John, he isn’t there. You go past rivers—

“She’s dropping!”

“Get me the defibrillator!”

—past copses. Your voice goes high and low, but all the while you look, there’s nothing but a nagging feeling in the back of your head that you shouldn’t be here.

“Again!”

It’s a strange nagging, truly. Like falling asleep in the middle of the day and waking up in the night without any remembrance of what had happened prior. A displacement of the mind. 

“We’ve got a pulse, Doctor, do we stop and—”

“No, I need to finish off the internal bleeding or else she won’t make it another day. Get me the cauterizer, now.”

You blink and grip your chest, a sudden pain sharp in your heart as the grass moves about your ankles. Coughing, you bend over, your eyes fluttering rapidly. In the deepest part of your eardrum, you hear a murmur of a voice you can’t place.

“The man came back, again. He’s been out there for days. He just…sits there, waiting until someone tells him something. He can’t come in, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sure hearing his voice would help more than mine, but you’re in too much of an unstable condition for that. If you get another infection, you won’t…hm, I shouldn’t talk about that. Everyone in school said only to talk positively to patients when they’re like this. I…I’m sure he’ll be able to come in soon. I think everyone calls him John if that rings a bell?”

“John?” Your eyes flutter open, sharp light above you making you snap them back closed. No one answers. 

It’s a long moment before you find the strength to breathe in the oxygen from the mask over your face, taking a long and deep inhale before a slight cough makes your abdomen tight. You flinch at the pull of stitches, all coming from so many places, that it’s unwise to move too much. 

Gradually, you open back up your eyes, pushing past the sting. Inside of your throat, the skin is so dried out you can feel it cracking at every articulation of your words. 

“Where's…John?” When you shift your head to the side, no one’s there. No one’s even in the room, either.

Blinking through the haze, your lips twitch on your face, skin tight. With a slap of your weak hand, you grasp the oxygen mask and pull it down to your neck, grunting in mild annoyance at the medicated numbness of your form. 

Your leg is in a cast—and your left side is tightly bound by wrappings to hide away the burns where skin grafts most likely live. With a glance, you see the missing pinky and the bandages that cover the strange remnants. 

The facial wound will scar, you know, but right now it’s patched over and healing. That’s all you can ask for. 

Sighing long, you blink slowly at the ceiling, licking your lips. You need water.

Outside, the murmurs are missed to you as your unmarred hand reaches for the nightstand table, where a half-drunk bottle of water sits next to a tray of food. Even if your stomach rumbles, water takes precedence. Your throat was like the Sahara desert.

“Forget something, John?”

“Bloody fork. The bastard gave me the slip. Dropped mine, needed to go back and grab another.”

“Oh, that’s alright—you could have asked one of us to get one for you. We’d hate for you to miss any time for visiting hours.”

“It’s fine; gets me moving, eh?”

“Just grab us if you need anything else!”

A low grunt is accented by the opening of the door; immediately you tense and pause, neck fighting itself to shift forward once more.

Wide blues lock with your own, and it’s like every pain fades away. 

John’s jaw is slack hidden under the layers of his beard bristles, brows going atop his head in an instant. The sound of a dropping metal utensil echoes through the room. 

You both stare at one another for a long time, and the murmur of nurses accumulates to some peaking through the crack; their expressions also going to shock. A few scurry off, probably to get a doctor. 

“What?” Your hoarse voice asks, unnerved by this. 

At the sound of your voice, John flinches forward on his boots. The nurses get shut out with beaming faces as the barrier closes with a small click of metal.

Walking to the side of your bed, John clears his throat, eyes looking you up and down in two glances. A million things are hidden in them. After an opening and closing of his mouth, which you watch closely while squinting, he speaks.

“How are we feeling, then?” You breathe slowly and in tiny puffs. John looks at the oxygen mask as if telling you to put it back on, but you refuse for a moment. 

“Like shit,” you utter, voice cracking.

With a huff, John pushes away your reaching hand and gets the water himself, unscrewing it. Bringing it to your lips, you take it down as he speaks.

“Easy, Love.” 

When you’d had your fill and the ache settled, you brought a hand to your head and rubbed at your injured cheek before John sighed and grabbed at it, intertwining his fingers with yours and lowering the limb back to your chest.

You stare at him, and he stares at you. 

“I don’t know what to ask,” you confess. 

“You don’t have to ask anything,” John mutters, and his face is tight with worry. “You’ve been in a coma for three weeks, all you need to do is ease back into it.”

Your eyes snap back.

“Tell me if it hurts,” He speaks slowly, moving on one word at a time so the realization doesn’t dwell in your brain. “I can get someone to come in, yeah?”

Your hand in his burns, and John pulls at the chair by the nightstand until he’s able to sit down in it fully with a tiny grunt.

“No,” you say, “no, it’s…I’m fine.”

Better now that you’re here, but your body is tense. Three weeks?

“Just need to take it easy,” the man states, thumb running up and down your knuckles. “You’ll be better soon.”

A dry look is sent his way, and he hides a soft quirk on his lips. “You’ll be better, Love.”

You hum, head moving back more heavily into the pillow. 

“When do I get to go back?”

“When you’re healed,” he grunts. “Not a fuckin’ moment sooner.”

“We get anything on the other locations of the—”

“Hart,” you’re interrupted. Blue eyes stare at you heavily, digging past every shield you’d put up and every fear. What happened was still heavy in your mind; it pained you to imagine it, even the way John had found you—even if it was all glimpses. “Slow down. That’s not an order coming from a soldier, it’s a caution from an old friend.” John says, squeezing your flesh. His other hand comes to your shoulder, sitting there heavily. 

“Breathe,” he orders, face gruff. “We always figure it out.” 

You close your eyes and sigh, frowning. 

A low chuckle moves along the air a second later. 

“Never sit down, do you?” A flicker dances over your lips like a butterfly. “Impossible, you are.”

“You’re one to talk,” you huff, eyes shifting back to him. 

He’s smiling at you, and you can’t help but mirror it right back at the sight. Your facial injury pulls and tightens, but you would welcome an ache like that for as long as it stayed. A scar born of the stretch of lips is one well-earned. Only John could ever make it a reality.

The man stares at your lips, his wide build eager to stay over you in this state. He can’t stop himself from caressing your skin; to feel you alive and breathing. Talking.

“Scared me,” John admits under his breath. 

You blink, your smile fading slowly until it was like it was never there. Your body builds with guilt; also something only he could bring. “I’m sorry, John.” 

A small thinning of his lips is what you get, accented by a hum. 

“Hart,” he grunts. “I…”

John’s eyes closed for a moment before opening back up—spearing you with their gaze. Your tired eyes crinkle in confusion.

“What is it?” Over the tingle of your flesh from where he touches you, it isn’t hard to forget the world is around you when he’s here like this. You’re nearly trapped by his eyes, yet you welcome it eagerly. His voice moves out, accent and natural gravel, all. 

“I love you.” 

Your nose lets a chuff exit. Was that all?

“I love you, too, John—”

“No, Hart,” he pushes slightly harder, moving closer and licking his lips as he glances away. “No,” John looks you dead in the eye as you lay here battered and broken within an inch of your life—a risk that you took willingly as if it had meant nothing. The both of you weren’t new to this; you both knew that on any day you or he would do it over and over again until it resulted in death. That was the way of this game; this trial. 

You had both always been content with that, but when had it changed? 

Why was the thought of losing you more fear-invoking than anything else he’d ever encountered?

You watch him as his lips utter the words, lips close to yours and your eyes locked. 

“I love you.” 

Your voice is caught in your throat, stuck in the throws of a quick gasp. Not blinking, the man waits for you—waits for an answer to the earth-shattering confession. But it all came far easier than you would ever admit to anybody besides him. It was already known, after all. 

All that remained was the pesky words.

“I love you, too.” You beam, words low with intimacy. “I think I always have.”

John chuckles, a large smile pushing at his reddening cheeks. “Good,” he nods, clearing his throat. “Good,” he says again. “Well, I—”

You softly connect your lips with his, and you feel him pause, breathing you down for a moment as hearts beat at the same tempo. He sighs, one hand coming up to capture your cheek, holding it there for you as you sag into it and live in this everlasting moment. 

It’s there you had a revelation.

It was never Hart to him. John had never been calling you that. 

He’d always just been saying Heart.

You breathe out a laugh, when you separate, beaming in a happiness you thought was long gone from you—stolen in the dark nights and sold through even darker deeds. Neither of you was worthy of this, of the love that breeds in broken things. Yet, here it is regardless. Here, among blood and the blue eyes of a man you’d known since knowing anything became important. You had always known it was John. And finally, finally, finally.

“I would marry you in an instant, John Price,” you breathe when you separate, not weak enough to stop the words from exiting from the deepest part of your soul.

His crinkled eyes watch, reverently gazing at every blemish and mark; everything he could learn new again. John’s eyes are as soft as you ever imagined them to be, and he gives them over freely to you.

He kisses you again and leaves the taste of his heavy, happy, chuckle tingling across your lips.

“Seems I’d better get on that, then.”

A/N: This fic is strangely nostalgic for me even if I just wrote it - I remember the first ever fic I posted on here was a rescue fic, as well as a John Price fic; it's amazing to see how far I've come in regards to overall content/story building and how my understanding of the character has evolved. This might not be the best work I've posted on my blog, but I'm glad to say I'm proud of myself and how far I've come. It's so wonderful that I can have this feeling for such a big moment and still feel so drawn back to the past at the same time. Totally not tearing up at the thought rn.

Thank you all very much for your support.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting , @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #x female reader #cod mw22 #call of duty x you #mw2 #mw2 2022 #cod john price #john price #captain john price #captain price #cod price #john price call of duty #john price cod #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #cod mw #cod x female reader #john price x female reader #x fem!reader #captain price x female reader #female reader #cod mw x reader #mw x reader

[platinumaspiration]

Howdy, Simmers! I'm thrilled to present the Ultimate 4T2 Clay Hair Default Replacement Collection, designed to give your Sims a fresh and fabulous new look effortlessly! 💇‍♀️💇‍♂️✨

It's time to redefine Sim style – one fabulous hairstyle at a time. Get ready for a hair revolution with The Ultimate 4T2 Clay Hair DR Collection! 💖🌟

🍡Download - LC | MF 🍡

Updates folder - SFS | MF updated 9 Apr 2024

The nitty gritty details and disclaimers:

This is an entire collection that is interwoven with each other. Hair is repositoried to different ages, genders, defaults, and even hidden toddler hair. It's highly recommended that the collection stay intact and that you have the Ultimate Collection or all EP/SP. Recategorizers do not work with this collection

Not all hair works with each sims' faces and not all sims' faces work with each hair. So keep in mind foreheads, cheeks and ears may poke out. Previews are available at LordCrumps.com

The collection includes add ons that may require the defaults and are flagged as "Store Edition" hair. TS4 hairs range from base game to the most recent Stuff Pack (Home Chef Hustle). More hair may be included as add ons in the future.

Enable Store Edition icon

I wouldn't convert some hair without their outfit counterparts. Please make sure to remove conflicts. The outfits include:

ubodymascotknight_EP7 mbodysuperninja pubodybadger_badger pubodybadger_brown ubodycommercialmascot_buns ubodysocialbunny servo ubodycowmascot (a brighter/whiter version courtesy of tvickiesims)

Most of these hairs exist already in the realm of the community as custom hairstyles. Any of my hair previously converted (shrink, servo, santa hat, etc) should be removed; they'll be included in this collection.

TOU: Please feel free to use these as a template for your defaults and recolor the hair as you'd prefer for download purposes. I only ask that you do not reupload these original files (breaking down to packs, gender, etc) as they are intertwined and may not work without their exclusive counterparts. Please do not make these hairs as customs for reupload.

There are a few hair/items that use cc: credit: nolansims, sforzinda, arethabee

This took about... 8 months to complete. I've (re)converted all of these myself to my current expectations of my conversion content. This was play tested thoroughly over the course of that time. If there are any issues, please don't hesitate to send an ask. The file size is massive even compressed, but to be honest it's pretty decent for 500+ hair.

Under the cut are some personal sappy thank you notes that I want to share publicly:

Thank you to the defaulters at sims2defaults database for all your work! Just be kind if/when you tear into it lol

A humongous thank you to those whom have followed and been a part of my journey as a cc creator/converter. This inadvertently marks a huge follower milestone as well and I'm so happy that you all have been a part of this with me for the past (almost) 3 years!

I don't think I would have done this without meeting @lordcrumps over a year ago and joining in his journey for the ultimate 4t2 default collection. He's a true gentleman and scholar 🧐Thank you for play testing, collaborating, and above all, being one of my bestest of friends and confidant.

And, I would never ever had completed this without @tvickiesims. To think she raised me from a terrible toddler right into an angsty teen within that 8 months and still remained a true and close friend through all of it. Thank you for your extensive and detailed play testing, your companionship when I fall apart, and for being my twin flame 🤗

#4t2 #s2cc #sims 2 cc #sims 2 download #ts2cc #4t2cc #ts2 download #the sims 2 cc #4t2 conversion #sims 4t2 #4t2 hair #4t2 clothes #sims 2 clothes #ts2 defaults #sims 2 defaults #download #dl:def #dl:h #dl:fh #dl:mh

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Getting fucked by ghostface!Billy in an alley on your way back from Tatum’s. He tried to scare you and pull this little stunt, but you figure out it was him

More Billy, YES (this is 1.5k, enjoy)

Please read the warnings before reading this one, some of the content might make you uncomfortable or be triggering for you

Warnings: 18+, dub-con, semi-public sex, p + v, non-protected sex, creampie,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Dewey to drive you home? He should be there at ten,’’ Tatum asked again as you were getting ready to leave. ‘’The psychos are out at this hour...’’ 

You declined her offer. ‘’I can’t. My parents will have my head if I'm not home before curfew.’’ You grabbed your backpack and opened the door. ‘’See you tomorrow!’’ You waved at her before stepping out and closing the door. 

The chill autumn air brushing your face and the fallen leaves swished on the ground around you as you walked down the Rileys’ driveway and took the sidewalk. You didn’t particularly enjoy walking alone at night — no women did, honestly —, but Tatum’s house was only a few blocks from yours. 

On the way, you admired all the carved pumpkins out on the porches and other halloween decorations, making you miss when you were kids. Halloween was still fun as a teenager, but no parties could beat trick-or-treating and exchanging candies with your friends. 

As you turned on Elm street, a growing unease pricked at your senses. Someone was following you. Your steps became quicker, but not quick enough that your change of pace would alert the person behind you. The last thing you wanted was to let him know that you knew he was following you. He could take a run after you and it would be done for you.

You thought of going back to Tatum’s, maybe Dewey was home from work, but you were almost home. Instead, you took the shortcut to your house and turned in an alley, thinking you could kick a trash can at your pursuer's feet in case he tried anything, but a shadow loomed over you. Panic surged through you, and before you could react, a gloved hand swiftly clamped over your mouth, stifling the scream that tried to escape.

Fear pulsed within you, your mind racing to comprehend the situation. You struggled against the grip, your instincts kicking in as you fought to break free. The scent of leather filled your nostrils as you twisted and wriggled, attempting to loosen the stranger's hold.

A distorted voice pierced the air, its chilling words sending a shiver down your spine. ‘’Don’t you know walking home by yourself at night is a danger-magnet? Especially with a tight little skirt like yours,’’ he said as the hand that wasn’t over your mouth slid up your thigh, making your heart race in fear of what was going to happen. 

A sickening feeling twisted in your stomach. Maybe you should have waited for Dewey to drive you home. Your parents would have been mad for not respecting your curfew, but at least you would have been safe. 

You tried to scream again, and fight back, but the stranger only laughed at your attempts. 

‘’You’re not gonna escape me, babydoll,’’ the distorted voice laughed, tightening their grip and pressing your front against the brick wall of a building. ‘’If you try, I’ll gut you like a fish.’’ Something cool touched your leg and tears pricked in your eyes. 

A knife. 

Tatum was right about psychos being out at this hour…

You turned your head slightly, trying to see who was holding you, but all you saw was a strange halloween white mask with a black hood. 

‘’Have you ever been told how good your ass looked in that skirt? Bet your boyfriend likes to take you from behind, uh?’’ The hand that was on your thigh moved up, pulling your skirt and lifting it up, making your skin crawl. 

The night air hit your bare ass, completely exposed to the masked stranger, and you pressed your thighs together. You doubted it would stop the man from doing anything, but you could at least try. 

‘’Mmh, what a nice ass,’’ he pointed out, smacking his hand on your ass-cheek, the sound resonating in the alley, and grabbing it. You squeaked at the impact. ‘’I can’t wait to feel it against me as I pound in your tight pussy.’’

Your stomach churned. Your night was turning into a nightmare. 

‘’Now, I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth, but if you dare scream…’’ he trailed with a threat.

You nodded, having no other choice. He was the one with the knife.

‘’Spread those legs, hands on the wall,’’ he ordered, the distorted voice glitching a little, causing you to hear the man’s real voice. It sounded familiar, like you had heard it before, but a lot of men had similar voices. 

Shaking that thought, you obeyed and parted your legs, holding a hiss when pressing your hands against the rough brick.   

‘’Now what?’’ you spat, looking over your shoulder.  

The stranger chuckled, then pushed himself up against the curve of your ass, letting you feel his erection through his clothes, the hardness and heat radiating from his body admittedly kind of hot. ‘’Now I'm gonna stick it in you and rearrange your insides, you dumb fucking bitch.’’

You gasped at his words, arousal leaking through your panties. 

A car drove by on the other end of the alley, making the both of you go completely still. Minutes ago, you would have been relieved that a car was driving by. Not anymore. A sick and twisted part of you wanted the masked stranger to fuck you against that wall. 

Once the car was out of earshot, the masked man another grope of your ass, then pulled aside your underwear, running a gloved hand over your folds and discovering your little secret. 

‘’Is this…turning you on?’’ 

You kept quiet, disgusted and ashamed of yourself. 

He laughed, keeping going with the teasing by pressing a finger inside you, making you gasp as you automatically clamped around it. ‘’It is turning you on.’’ You heard the smirk in his voice. ‘’Dirty little slut.’’ 

You whined at his words, his finger moving in and out, but not nearly enough. ‘’Please,’’ you surprised yourself by saying, chasing his finger. ‘’I need more.’’ 

If anyone were to see you right now, you would be mortified. Not only were you getting sexually assaulted by a masked stranger in an alley, but you were enjoying it. It was sick.

Much too soon, he removed his finger, making you whine in protest. You turned your head to glance at him, but his head was down and you couldn’t see much. 

‘’Think you can handle my cock in you? Your slutty little cunt is weeping around my finger,’’ he said as he reached beneath his robe, fighting with his belt buckle and zipper to free himself. 

Your stomach bubbled with excitement, your teeth catching your bottom lip when you felt his hard cock pressing against your entrance. You pushed back against him, the hard press of his tip prodding at you, his pre-cum mixing with your leaking arousal. 

Your jaw dropped as you felt his cock part your folds, pushing himself all the way inside before stilling for a few seconds. Fuck. His dick was filling you so good. He gave a first snap of hips and a moan escaped from your lips, louder than you were expecting. 

Behind you, the masked man stopped moving, clamping a hand over your mouth as he hissed in your ear. ‘’Keep quiet or I’ll stop playing with your cute little cunt. Can't get caught, can we?’’ he warned, forgetting to use the voice distorter and giving himself away. 

‘’Billy Loomis, you sick fu—’’ 

Your words were cut off as his thick cock plunged back into you, making you moan instead. 

Billy laughed. ‘’Surprise, babydoll.’’ He gripped your hip firmly with one hand, the second coming around your throat while he was pounding in you from behind, stars flying around in your vision as the pleasure filled your whole body, explicit groans and muffled moans filling the dark alley.

‘’Always so fucking tight,’’ he grunted, getting really hot under the mask. Halloween costumes were not made to be worn during sex. 

You tried your best to brace yourself, both hands flat on the brick wall as Billy kept pistoning into you, your legs were shaking with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you. ‘’Ahh, yes, just like that!’’ 

After he emptied himself and rode the waves of your respective pleasure, Billy slipped out from you, a white string of hot cum connecting you to him. He smirked under the mask, loving to watching himself leak from your abused pussy and drip out and down your leg. 

‘’You’re insane,’’ you said, turning around to face your boyfriend, your wrinkled skirt still bunched up at your waist. 

Laughing, Billy pulled the mask off his face, his lips curved into a wicked grin. ‘’The best people are.’’ 

You both fixed yourself in silence, having enough played with public indecency for tonight. As thrilling and exciting as this had been, you didn’t want an actual stranger to see you exposed like that.  

‘’How did you know I just left Tatum’s?’’ 

‘’Stu,’’ he explained. ‘’Tatum called him saying you just left, so I put on that sweet little costume and decided to surprise you. Did you like it?’’ 

You grabbed the front of the black robe and kissed him in response.

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog  @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn  @bt.oliana  @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh  @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore  @Meadzy21 @luci1fer @nomorespahgetti  @bloodyhw  @depthsofdespairr  @bellysbeach @wilmalovegood @loupiotesworld  @wenvierismycomfort @t-candy  @s-al-em  @darylscvmdumpster  @tommysaxes  @adaydreamaway08 @johannelis2302nely  @aqshua @lynbubble  @luiise  @planetkt  @vampyrgoff

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3  @Heartsforneteyamsully  @aerangi  @hallecarey1  @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup

#billy loomis #billy loomis imagine #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x you #scream #scream imagine

[alisonwritesimagines]

Please Don't Be In Love With Someone Else ~LA!Shanks x Reader x LA!Mihawk Imagine~

Summary: You keep waiting for Shanks. But someone new comes along and suddenly, you're not so lonely.

Author’s Note: You read the title correctly. I'm evilly laughing right now as you read this in pain. Also, this is technically a rewrite of the angst ending cause the one I wrote and in my drafts is more fluff than angst.

Angst Ending to I Was Enchanted to Meet You

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: angst, fluff, but angst to all you Shanks lovers

Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!

Do not repost this anywhere!

It had been years since you last saw Shanks. And it's been a year since you last saw Luffy. Ever since he was old enough to sail off in the world to find the One Piece to become King of the Pirates, you had been by yourself since. Of course you did a lot for your small village to keep you occupied but you still missed your boys.

You were tending to your garden as it was time for you to harvest before it became spoiled and over grown. That was until you heard someone say something behind you.

“You don’t seem like someone who can harm a fly."

You turned around to see the warlord Dracule Mihawk standing before you. You stood up straight to seemed less intimidated.

“I can hurt a fly. Don’t think I’m good at harming anyone else,” you tell him as you crossed your arms.

“I see.”

“I know who you are so what do you want?” You asked.

“I was sent to kill you but in all honesty, I don’t think I can kill you. You’re too beautiful to be killed,” he tells you.

“Who sent you to kill me?” You asked, now worried. You’ve stayed in the island since you were born. Not only that, you stayed even when Luffy left.

“Not to worry now. I don't have any intentions to kill you," he tells you.

"Then what are you still doing here?"

"I'm curious to see why someone would send me to go after you."

"Feel free to stay. Just to tell you, it's going to be quite boring," you tell him.

Mihawk stayed around the next day to watch over you. He didn't understand why Vice Admiral Garp would want a warlord like him to kill a sweet little thing like yourself. You did nothing of the sort that would be considered dangerous or even pirate bounty level dangerous.

"Ow!" You yelled as you accidently burnt yourself with the pan.

"What happened? What's wrong?" Mihawk asked you as he rushed inside your home.

"Just burned myself," you tell him.

Mihawk quickly grabbed your bucket of water before gently putting your finger in the cool liquid.

"Thanks," you tell him.

"Of course."

"I made extras if you'd like. I got used to cooking for two," you tell him.

"Was it for you and your past lover?" Mihawk asked you.

"Not really surprisingly. I used to take care of a little boy who used to live with me who had a bottomless stomach. He wanted to become a pirate so he set sail a year ago," you tell him.

"I see."

"So, dinner?"

"Why not."

—

Mihawk stayed for a couple more weeks before he needed to back out to sea. You stood on the deck as you watched Mihawk get ready to leave.

"So I guess this is farewell?" You asked him.

"For now. I will be back in a month at most," he tells you.

"To finish me off and claim your berry?" You asked.

"No. To come see you again," Mihawk said before sailing off. You shook your head at him before walking back to your home.

You assumed Mihawk was lying or joking when he said he was coming back to see you. But to your surprise, you opened your door to see him standing before you.

"Brought you some new seeds for you to grow in your garden," Mihawk tells you.

"I'm guessing you're staying for dinner?" You asked with a small smile.

"If you'd have me," Mihawk said. You nodded before letting him inside your house.

-

As much as you didn't want to admit, you fell for Mihawk. Even though part of you hoped for Shanks to come back, you appreciated the fact that no matter how long Mihawk was gone for or even if he was wounded badly, he came back to you. Even though Shanks would come back to you, he hasn't for years.

"Will you be mine?" Mihawk asked you one night. After a midnight stroll, you both headed back to your home. Mihawk stopped you from walking inside by holding your hand.

"What?" You asked in shock.

"Be mine. I've fallen for you Y/n. And I swear to you, I would never let anything happen to you," Mihawk tells you.

"Alright. I'll be yours," you tell him. Mihawk gave you a small smile before pulling you towards him.

"May I kiss you?" Mihawk asked you.

"Yes."

Mihawk cupped your cheek with his hand before leaning in to kiss you.

-

Shanks rushed over to your home after being away for so many years. He was excited to tell you his adventures and was looking forward to seeing you once again. He knocked on your door, his heart pounding in excitement.

Instead of seeing you, he saw someone else open the door. His smile faltered as he stared at the stranger in front of him.

"May I help you?" The stranger asked him.

"My apologies. I was hoping to find Y/n L/n? The woman who lived here?" Shanks asked.

"Oh. I'm sorry. She's been gone for quite sometime. She left the village I want to say two years ago? Her and her husband moved to another island."

"Her husband?"

"Yes. I'm surprised she married a warlord but he had been kind to the village whenever he was here," the stranger pointed out.

"Do you happened to know her husband's name?"

"I believe it was Dracule Mihawk."

—

Shanks made it to Mihawk's castle where he knew you would be at. After demanding to see you, Mihawk came out to talk to him.

"You should know my wife is resting," Mihawk tells him.

"You took her from me," Shanks angrily tell him.

"I didn't take her from anyone. When I met her, she was alone," Mihawk informs him.

"She never told you about me?" Shanks asked.

"No she has. I just never told her that I knew you."

"Please. Let me see her!" Shanks asked.

"Let me see if she's well enough to move," Mihawk said.

"Is she sick?" Shanks asked.

"Not entirely."

Shanks waited anxiously for you to come down. His eyes widen when he saw Mihawk helping you down. Your stomach was large but he knew that it was because you were pregnant. And what's worse was that it wasn't Shanks's child you were carrying. It was Mihawk's child.

"Shanks?" You asked in shock.

"Hi, Y/n."

-

You sat in the garden with Shanks alone so you two could talk. Shanks stared at you, admiring your beauty once more. While you thought you were alone, Shanks knew that Mihawk was watching nearby.

“Are you happy my love?” Shanks asked you as he held your hand.

“I am. Hawk Eye makes me happy,” you tell him with a small smile.

“I’m happy that you’re happy.”

“I did wait for you Shanks. I really did. But I feared that if I waited any longer, I’d be too old for you,” you tell him with a frown.

“You could never be too old for me. You could have white hair and many wrinkles and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” Shanks tells you. You smiled at him before tearing up.

“I loved you Shanks. And I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you longer."

“Don’t apologize my love. I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you sooner,” Shanks said. You nodded before taking off your makeshift necklace that held the ring Shanks gave to you. You handed it over to Shanks before kissing his cheek.

“I hope life treats you well and I hope you find a woman who will love you endlessly as much as I did,” you tell him.

“And if Hawk Eyes dares to lay a hand on you, come find me. I’ll protect you.”

“I know you will."

"So this is goodbye then huh?" Shanks asked you.

"If you find Luffy, tell him I miss him and love him dearly. And that, he's more than welcome to visit me or find me whenever he wants," you tell him. After all, Luffy was yours and Shanks's unofficial son and you two were his unofficial parents.

"Goodbye, Shanks,” you tell him before giving him a kiss on the cheek once more.

“Goodbye, my love.”

—

You sat on the couch in your lounge room waiting for your son to arrive with his new fiancée. Twenty five years had gone by and you had lived your life. Dracule sat next to you as you both waited for your son to come home. Now that your husband has retired from being a pirate, he had spent his time with you while your children explored the world.

“I wonder what she’ll be like,” you tell your husband.

“I trust his judgement. After all, I chose well didn’t I?” Dracule joked.

“You most certainly did,” you smiled.

“Mom! Dad! I’m home!” You heard your son say.

“Over here!” You called from where you were.

You smiled at your son the moment he walked in but your eyes widen from the sight of the woman next to him. Not only did she have the exact same hair as Shanks, but she also had the same eyes as him. It was no doubt that she was Shanks's daughter.

“Mother. Father. This is my fiancée, May,” your son said proudly. You smiled at the woman before getting up from your chair to greet her.

“It’s nice to meet you, May,” you tell her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mrs. Mihawk.”

“Please call me Y/n,” you tell her as you shook her hand. You noticed her necklace with a ring on it. It looked exactly like the one Shanks gave to you from years before.

“I like your necklace,” you say.

“Oh thank you. My father gave it to me. Said it was his prize possession,” she tells you. You felt your heart break a little from what she said.

“Will we be able to meet your parents soon?” You asked.

“Unfortunately no. My mother passed away from childbirth and my father passed away not too long ago,” she tells you. You frown from hearing that.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. I’m really glad to have met your son,” May tells you. You smiled at her before giving her a hug.

“Well, I know my son will treat you well. And if he doesn’t, you tell me,” you tell her. May smiled at you before looking at your son.

At the end of the night, you stood outside on your balcony as you stared up at the stars.

Maybe this was the universe telling you that in another life, you and Shanks end up together. But you did wish he didn’t have to be gone so soon. You wished that he would’ve came back to you sooner and maybe you two could've had the future you two wanted together.

#shanks x reader #live action shanks #live action shanks x reader #red hair shanks #red hair shanks x reader #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #live action mihawk x reader #live action mihawk #one piece #one piece live action #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #peter gadiot #steven john ward #enchanted universe #alisonwritesimagines

[lanabuckybarnes]

Brats don’t get what they want.

18+ MINORS DNI

(I do not own any photos, credits to original owners)

I’ve been thinking about mob boss’ daughter Reader who is an absolute brat, she’s spoiled rotten and has the attitude to prove it— but, is there a reason why?

Pairing: Bodyguard Bucky x Reader (Princess)

Warnings: Brat Taming, Spanking, Hair pulling, Light Bondage, Degradation, Dacryphilia, Oral (M! Receiving), Face Fucking, Facial, Exhibitionism (?)

Word Count: 1.2k

Any bodyguard her father assigns to her crawls back to him begging to be put on any other job. She was hellish, brutal, arrogant and selfish, and they’d do anything to be far away from her shit storm of an attitude; hell, they’d even take shovelling shit over taking care of his ‘precious little angel’. 

After going through most of her father's men, Bucky is assigned to Princess. She smiles wickedly at him. He’s not as big as the last guy and certainly looks easy to knock down a peg or two. 

Her mind is quickly changed when, after going out to a party and not telling him, she ends up bent over his lap, dress bundled up at her hips, panties on display and her hands tied up all pretty with his tie. His middle finger runs over the gusset, from her sensitive little nub to her slick entrance. 

“My daddy will flip when he finds out ‘bout this” She warns with teeth bared, but she pushes back against the wandering digit anyway, her aching body betraying the fire in her eyes and the words falling from her lips.

He only chuckles, left hand gripping her jaw making her look up at him “Your daddy isn’t gonna know Princess” He smirks before gripping at her hair and pushing her face back down to meet the mattress.

Whatever protest is about to slip from her mouth dies on her tongue when his huge hand spanks her ass hard, the flesh rippling, her body jerking forward in surprise.

She squeals, knees slipping on the sheets when he smacks the spot again, this time gripping at the flesh. 

“You’re gonna count the rest of them for me; aren’t you princess?” He whispered, left arm wrapping around her midsection and massaging the flesh on her hip, teeth poking out under his lips as they curled into a smile at the frantic nods of her head.

Each smack across her ass is unforgiving, as if the resentment from each bodyguard she ever wronged powered the swing of his hand down along the flesh of her cheek.

“Ten” She wails, body rocking forward.

Her ass is raw, painful welts forming along the skin. She sniffles, shaky hands wiping away the tears falling from her eyes, and it almost makes him feel guilty.

Almost. 

“God, you’re fucking soaked, you like being knocked down a peg Princess?” His hand taps on her clothed heat, sending shocks of pleasure up her spine as the tips of his fingers reach her hard little clit. 

She doesn’t respond, too busy in her own headspace. He tuts, fingers carding through her hair and pulling her up until she’s leaning back on her haunches. 

“New rule sweetheart; when I ask you a question, you respond, that clear?” He tugs on the hair in his hand, smirking at her painful whine. 

“Yes!! I like being put in my place...please!” So much for that bratty princess act. In reality, she just wanted a man to treat her like a slut. 

“Mmm good girl” Bucky growled, free hand unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly.

“You’re gonna suck me real good, then I’ll think about getting you off, alright?” His left hand pushes her cheeks together, puckering her lips and shaking her face. 

She nods, trying to murmur ‘yes’ despite the fingers digging into her soft face, but he gets the message. With a soft pat to her cheek, both of his hands moved away from her, hooking around his slacks and briefs and pushing them to the floor. 

He pushes his shirt up, allowing his length to slap against his stomach; her audible gasp reverberates on the pale walls. He was thick; she couldn’t fit all that in her mouth.

Bucky would make her try. 

He grips the base, holding it for her as she leans down, licking softly over his precum-smeared tip. Bucky shudders out a moan at the feeling. Her teasing mouth had his core tightening in restraint; he didn’t want to push her just yet, but the soft sucks on his head had his resolve wearing thin. 

“You gonna keep teasing me, sweetheart?” Bucky groans, head lulling back as her cheeks hollow out. When her tied hands slinked down to his sack, rolling a thumb along his balls, he broke, his hips jerking up and sinking half his length into her slack mouth.

“Shit! That’s a good girl, hah your sweet fucking mouth - you’ve done this before haven’t you fucking slut…you ever had that fucking throat fucked?” he asked, metal fingers gripping her hair again and pulling her off his length when she didn’t reply. 

“You forgot our rule already?” He snarls, emphasising his words with a spank on her raw ass cheek. She bounced up, a painful whimper falling from her slack mouth when he hit her again.

“Two spanks every time you forget to answer me, the next time you count them” he smiles when she replies with a bubbling ‘yes’ before he bundles her soft locks into a makeshift ponytail and gags her with his length.

Bucky thrust up to meet her awaiting mouth, which she eagerly accepted, not that she could do much else with the way he was all over her. He moaned unabashedly, jerking his length into her mouth until her nose hit his crotch, his head tickling her throat — he stayed there, biting back almost animalistic noises as her throat fluttered around him. He was close, head fuzzy, stomach bubbling and balls twitching. 

She moaned breathlessly. Only when darkness spotted at the corners of her eyes did he let off, allowing her to pull back and slip his fat cock from her mouth. She coughed and sputtered, gasping for air, fingers gripping the sheets of the bed. 

“Aww angel” his hand smoothed over her head “You’re doing a good job, such a good job…be a good little slut and help me finish”. 

His tip rubbed along her parted lips as he jerked himself, his head rolling back again and his jaw dropping as he fucked his fist.

“Hah oh fuck!” He sighed, hand rubbing faster as the muscles in his thighs rippled, clenching and unclenching at the shocks of his impending orgasm. He grasped her hair again, uncaring of just how tight of a grip he had on her, and angled her face just right.

“You ready? You want my fucking cum, Princess? Yeah, you do…mmm…fucking sluts like you…always ready for cum” He rambled, hips arching off the bed as his first wave of cum shot straight up over her nose, dribbling down to her open lips, the rest following the same pattern and decorating her tear-soaked face. 

His hand jerked until he was sure nothing was left. “Ohh princess look at you” he laughed heartily at how pathetic she looked; her entire body shaking with want, her chest heaving and her face covered in hot strings of his spunk, he was sure if he dipped a hand between her legs her panties would’ve been soaked through.

He groaned, leaning behind himself to grasp at his phone. When a bratty little slut like her looked like this; all pathetic, trembling and face soaked - he had to get a photo. The soft shutter noise brought Princess back to reality.

“Wha- no you can't!” she began to plead but he shut her up with a soft kiss, his lips smearing more of his thick cooling semen over her mouth. 

“Relax, it's just for me…now” His fingers expertly undo the knot holding her wrists together, soothing over the hot flesh before pushing her slightly. 

“Get out of here” 

She stumbles, like a deer learning to walk for the first time, eyes wide and mouth agape as she watches Bucky tuck himself back into his briefs. 

“But you said-”

“I know what I said but I don't think you deserve it, now go get cleaned up… and don't you dare fucking think about touching yourself” Bucky's strong voice silenced her protests. 

Princess sniffed as she shuffled out of Bucky’s room; she was so needy it was almost painful. She thought for sure he'd help her, she’d done what he asked.

But Bucky’s sweet little slutty princess would learn that Bucky was not a man she could mess with. He didn't tire quite like the others and he would not stand for her shit. 

-

I would 100% be down for writing more about Princess and Bucky, there’s definitely more to be learned and Bucky is willing to teach. Lemme know what you think :)

I hope you enjoyed x

#bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky fanfic #marvel #bucky barnes imagine #mcu bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns x reader #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #bodyguard bucky x reader #bucky x princess #brat reader #bucky smut

[thegnomelord]

Soap Has a Musk Kink

CW: NSFW, what it says on the tin, musk kink, blowjobs, dom/sub undertones, Male Top Reader, Sub Bottom Soap, I wrote this instead of sleeping, this is dirty I need a shower,

As always y'all are free to ask me or send suggestions for what I should write next.

Soap has an unmentioned fixation with your scent, especially after any mission when you return smelling like sweat and blood and dirt and whatever else you managed to roll in. He's always the first to greet you when you return, hugging you despite your complaints about getting him dirty. You always see this as a sweet gesture instead of what it really is — his perverted need to smell you when you smell like war and testosterone and aggression and fucking alive.

Good Lord help him if it's his turn to spar with you; He needed to buy looser shorts because the combination of feeling your strong hands on him, your sweaty skin rubbing against his, and smelling your heavy musk whenever you pin him with your thighs in a headlock has him rock hard and tenting his pants in seconds. You never notice this, nor his little shuffle of shame to the showers, but the others do, and even he can't help averting his eyes when Ghost gives him a knowing look or Gaz snickers behind his fist as he glances between him and you.

Sometimes when you have a long mission coming up and Soap won't see you for a few weeks, he'll sneak in and steal a pair of your underwear. You'll notice their absence but chuck it up to loosing them in the wash, unaware that they're hidden under Soap's pillow. On lonelier nights when you can't talk over the phone he'll huddle up under the covers and burry his nose in your underwear, chasing your lingering scent as he fucks his cock into his fist while imagining what you'd say if you ever found out. Or he'll take your underwear into his mouth, lick and suck until the material is drenched in saliva and his tastebuds taste like you while he fucks himself on a dildo.

And when you finally come home to him, smelling of the same war and blood and testosterone, he turns completely pathetic.

He can spend hours with his head between your thighs with your cock balls deep in his throat, his gag reflex all but gone as he burrows his nose into your pubes and huffs your heavy masculine scent like it's the best drug in the world. He won't even notice when he starts gagging, mind so blissed out about your scent he'll gladly choke on you and when you finally pull him off so he can catch a breath — he'll whine and ask to let him do that again.

His favorite blowjob moments are when you tell him to clean you off after you shot a load down his throat. He'll happily clean every inch of your sweaty skin, from the tip of your dick down to your ass and perineum, looking up at you with lust drunk eyes and your balls on his face.

Or he'll beg you to sit on him and he'll be unsatisfied if you're not crushing him under your weight. Then he's polishing your balls with his tongue like a man possessed, nuzzling his face into them until every labored and small breath he takes smells like you, until all he can think in his oxygen deprived mind is you.

And please for the love of God mock or praise him. Call him a 'good boy' or a 'disgusting pig' and he's hard as a rock after just a few words. Hell, you don't even have to touch his pathetic cock, put it in a chastity cage and he's still leaking like a faucet.

Or better yet — praise and humiliate him. Call him 'your dirty little puppy' while he's choking on your cock and he'll warm it until you decide to tug him off, call him 'a good slut' as he humps his cage against your boot while nosing your balls and he'll cum on the spot if you don't pull your boot away in time, call him 'such a good pathetic boy' as you play and tug the chastity cage while he's sucking on your balls and he'll whine so loudly you'll feel it through your entire body. He won't beg you to be kind or cruel, so blissed out from the smell and taste of pure you that he couldn't plead for anything even if his mouth wasn't ocupied.

By the time you flip him on his back to fuck him good and proper it's as if he's already cum several times with the amount of pre he's leaked all over the bed, barely able to do much besides spread his legs wide and moan like a proper whore just for you. He tries his best to cling to you as you piston your hips, loud and unabashed moans spilling from his lips with every 'slap, slap, slap' of your balls against his ass.

And when you grow tired or near deaf from his voice, gag him with the same pair of underwear he'd stolen from you a month before. Put the pair you'd been wearing on your mission on his face to further silence him and the moment he registers your concentrated musk in his nose as you fuck him to the edge of his life he's coming so hard he blacks out, screaming your name at the top of his lungs that the entire base can hear.

It's not his fault he's such a perve, you just smell too good.

#trinkets from the hoard #cod mw2 #male reader #top reader #cod men x male reader #john soap mactavish #top male reader #dom reader #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #centerpieces of the hoard

[lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me]

⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆midnight fiction ⋆୨ ♡ ୧⋆

SYNOPSIS ⋆ a girlgroup, CLOUD9, has freshly debuted at belift labs. in an attempt to promote the group more, cha y/n is set to mc on musicbank with ni-ki of enhypen, her long time celebrity crush. in true netizen fashion, dating rumors are caught onto like wildfire. however instead of denying them, belift uses this to the groups advantage. ni-ki finds himself catching feelings for her and what happens when this fake relationship, doesn’t seem so fake anymore?

PAIRING + cast ⋆ nishimura riki x fem!reader, enhypen, yunjin & eunchae (lsfm), hanni & minji (nwjns), jaehyun & taesan (bonedo), jongseob (piwon), yujin (zb1)

FACECLAIMS ⋆ illit (CLOUD9), in group/promo yunah (yunjin), minju (minji), moka (hanni), wonhee (reader) iroha (eunchae)

TAGS ⋆ smau (+ written), fake dating (kind of), fluff, romance, crack, strangers to friends to lovers

WARNINGS ⋆ PROBABLY SLOW UPDATES very slight age gap (reader is 6 months younger than riki), kys/die/d3ath jokes, cursing, yunjin is gay lmao, lowercase intended, more tba

STATUS ⋆ ongoing! (started april 5, 2024)

TAGLIST ⋆ open! leave a comment on this post or send me a message to be added!

LUCKYS NOTE! ⋆ this is the first fic ive ever written so please have a little bit of grace if it’s not the best! my friend encouraged me to write this tbh and im actually really excited to see where this goes! and feel free to like, comment, and reblog<3

SPAM LIKE = BLOCK

୨profiles୧ CLOUD9 pt 1 • CLOUD9 pt 2 • ENHYPEN • big time yappers

୨1୧ best 2 minutes of my life

୨2୧ #keepingitreal✌️

୨3୧ 🤢other men🤮

୨4୧ playful banter

୨5୧ womp womp👎

୨6୧ sick of your ass

୨7୧ bitchless era ending soon (+written 562 words)

more tba…

୨other୧

midnight fiction official playlist

eunchaes a traitor

© lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me, 2024. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission.

(📌) PERM TAGLIST IS OPEN!

dm me or send in ask to be added to perm taglist

(🩷) MIDNIGHT FICTION TAGLIST! @nctislifue @akuspic @pkjay @siya-bean @eun-chaez @wavetosunoo @gweoriz @luminouskalopsia @soobiary @ivyannemarie @emma2black @rikikiynikilcykiki @enh4ht @wooziswife @jjunie-0 @yumilovesloona @wth121 @riksaes @n1k1mura @k1ttylvr @isaxshin @allforhee @rikisgeef @chxrlvspp @sunghoonsarmpit @autumn583 @tzuyusluv

(dm me/comment under this post to be added!)

#ni ki x reader #enhypen niki #ni ki fluff #ni ki enhypen #nishimura riki #enhypen riki #riki fluff #riki smau #enhypen smau #ni ki fanfic #enhypen #niki smau #riki x reader #enha riki #enha #enha x reader #enha fluff #riki enhypen #riki enha #niki enha #enhypen crack #niki texts #riki texts #enhypen texts #ni ki #riki x y/n #niki x y/n #lvcky g1rl syndr0me #midnight fiction #niki enhypen

[lyney-s-bitch]

hi omg i have been thinking about this a lot and idk I think you could work well with my request, so I’ll just ask! How would Neuvilette and Wriothesley react to their female s/o telling them they can go raw / they can finish inside? I’m so curious~ and I hope you have fun with writing this! Neuvi and Wrio are so hot omg I am so sad I didn’t get Wrio :(

hello my dear!! thank you so much for sending this in, I finally got around to writing it ;-;

I absolutely did have fun with it, and I’m sure Wrio will honor you with His Grace pun intended during his rerun😌🙌🏼 do feel free to share more of your thoughts hehe

—————

asking them to finish inside (Neuvillette, Wriothesley) || 18+

Neuvillette:

The Iudex of Fontaine had been busy this entire week. Very busy. Too busy to spend any sort of alone-time with you, not even returning home for the night, instead spending the nights in his office, burying himself in the mountain of bureaucracy that he called his work.

Tonight was the first time after said week where he had come home to you, finally burying himself in you again… and it was driving both of you absolutely crazy.

Breathless pants of his name left your lips in a seemingly endless stream, your fingers entangled in the silky strands framing his pretty face as you gently rub your thumbs against his cheeks, the loving gesture in stark contrast to the almost feral movements of your bodies meeting one another in an unrestricted, desperate display of passion.

He was so damn close - you could see it in his face, hear it in the way his moans of pleasure got that slightly whiny edge you loved so incredibly much, feel it in the way his hips began to increasingly stutter with each stroke of his. He tried to slow down in an attempt to postpone his release, refusing to let this end just yet, not before you would be satisfied first… but you yourself had other plans.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in even closer as you whispered in his ear "Don’t stop now, my love… Please, keep going, wanna feel you finish inside…"

He shuddered visibly, inhaling sharply in an attempt to calm himself down and keep from exploding right then and there.

It took all of the Iudex’s willpower to cease his movements, pulling away slightly to look directly into your eyes and inquiring "Are you… absolutely sure?"

Even though you were on the pill, and neither of you knew for certain whether it was even possible for him to procreate with a human, you usually never opted to take the risk… up until now.

You nod, pulling him in once more and clenching around him noticeably, your hips moving ever so slightly to coax him into going on.

"I am. It’s gonna be okay, just please…" You trail off, unable to finish the sentence, though it’s not like you needed to in order for him to understand. He nods very slowly, his empathetic nature paired with the physical need overwhelming him in this moment making it nearly impossible for him to resist your wishes (or his own body’s, for that matter).

He lets out a soft groan under his breath, starting to move against you once more, this time with more vigor and intensity, yet also trembling more than ever before. It wasn’t long until his thrusts grew sloppier, until he eventually pushed himself as deep as he could possibly go and let out a soft, shaky moan when he finally released inside of you.

Wriothesley:

The Duke was a smart and responsible man. He seemed to always know what to do and what not to do, keeping a cool head no matter the direness of a situation… but goddamn did you make that impossible for him today.

It was a certain time of the month - the time where you were especially horny and needy. And he already knew in advance: Wriothesley kept track of your monthly cycle in his calendar, ensuring that he was mentally prepared for all of your moods and could avoid additional headaches. But all that preparation didn’t help him much in this case, because how on earth would you expect him to not go completely feral when you come up to him sitting in his office, straddling his lap and rubbing yourself against him so deliciously??

He actually still had some administrative work to finish… but tomorrow would be a day too, right?

So Wriothesley ended up telling himself one of the biggest lies in human history: "JuSt tHe TiP" - which of course escalated into much, much more as you kept teasing and taunting him to keep going until he ultimately bent you over his desk, slowly sinking himself into you just the way he knew you loved.

He eventually doubles over, leaning down and pressing his chest against your back, whispering to you in a husky voice as he wraps one hand around your delicate neck: "You’ve managed to rile me up quite a bit there, darling." You only let out a soft whine in response, clenching around him desperately as you could feel yourself throbbing for more. The Duke couldn’t help but let out a stifled groan, sinking his teeth into your shoulder at the sensation.

"You’re really a piece of work, y’know that?", he then remarked with a throaty chuckle, his free hand coming down on your ass and eliciting a surprised yelp from you. He knew he wasn’t going to last any longer, you had gotten him way too weak already, so he inquired in a low rumble of a voice: "Where do you want it, princess?" He was about to pull out, but a distinct protest from you stopped him - it was as if your pussy was holding him in with a death grip, causing his eyes to roll back for a moment due to how close he was feeling to his limit.

"Stay inside, please, want you to cum inside", you babbled almost incoherently, yet the man understood every single word.

*Wrio.exe has stopped working*

You hadn’t even finished the sentence when he exploded inside of you, letting out a not-so-manly moan in the process (you fucking loved it).

#I’m ngl Wrio’s was personal LMAO #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #neuvillette #iudex neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #my writing stuff

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Hello friend!

Would it be alright if I request some angst content with the Archons + Neuvi + Arlecchino where the darling is injured to a lethal extent, where they are hanging by a thread (your choice if it was self-given or otherwise).

Maybe some of them took darling's company and time for granted so having them be so close to gone is like a wake up call to them, and they become 10x more overbearing, and perhaps a little loving? Thank you!!!

🍌anon

Hi thank you so much for the request! Unfortunately I don't really do more than 3-4 characters in one post anymore so I did half the characters you asked for, but you are 100% free to send in another request for the others <3 I hope you enjoy :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including mentions of violence, mentions of delusional behavior, mentions of reader being sick, hurt, and otherwise injured, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk.

Arlecchino:

Arlecchino might be a bit cold and standoffish, but she was never a cruel lover. She just didn’t trust herself to get any closer to you than she was. She’d sleep in the same bed as you at night, buy you gifts, and eat meals with you, but affection was a difficult thing to get from her. Arlecchino has feared being close to someone not because she doesn’t want to be loved, but because she doesn’t want to experience any more loss in her life.

She thought that by keeping you at arm’s length she could protect you, but in fact, she had been wrong. Sitting by your bedside, ears blocking out the dull beeping of your monitors as she stares. Not at your face, she can’t bring herself to look at your gorgeous features after letting you get this hurt, but instead, she stares at your hand. It lays limp on top of the bed sheets, and as much as Arlecchino hates to admit it, she wants nothing more than to hold it right now.

It’s almost as painful as the first time she saw you all bandaged up, wires all over you as you lay on the bed, looking more so asleep than in the coma the doctor said you were in. The desire to hold your hand, it made her fingers twitch, her nose scrunch and her heart hurt. Arlecchino loved you, undoubtedly, but she just couldn’t bring herself to be affectionate with you on this level. Against her will though, her hand seems to move on its own, creeping up the side of the bed and gently scooping up your limp one. Arlecchino was never one to cry, a barely audible curse leaving her lips as she bites them, trying to steady their trembling as she turns her head, blinking away the building tears. She hated crying, but she hated even more that this was the first time she’d ever held your hand, a time when you couldn’t even return it, couldn’t even be awake to feel it.

Neuvillette:

Neuvillette is distraught, both because of how long it took him to notice how bad your cold had been getting and because he didn’t even notice till a small hoard of angry melusines stormed his office. It wasn’t like he was trying to be ignorant, he had just been busy and figured that you’d get over your cold soon. Humans are strong and resilient, a mere cold shouldn’t be that difficult, especially with some melusines caring for you.

He had rushed home immediately, finding you curled up under a mass of blankets and yet still shivering, a gathering of melusines around you fussing and frantic over your continuous decline. While Neuvillette wanted to reassure them that you’d be alright, looking at you in this moment, he couldn’t even reassure himself of that.

A week had passed since Neuvillette had rushed home, refusing to return to his office until you had made a full recovery. He spent most of the day laying in bed with you, helping to keep you warm by holding you close, his natural body temperature being higher than humans helped greatly with this. He wasn’t worried about catching your cold, dragons had much hardier immune systems, but he was worried about your slow recovery rate. Even with the gracious help of the melusines, you had rapidly declined before he came around to ensure you were recovering. A small part of him wonders what it was that was making you worse, he knew the care the melusines provided was above and beyond what he could do himself. The small part of him that doesn’t know hides the smaller part that does know what was wrong, that small bit of denial that his ignorance was making you worse.

Zhongli:

It had been a long time since Zhongli last felt the warm, sticky feeling of blood on his hands, the front of his suit splattered in it and his polearm drenched in it. Despite having once been the war god, it was never something Zhongli enjoyed, which was why he made the change to the god of contracts. Yet in this moment, he couldn’t refrain from the violent nature that lurked within him. 

Seeing you crumpled on the ground, an ever-growing puddle of blood beneath you as a gathering of treasure hoarders laughed and stalked off, hands holding belongings stolen from the innocent citizens of Liyue, you included. It left a gross feeling in his chest, a sickening, growing rage that he couldn’t dismiss. His first move was to evaluate your condition, making sure you were stable before demanding Xiao, his most treasured Adeptus, take you to the Bubu pharmacy. His second course of action was to summon his polearm, following the obvious trail the attackers had left behind.

Zhongli didn’t even bother to clean up before going to visit you, his once pristine image now stained as he stalked into the pharmacy. He was covered in dried red, yet not a spec was his. He didn’t even need directions to know where you were, silently walking over to the cot you were laid on, pulling up a chair to sit beside you as he nodded in regards to the doctor himself, Baizhu. There weren't many in Liyue that Zhongli trusted to treat his beloved well, but Baizhu he knew was a capable doctor. Looking at Xiao, who stood silently in the corner, watching over you till Zhongli arrived, the tall man dismissed the Yaksha, who knew exactly what mess he was being asked to clean up. It was in this moment, watching skilled hands drag a needle through your delicate skin, stitching up wound after wound, that Zhongli swore he’d never leave your side, not even for a moment. He couldn’t lose you.

#genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x male reader #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x male reader #yandere arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino x male reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x male reader #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette x male reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x male reader #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli x male reader #yandere genshin #yandere arlecchino #yandere neuvillette #yandere zhongli