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#ya'll I can't stop thinking about it
amazinlei · 8 months
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I've been seeing some not exactly bad, but like... sour takes as im calling them about the world of home's relationships with each other as friends? Like, saying they aren't exactly as close and kinda rude to each other.. I'm not sure what audio you guys are finding for evidence of that? Like, ya'll know friends can tease in all lighthearted fun, even though it sounds mean with no context outside the joke?
Plus, I kinda like that this neighborhood have foils and imperfections in their personalities that can coincide with their friendship! For example, Sally can come off as full of herself and seems to look down on the "little people" like the way she calls Eddie a simple "Mailman" like she's ringing up a butler! Barnaby is LOUD and tends to interrupt. Naturally, he's used to speaking like this as he's an entertainer! And howdy is majorly implied to be a fast talking liar, all for simply making you buy more stuff! Frank is about as sassy as we all expected, so I don't mind him being a little rude.
You can be rude, vain, loud or sassy and still manage to be a good friend! Our differences is what makes us human, and that's what Clown and the VA team did a good job of! Making these puppets seem more human than fictional!
As for the neighbors suddenly changing their tone when they remember Wally is with them, I imagine it's more of a "whoops! we got so involved in our conversation, we kinda left Wally hanging! Sorry we left you out!" kinda way. Like.. the few audios came across as more genuine asking a question, or making sure to involve Wally in the situation since to their knowledge, Wally is sitting on the sidelines, looking kinda forlorn. It's why we're in Wally POV until the audio cuts off as soon as he hears his name. It just kinda snaps him out of that trance. They all genuinely love Wally so much!!!
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pastafossa · 10 months
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Charlie Cox experience at Philly Fan Expo 2023
So LET”S TALK ABOUT ME MEETING CHARLIE. I’m actually going to make two posts - this one just about my experiences with Charlie, because they were incredibly meaningful and deserve their own post, and then another one about the rest of the con!
I’m going to talk about Charlie first, because of how amazing the experience was, one of the best I’ve had, especially at the autograph table. I’ve done photos, gotten autographs and such before from other celebs - from niche voice actors I loved to people like David Tennant - but this felt Really Really Big. Obviously, I was nervous as all hell because holy shit Charlie Cox, my favorite actor whose work altered the course of my life. I won’t lie - I’d been practicing what to say to him in case I freaked out, but I’m happy to say that everyone who reassured me it would go great, because he was so, so genuine and kind, were right.
The photo op happened first (and thank you to everyone on tumblr guiding me where to go, cause I was LOST about where that was happening), and that went fast. By that point in the con hall, I’d already ditched my Jessica Jones jacket and gloves cause holy shit it’s hot and I am a creature of snow and ice, and my hair was a mess, but honestly I didn’t care, cause there he is. You don’t get long, but he made the most of it and he was SO sweet. Ya’ll, he asked my name, said my name as he shook my hand, and called me ‘my dear’ in that beautiful voice.
I was literally on the moon, but it was time for the big question:
Will he hold the red thread from TRT?
So in a quiet, nervous, soft author voice, I asked, ‘would you be ok with holding this end of the thread?’
HE FUCKING DID.
HE HELD IT.
HE HELD. THE. RED. THREAD.
I’m fairly certain he doesn’t know about the fic at this point - he wasn’t sure where to hold it until I told him, but he loved that it lit up! AND THEN HE PUT HIS ARM AROUND ME AND I GOT TO PUT MY ARM AROUND HIM BACK.
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I’m fairly certain I’m dead in the photo. My soul had left my body. I had ascended. I saw Jesus and he looked like Charlie. I had achieved fic author heights never imagined. My brain filled with enough serotonin and dopamine to sink a ship. I didn’t care that I was hot and sweaty or that my hair was messy or that my cosplay didn’t work out like I’d planned. I had been blessed.
also look at that forearm holy shit
I floated outta that gd room ya’ll. I’m pretty sure @wonderlandmind4​ did the same. WE FROLICKED OUT OF THAT HALL LIKE
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But things got even better at the autograph table, and I had one of the most touching experiences ever.
not me tearing up thinking about it.
That line was long, but I kept getting glimpses of him and I could already tell he was enjoying interacting with people, and he was making sure everyone got their bit of time with him instead of letting anyone rush people through. He was so happy looking, laughing and grinning, high fives and fist bumps for kids, chatting with fans. Which made me feel a little more confident.
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I know some people wondered if I’d tell him about TRT, and I’d already decided I wasn’t going to. Instead, I really, really wanted just a second to tell him what his work as Daredevil had meant for me, as someone who became disabled around the same time Matt did as a kid, and who related to... a lot of what Matt went through in the show. I’d practiced it over and over again, and there was only a fifty percent chance I wouldn’t start crying while telling him, and I wasn’t even sure I’d have time to tell him depending on how much time we had.
He made time.
I got up to him with my art print holy shit he’s even more beautiful in person and his eyes are STUNNING. He said hi, and asked my name so he could personalize the autograph if I wanted (DUH, YES PLEASE), and he apologized about the line after we shook hands. I jokingly told him it was fine since I’d driven hours to get here. A little time in line wasn’t a bother. He even loved one of the buttons on my lanyard - the button of Matt wearing a heart crown specifically! And as he was writing, I knew this was my chance to tell him. He was still signing, so I just decided to go for it in case I ran out of time.
“I just wanted to tell you,” I said quietly, “as someone who became disabled as a kid around the same age as Matt did—”
And then he did something I didn’t expect, something I’d rarely seen anyone do, famous or not, and something I’d never had an actor or artist do for me.
He immediately set down the pen, leaned in close over the table, and made direct eye contact, while giving me the most genuine, gentle, encouraging smile I’d ever seen.
In that moment, I knew everything in him was listening, that he cared about what I was about to say and recognized that this was important to me, and that he’d closed the distance to make this conversation just... us. It felt personal in a way I’ve never experienced at a con or signing.  
Just like that, I wasn’t afraid to tell him what I’d wanted to.
“And as someone who related to... a lot of what Matt went through, his struggles in the show, and especially the dark parts of season 3,” I said, more confidently now, “I wanted you to know that all the work you put in, the way you played it, the way you played Matt and treated it seriously, seeing that helped me process and heal from a lot of my own trauma and pain over what I’ve gone through with my illnesses. What you did was important and it really helped me. So I wanted you to know that, how much that meant to me, and to say thank you.”
The whole time I spoke to him, he kept direct eye contact, and didn’t look away once. He didn’t get antsy, or look like he wanted me to hurry up (which I’d have understood, cause damn, these are long days for him). He listened, fully engaged and leaning in, his eyes warm and soft and kind but incredibly serious. I’m not sure how often he’s been told something like this—a lot, I expect; his portrayal was just that good, and I know it was important to a lot of fans—but what I was trying to tell him clearly meant something to him. I felt heard, seen, and understood.
Charlie really does care about his fans. It isn’t an act. I’m sure of it now.
“Thank you, truly,” he said, just as quietly but with that honest smile, eye crinkles and all, and seeing it in person, that close up, I swear the room felt ten times brighter. “Thank you for coming to tell me that. It means a lot, the idea that something I did meant so much and that it could help you. I’m so grateful that you were able to come visit and tell me.”
We shook hands after that. He wished me a good day and I told him thank you again, and that was that. The interaction only lasted maybe a minute, but it meant the absolute world to me, as did what he’s done as Daredevil. And now he knows that.
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#Philly Fan Expo#Charlie Cox#Daredevil#he HELD THE THREAD ya'll#my fanfic author life is now complete#and honestly as a fan i don't know if any other experience will ever top those moments I got with Charlie#he is so so kind and warm and wonderful#the way he immediately stopped and gave me his full attention when i started to tell him what it meant#i just had to stop for a second and collect myself because just...#he was *listening* and despite all the noise and chaos i suddenly had his full attention#the way he leaned in so the conversation felt like it was just us  and the way he cocked his head and focused on me like#i can't think of  a single celeb or interaction like that where i've felt that much like what i was saying to him mattered#(that's not dissing the other actors and celebs i've met. they've all been wonderful! but charlie definitely has a special kindness i think)#and i can now say having been that close to him and having spoken with him over something fairly serious#he is literally one of the kindest celebs i've met and the most genuine#you can literally see the warmth in his eyes when he looks at you. he's *legitimately* happy you're there to talk to him or see him#maybe one day he'll find out about TRT. i'm honestly not sure#but even if he doesn't at least I got a chance to tell him how much what he's done has helped me heal#from a lot of really... really hard things in my life#and according to a friend (who I didn't even know was there but spotted me talking to Charlie from another line!)#Charlie did indeed stay until WAY late signing everyone's stuff so that no one missed an autograph#he said his estimation of Charlie just shot way up because even hours later he was still taking his time with each fan that came up#Charlie has absolutely solidified as my favorite actor and one of the nicest people I've had the pleasure of meeting
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jenjulija · 2 days
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I fascinate myself sometimes. Without Max, I would not know a single thing about f1 and would not watch it. I follow other sports but I don't feel anywhere near as strongly about any other athlete in any other sport; I can happily root for different teams and players and if my favourite/s lose I move on without feeling like my day lies in shambles. But not with Max and f1, and I want to research that.
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rainbowangel110 · 1 year
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Me: And I think that the reason why I'm behind in class is because I do listen, but my brain doesn't connect the listening neurons to the understanding neurons, I space out while listening and I don't notice it. It's like here, to there, to here, and back again everytime!
My dad: Oh don't worry sweetie, everyone does that! Everyone has many thoughts zooming about in their head, like a bunch of planes in the sky.
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liveandletcry23 · 11 months
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Crises 101
Joel had parented Sarah with a firm focus on crisis prevention. He set rules and boundaries within which she could go wild and not run into any trouble barring an act of god. With Sarah, the easiest way for him to deal with a crisis was just to avoid one completely and up until the very last day of her life it had served them both incredibly well.  
It became apparent, almost immediately, in fact, that even if Ellie did exactly as she was told and made a dedicated, concentrated effort not to run into trouble, trouble would find a way to run into her.  
Different kid, different world, different parenting style required – a point driven home while he watched over the fence her and a couple other kids cantering neatly alongside their riding instructor in the practice field when some critter scampered by her horse, out of everyone in the group, causing the chestnut mare to rear up and toss Ellie into the dirt.  
His chest seized even as he watched her tuck her chin and her arms when she fell, curled up to protect her core just like she should have, when Shimmer, stomping anxiously, brought her hoof down on Ellie’s right ankle.  
She did everything right and still got hurt, her eyes water when she tells him so as he pulls out his knife to cut down the side of her new boot so he can remove it without pulling on her foot more than he has to.  
“I know, baby. Shit happens sometimes, ain’t nobody’s fault.” 
He couldn’t shake the bone deep knowledge that if shit was going to happen while Ellie was in the room, it was going to happen to her.  
The most he can do is be sure she’s prepared for it.  
He gets the idea when their local “doctor” comes through the door. A younger woman named Emma who insists that nobody call her a doctor and refers to herself as a “glorified field medic.”  
“Hello, Millers,” she greets them warmly, pulling up her chair to the end of the cot where Ellie has her bad ankle propped up, already swelling and starting to mottle with future bruising. “Ms. Ellie, I heard Shimmer was being quite the drama queen this afternoon. Is this the only damage?” 
Ellie nods and tells her too, still with tears threatening to spill over, that she fell exactly how she was taught. She didn’t even hit her head.  
Emma smiled softly and started to gently feel over the swelling, “It sounds like you did everything right, Ellie. This stuff happens, it’s just the nature of the game. Can you wiggle your toes for me?” 
Ellie does and he’s thrilled enough when she can that he makes the ask as Emma touches lightly where the mottling is most pronounced, “Ms. Emma, why don’t you tell us what you’re lookin for here and what we’re gonna do about it. Would be good for her to know.”  
In the end she’s in a makeshift cast for a little over a month and he’s endlessly grateful that it wasn’t worse.  
After that he takes every opportunity to cram every iota of information he can about crisis management into Ellie’s head.  
If he ever felt like he was bothering her with it, he was quickly put off the notion by her excitement and willingness to learn. It turned out that there was no shortage of teachable moments that he could leverage to make sure that when something happened, she was ready for it.  
The next time she wakes in the middle of the night screaming, he calms her down and instead of telling stories once she’s calmed, he talks about the nature of panic. How she feels and how other people can react when they’re afraid. She has more focus than she normally would while he tells her about crowd control in the early days of the Austin QZ and how even one person getting too out of sorts can put a whole group in danger.  
He realizes that he’s been guiding her through breathing exercises he never explained so he tells her what he remembers from therapy decades ago about how certain breathing patterns regulate the nervous system and how important that regulation is to thinking clearly and making smart decisions in addition to helping you feel better.  
Joel insists that she apprentice with Ms. Emma when she has to pick somewhere to do her work study for school because patrol training would be a given and it’s too easy to convince her to agree when he tells her that she’ll be a better partner if she knows more about how to help if something goes wrong.  
Lazy Saturdays turn into hanging out at the greenhouse listening to Maria talk about climate control and crop rotation in the fields and he volunteers to chaperone the younger kids who go foraging just beyond the wall so that Ellie will tag along to play with the kids and hopefully learn something too.  
Joel can see she’s not particularly passionate about any of it, outside of the initial joy she gets out of learning anything she thinks is “adult”. He still gets more space facts from her than anything else, if she’s in the mood to talk about something she’s learned, but she proves her knowledge to him all the same.  
The way it’s told makes him jealous that he couldn’t see it himself.  
A few of the teens who were slated for patrol training that morning didn’t have nearly her experience and if he heard it right probably half her common sense.  
The route was cleared ahead of time, and they were only an hour or so behind an actual patrol on the same path with one chaperone leading the group and another bringing up the rear.  
Still, someone got spooked, a pistol fumbled, and one of the kids took a friendly fire hit to the leg in the commotion.  
It was dumb luck that one of the chaperones was the kid’s mother who Joel knew to be level-headed enough to know better than to act how she did if it hadn’t been her kid. 
“Like a drill Sergent,” Jesse said over dinner that evening, recounting Ellie’s heroism, “telling everyone what to do and where to go.”  
The mother, sounded like, had some kind of episode and the other chaperone was struggling to move her so he could tend to her boy when Ellie stepped in.  
Dina nodded in agreement, “and Ellie was like, crazy calm the whole time, Mr. Miller. Even told Ms. Stacy to move and go hold Jason’s hand so that she’d be out of the way while she packed the wound when Mr. John couldn’t get her to listen.” 
 Ellie was practically radiating under the praise, happily digging through her dinner as the rest of the group commented on everything that happened from their perspective. She even managed to keep her smile on when some of the boys grumbled about how they were ordered aside when Ellie gave others more important tasks.  
She was still preening on the walk home and he couldn’t find it in himself to care if he made her head any bigger.  
“I’m so proud of you, baby.” He says, throwing his arm over her shoulder and smushing her into his side roughly in a way that always makes her giggle, “I’m serious, I bet Ms. Stacy and Jason both are glad you were there.”  
She seems to shrink a bit under the direct praise just from him, but only for a second, “I just did what you taught me,” she shrugs but doesn’t stop smiling, and, after a pause, “That’s why my pistol had its safety on.”  
He masks his chuckle as a cough as some passing neighbors take note of her remark, “Hey now, someone got hurt. Accidents happen.”  
She clocks his cover up right away and looks down with a smirk as she passes through their front door, “I’m just glad you taught me not to be so dumb.”  
“Mhmm,” he says, “looks like I still have some work to do.”  
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alltimefail-sims · 7 months
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You know what? I think we all need to start gatekeeping some townies and premades a little harder lmfao
#I know some of you will say I'm TAkiNg tHinGs tOo SeRIOuS!!! and LeT PeOPle PlaY HoW ThEY WaNT but idgaf!!!#I truly can't handle some of the 'makeovers' I see on here#'Makeovers' meaning just taking fat sims and making them skinny and/or lightening every POC's skin color. Bffr.#But I get AT LEAST one anon every other week berating me for having the AuDaCitY to 'change Erwin too much' by making him trans. Give me -#a fuckin break.#Stop whitewashing townies/premades!#Stop removing their cultural identities!#and for Christ's sake... stop making the very few plus-sized premade sims skinny.#Not to mention how some of ya'll have turned the native chestnut ridge townies into -#westernized caricatures. The only knowledge some of you have about Native Americans is through#old ass children's books and poorly aged Disney movies...and it shows!! So many super harmful stereotypes everywhere!!!#Or let's talk about how some of ya'll will take a more butch or masc-presenting sim and ultra-feminize them every. single. time.#I HATE it. I hate it and I'm not sorry!!! It's just flat ass wrong and this is my 'nice' way of telling some of you.#I have the time today and I am going to bitch about this until I die#It's okay if I piss off the 'It's not that deep crowd' because it is that deep. If you'll erase the identities of pixelated fictional -#characters or change a marginalized identity to fit your 'aesthetic...' well that says a lot about how you view those identities IRL!#Hope this helps.#I'm not trying to pretend I am perfectly woke or whatever! I'm learning all the time!#But some of ya'll don't even try. It's not that hard to do a Google search or go to the library or just like... use critical thinking.#simblr#ts4
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masquenoire · 1 year
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“Oh look, mistlefoe... you know what that means? Season’s Beatings.”
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lilyharvord · 2 years
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Ya’ll ya’ll Oscar Issac as an older (father of two toddlers) Cal. 🥰🥵
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that’s all I have to say. 
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swiftispunk · 3 months
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good to me, part three | joel miller x f!reader
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joel masterlist | masterlist | kofi | follow @swiftispunkupdates for fic notifs
pairing: gynecologist!joel miller x female!reader rating: 18+ explicit word count: 5.4k
summary: after your first proper date with dr. miller, you make an unexpected stop at his usual practice. warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] doctor/patient shenanigans in the sense that they fuck in a doctor's office but also they go on a real date, smut, vaginal fingering, just a hint of oral (f receiving), medical kink, protected p in v sex, dirty talk, pet names, competency kink, praise kink (one "good girl"), so much squirting, multiple orgasms, glove kink, alcohol, food, reader is described as wearing a dress. no use of y/n. disclaimer: obviously i am not a gynecologist ya'll so i make no guarantees that the language used here will be one hundred per cent accurate. this is wish fulfillment, not medical school. anyway this is just supposed to be a bit of silly, horny fun so pls just take it for what it is or scroll on by if it's not your thing thank you love you bye
part one | part two
a/n: this is it for these two but thank you all so much for coming on this horny little journey with me. and, as ever, an extra thank you to @joelscruff for convincing me this was good enough to post.
You wait a perfectly reasonable five days before you call him. It's about as long as you can stand.
He picks up on the second ring, seemingly thrilled to hear from you. The sound of his voice on the other side of the phone gives you pause; there's something about hearing it beyond the white walls of an exam room that feels unnervingly material. Your anticipation brims, and suddenly the date he arranges for three days from now seems much too far away.
Part of you still thinks it might have all been a dream. His touch and his mouth and his fucking tongue; god, just the memory of how he'd made you feel is enough to make you throb. You're not sure you've stopped floating since he'd left you on that table.
It's not until you see him leaning against a streetlamp in front of the fancy restaurant he'd chosen, clad in a navy blue suit accessorized with a disarming smile, that you're forced to face the facts. That Dr. Miller is indeed a real man, a real man who'd made you come so hard that you're wet just at the sight of him, your body reacting even before he takes your hand in his and kisses the back of your knuckles.
It shouldn't come as a surprise, but talking with him is as easy as anything else, his impeccable bedside manners translating seamlessly to his real-world persona. You chat work and life and what's good here? I'll have that, then. He asks you questions and listens to your answers and you try not to focus too hard on the curve of his smile or the way his tongue darts out between his lips to occasionally lap a stray drop of cab sauv.
He tells you to call him Joel and you do, curiously trying it on like a brand new dress -
"Thank you for the wine, Joel."
"That's fascinating, Joel."
"Will you please take me home and fuck me so hard I can't think straight, Joel?"
You manage to keep that last one to yourself, though it's getting harder and harder with each passing minute to pretend you're not dying to get out of here so Dr. Miller can make good on his promise. He covers your hand with his on the table and you have to physically restrain yourself from dragging him into the bathroom just to feel his fingers elsewhere.
As it is, you cross your legs in search of friction as Dr. Miller generously pays for dinner and guides you out of the restaurant with a hand on the small of your back.
"What made you get into gynecology?" you ask while you stroll hand-in-hand along the sidewalk. He lives nearby, and for that, you're grateful.
Dr. Miller sighs.
"Always knew I wanted to get into medicine," he explains. "Like helpin' people. Heard too many horror stories 'bout folks hatin' their gynecologists...guess I thought this was the field I could do the most good."
At that, your heart swells and you resist the urge to pinch yourself. Handsome, chivalrous and good-hearted? It's like someone made him in a lab.
"That's very noble of you," you tell him truthfully.
Dr. Miller smiles down at you and for a moment you lose yourself in his sweet brown eyes until something over your shoulder catches his attention.
"S'my usual practice," he says, nodding to a innocuous looking two-storey walk-up behind you.
You turn to follow his eyeline and stop dead in your tracks.
A directory of names beside the building's door inexplicably makes your skin tingle, heat pooling along your spine when you see the words, Joel Miller, MD, Obstetrician-gynecologist listed among the building's other inhabitants.
"Y-your practice?" you stammer dumbly, tearing your eyes away from his name to find him grinning down at you.
"Mhm," he nods.
You blink between him and the directory while Dr. Miller watches you with bemusement.
You don't know what comes over you, or even what you're hoping for but you fucking need to see inside.
"Can we go in?" you find yourself asking. You press your face up against the glass door. There are no lights on, not a soul in sight.
Dr. Miller chuckles, glancing over his shoulder at the dark of night around him before checking the time on his watch. "It's after hours."
"And?" you press.
He assesses your expectant face, something devilish passing over his gaze. He laughs once, cocking his eyebrows as he begins to fish his keys out of his pocket.
His office is on the second floor, the very last door at the end of a long hallway. None of the neighbouring offices appear to show signs of life, and Dr. Miller's office is no exception. It feels like sneaking around, like breaking into your high school after midnight. And while you're sure there are no laws against a doctor popping into his own practice after hours, there is something that feels slightly dangerous about it all.
When you reach his office, you strain your eyes against the dark to see his name carved into a placard - a sight that makes you inexplicably warm - while Dr. Miller takes one last look over his shoulder, at last unlocking the door and guiding you inside.
He drops your hand to let you step into the room, locking the door behind him and flicking on the lights. You gaze in wonder at the cozy waiting room, smiling to yourself at how much it feels like him.
Everything about it is warm and inviting, a dark patterned carpet dotted with rustic furnishings; a few soft, cushioned chairs and a live edge wood coffee table. Beige walls adorned with naturalistic artwork, all browns and yellows and reds, illuminated under not fluorescent overhead lighting but warm, golden flood lights.
The space puts you immediately at ease and you're suddenly envious of every lucky patient who gets to call Dr. Joel Miller their OB-GYN.
Of course, that feeling dissipates when Dr. Miller is suddenly crowding up the space behind you to rest his massive palms over your hips.
"How 'bout a tour?" he suggests, leaning in close to press his chest into your back and kiss the shell of your ear.
You shiver. "Yes please."
He barely leaves any space between your bodies as he herds you past the receptionist's desk and down a narrow hallway.
"S'my office," he tells you, pinching your side and shrugging towards a locked door to your right.
You nod at it, feigning interest to the best of your ability. "Hm."
Dr. Miller chuckles, clearly unconvinced. "That's not what you wanna see, is it?"
"Mm-mm," you admit, not bothering to argue.
"Thought so," he hums. "C'mon."
He finally unravels himself from behind you to lead the way to another door, your feet carrying you forward after him as arousal begins to cloud every other thought in your mind.
Dr. Miller shoots you a wink and then ushers you into the room marked, Examination.
Your breath hitches the second he turns the lights on.
It's bigger than the exam room at your doctor's office, the bright white walls adorned with framed monuments to Dr. Miller's various academic achievements. Cabinets line the perimeters of the room along with a wide mahogany desk, and at the centre of it all, a sight that makes your pulse pound in your ears.
A single examination table, the end of which is accented by two wide, black stirrups.
You gawk at the setup, an ache spreading between your legs in an instant. A gentle hand on your chin turns your face to the side, and Dr. Miller leans in to press his lips to yours, effectively leaving you breathless even before he pulls away and quietly says,
"Why don't you go ahead and get on the bed for me."
Your heart leaps in your chest, a squeaked sound of obedience getting caught in your throat. Dr. Miller smiles.
You situate yourself in the middle of the bed while Dr. Miller removes his suit jacket and rolls the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows. You watch, awed and lustful, as he rummages in one of the cabinets, jolting where you sit when you hear the familiar elastic snap of latex hitting skin.
"Now," he says, turning to face you and clapping his gloved hands together. "What'd I say I was gonna do 'fore I left you last time?"
You swallow as he approaches the bed, eyes raking over your bare legs below the hem of your dress.
"You-you said you were gonna show me - "
"All the ways I can make you feel good," he finishes for you. He comes up beside you, placing one gloved palm over your sternum, trailing it downwards between your breasts. "Would you still like that?"
Already dazed, you wordlessly nod up at him with parted lips. 
"Good," he smirks. "Sit up for me."
You straighten your spine and Dr. Miller drops his hand from your chest.
"Arms up," he tells you.
You frown but do as he says.
But then you understand, as he curls his fingers beneath the edge of your dress and lifts it up over your head, letting it fall against the clean tiled floor below.
You're nearly bare now - save for the panties that conceal your already dripping cunt. Dr. Miller hums as he assesses your bare breasts.
"Gorgeous," he murmurs, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. "How we doin' so far?"
"Good, sir," you smile.
His lips twitch at that, carefully holding your stare as he traces his fingers over your collarbones, down your forearms, across your stomach until finally he ghosts them over your nipples. You gasp, eyebrows knitting together as he circles each pebbled nub with a feather light touch before at last cupping your breasts fully in his massive grasp.
"How's that feel?" he asks as he squeezes down lightly, eliciting a moan from you when he grazes his thumbs over the peaks of your tits, back and forth and back and forth. He's building you up, you realize, taking his time with your body.
"Feels good," you croak, voice already weak as he begins to roll your nipples between his fingers, stealing whatever breath you have left when he dives forward to flick his tongue over each one in turn.
You have to brace your hands on the table to stay upright as he kisses his way upwards then, his moustache dragging over the delicate skin of your chest and neck until his lips find your ear.
"The nipples and breasts are both erogenous zones, but you probably knew that," he hums into the hollow of your ear, his thumbs now working over your nipples in tight little circles, smoothed by the wet of his own saliva. "Do you know the other ones?"
"No," you gasp, or if you do, you can't remember any right now.
Dr. Miller chuckles.
"There's the ears," he hums, proving his point when he bites down gently on your lobe, causing you to gasp before he moves lower.
"Your neck," he continues, pressing his lips into your pulse point and sucking softly at the skin there before continuing his journey down, down, down.
He's focused, utterly intent on you. You, meanwhile, are putty in his hands, loose and pliant when he frees a breast from his grasp to raise one of your arms up over your head and graze his mouth over your underarm.
"Here," he whispers as he does so, slowly lowering your arm to hold you by the hand and trace his gloved thumb in a figure-eight pattern over the thin, oft-neglected skin at your inner wrist. "There."
Oh, fuck.
He catches your head with his other hand when it falls back behind you in response, forcing you to hold his gaze while his fingers scratch affectionately at the nape of your neck. You don't need to him tell you that's also a sensitive spot, you can fucking feel it.
"And right here," he concludes as he brings your hand up to his face and softly kisses your palm, making your head spin when he presses his lips to each of your fingertips before sucking one of the digits into his mouth.
"Oh my god," you whimper, the ache in your core reaching near-unbearable levels. Can you come from this? It feels like you could.
Dr. Miller chuckles, slowly repeating the action with each of your fingers before carefully placing your hand in your lap.
"Now I bet," he murmurs as caresses your cheekbones with the backs of his knuckles. "Those pretty panties of yours are good and soaked for me now, s'that right?"
You don't need to look to know. Sticky-wet and humid between your legs, you know all too well how worked up he's got you.
"Yes - please, Joel, please touch me."
"I am touchin' you, sweetheart," he winks, tugging lightly at your bottom lip with his gloved thumb, watching you in apparent wonder as it springs back into his place when he lets his hand fall.
"Touchin' you everywhere it feels good," he explains.
You groan in frustration but he's not wrong. It feels good everywhere, every touch more intoxicating and deliberate than the last.
He knows exactly what he's doing.
His fingers graze your bare thigh then, goosebumps rising on your skin as he inches patiently towards your waiting heat. He watches your face as he toys with the lace edge of your panties, his warm brown eyes all teasing and expectant.
"This where you want me?" he asks.
"Please." You're shocked it doesn't come out a scream.
You part your legs for him, giving him access to run his palm up your inner thigh before flattening it against your mound. You buck your hips up, moaning in desperation for more and for a moment, Dr. Miller obliges, dragging three fingers over your clothed cunt before retracting them altogether.
You throb at the friction, feel like weeping when it's gone and then Dr. Miller steps back. You reach after him in vain, but he's already rounding the bed, clutching at your ankles and encouraging you to scoot closer.
"Why don't we get these off, huh?" he suggests, fingers already hooking under the edge of your underwear, and this time, you don't wait for him to tell you, just eagerly lift your hips up off the bed and let him slide your panties down your legs.
Your cheeks warm at the way he whistles, his palms resting at the hinges of your knees, eyes trained on your exposed pussy.
"Oh, baby," he coos. "She's fuckin' drippin' for me."
He hardly sounds surprised. Again, you're too far gone to argue, just nod and bite your lip.
"C'mere," he smirks as he begins to carefully maneuver your legs into the stirrups, one at a time. It shouldn't excite you as much as it does, but you don't care. You don't fight him.
There's a beat as he sizes you up, hands gliding up the insides of your thighs, his hungry gaze feasting on your body before settling on your face.
"Relax," he whispers and even though every nerve ending in your body is threatening to explode, you obey. You let your fall back into the table and curl your hands into fists at your sides, ready to take whatever he gives you.
"There you go," Dr. Miller hums, making himself at home between your legs, fanning one gloved hand out over your mound while the other inches towards the apex of your thighs. "You just lie back and let me take care of you. Alright?"
"Mhm."
"Good girl."
You gasp when his fingers at last rake through the seam of your folds, one smooth upwards swipe from your hole to your clit. He spreads your arousal over your lips, sighing at the obscenely wet sound of it beneath his touch.
"You know how many erogenous zones there are here?" he muses as he continues to trace his fingers over your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit.
"Mm-mm," you admit.
"I like to start here," he explains, spreading two fingers over your lips and caressing them softly in slow, rhythmic circles.
You sigh, feeling a fresh wave of slick pool at your centre. Dr. Miller notices.
"Yeah? I know it feels good. Your labia get real sensitive when you're aroused. Lotta folks forget that."
You can barely make out what he's saying, too engrossed by the slow drag of his fingers against your lips, the way he's pinching and tugging lightly at the delicate skin, gauging every one of your responses as he does.
You're going to lose your mind.
"Joel - Dr. Miller, please."
You're whining, squirming under the palm he has on your lower belly.
"Shh," he soothes, now using one gloved finger to draw a line through your seam, dancing it over your entrance. "You're okay."
You will yourself to believe him, but you can't fight the impatient little mewls that continue to spill from you as he begins to circle your hole with the tip of his finger.
"Right here's another one," he tells you, applying more pressure around you opening, tracing the outline of it but never quite pushing in. "Breathe, baby."
You try, exhaling shakily while Dr. Miller repeats the motion with agonizing precision.
"Good," he praises you lowly. "Now, look at me, sweetheart."
You force your eyes open, audibly groaning at the sight of him towering over you between your legs. He holds your gaze as he notches the tip of his finger against your hole and then slowly eases it inside to the first knuckle.
"Oh, fuck," you whine, watching him watching you as he presses his digit deeper, curling it to tickle at your insides until your mouth falls open when he finds what he's looking for.
"Right there," he states plainly. His eyes darken then as he refocuses on your cunt, barely giving you a chance to catch your breath before he's sinking a second finger into you alongside the first.
He nudges at that fucking spot, hard enough to make your head spin, too light to properly take you over the edge. It occurs to you, as he works you up to the precipice of climax with just two patient, tender fingers that Dr. Miller is toying with you. Making a game out of your pleasure, indulging in it.
Something warm and wet twists deep in your core at the thought.
"Oh, Joel," you sob. "Joel, please."
His palm presses harder into your tummy at the same time his fingers beckon with more intent against your g-spot and all at once your vision blurs as some heady sensation takes hold of your lower half. You're going to come. He's barely even started and you're -
"Come on, baby, let go," he encourages you gently, but he's looking at your cunt. "Just like that. Just like that for me."
"Joel!"
It hits like a freight train at the moment the heel of his palm comes down on your clit. And you try to warn him, but you run out of time, your orgasm crashing over you in a white hot blaze. It's dizzying, too warm, too intense, too wet. A deep-seated pressure that had been building in your core erupts and a stream of liquid gushes over Dr. Miller's palm, splashing out on the tiled floor below.
"Oh, there you go," he murmurs gravelly, never ceasing the motions of his fingers inside you or slackening the press of his hand over your mound, coaxing out every drop from you he can.
The high seems to last forever, too spent when it ends to even flinch away from his touch when it begins to feel too much. Dr. Miller doesn't push it though, slowly retracting his fingers from the tight clench of your pussy the second you go slack against the table.
"Good job, darlin'," his voice calls out to you, one massive hand hooking behind your neck to pull you up into a kiss.
"Still with me?" he checks in after a moment.
"Yes," you tell him breathlessly, nodding up at him with hazy eyes. His lips twitch.
"Good. That was one."
"That was - ?"
But he silences you with another kiss, leaving you dizzy as he pulls away to retake his place at the foot of the bed. He takes a long look at your pussy, reverent and adoring, before hinging forward to lick one thick stipe through the wet seam of your folds.
You groan at the contact, still so sensitive, then watch with nervous anticipation as he backs off to loosen his belt buckle, his eyes still fixed on the wet mess between your legs. The front of his shirt is soaked, you notice, his cock visibly hard through the fabric of his trousers.
His cock. You're finally going to see his cock.
He pulls his drenched, latex gloves off and lets them fall to the floor before finally freeing his cock, pants and boxers pooling halfway down his tanned, muscled thighs.
"Oh, god," you whine at the sight of his impressive length, salivating as he strokes himself before you. "So big, Joel."
He grins, pumping himself with one hand while the other moves to rest right above your heat, making you shiver when he strums his thumb gently over your neglected clit.
It occurs to you it's the first time he's touched you there without gloves.
"Yeah? You want it inside you, sweetheart?"
"Please."
He continues stroking your clit, almost absent with it as he drops his hardened cock to reach into a drawer beneath the examination table. You frown until you see the tiny square packet he's retrieved, pinched between his fingers.
"Safety first," he winks as he brings the edge of the packet to his lips and swiftly tears it open with his teeth.
"Very - responsible," you gasp, struggling to get a breath in while he continues to work over your clit, barely batting an eye as he slips the condom on with one hand.
Is there anything he doesn't do with absolute ease?
You whine as he presses closer, notching the head of his cock against your soaking hole while his thumb maintains its tender ministrations on your clit. You can feel him prodding at your entrance, teasing you, applying more pressure with his thumb as it begins to circle.
You arch up off the bed, spreading your legs impossibly wider for him - a silent plea. Heat curls in your tummy, some combination of anticipation and his patient touch bringing you right back to the edge of climax. Slick pools around the head of his cock and only then does he slowly push inside you - just the tip. Still enough to make you cry out, still a stretch, still so much.
Joel, for his part, sighs raggedly, his upper lip curling like he's trying to hold himself back.
"So fuckin' tight, baby," he grits out, his voice still surprisingly even. "Look at you, huh? Fallin' apart for me and I ain't even all the way inside yet."
"Joel, I'm - "
Tension pulls taut in your core, a second climax building rapidly at just the ceaseless motions of his thumb on your clit and Joel's cock sunk barely an inch inside you.
"You can come again, sweetheart, go on," he coaxes you, so sure of himself as you moan and pant and sob until the tension bursts and you're coming again.
"Oh, fuck," Dr. Miller growls, sinking his length deeper into you as your orgasm washes over you, your pussy pulsing around him. Somewhere in the blinding haze of pleasure, you think maybe he'd orchestrated it this way, so you'd be coming undone at the exact moment he buries himself to the hilt in your constricting walls.
Because then he's slowly fucking you, the drag of his cock only making it last longer, a symphony of high-pitched sobs spilling from your throat while Dr. Miller sedulously fucks you through it. You're semi-conscious of the way you're soaking his length, wetness sticking to your inner thighs and gushing between your bodies.
And he's talking, that intoxicating low drawl cutting through the haze as you come back to yourself.
"Fuckin' gorgeous, honey, that's so goddamn good," he growls, and when you blink your eyes open, you see his hands are gripping both your sides now, his gaze once again trained on your cunt, brows furrowed in concentration. "That's what this pretty little pussy needed, huh? Someone to fill her up? God, you're fuckin' - soaking me, baby."
You whimper and he throws his head back with a moan, the first time you've witnessed any crack in his composure.
"Joel...more...please," you croak weakly. You don't care how over-sensitive you are - you want to feel him in your fucking stomach.
"Yeah?" he grunts, his grip on your waist tightening. "Think you can take it?"
Your gazes lock and you nod at him frantically, a somewhat menacing glint burning behind his eyes.
"Yesyeyes, please, Dr. Miller, please."
It seems to affect him, a guttural groan pouring from him as he grants your wishes and increases the pace and power of his thrusts. He doesn't take his eyes off you for a second, searching your face as he experimentally swirls his hips and hits somewhere deeper, somewhere that makes your fucking toes curl.
"Oh, fuck!" you cry when he hits it again on his next thrust. He notes the response, naturally.
"Fuck," he groans, suddenly stilling, buried deep in your walls. You all but scream in protest. "Where? Tell me where it feels good."
He pushes into that spot, like he's looking for confirmation, the drag of his cock teasing at the spongy, sensitive trigger deep inside you.
"There, there, please, right there!"
It's damn-near frantic, your fingers reaching between your bodies to claw listlessly at his chest. Dr. Miller, intent and controlled as ever, snaps his hips forward then, his face cracking into a grin at the primal groan it elicits from you.
"There?" he hums like he doesn't already know.
"Yes!" you tell him anyway, your voice cutting off into a broken sob as his thrusts pick up again, his cock now hitting right where you need it most on every precise stroke.
The back of your head hits the bed again while Dr. Miller's hands creep up your tummy to cup your breasts in his massive palms. You're floating, you think, caught somewhere between your last climax and your inevitable next one, stimulated past the point of words when his thumbs begin to dance over your nipples again.
"You're gonna give another one, baby, alright?" you hear him tell you. "You're gonna give me one more."
You can't find the will to respond beyond a hapless whimper that almost sounds like please, heat licking at your insides for the third time tonight. Then Dr. Miller is falling forward over you, caging you in under his broad chest as his lips meet your ear.
"Let go," he whispers, his low drawl mingling with the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you and the obscene smack of skin on skin. "Let go for me now. Come all over my cock, baby. I'm right here. I'm gonna take care of ya."
You choke out a strangled noise as he tweaks your nipples between his fingers at the same time his teeth close over your earlobe and then you're gone.
Stars burst behind your eyes as you gush around his girth - have you ever squirted this much in your life? Bubbling warmth seeps from your core and up your spine, overtaking everything else till you're just a shaking mess beneath him, gooey and spent.
You can hear him talking you through it - Oh, good job, baby, that's so fuckin' good - but all you can offer him in response is a syrupy refrain of, thank you thank you thank you.
He pulls back, giving you space to breathe. You stare up at him bleary-eyed, dazedly entranced as he brings a hand up to your face to tenderly cup your cheek, so jarringly soft considering the way he's still mercilessly fucking you.
"So pretty like this, baby," he coos, his thumb tracing your lower lip softly. "This perfect fuckin' pussy. Takin' this cock so well. S'what you needed, huh?"
You can only nod tiredly, humming a quiet sound of agreement as Dr. Miller's face suddenly screws up, his chest heaving above you. As much as you don't want it to end, you have to admit you're eager to watch him fall apart. To know what Dr. Miller looks like when he comes.
Your eyes flutter closed as you daringly suck his thumb between your lips and suck, tasting salt and latex and Joel.
"Holy shit," he groans, his thrusts coming faster, relentless, as he chases his high. "M'gonna fuckin' come, baby. You want me to come inside this tight little cunt?"
You'd love for him to do just that for real - but the illusion is more than enough for now. Your eyes snap open and find his at once, something wild and desperate swimming in his familiar browns.
"God, yes, please - please, Dr. Miller, please come for me."
Your slurred pleas are cut off when Dr. Miller lets out a raucous groan.
Then you're both moaning in unison as his jaw slackens and his hips stutter, his cock spasming deep inside you as he spills into the condom. He's vocal as his orgasm rips through him, his entire body shaking with the force of it. Fucking beautiful.
"Jesus - Christ - " he huffs between two final thrusts, crashing forward with his cock still buried in your cunt to lick into your open mouth. It's all panted breaths and tongues and gratitude, contented little tears spilling from your eyes before you can stop them.
"Hey, hey," he whispers when he notices, brushing the wetness away and tucking your dampened hair off your face. "Shh, you're okay. How we doin'?"
Always checking in. The fog of ecstasy lifts a bit, as you wrap your arms around his neck and shake your head with a breathy laugh.
"That was - "
But Dr. Miller cuts you off with another kiss, catching your gasp when he slowly pulls his cock free from your wasted hole.
"I know," he smirks. One more chaste press of his lips against yours and then he's hoisting himself off of you, carefully helping your legs out of the stirrups before tending to himself. Dr. Miller removes the condom - full with a deliciously heavy load, you note - and hides it in one of his discarded medical gloves, tying the end into a tight knot before tossing the evidence of your evening in the trash.
Your hips ache, burning dully from being splayed open for so long, all the more noticeable now as you finally bring your knees together.
When Dr. Miller turns back to you, he's already tucked himself back into his trousers, a sight that makes you feel a bit small, shrinking in on yourself, still so naked and exposed before him.
But Dr. Miller is smiling, and that puts you at ease. "Lie back," he says.
Your brows furrow till you note what he's holding in his hand, your eyes widening briefly before you cautiously obey.
You shudder as he cleans you up, wiping away sticky wet slick and come from your thighs and your folds. He's gentle and careful with it - just like he is with everything else - and when he's done, he bends forward to kiss your knees, finally extending a helpful hand out to you to help you sit up.
With your legs dangling off the edge of the table, you both glance downward at the splashes of wet that mark his tiled floors.
"Made such a pretty little mess, sweetheart," he remarks with an affectionate smile.
"You knew I would."
Shrugging innocently, he chuckles. "Arms up," he says for the second time this evening.
"I think you were holding back before," you tease him, unflinchingly lifting your arms up over your head to let him slip your dress back on over your shoulders, warming at the way he smooths out the sleeves and fans the skirt across your thighs.
You both ignore your ruined panties still strewn on the floor.
"Well," he smirks as he finishes, cupping the sides of your face in his massive grasp. "I was a guest. Woulda been rude of me to leave someone else's office in this kinda state."
"And what about your office?" you laugh as he helps you down off the table with a strong, steadying arm.
"I'll call the cleaners," he winks.
You let him guide you to the door on shaky legs, confusion setting in when he leads you into the hallway just to stand in the threshold.
"Bathroom's next door," he explains. Of course Dr. Joel Miller is going to make sure you pee after sex. "I'll just be a minute in here. Then f'you still wanna come back to my place - "
"Yes, please," you interrupt eagerly and his lips curl into that sweet half-smile.
Maybe he'll let you make a mess there too.
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ladyloveandjustice · 9 months
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twitter making me want to eat glass
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Do ya'll seriously think lesbian stories don't say basic ass things like 'i can't stop thinking about you, i want you." Are you that up your own ass.
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Do you think there are not pick up lines in yuri.???do you think they don't have ~poetic lines~ in wlw media???~ that are way better than this shit?
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Apparently if some basic ass shonen said stuff like this you'd be acting like it's the height of poetry. Too bad it's actual wlw stories that aren't queerbaiting you. so it will get ignored.
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oscalesoffeeling · 2 years
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people who make tar.kin out to be too romantic: greatly misinterpreting him
people who make tar.kin too cold: greatly misinterpreting him
#same with making him too gentlemanly or too feral.... he's a mix baby it's one of my favorite things about him.#he's a big cat he's a prince he'd tear you to shreds with his bare hands and eat your heart as he stares unflinchingly into your eyes as#your life fades from them. and he'd kiss your hand upon greeting like a true gent. nobody gets him but me fr....#when i write him as being all lovey dovey it's after some character growth has happened!!! like he's different now to me with me bc#he's changed as a person bc of Me. but just straight up interpreting him As Is as a true keatsian romantic is like. so so wrong.#</333 and then people who make him out to be the most heartless unfeeling monster in the world. wrong. bad. stop it. he can be but he isn't#a lot of the time!!!! that's a very key part of his personality is that he has this lurking simmering animalistic rage and cruelty inside#him that he chooses not to act on to keep face. but he isn't like a total fucking asshole the moment he lets his guard down fr.#he can be tender he can be gentle literally IN CANON. read lost stars and then talk to me. bitch. ehafvyuhcgxyfhvjgerhdfc#and he isn't like always pissed off he's just rough man. he's a rough guy. but that doesn't mean he can't be genuinely nice and polite fr#and again like so many people go the other way with and definitely projecting some Stuff onto him (no shame about it just an observation)#and make him a polite kind old gent who just Happens to be a dick when he needs to be. which also isn't true.#he chooses to be mean and rude and cruel and hurt people all the time and he actively enjoys it. he's a bad dude.#he can be nice and good and sweet tho i assure you. ya'll don't get him like i do </33#there's literally so much wrong with him AND he's an asshole and he's a nice fella and kind and gentle :) ok. he bites with same mouth he#kisses. people. shut the hell up!!!! no one gets my blorbo but me event 128738374 killed 81347758 injured.#he spun the stars on his fingernails (tag)#ellie rambles about stuff#i don't CARE if lovers thought him cold i don't care idc idc he's not like that with his only current canon love interest btw!!!#he got a lot of fake people giving him fake love. ok. motherfucker. maybe it was just a fling. he's Like That imo i don't think he'd#get super attached or romantic with a casual fuck buddy ok....#again like please. me and the besties are the only ones who understand him fr#/vent#i guess!! i guess!!!#i'm not a real stickler for canon but people out here are straight up misinterpreting his whole character!!!! i get him tho <333
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fanfiction4sooya · 3 months
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Call her now (Karina x Fem!R)
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Just wanted to write something to open my year of writings!! Just had this idea and well... you will know more once you read it. Hope ya'll like it! 💖💖💖
Ps: thanks to each one of you who enjoy my works and engage with it. I really appreciate each one of you babies 🥹💖
cw: fingering, humping, fingering, strapons, a tad bit of voyeurism, yves is here too and she is an asshole, girl on girl action, swearing, aggressiveness, light stalking, possessiveness, nipple play, etc.
You always wondered what exactly what was that girl's job. She came in at the bank you worked for to deposit a lot of cash every week and you just asked for her ID and did the transaction, but those questions ate you alive. It wasn't anything illegal otherwise the bank wouldn't approve her transactions; Stripper? No, the bills are big and strippers usually get smaller ones thrown at them. 'Maybe she works something more expensive...' You thought for the 10th time as she left your work place with a small nod and a charming smile.
You were staring at your computer a week later, a complete wreck since you and your girlfriend broke up and your life turned upside down. She was obsessively trying to talk to you since then, following you everywhere. You were honestly not feeling very safe. but the only way you had was come into work like everyday. You still had to pay your bills after all.
You didn't even realized when Jimin sat down to the other side of your desk, her leather purse full of cash with her as always.
"Good afternoon" Her voice broke you off from your trance, making you slightly jump.
"Oh, jesus" You closed your eyes, startled.
"I didn't mean to scare you" She said. "I've been sitting here for about two minutes and you seemingly didn't see me" Polite and cold as always, but this time she scanned you.
You felt the need to hide from her sharp gaze, run away. You knew you probably looked a mess and you didn't want to appear like that in front of the yoo Jimin.
"Are you okay?" You lowered your eyes, shy as ever and she stared at your buzzing phone. You turned the screen down.
"yes, thank you for asking" You smiled, fixing your glasses on your face and trying your best to keep your composure to 1: not melt at how intensely she was staring at you and 2: not lose it because of the many times your ex has called you since your client was in front of you.
"Bad ending?" Jimin said, once again taking you from your own mind. A simple transaction that supposedly would take less than five minutes was taking way longer.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Your phone buzzed about 6 times already and before you turned your screen down I saw a trash can emoji followed by 'Ex'" She leaned against the chair, her brown overcoat slightly opening and revealing a black leather dress under it. You gulped, looking away. "So I imagine someone is wanting another chance"
"Uh... yeah" You looked at your computer screen again, finishing her transaction. "Apparently she can't take no for an answer" You said, closing your eyes and mentally slapping your forehead. Too much information.
"She?" Jimin smiled, amused. You gave her the deposit receipt and she got up. "Glad to know I have a chance" She smiled, turning away and stopping at your office's door. "Have a good day, Ms" And she left without waiting any response from you.
You spent the rest of your day thinking of what she said. Was it possible? That woman could be described as a doll, an angel, anything but human and well, not that you thought you were ugly but she was another level of pretty. Your phone buzzed again, but this time you picked it up since you were leaving the bank.
"I told you I don't wanna talk to you" You sounded stern but deep down you were scared. Ha Sooyoung could be menacing when she wanted to.
"But I wanna talk to you" You heard her voice loud and clear right behind you. You turned around and of course she was there, leaning against her motorcycle. That fuckboy attitude present as ever.
A few days prior that would be considered attractive, now it just added to how juvenile her mind could be. Looking back she never took you seriously, you were the least on her priorities but you were too enamored with her to realize all that. Only when she broke up with you saying she needed to "get her freedom back" you came back to your senses.
"please baby, why are you being like this?" She stepped forward so fast she caught your hand without you even realizing. "I said I'm sorry, I wasn't in my right mind" Her eyes scanned you, her nostrils slightly moving as she took in your scent. "I miss you in my mouth" She whispered and your legs almost gave up. Sex with her was really good, another reason for you staying with her for so long.
"First of all, take your hands off of me" You gritted your teeth, pulling your hand away from her grip. "Second: I don't care how much you miss me, I am not going back to you because I can't deal with your indecisiveness anymore, so please leave me alone" You tried to turn around but she held you again.
"Are you going to tell me you don't miss me? Me? The one who taught you what pleasure is?" She sounded more like a jerk than ever. "I know your body with the back of my hand baby..." She got really close to you, everyone that passed you two staring a bit. "You can't find anyone better than me" She spat, letting your arm go in a pushing motion.
It hurt your ego more than your arm have her saying that to you, specially because she knew you very young and inexperienced.
"Hello love, I was waiting for you" You heard her voice before seeing her. Out of nowhere jimin had her arm around your waist, pulling you in for a kiss. You were on your tippy toes because of the height difference, her lips firm against yours as it lasted a few seconds. She let go of you with a smile and soon you heard the other one clearing her throat. Jimin's eyes darkened a bit, defiant. "Who is this, love?" She continued the act and you knew you were profusely blusehd.
"She is..."
"I am her girlfriend" Yves said, pulling your arm and you pulled it back to make her let go of you.
"Oh, is she the trashy ex we were talking about?" Jimin showed her teeth in an imitation of a smile, 'whispering' to your ear. "Oh yeah, not worth it at all" Loud enough for yves to hear. The woman was so astonished she couldn't even think of a proper reply when the taller woman held your hand and you took off with her, taking you to her car. You knew it was a porsche due to your ex's obsession with those fancy cars.
She opened the door for your surprised self, delicately closing it behind you and going around to enter the vehicle. Turning the engine on she waved goodbye to yves (who still had her jaw dropped) and took off.
You were just so surprised that no sound came out of you for a few minutes as you saw the city in a flash of lights due to her speed. She noticed your surprised face, of course.
"You can breathe now" She said, side eyeing you and your pencil skirt, your glasses on the tip of your nose.
"Oh, yeah..." You finally allowed yourself to move. After a moment of the most awkward silence ever known to men you spoke. "Thank you for that..." You started, looking at her direction for one millisecond before blushing too hard. She was so attractive it was maddening. "You didn't have to lie to cover for me..." Your voice sounded small.
"I didn't lie" She stared at you now, turning her head at your direction with her hand still on the steering wheel.
"What do you mean?" You blurted out.
"I was waiting for you to get off work so I could take you home" She stared ahead. You were silent for a moment, thinking.
"You waited for hours just to take me home?"
"Yes"
"That's insane. Weren't you bored?" You said feeling bad for her waiting for you all that time.
"The thought of you entertained me" She half smiled at you.
"What... You are a natural sweet talker" You said, honestly amazed, trying to sound offended but of course you sounded playful.
"I'm a pro at it, love" She kept staring at the road, her side profile prettier than anything you've ever seen. "My place or yours?"
"W-what?" You gripped the side of your skirt, wetness already seeping through your panties with just that question. Jesus, that woman was hot.
"If you wanna go to your place its understandable, I'll gladly take you there and we can grab dinner another time" Her right hand let go of the steering wheel and she placed it on your thigh, looking intensely in your eyes. "If you come with me to my place we are going to fuck all night and tomorrow I'll drop you off at work if you'd like"
You stared at her for an eternity, a million thoughts going through your mind. You thought of saying no; excuses and excuses flowing through your head. You opened your mouth, her warm hand in your thigh making your panties damp.
"Your place"
-🌸🌸🌸-
The lights turned on as soon as you stepped inside; actually, as soon as she stepped inside because now she had your legs trapped behind her back, her hands holding you by the ass and your clothed core grinding hungrily against her stomach. You moaned against her lips when your back finally met the wall and you could really feel the weight of her body against yours.
Her tongue felt so good against yours it was really insane. How did that woman learn how to kiss like that? You tried to chase her lips again when she moved away from yours, whining when she ghosted them over yours just to teasingly smile. You rolled your eyes, scratching her shoulders under the brown overcoat.
Without much effort she kept her way to her bedroom with you on her lap, still holding tightly on her shoulders. She carefully placed you in her bed, straightening her back to look at you, her head cocked to the side like a curious feline as she measured you up and down. To your beautiful face and swollen lips, a mean smile on her lips.
"Fuck I wanted this so bad, love" She crawled to you, your panties were ruined at this point.
For some reason you didn't feel shy at all; not shy, not nervous... anything. You only felt wanted. No, not wanted. You felt needed.
She swiftly pulled you by the ankles, placing herself between your legs and staring from your face to the wet path on your underwear, a glint of arousal visible on her face too.
"you are so beautiful, fucking hell" You throbbed when she said that, her voice raspy and low as if she was speaking to herself and not entirely to you.
"Says the actual goddess over me" You bit your lip, embarrassingly out of breath.
"yet you never seemed to be interested in me" She pulled you by the nape, kissing you hungrily while unbuttoning your blouse all the way down, her fingertips grazing your tummy and making you whimper. "I usually don't go for anyone but I need to have you" she pushed you again to lay down, her tongue swirling against yours made your pussy throb like crazy.
Her tongue and teeth never stopped their assault on your lips, all you could do was whimper and scratch her arms when she traced her fingers down to your drenched cunt. You gasped when she touched your hard clit over the fabric, biting her lip a little too hard.
"Jimin, oh god" Was all you managed to say when she circled your clit a couple of times, rolling your hips each time they moved.
"yes princess, keep calling my name while I make you feel good" She lowered her assault to your neck, knowingly that would give you at least one hickey, smiling when you held her arm to keep it from going away.
It felt too good, and too much at the same time. You body felt feather like and the way she moaned while her hand kept working on your clit made you start convulsing, not really understanding why the fuck were you already cumming when with your ex you only could do it by penetration and clit stimulation.
"jimin, t-too much" you started saying but she kept rubing your swollen clit, a particularly harsh bite making you tip over the edge, squirting all over your panties and her hand. You kept rolling your hips, coming down from your high. "I've never squirted before..." You knit your eyebrows together, a bit surprised.
"Fuck, that useless asshole never made you squirt?" she devilishly smiled, biting her lower lip. She sat on her heels, pulling her dress over her head, her big breasts fully on display now as she quickly undressed you as well, pulling your dripping panties from you with and audible moan. "fuck now I want you squirting all over me" She kissed your thighs, placing herself between them to kiss your mound.
"No, it's your turn..." Pulling her to kiss you again, you thought how much you wanted that woman to be lost in you. "let me touch you, please. I don't really know how to but I wanna make you feel good" You stared into her brown eyes, her doll like features a bit more prominent from up close. She touched your face with her knuckles and that alone made you melt.
Nine times out of ten you bottomed with your ex, which didn't teach you a lot in the matters of being a top. She understandably nodded, softly smiling at you.
"Of course, love" She kissed you again and now you finally had the chance to do something instead of only let her do them to you. "It's okay, take your time" She patiently cooed and you shivered. That was arousing, oh so fucking hot.
You flipped her to be under you, straddling her hips and moaning against her skin when your boobs touched hers. She rolled her eyes and you quickly realized that was a soft spot for her, so you trailed your way down with your tongue, latching on them.
"oh, fuck" She pulled your hair a bit when your lips connected to her nipple. "Harder princess, no need to be soft with me" Jimin said, giving you directions and you clenched around nothing thinking of how hot that felt one more time.
Just now you understood how patience was something you needed in a partner. That guidance and lack of judgement... It gave you a boost of confidence.
You pulled on her nipple with a soft 'pop' and she whined, her eyebrows knit together as she rolled her eyes.
Her hips rolled on their own against yours and you ended up moaning too, sucking harshly on her right nipple while pinching the other. You started to grind down, her clit and yours perfectly grazing each other on that sinful position. She closed her eyes, tossing her head back and holding your hips to bump her clit on yours better while you kept working on her boobs.
"This feels perfect princess, k-keep going" Jimin managed to say between broken moans, the skin slapping sound loud and clear that somebody was fucking.
You were both so wet you could feel it between your legs every time she pushed your hips up to pull them down again against hers. You felt her tightening her grip. Time went both slow and fast, it was insane how turned on you were even by the lightest of touches coming from her.
"I'm gonna cum in your pussy baby, fuck fuck fuck" She gripped even harder, leaving her hand prints on your hips, deeply breathing with her eyes closed, your shiny eyes looking up at her in the most adorable way ever. You looked down to where you were connected and you could literally see how you both creamed on each other.
Coming down from her high jimin smiled at you, pulling you up for a deep kiss. Your heart was thrumming in your ears, that kiss alone making you feel things you didn't feel for the longest time, maybe never.
"Are you feeling okay?" She kissed your neck with you still straddling her and you hummed in response. "Good" She sat down, kissing your lips even more fervently than before, pushing on hand between your bodies to finally touch your pussy. "You are soaked, love" You rolled your eyes, hugging her shoulders when two of her fingers invaded you in one go. "Let's take care of that, hm?" She touch your spongy spot, pumping her fingers hard in and out of you.
You heard your cellphone buzz inside your purse somewhere but not that it mattered now that the most beautiful woman you've ever laid your eyes on was literally fucking you hard enough to take your breath away.
"Can't she take a hint?" She said through gritted teeth, speeding up her pace.
"She'll stop..."You managed to say between a moan. "Eventually" She rolled her eyes.
"God, her insistence makes me wanna fuck you even more" She bit your lip. "Makes me wanna strap you down just so you can call her while calling my name" She said, knuckles deep inside you.
The temptation was too much, the thought of you doing such dirty thing making you clench viciously on her fingers.
"Oh, you want that" She growled, her fingers going to a full stop as she pulled them out of you, taking both to her lips and sucking it to gather your taste on her tongue. "I won't take long" She kissed you and got up. "Pick up your phone and wait for me with your legs open" She commanded.
"Y-yes, ma'am" She went to her closet and you quickly fished for your phone in your purse. In fact, a few missed calls from Sooyoung.
Jimin came back wearing a harness with a strapon, putting on a condom on the big thing. For safety reasons, you assumed.
"And your phone?" She asked, eyes glued on yours.
"She isn't calling anymore..." You said a bit out of breath when she knelt between your legs pulling you to her and laying on her stomach. Her tongue swirled between your folds and your clit, ripping a gutural moan from you. "Jesus"
"Call her now" She said, slurping on your juices. Her tongue in and out of you while her nose bumped your clit.
You did as she said, gripping on the phone for dear life when she turned you around placing you in all fours for her, holding your hips with one of them to play with your folds with the tip of the strap, slapping your clit a few times to make you jolt. Finally the other side of the line picked up.
"Where the fuck are you?" She practically shouted and finally jimin slipped in taking you by surprise and you did your best to swallow the sinful moan you were about to let out.
"I am not at my ap- fuck" You let out when she gave you a particularly hard thrust, the whole thing slipping inside you.
"You look beautiful like this, baby" She said loud enough for Yves to hear.
"What the fuck is going on? Where the fuck are you? I swear to god-"
Jimin picked up pace pulling you into her, your face completely smashed against the expensive sheets as you babbled some incoherent words. She picked the phone from your hand, never stopping what she was doing.
"Oh, hi" Her voice sounded poisonous, her free hand slapping your ass with force and making you cry out. "She is a bit busy now..."
"Jimin, please" You cried out loudly, completely forgetting anything else, the toy hitting your womb was too much to handle. "Please I'm gonna cum, please don't stop" you bit the back of your fingers, the urge to cry getting stronger by the second every time she pounded you.
"WHAT THE FUCK-"
"No need to scream, friend" She pulled you by the hair, your body now completely against hers now. "She is mine now, can you hear that?"She lifted the phone while slamming the dick inside your hole to make your moans even more audible for the other woman. "Bye bye" She said to your screaming ex, throwing your phone on the bed and finally hugging you against her. "I knew it was worth the wait..." She licked your ear lobe then your neck, reaching her hand to your clit, thrusting hard as you came screaming, squirting again all over her legs.
She kept the pace, humping the toy up while holding you for a long while. Her embrace felt strong and protective in some way.
Oh you were doomed.
When she finally took it off you fell onto the bed, limp and sweaty and so wet. She took it off, hugging your limp body and pulling you to lay on top of her on her chest and kissing your forehead, then lips taking in your scent.
"Are you feeling okay?" She said after a while.
"I'm feeling light as a feather" You nudged on her neck, feeling somewhat protected. She was warm and passionate and you really liked that. (authors note: Karina is a fire sign after all)
You finally looked around, taking in the luxurious place you were at.
"Can I ask you something?" You said and she hummed. "Don't get me wrong but I've been dying to ask you..." You placed your chin over your hands on her chest, puppy eyes looking up at her. "What do you work with?" You said making her burst out laughing. After a while she finally managed to pull herself together, looking at you.
"I am a professional domme, love" She said and you went 'Oh'. "Does that bother you?" She asked and you quickly shook your head no.
"No that's not it..." You said. "Now I'm just really thinking... are you taking any applications? I could be an intern..." She laughed out loud, caressing your hair.
"Well I am looking for a business partner..." She pulled you in for a kiss. "But you need to take some mandatory classes first" Her tongue swirled against yours and you whimpered. "Are you still interested?" She said, smiling against your lips.
"Oh you can be sure I'll be the best student you've ever had..." You sat again over her pussy, slightly grinding down and you both moaned, searching for that satisfaction one more time.
Your phone buzzed the whole night until it ran out of battery...
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yeyinde · 1 year
Text
past and pending | John Price x f!Reader
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"Fuck, love," his voice carries the taste of cigars and scotch when it rumbles in your ear. You smell the heady Maduro on his skin when you sink your teeth into the freckles on his shoulder. He tips his head forward; his rasping groan is heavy with smoke. "The things you do to me."
(you haven't stopped thinking of what it would feel like to burn your lips on his cigar, and numb the sting with the scotch on his tongue.)
warnings: smut; literal filth; kiiiiiinda an illicit relationship(?) but ya'll are consenting adults; power imbalance by proxy; breeding kink (slight); gendered reader; female anatomy; little substance just pure filth
notes: alt title was: when ur boss has baby fever and ur like, well damn, i guess i'm taking one for the team; this man is sooo damn fine, and Barry Sloane is a 1.88m snack (and tbh, scousers always make me a little weak in the knees)
Price looks like he smells of cigars whiskey cheap leather and hickory and i am feral. 
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It starts in Madrid. 
(Though, if you're being honest with yourself, it really starts on a motorway outside of Dorset.)
Scotch in one hand, cigar in the other, he stands on the balcony, and gazes out at the water in the distance. Eyes fixed, crystalline, on the families below playing in the sand. A gaggle of children. Their mothers lean over the railing of the tapas below, shooing them off to find their fathers. 
The sounds carry through the streets, bouncing off of the stucco. High-pitched giggles from the kids playing in the cobblestone roads. The admonishing calls of their parents. Laughter from passersby.
You watch him from the doorway. Catch the longing in his eyes; wistful and melancholic. 
A family. Children. 
It's not your mission—this isn't what you're here for—but there is an ache in his gaze that makes you bite your tongue, words stifled in your throat. 
You've never seen your Captain look like this. 
He notices you—has probably known, you don't doubt, that you were there from the start—but there is something almost painful about the way he gives himself one more moment of this, one more fleeting glance, before he has to take up the mantle of a commander, of a leader. 
When he turns to you, it lingers in his eyes. A shade of mourning you can't quite understand. Can't quite reconcile about the man who, hours earlier, was barking out well done! and nice shot! when you took down an enemy operative. A bullet an inch below the eye. He clasped you on your back, grinned wide under the moustache, and it tasted of gunfire when he leaned in close. 
("Mm, got 'em right in the fuckin' head!")
John Price is a man you'd never thought could feel anything except the high of the challenge, the chase. He smelled of scotch, Maduro, and gasoline. His voice was always ragged, and hoarse, from how loudly he bellowed on the battlefield, a roar that echoed in the distance. 
This—
This is new. Different. It's both softer and sadder than you'd ever imagined him, and how it fits inside the man you'd known as one of the only people you could genuinely trust, is jarring. And simply put: it doesn't. 
The idea of his longing fills you with a visceral ache. 
(You're a good soldier. You wonder if you could—)
"Ready, then?" He asks, and digs his teeth into the cigar until it dents. The glass is placed on the dresser, empty. His lips stain the rim, and you think about bottle caps and Iceland.
You can't stop staring at him, now. Like an idiot. Like a—
Silly little girl with a crush. 
You fluster. Force a nod when his brows buoy, bunching in concern. Bewilderment. You're not acting like yourself. 
(You really haven't been since Reykjavik when he turned to you, and said—)
It's pushed aside when he takes one last drag, chest swelling with the inhale, and breathes out, words a plume of smoke. 
"Let's get these steamin' bastards."
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If Madrid started it all, then his hand on your thigh is certainly the cataclysmic finale, the end. 
Well, that isn't entirely true. 
It's the offer of a cigar. A little scotch. 
(Maybe more than a little, really.)
Alone in a tapas in Madrid, he orders too much food for two people, and a bottle of their best scotch. 
Asks, gruffly in aborted Spanish, if he can have a smoke, too. 
(You end up having to translate both his Spanish and English to the befuddled waiter; the heavy accent renders his words to nothing but growled smoke.)
The mission was a success. Gaz perched on the loft across the street, the man cornered by Price, his only exit cut off by you—it was as smooth as one could go. Easy, almost. Effortless. 
It should have been the first sign that things were going to unravel, quite quickly, from that point on. 
Gaz declines the invitation. Laswell in your ear, well, you've earned it. You should have said no, too. Stayed in your room, ordered out, and poured over the piles of documents that will be waiting for you sooner or later. Red-tape means every moment must be noted down, each breath counted. Each step. Each choice. It's a mountain. 
But Price had his face turned toward the streets when he asked. The breadcrumbs of his gaze led you to a woman holding a blue swaddle in her arms, cooing down at the lump hidden under soft cashmere. Old ladies congregated around her, faces lit up with joy. 
He watched for a moment, and you saw that aching thing in his eyes when the woman peeled back the layers, showing off a ruddy-cheeked baby with a smattering of curly brown hair on his tiny head. 
A catch, then, in your throat, when the words were out before you could stop them: I want to.  
"...to go," you added hastily, flushing brilliantly under the lights in the hotel room. His hotel room. The one used to reconvene, to plot, to plan. The one that reeks of him—
The man you captured is held in a prison by the authorities, departing tonight under the cover of darkness. His weapons sit in the corner. Focus. You stare at them to ground yourself. "With you, that is."
Price turns, eyes finding yours when you lift your chin—automatic, magnetic: your Captain looks at you, and you offer a nod in response. 
The longing is thick, palpable. It burns, and it aches, because it isn't for you. It's for some unattainable thing he's decided not to pursue. 
You taste the flavour of it when he speaks, when he clears his throat, and gives a gruff good in response. 
It, of course, is not good.
It's very bad. 
Dangerous, even. 
The attraction you feel toward Price—Captain, boss; off-limits —isn't anything new. It's not incipient, but it hasn't had a chance to take root, to hold firm. You haven't let it.
You'd felt the same swell of intrigue before; a fledgling thing that always dissipates before trouble starts. This should have been no different. 
(But trouble comes quicker than you'd expect.
And you've always been rather good at lying to yourself.)
The look in his eyes. The tightness in your chest. Scotch on your tongue. 
It festers when he leans over, eyes pools of cerulean, and says, want a cigar?
And now—
Now: 
Your lungs are heavy with smoke that, apparently, isn't supposed to be there. 
Not supposed to inhale, dove, he tells you, words rough from his own puff, and drenched in humour. 
You sputter, knuckles pressed to your mouth to stop yourself from looking foolish in front of your Captain. Too late, of course. His eyes dance with mirth, lips crooked with the tang of it. 
You duck your head. "Fuck, that's disgusting." 
"Don't blame the cigar." He grins, easy, relaxed. The bucket hat on his head looks out of place in a tapas in Centro, but he's never felt more touchable to you when he's bathed in the mundane. 
(At least it isn't the leather jacket, the beanie—)
You swallow down the acrid taste of tobacco on your tongue, sending him a sharp glance from the corner of your eye. "Who do I blame, then? The teacher?" 
Price lets out a soft huff, a little chuckle under his breath, and tips his head in concession. "Yeah, alright. My fault, love." 
Love. It makes your chest feel tight. Head dizzy. You can blame it on the pungent concoction of cigars and scotch, but it sits too heavy in your chest for you to pretend. 
You drop your gaze to the table, to the half-eaten plate of setas al ajillo that sits in front of you as if it will somehow have an answer in the oil. That you might find god amongst the sauteed mushrooms, and he'll smack sense into your head. Don't be stupid. Don't be—
"Another?" He rasps, the word sticks to his throat. 
The smoke from the cigar makes your head feel gummy. It's a balm that soothes over all the little voices in the back of your head that scream at you to stop. This is a bad idea, they say. You'll regret it in the morning. 
But—
You want to impress him. Stupid. Price meets your stare when you lift your head. A smile. A nod. 
He doesn't mention the way your hand trembles when you take the cigar proffered to you between a thick thumb and forefinger. He has a burn scar on his first knuckle. A round circle. 
It's not the way you'd hold a cigar. 
Your eyes linger for a moment on the burn, mind startlingly empty, as if refusing to partake in piecing together whatever it means, if only for his privacy. His own sense of untouchability. 
Price is the core of the group. The man who everyone—even Ghost, to some extent—relies on, and absolutely respects. It's ironclad. Unshakeable. 
He's the man who is always looking at you, at others, first. When something happens, his eyes are drawn to everyone else, making sure they are stable on their feet as the world around them crashes, and burns. 
You know because, now, you're always watching him. 
A silly little girl with a crush. 
It began in Reykjavik.
A slurry of imported chemicals drafted by a man with an abhorrent agenda led you, Price, and Laswell on a chase through the city. It was close, down to the last nanoseconds. And then—
"You alright?" 
Shaken. Terrified. You turn to him, and he's there, watching you. Eyes drawn tight. Taut, humourless smile pulling on the corners of his—for once—clean-shaven face. 
It's hard to begin to grasp the words necessary to properly convey what you felt at that moment. Panic. Horror. Dread. Fear. They come close, but they miss that unnameable feeling of your heart leaping into your throat when the seconds ticked down to five, four, three…
Too late. Too—
And then a gunshot. A bullet in the man's head. Success. It felt too close to be considered a win. Like grasping at victory with the tips of your fingers as it fumbles from hand to hand. Narrowly snatching the win from the jowls of defeat that nipped at you. 
"S-sir—"
He's there. Hand on your shoulder, firm and steady: it's the only thing that keeps you from toppling over. 
"Mm, stay alert," he mumbles, eyes cutting back to the throng of agents—on loan from Norway as Iceland hadn't the means to take care of it on their own, the very same people whose pride refused to allow you any intel, almost leading to—
"Eyes, ears are everywhere."
It's the solid weight of his presence, his unmovable utilitarianism, that reinforces the liquid relief in your knees, giving it the stability needed to congeal, to harden.
Iceland was the first taste of reality. The first mission where you realised every single second mattered. 
"Did good," he says under his breath, and nods at you when you turn, bewildered, to him. "Might not seem like it, but you held yourself up. Did what needed to be done. Good job."
There is a softness in his eyes, one that you can't place, but it makes your pulse race. 
And now, that same something swims in his cerulean gaze, slightly misted from the scotch, but remarkably the same. 
You drop your gaze again. His stare is heavy—its not oppressive, or intense, but its—
A lot. Weighed down by something that has been steadily building since you bunkered down in a frozen bivouac on the fringes of the Arctic. Each breath of plume of pure white. Nestled tight together under a single insulated blanket, sharing heat. Keeping each other from the white death looming at the edge of the door. 
It sits there, now. The tendrils of frostbite in his eyes: memories of when the snow piled so high outside your door, you'd begun to fear that this little shack was going to be your icy prison. 
His chest under your chin. Heat bleeding into you. 
("Gotta stay warm," he'd rasped, gaze flickering to you in steady intervals. "Can't turn the heat on. They'll see us.")
In the morning after everything, he found you on the terrace overlooking the landscape, the rolling hills of white in the distance. Back in the sanctum of your hotel. The one free from tundra and sleet. From the howling winds that slammed against the shack you both holed up in for the night. Surveillance. Your first taste of it. 
"You good?" He murmurs. It's a loaded question, and feels more like a test. 
Still—
"I will be." A lie.
"Go on." He calls it. 
You turn to him. "We—;" the words are heavy on your tongue. Blame, and anger, and— "if they shared information with us, we would have gotten to them sooner."
And then you bite your tongue, eyes darting across the barren balconies. Eyes and ears are everywhere, he'd said. Test: failed. 
"Mm, yeah," he mumbles. His presence is comforting. A kinship born from ice and darkness. He leans against the railing beside you, fingers looped into the straps on his tactical vest. "Could have done a lot of things quicker."
"Why did we need to wait?"
His laugh is caustic. "Bureaucracy." 
"Sounds pointless when people are waging chemical warfare on the innocent." 
"Mm, you're not wrong." He adds, his breath a plume of white when he huffs. "But red tape is the line that keeps us in check. Can't go around shooting whoever looks at us funny."
"But—"
"I agree, though." His words are low, and doused in the residuum of anger from missions you've yet to experience. A chasm is carved between you. An uncrossable moor. "Fuckin' politics."
His hand is almost as heavy as the steel in his eyes when he pulls it free from the strap on his chest, and lays it on your shoulder. "Get some rest. Maybe a bloody drink if you can. They only got vodka," he spits the word out like it's blasphemous, and considering he's never too far away from a cigar in one hand, and a scotch in the other, you think, to him, it might be. 
It's a dismissal. A nice chat, have a lovely day, ta. He's your Captain, a man who shares each success with everyone, but bears the weight of each failure on his own. This debacle only reinforced the notion that you can't keep operating in the strict lines given to you, but there is very little you can do to stop it.
Fuckin' politics, you think. And then—
Cacoethes. 
"I mix a mean vodka cranberry," the offer is out before you can swallow it down. "I mean—it isn't scotch, but—"
He pauses by the door, hand in stasis over the handle. The silence is stifling. 
"Sorry," you murmur, chastised. Embarrassed. "I didn't—I hope I didn't cross a line."
He turns his head, brows drawn together. 
(You wonder if he, too, thinks of the cabin. Of the bottled water shared between you, the heavy breath that settled in the middle of the negligible space that separated you, turned toward each other to protect your vulnerable pieces from the frigid cold.)
Then, a flash of teeth. His moustache wobbles. "Sure," he murmurs. "If you can make it taste like it isn't vodka, I'll go for one. Not much of a pint, but…"
"Should have taught me how to smoke in Iceland," you say, reaching for the proffered cigar in his hands. Your eyes slide over the burns, the pock marks in his flesh that could not be self-inflicted, but you turn from them; your gaze, instead, fixed on him. "Might have kept us warm."
A rasping chuckle falls from his lips. He has a smear of ash in the corner. A dollop of oil on his beard by the seam of his mouth. "Iceland," he repeats the word, and it sounds like an old friend, filled with a touch of fondness you can't quite capture when you think back on the time spent there. 
(A panic attack in the shower stall, head full of vodka and cranberries— definitely not a pint, he rasped, but still took another swallow; your eyes were fixed on the bob of his Adam's apple—and him. Run. Run. Don't look back—
Alright? His eyes are on you. On Gaz. Laswell. He makes his rounds between everyone, silently checking in. It warms you, and makes you think of the taste you caught on the rim of the water bottle. Hickory. Smoked sandalwood. Scotch. Your nose pressed tight to his chest. The heavy weight of his arm around you. Gotta get up, lo— 
Love. You wonder if that's what he was going to say before he cleared his throat, and looked away from you.
A lie. Yes. 
He calls it. Yeah? 
No. Never. The way the amber light from the early morning sun caught the lazuli in his eyes made your heart shatter, and ever since he pulled you from the wreck years ago, you haven't stopped thinking of what it would feel like to burn your lips on his cigar, and numb the sting with the scotch on his tongue. 
A tight smile. Distant. Hidden. Always, Cap.
He relents.
You wished he pushed. Gave you a reason to spill your vodka-filled guts on the tarmac to rid yourself of this rut you'd fallen into. An endless stasis of does he, he can't, could he, he might, don't get your hopes up—
His hand is between your shoulder blades. A soft smile in your direction.
—too late.)
"Ah, Reykjavik," it's a slow burn when he speaks, heavy with smoke. Voice thick, full of static. His eyes catch yours. Price leans in close, as if he's sharing a secret; something confidential and meant only for you. The heady scent of hickory fills your nose. You roll the scotch in your glass, but taste vodka on your tongue. "Might have, but then we would've had to keep it lit while running away from the terrorists in the snow." 
"I've seen you keep one lit in a hurricane, sir." 
There is something coarse in the way he huffs; a gravel-filled husk of droll mirth that rumbles from his chest. His knuckles brush yours when he passes the cigar over. "Only time I ever lost one was when our heli went down in Mexico. Simon got an earful that day."
"Amazing." 
The cigar is less intense when you let it fill just your mouth until the smoke is stagnant between your teeth. It's—sweet. Robust. 
"You sound very impressed," he husks again, words pitched low. "But I'll have you know it was my last good one. Quite a shame."
Fingers touch again. You wonder if it's on purpose. If he, like you, can't get enough of the warmth on your skin. If it makes him think of the chill—
"It sounds like one. I don't know how you finished the mission at all, sir." 
"I had a spare." He smiles, but it's taut around the edges. Then: "none of that—," he stops, clears his throat again. Lower, barely a whisper, he adds: "none of that sir stuff here. Just call me—"
"Cap?" You breathe, heart thudding in your chest. The scotch. The cigar. Maybe, it was packed with weed. A little nicotine. Something that might make your heart race, your palms sweat. Your stomach burn. 
"John." 
Your heart pounds, but it's off-rhythm. An irregular beat. The pattern is wrong, the crescendo stutters. It's not—
"John," his name is caught in your throat; a corrugated wobble of a breath barely recognisable as a word, but he finds it, anyway. His eyes lift, catching yours. It's heavy. Oppressive. You think of his arm on your waist, his breath in your ear—
Another tight smile. His eyes are liquid sapphires. "Yeah, love."
Love. Love. Twice, now, he slipped and uttered it.
(Lo—
Thrice, then, if you count Iceland.)
"John—," you need to stop. To put distance between yourself and this man who is wholly off-limits before the wet tip of the cigar, once clipped between those full lips, will become a crutch. Addicting. 
You don't know where it starts. 
The cigar in your mouth makes him groan low in his throat. Your eyes drop when he shudders. His hand on your thigh. Voice in your ear. 
"Gotta stop this, love." 
The first thought: he knows. 
The second: he knows. 
There is a chasm between them. In that paradoxical degree of separation lingers a firm, judicious no. It is resolute. Ironclad. 
But the sheath is made of latex. Your hands feel the sting of the rubber bands when your fingers pluck at the bonds holding it all back. 
"And if I don't want to?" Your lashes fan your cheeks, eyes peering up at him through the wisps cresting over your pupils. Tongue peaks out. A tease. "John? "
His pupils dilate in response, blown wide until pits of coal eclipse the sapphire; a black hole lined with a thin halo of blue. The hairs on his upper lip flutter when he heaves out a breath through his nose. 
John's smile is tight. A fleeting thing that flickers across his face before disappearing into a hard frown. "You don't know what you're getting into, love—;" he stops himself, clears his throat. Your name falls from his lips, saturated in smoke. 
You meet him. One step back, one step forward. A dance until those blues fix themselves solely on you. 
Maybe, it's the scotch. You've always been more brazen with amber than clear. 
His Adam's apple bounces when your hand drops, covering his. Your fingers stroke the powerful hands that hold your flesh firm between scarred fingers; nimble and dexterous despite the thickness of them. 
"Then show me."
His groan tastes of tobacco and ash. 
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It should be awkward, and uncomfortable, but it isn't. 
Price's hand curls over your waist, tucking you to his side as you lean against him, hip bumping into his thigh, hand settled on the warmth of his back. 
You wonder if everyone around you can tell that you're going home with this man, your boss, and he's going to fuck you when you get there. It feels sacrilegious. Wrong. 
But not even the spume of trepidation that wells inside of your gut is enough to stop you from getting this. Him.
You want it. Need it. 
Your hand slips over his chest on the corner of the street. His eyes flash, caught in the light from the veranda. 
Does he feel it, too, you wonder? All those moments that lead up to this? Soft words over the comm. Late nights spent pouring over coordinates and maps, reaching for something at the same time. Hands brushing. Eyes meeting over the median. Smiles shared. A world in the dead of night when everyone else had long gone to bed. You should have, too. You didn't. You stayed up as long as you could, soaking up his company. 
Mornings met by the coffee maker. 
No tea, it seems. 
They have tea, sir. 
Not the good kind. 
You're just picky.
Look at this—it almost makes you ashamed to be British. 
Only that? 
He's untouchable—well: should be, rather; but Price is anything but. He's a constant amid many raging storms, a rock in times when the world feels like it's spiralling down toward some cataclysmic abyss and your fingers aren't quick enough to reach out and catch it. 
But he is. 
Always. 
Your failsafe. Your security net. The only man on the planet who will rage against insurgents and terrorists, and politicians and red tape in equal measure for his team. He'll risk his neck, offer his jugular, if it means you can finish the mission. 
Gaz in your head. He said something to me once… stuck to me, y'know? We get dirty, and the world stays clean. 
It bludgeoned into you then just like it does now. It's the perfect iteration of exactly who Price is. He's not a hero. He doesn't pretend to be one. But if him gunning down a man on the fringes of society means that innocent people in the cities get to sleep at night without even knowing what he, and his men, sacrificed, he's content. He never asks for anything except the freedom to keep peace—however it comes about: in a hail of bullets, a fist against a man's jaw until he spits out blood and teeth and the truth, or in cuddling together on the verge of hypothermia so people in a country he has no connection to can continue to live without fear. 
John is—
Well. It was inevitable, wasn't it? 
They can't forge a man like him into existence, and expect you not to feel overwhelmed in his presence. 
This feels inevitable. 
And sure—human resources and internal affairs might have opinions about that, but it's been brewing since he pulled you from a burning wreck on the motorway (a small travesty in what could have been calamitous had you not decided to trust the SAS with an impeccable moustache, and your gut, and broke every rule in the book), and then looked you in your soot-covered face, and asked: have you considered a transfer? 
Your drug enforcement days slipped into the past when he offered you a spot on his team.
And now—
Your lip is raw from the cigar burn, but the taste of scotch on your tongue soothes the ache. His hand is heavy on your waist, flesh hot to the touch like he is burning up in a fever. 
A woman wanders past, the same one you saw earlier with a baby swaddled in blue, but—
Price only has eyes for you. 
"C'mon, love," he husks in your ear, his breath heavy with smoke and scotch, and sending shivers racing down your spine. "Wanna come back with me?"
And you—
("I'll follow you—")
"Anywhere, John."
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His hands are reverent when they brush across your skin. The heavy weight of his palms pressing against the back of your thighs makes you tremble. His rough skin feels good as it grazes yours, touch softer, more gentle than you thought he'd be. 
It's a strange contrast—you'd come to expect gruffness with your Captain. His voice, his words, his practices all carry the same abrasive lilt to you, and you assumed that he'd fuck you the same way. Rough hands, brutal commands barked out. 
It's none of that. It's—
His eyes peer down at you, spread out below him, and he carries the same tenderness in his eyes as when he stared at the women from before. Families. It settles inside of you. This unexpected way he handles you so gingerly makes your heart pound, and makes your core knot. 
He looks at you as if you're the best thing that has ever happened to him. 
And you can't be. It's impossible, isn't it? This man who'd lived many lives before you even knew how to shoot a gun, or tie your shoelaces, should not be looking at you as if you'd offered him salvation. 
But he is. 
You press the back of your forearm to your crown, arching your back for him. His eyes are drawn to your body, to the way you open up for him, and the darkening of his eyes makes you pant. 
Your hand reaches up to his chest, palm pressed against the thick bed of unruly auburn hair that covers his pulse, and the feel of his thick body over you makes your cunt throb with need. You want him. You want him so badly that it hurts. 
"This what you want, love?" He husks in your ear, beard tickling your skin. "Want me to fuck you, yeah?"
It had sprung up when you first tumbled into the room. The dance is familiar—the steps ingrained in your head, now muscle memory—but he isn't just any partner. You stood before him, unsure for the first time since you caught that aching sense of wishfulness in his eyes and knew that you wanted whatever permeated in those cerulean depths to look at you, and hold you in the same regard. 
Now—
Your body is fever-hot, and he stands by the minibar, offering you scotch. 
"I want you—," the words tumble out, a breathless lull in the otherwise silent room, broken only by the glass nozzle clanking against the side of the cup he set out. You've shocked him. You swallow thickly when he turns, brows lifting. 
"I want you." You repeat, firmer this time. 
"Are you—"
You skip the introductory waltz and immediately jump into a tango when you breathe: I want you inside me, John. 
You know he aches for it. You can feel him twitching inside of you; deep and full. The head of his cock nudges against something soft in your cunt that makes you spasm around him, whimpering. 
"Yes, sir…" you pant, heavy and breathless. The way you address him makes him grunt, makes his hips cant into you, the movement tinged in desperation. "Fill me up."
Price groans, rolling his hips into you. Each thrust knocks the air from your lungs until only the cloying smoke from his cigar resides inside. You're dizzy, dazed. He fucks you like he's worshipping you—each time he moves inside of you, he aims for that gummy place that has your nails digging into his sides, legs locking around his waist, caught on the bend of his thighs, as he rides you through it. 
"Fuck, love," his voice carries the taste of cigars and scotch when it rumbles in your ear. You smell the heady Maduro on his skin when you sink your teeth into the freckles on his shoulder. He tips his head forward; his rasping groan is heavy with smoke. "The things you do to me…."
He tastes of smoke. Loam. Sandalwood. Butterscotch. "Please," you murmur, tongue laving over the indents of your teeth in his skin. You wish it was permanent. "It's your own fault, Captain."
"Yeah?" He grinds his cock inside of you until your eyes roll back, mouth dropping open as white-hot pleasure spools in your core. "Sounds like you need some discipline then, soldier." 
Fuck —
He does it again, thrusting into you this time until he's seated in deep. You whine at the bliss flooding your core. 
His hand lifts from your thigh, and you blink your eyes open, watching as his tongue sweeps across the pad. His eyes are wicked in the soft light spilling from street lights outside; bluer than the wide, open ocean. 
You shiver when they drop to your cunt, spread out for him and stretched taut over his twitching cock. A frisson passes; waves crashing against the shores, frothing white. 
His hand drops, thumb pressing against your clit. "Gonna cum for me?" He murmurs, a sonorous knot in the quiet room. You hear the roar of the ocean in the distance. Humid breeze flutters through the open balcony. 
Anyone can hear you. Can hear how badly you want your Captain to fill your cunt, to make you see stars, and swaddles of blue—
You keen low in your throat when his thumb rubs tight circles over your throbbing clit, cock knocking against the gummy walls of your cunt. His head brushes your womb, presses there tight for a moment until your back arches in that deep-seated ache, that quiver of pleasure-pain that lacerates through your core. 
"Fuck, fuck—," you whimper, needy and breathless, hips working in time with the insistent press of his thumb, working you in small, shallow circles. "Cap— Captain, please—"
"Fuck, love—," he throaty words a bitten, jagged plea that sticks, thick and molten, between his molars. You can feel him twitch within you. Feel the way he batters into that spongey nook inside of you that has the Aurora Borealis flashing behind your lids. "You're a cheeky little thing, aren't you?" He pants, bending down to press his teeth over your raw neck, already bitten and bruised, chafed by the coarse hair of his beard. 
His groan rolls out of him; dredged up from deep within his chest. The rumble of pleasure, the sloppy way his hips snap into you, now, all practise and control dissociating with his desperation to get you to cum on his cock so he can fill your pussy up with cum, deep enough that it floods your womb—
"Cum for me—!" He snaps, the words chewed out and broken, punctuated by a deep grind of his cock. "Need to feel your pussy cumming on my cock, love; you want it, don't you? If you be a good girl and cum for me, I'll fill your pussy up—"
Your toes curl at the wrecked, raw tone of his voice, breaking over the end. He wants it. You feel him throb within you at just the thought. 
"Yeah," you whine, that spooling coil in your belly pulling tighter and tighter with each brutal thrust, each nudge of his cock as it bludgeons inside of you. "Want you cum inside my pussy, John—"
His head tips, forehead dropping to rest on yours as his eyes roll back, fluttering with the sultry plea that drips from your cigar-singed lips. 
You taste smoke when his thumb presses against you, the other sliding over your body until he has a palmful of your breast in his grasp. Each roll of his hips makes you see white; tendrils and wisps of smog fill your eyes until all you can see is a hazy blue through the curtain of snow. Fog on your breath. His words in your ear. 
It pinches taut when he turns his head, beard scraping your skin, and presses his lips to your temple. Slurred words that taste of tobacco. "Need to feel you cum on my cock, love —"
Liquid bliss spumes deep when you cum—a deluge of euphoria richer than scotch, and more addictive than nicotine. 
His name is a choked sob into the thick blanket of desire that weighs down on you. 
He drops, his torso flat against your chest as he slots his mouth over you, tongue delving deep as he ruts into your pulsing cunt, fluttering like a heartbeat as you cum around his cock. He groans into the messy kiss—hickory and smoke and the bitter tang of scotch—and you feel him jerk within you before he pushes in as far as he can. He doesn't stop until your cunt swallows him to the base, where he sits taut against the seal of your cervix. And then you feel it. You feel him throb deep inside of you, stuffed full of his cock, and a molten spume spills out when he cums. 
He's cumming inside of you, filling your pussy up—
Your cunt clenches, a soft flutter against him at the thought of it, the feeling. 
His head lifts, then, and you can see the draw of his brows, the clench of his jaw, the grunts that slip out, deep and punctured, from between the grit of his teeth, and you think you could get addicted to the sight of him in bliss. 
Your hands slide over the slick bulk of his back, nails raking softly over the skin as he shudders against you, heaving from exertion. 
"Christ," he rasps in your ear, whiskey-timbered and heady with malt. "You're gonna make me lose my goddamn mind, love."
You tip your head back, grinning. "What is it you like to say, Cap?" You purr, fingers dancing over the indent of your teeth. "We're all a bit crazy."
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You lay with your head tucked on his shoulder. His arm is bent at the elbow with his palm under his head; your hand rests on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart under your skin. 
It's—
Cosy. A little moment where you feel liquid and blissful, eyes lidding as you peer at his naked chest—flushed roseate, peppered with auburn that that runs all the way down to the indent of his groin—and map the dusting of rust-coloured freckles that peak through the wisps of coarse hair. It's domestic. Basking in the acrid afterglow of your illicit coupling. 
Your index presses into a thick patch of hair just below his pectoral, catching the curls on the tip until they wrap around your finger. He rumbles deep in his chest, and pulls the lit cigar up to his mouth, biting it between his teeth, before dropping his hand down on yours. 
Cerulean peaks through a thick breath of ashen smoke. You feel shy, suddenly. Demure. Maybe, it's the scent of sex and tobacco thick in the air, the taste of spice and scotch on your tongue, or the way his cum stains your inner thighs, leaking out of you, and drenching the sheets below. Proof, then, that you fucked your Captain. 
Most people start at the bottom of the totem and work up. It was a running joke amongst your class when the physical demands of the role became too much, and the drills got harder, and harder the more you sloughed through the ropes. 
All the way to the top. The easy way. On your knees, soldier, you'd pass between each other in covert secrecy, eyes fatigued but grinning wide. How easy it would be, comparatively, to just lay back and let your drill sergeant have his fill. It was all chatter. Jokes. None of it was real, and if anyone of you ever had the notion to act on it—
That has never been your goal. Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain—none of it meant anything to you until a hand appeared out of dense, black smoke, a gruff: c'mon, now, I got you following. It still doesn't. Not really. Does he know that, though? That you'd followed along dutifully behind him, not over some sense of grandeur or hero-complex, but because you admired the shape of him, the grit. 
John's hand slides over yours, fingers tangling between the brackets of your own until you're locked together, palm pressed against palm. 
There are years worth of things you want to say, but they dissolve in the malt still saturating your tongue. 
Price's hand is rough. Scarred and weathered; aged and worn. 
Your hands don't quite fit together. His brackets are too wide for your slender digits to rest without being swallowed whole by him. His fingers are the exact opposite: too wide, too thick. The seam between your knuckles aches when he slides his into the gaps. Like everything about him, this, too, is stretched taut. 
Still. Still—
His hand folds over yours, devouring your palm, and suddenly all your listing axes are righted, centred. The ground you walk on is firm, solid. 
It's always like that with him, you find. 
His warmth bleeds into your palm. 
Price shifts. His hand slips from behind his head to take hold of the cigar in his mouth. The knob of his wrist rests on your shoulder, cigar dangling between his fingers. 
You wonder if this is the moment when we shouldn't have, we can't come in. 
He clears his throat, always a low rasp as if he'd just gotten done screaming. Hoarse and rough. You don't think you can go back to before when you didn't know what your name sounded like falling from his lips when he cums—
"You don't know what you do to me, love."
Don't hope—
"And what is that?" You peer up at him through the wisps of auburn. 
His eyes make your pulse race. A lagoon in the middle of the Arctic. A deep, endless pool of blue. 
Price offers you the cigar, and bends down to press his sweaty forehead against your temple when you lean up and take it. 
Scotch. Hickory. Smoke. 
A motorway in Dorset. Your superiors snapping at you to leave it alone. You followed him then, and when he mumbles in your ear, words drenched in malt and petrol, you know you'll follow him even now. 
"You make me want things, love. Things I shouldn't."
You catch his clear blues in yours. The cigar burns when you press it to your bottom lip, catching the taste of him on the end. 
"You have no one to blame but yourself," you whisper, squeezing his too-big hand in yours. "I learned from the best, you know." 
"Cheeky—"
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—he takes you back to Iceland when your allotted off-time mysteriously syncs together: a fumbling romantic at heart. he has no idea what he's doing. wooing, courtship, and long-lasting were never words in his vocabulary, but he tries.
—on his phone, you catch a glimpse of what he was looking at so intently on the plane: romantic places in Iceland: romance for idiots
—it doesn't surprise you, then, when you find the article yourself that he sticks to each individual one like it's a personal mission. flowers. chocolates. "don't know what's so special about these bloody things. do you really like them?"
—it surprises you, even more, when you press your lips to cheek, murmuring, "i like you more," and see the flash of roseate flooding his cheeks.
—Gaz is firmly on team "i don't want to know" but too bad for him, he's the only one you can really tell.
"please tell me he doesn't wear The Hat... y'know...," his face looks a little ashen when he says it. You smile. "...Please. No, you can't—hey! You can't just walk away—!"
4K notes · View notes
imaginesig · 3 months
Text
Dancing under the lights
Oscar Piastri x Ballerina!Reader smau
Platonic!Grid x Ballerina!Reader
These are just some insta posts that you/Oscar would make if he was dating a ballerina
yourusername
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Liked by oscarpiastri, y/n_bestie, user5, and 24,097 others
yourusername: tis the season
tagged: y/n_bestie, y/n_friend
y/n_bestie I’m starting a Tchaikovsky hate club
yourusername count me in
y/n_friend1 same
user it’s been a week since Nutcracker rehearsals started and it’s already this had
user2 never underestimate the intensity of ballet
oscarpiastri stunning
yourusername aww love you oz🫶🫶
landonorris simp
landonorris can’t be that hard
yourusername says the one who goes vroom for a living
charles_leclerc 🩰🎄
maxverstappen1 Penelope can’t wait to see you!!
yourusername tell her I can’t wait to see her recital next week!!
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oscarpiastri
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Liked by yourusername, logansargent, landonorris, and 89,242 others
oscarpiastri: one thing about me, I’m never gonna understand the process of prepping point shoes
tagged: yourusername
yourusername it’s ok babe, I learned what a DRS is you can learn this
oscarpiastri all that money just to cut and glue and crack them up???
maxverstappen1 should I be worried!
yourusername just think when the time comes, Penelope will have me as a guide
maxverstappen1 so should I be worried??
danielriccardo I HAVE to see this process now
y/n_bestie pointe shoes aren’t for the faint of heart
user1 don’t these cost a fortune??
user2 about that yea
user3 stop she’s so pretty even when destroying shoes
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yourusername
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Liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, y/n_bestfriend, and 45,947 others
yourusername: My little baby angel is all grown up 🥹 I have never felt so honored as I did when she called me her idol and started this dance journey!! Beautiful Penelope I cannot wait to watch you grow and learn🩰🫶🧸
Tagged maxverstappen1, kellypiquet
oscarpiastri I think you cried more than her actual mom during this recital
charles_leclerc second to Max of course
oscarpiastri you could hear him 3 blocks away
maxverstappen1 this was a nice post celebrating P, how did we get here
yourusername Max always has to be number 1
kellypiquet she absolutely loved having your there!!! Thank you so much for coming
yourusername I adored every second of it
user1 your telling me that Penelope started dance because of y/n
user2 how did they even know each other?? Max and Oscar aren't even that close
user3 through Charles, she's a very popular ballerina and so when she posted a story dancing to one of his pieces they kept in touch-- I wouldn't be surprised if Charles drug Max out to watch her
user2 that's really sweet
user1 now you see why I'm crying over her influence on Penelope
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oscarpiastri
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liked by yourusername, Charles_leclerc, user1 and 46, 368 others
oscarpiastri: I've never been more in awe of someone before than I am of you. Every new production you steal the audience with your beauty and grace, can't wait to see what the rest of the season holds. To my favorite Sugar Plum fairy, I love you
tagged yourusername
yourusername aww oz 🥹 you're sweeter than all the people in the Kingdom of Sweets
y/n_bestie wow high compliment
oscarpiastri I know 😎
yourusername love ya both 💖💖
landonorris booo sap
yourusername what if you just 🤸🏻🚊
landonorris this is cyberbullying
danielriccardo ya'll see sum 🧑🏻‍🦯🙈
user1 the betrayal is unmatched
yourusername always a good day when Danny Ric is on your side
charles_leclerc beautiful production!!
yourusername number 1 ballet fan has entered the chat
maxverstappen1 Penelope hasn't stopped talking about this all weekend
user2 awww this is adorable
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yourusername
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liked by y/n_bestie, lilymhe, y/n_friend, and 23,938 others
yourusername: Sugar Plum Fairy, you've been a dream!! A special shoutout to @/y/n_bestie for being rock through it all, from party guests, to soldiers, to flowers and so many more 🩵🩰 It has been a wild season getting to live out my dream Nutcracker role. Let's see what else is in store...
tagged y/n_bestie, y/n_dancecompany
y/n_bestie IM LITERALY CRYING
y/n_bestie I love you so much 💖💖 its been an absolute honor to grow with you!!
yourusername my favorite Arabian sololist!! I love you much
lilymhe I will never not be impressed by you
yourusername awww I love you bby
lilymhe 😩🤭
alex_albon Oscar come get your girl
oscarpiastri 🫣
user1 stop not them dancing together since chilhood
y/n_friend the last slide 💀💀
oscarpiastri talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique
yourusername who taught him this bc I know damn well it wasn't me 🤔
landonorris @/logansargent
logansargent 🤷🏼‍♂️
charles_leclerc eagerly awaiting the spring run...
youruserame 🤫
y/n_bestie 🫢
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oscarpiastri
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liked by user4, mclaren, logansargent, and 97,379 others
oscarpiastri: what a season! Thank you so much Mclaren for helping me create an unforgettable rookie season-- cheers to winter break before its back to the grind 🥂🧡
tagged mclaren, yourusername
mclaren thats our rookie of the year 🏆
landonorris what a ride mate
yourusername so, so proud!!
oscarpiastri ❤️❤️
y/n_bestie she may be supportive but I'm not, why is this INCREDIBLE picture of my girl LAST
user3 get his ass girl
oscarpiastri In my defense I had to thank the job that paid me to take her on a trip
y/n_bestie you better be planning more posts
oscarpiastri pinky promise I do
youruserman did she just threaten you through instagram comments
landonorris your bf's a pussy remember
user1 my addiction can't handle winter break
user2 already started my countdown
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yourusername
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liked by
yourusername: "we can leave the Christmas lights up til January"
tagged oscarpiastri, y/n_dancecompany
y/n_dancecompany new year, new routines
y/n_bestie take notes @/oscarpiastri you were the first two slides...
oscarpiastri how many stories and posts have I made of her since break started
user1 NOT HER HOLDING A GRUDGE
y/n_friend first one back to the studio I see
yourusername guilty 🫠
oscarpiastri I enjoyed our winter wonderland
yourusername I love you oz
oscarpiatri I love you too
landonorris bleh 🤢
danielriccardo you dropped this 🔴 put it back on your nose 🤡🥰
user3 who is teaching them these things??
user9 my sneaking suspicion is Logan
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yourusername
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liked by kellypiquet, y/n_bestie, danielriccardo, and 45,083 others
yourusername: a kiss can awaken the deepest of dreams ✨🩰🌙
tagged: y/n_dancecompany, y/n_dancepartner
user9 this is so aesthetic I could cry
yourusername I didn't come to mess around
y/n_bestie I cannot wait to put a spell on you
yourusername love my maleficent 💚
oscarpiastri come to a grand prix and you'll spend more time in bed than sleeping beauty 😉
yourusername i'd let you kiss me awake 😏
maxverstappen1 my daughter looks up to you, please stop
danielriccardo wheres Lando with his comments when you need him
landonorris im gonna drink bleach
oscarpiastri you had to summon him didnt you
kellypiquet P can't wait to play little Aurora alongside you
yourusername I wouldn't want anyone else to play little me!! 🩵🩵
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oscarpiastri
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liked by mclaren, y/n_bestie, landonorris, and 76,283 others
oscarpiastri: that moment when you girl has a killer opening weekend and you get a podium!! @/yourusername thank you for a beautiful week capped off with 2 big weekends. I love you more than words can tell ❤️
tagged mclaren, yourinstagram, y/n_dancecompany
yourusername awww oz I love you to the moon and back
oscarpiastri who's cutting onions
landonorris if y'all don't get married rn I swear ill fall asleep in oncoming traffic
youruserman oh 😃
oscarpiastri mate...
danielriccardo what a drastic change of attitude
y/n_bestie glad to see you've sorted out your priorities
mclaren we agree
oscarpiastri wow I don't even have admin on my side
user4 aww stop this is adorable
user8 the schedules lining up perfectly is a gift from the dance and F1 gods
user5 fr fr
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yourusername
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liked by oscarpiastri, y/n_bestie, y/n_dancecompany, and 101,012 others
yourusername: one thing I was never taught why how hard this goodbye is. I've called this company home since I was 4 alongside the best girl in the whole world. I learned so much about dancing, myself, and life. Taking my final bow after Sleeping Beauty I couldn't help but shed a tear- I'm sad to say goodbye to my home and my ballet family, but I'm happy to dance on and make them proud. Thank you for helping me grow and spread my wings 🩵🩰✨
tagged: y/n_bestie, y/n_dancecompany
y/n_bestie I never would've thought the hardest thing I had to do was let you chase your dreams 💖
yourusername youre not far behind 💖
oscarpiastri you are incredible, I love you so much ❤️❤️
yourusername thank you so much for all your support even when it was hard and you had your own career going on ❤️ I love you so so much
landonorris since our introduction, I've only grown more and more as a fan. You have great determination, skill, grace, work ethic, and so many more things I admire, I can't wait to see ho you grow in the next steps
yourusername aww lando, I'm so touched 🥹🧡
charles_leclerc you're going to conquer whoever comes next
yourusername Merci pour votre soutien
*thank you for your support*
charles_leclerc 💖💖
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oscarpiastri
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liked by landonorris, mclaren, your username, and 23,088 others
oscarpiatri: i remember when we first met, we would spend late nights talking about our dreams-- its insane to have accomplished them together. You cheered me on throughout my F1 journey and I'm excited to see your first solo in the theatre you've always dreamed of! Break a leg my beautiful dancer ❤️
tagged: your username, newdancecompany
yourusername I'm crying in rehearsals rn
yourusername I love you so much oz ❤️
oscarpiastri I love you too love
landonorris sap
danielriccardo HE'S BACK
landonorris they still need to be endgame tho
user5 he's just like us fr
user1 "my beautiful dancer"
user2 IM CRYING
charles_leclerc the amount of times I almost spilled the surprise
yourusername the wait is almost up
oscarpiastri should I be scared?
maxverstappen1 we cannot wait!! P has been jumping off the walls for this performance
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yourusername
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liked by newdancecompany, oscarpiatri, y/n_bestie, and 89,283 others
yourusername: "growing often feels like breaking at first" - a farewell quote from my very first dance teacher.
Tonight I debuted with a new dance company, my second one in all my 22 years of life. Thank you so much Charles for composing a piece that speaks what I cannot. This performance is dedicated to past me, her company, her mentors, her friends, and her supporters. I chose to keep the costuming simple, seeing as I don't feel as complete without them just yet.
I cannot wait to keep growing and dancing with every part of me.
tagged: charles_leclerc, newdancesompany
y/n_dancecompany its an absolute honor to have had you, and an even bigger one to have lost you
yourusermane forever the home of my childhood
oscarpiastri I cannot wait to watch you grow, hopefully forever
yourusername definitely forever
charles_leclerc thank YOU for bringing out the emotion and life in this piece, I've been bouncing off the walls waiting to see the final product. You've made me into your number 1 fan
yourusername we make a pretty good team
oscarpiatri not to break up a sweet moment but this weekend Lelcerc is on site, Im her number 1 fan
maxverstappen1 you didn't leave one dry eye in the place!
kellypiquet i was truly moved by the art you put on stage tonight, you've got a long successful road ahead
yourusername 😭🫶🫶
landonorris you amaze me more and more every dance, best honorary little sister I could ask for
yourusername and I though you'd keep the sister thing private sap
y/n_bestie I never imagined the pain of watching you dance from the audience and not the wings, but I also never imagined the joy in my chest watching you fly like you did tonight. Remember no matter where you go and how much more famous you become, you will always be my best friend.
yourusername in all these years, the best choice I ever made was talking to the girl next to me with the pink dress 💖 I would be nowhere without you, I truly owe all my accomplishments to you and your unwavering support 🫶🫶
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oscarpiastri posted a story
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caption: its you and me forever @/yourusername
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thegnomelord · 4 months
Note
Congrats on the 500! I'd like to see prompt 14 with Ghost and Soap but it's the reader dealing out the punishment.
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Thanks mate :D My inner kinkster came out and this got waaaayyy longer than I expected it to be, hope ya'll like it :D. Play the game HERE:
Prompt: "I’m in a good mood today, you may choose your punishment this time but only if you ask for it politely."
CW:NSFW, puppy play, puppy Simon and Soap, GN reader, bondage, spanking, overstimulation, BDSM, orgasm denial, numerous orgasms, Dom/Sub dynamic, my inner kinkster came out.
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Johnny pants against his lips as they thrust both of their cocks into the fleshlight between them, slick lube and precum wetly 'squelch' inside the silicone hole when Johnny bucks his hips, gripping Ghost like a lifeline. Ghost can't believe he let Soap coerce him like this— to go into your shared bedroom to steal the fleshlight you use to reward them and fuck it when you've given them a direct order not to cum without you.
But with all of you so busy the frustration had been steadily building in their bones for weeks now and it wasn't like you'd ever find you; they'd be quick about it, just a quick rut and then clean up like they had never been there — That's how Johnny had justified it, whimpering so sweetly against Simon's ear as he grinded against Ghost's leg.
"Yeah, fock, just like that Si," Johnny groans at the tightness both of their cocks make of the fleshlight, shivers racing down his spine as Simon presses him further against the wall. "C'mon, clo-I'm close-"
"Johnny, actin' like a desperate slut there." Ghost growls and bites Soap's shoulder, cock throbbing at the way his words make Johnny moan, the fleshlight getting slicker from Soap's precum.
The sound of the door opening rings like an executioner's gavel. Simon yanks the toy off their cocks the moment his brain registers the sound. "Simon! Oh you focker-" He slaps a hand over Johnny's mouth before he can make things worse, the rough move finally drawing Johnny's attention to you. Slut, Simon want's to call him when Johnny's cock twitches upon meeting your gaze, no doubt burning even hotter from being caught.
Simon knows they're in deep shit when, upon finding them fucking a toy pussy like mongrel mutts, all you do is smirk. "Well look at you two." You hum, eyes momentarily flickering to the used toy Simon had flung across the room. "I'm in a good mood today," Walking up to them and scruffing them both gently. Too gently. "You may choose your punishment this time, but only if you ask nicely."
Dumb little Soap perks up at your words, unable to notice the dark look in your eyes when all of his blood is rushing south into his throbbing cock. The fucker bites Ghost's fingers and the moment Simon jerks back from surprise Soap's on his knees, nuzzling his head into your groin. "Please bonnie-" He breathes out, sticking out his bottom lip and forcing watery tears to prickle the corners of his eyes. "-need tae cum, please, want tea cum so bad." Soap's clever, knows how to make himself look so pathetic you can't help but indulge the little glutton; but not clever enough.
You card your fingers through his short mohawk, a soft smile tugging on your lips as his cock bobs uselessly against your boot. "My little puppy wants to cum for his punishment huh?" Soap nods his head frantically, melting against your leg as he thinks he's won you over; think's he's escaped your wrath; thinks he's safe.
Ghost knows better, sees the mischievous look in your eyes. "And you?" You ask him, choosing to ignore Soap when he starts grinding his cock against your boot, "How do you want to be punished?" Your hand squeezes the back of his neck, letting him know it's not a question he has time to ponder.
Numerous punishments run through his mind, all bound to leave him pleasantly aching for days, but he choses the one most likely to give him a release- "Spanking."
Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline and even Soap stops his grinding to look at him, muttering a smug 'blimey dumbarse' under his breath. "Is that so?" You ask, your tone reminding him of your previous words.
"Please," He manages to say, biting on his bottom lip. "I've been bad, need to be punished." A shiver races down his spine in the way your eyes light up, something foreboding gnawing on his bones as you ruffle his hair.
"If you say so," You glance between both of them. "On the bed then, clothes off." You say, stepping away to go grab their toys, expecting them to comply.
Soap still thinks he's safe, eagerly stripping bare without a care, whining and tugging Simon's clothes off when he feels like Ghost is going too slow. But a bad and hot feeling stirs in Simon's stomach when he catches sight of what you bring back; rope, collars, a puppy mask, plugs, a paddle and the toy they both hate- the vibrating cock ring and plug combo that can edge them for hours without letting them cum.
"Since you're the one who brought Simon down to your level, you don't get to talk tonight." You growl as you fasten the collar and puppy mask on Soap's face, the muzzle turning him mute as the matching pink collars humiliate them both wonderfully. Before Soap can even begin to struggle upon seeing the hated toy you quickly tie him up, hands above his head and legs spread with his knees near his chest.
"Shhh-" You shush Soap as you push a lubed finger into him, more to get his hole slick than to stretch him out. "-you're the one who wanted this puppy," Soap growls pitifully when you replace your finger with the plug; it's slender and long, not even as thick as your finger, but the curve in it's neck forces the bulbous head to press against his prostate. "And don't you worry, you'll be cumming until you can't." The dark promise in your words has Soap squirming, the way you harshly put the cock ring on him making Soap squirm and yip as if that'll be enough to change your mind.
"Now as for you-" You're a little softer with Ghost, gentle but firm hands spreading him on his belly so his head's resting between Soap's thighs, so close to Johnny's cock he could kiss the red tip. "For every 10 spanks Johnny will get to cum," Your lubed fingers breaching Simon's ass makes him groan, his walls clamping on your fingers and a bead of precum seeping into the sheets against his cock every time your fingers press massage over his prostate. "You aren't allowed to cum." Ghost squeezes his eyes shut, whole body shuddering and nodding his head as you push a second finger inside him to squeeze the special spot inside him between two fingers; he's already used to this trick, knows how to tense his leg to stave off orgasm.
"If you can reach 60 spanks without cuming, I'll let you fuck him." You add, removing your fingers to push the broad head of a tail plug against his pulsing rim. It's not the vibrating kind, thank god, but Soap watches transfixed how Ghost's mouth opens in a silent moan as his his walls are forced to stretch around the large insertion. "Fail, or let Johnny cum without getting your spanks in, and your cock's joining Johnnie's in a cage for a few weeks." The plug, thankfully, doesn't press right on his prostate like Soap's, but the playful swat you give his rump has a strangled moan falling from his lips as the head of the plug bashing against that special spot inside him. "Am I understood?"
"Crystal." Ghost breathes out, his eyes already getting bleary. He can see your reflection in Soap's eyes, knows when you pick up the paddle by the way Johnny's dick twitches against his face. The sudden smack against the fat of his arse has him wheezing out a "One-" his cheeks jiggling from the force, the skin reddening soon after.
Just watching you spank Simon has Johnny's cock leaking, every number moaned in Simon's rough voice making his cock throb. The way Ghost's eyes close when a new smack of the paddle has that large plug brushing against his prostate makes Soap clench pitifully around the inactive plug inside him, wanting something bigger. The dead toys inside and around Soap's cock come to life the second Simon growls out a "Ten.", causing Soap to moan.
You push Simon's gasping mouth down on Soap's cock, putting the paddle down to firmly grope his reddening cheeks as encouragement. They're both such masochists that it works like a charm, a sharp pinch of his ass getting Simon to messily suck and slurp down his dick while Johnny whines and trembles, assaulted with sensation until he cums inside Simon's mouth with a loud whine. Simon swallows down it all without complaint, barely fast enough to pop off Johnny's cock to croak out an "Eleven-" when the paddle spanks his flesh again.
Johnny whines, thighs trembling pitifully as he realizes the vibrations don't stop after his orgasm. Simon notices the way Johnny's whines grow soft again, the Scott tumbling towards orgasm faster than the leisurely pace you're spanking Ghost with. Without thinking he reaches out to grab the base of his cock with a firm grip, his fist like a secondary cock ring, Ghost's hand keeping Johnny's hips pinned until you smack his rear again-"Twenty!"- and Soap cums the second his fist eases, splashing his sweaty chest with his cum.
You look up to see Soap's cheeks stained with tears, chest rising and falling rapidly with disformed hiccups as the toys just continue to vibrate on max. Simon's skin is also starting to from bright to dark red in some places, the force behind each slap ensuring he'll be able to feel this punishment for weeks.
Soap's shaking his head desperately by the time Simon grounds out "Thirty-" and it takes a few sharp pinches to his aching rear to get Ghost's mouth back on Johnny's cock, but even half blissed out as he is he knows how to make Soap cum, running his teeth along the oversensitive vein along the bottom of his cock and nibbling a bit on his swollen balls enough to force him into another orgasm.
At "Fo-forty!" there's a growing damp spot of pre beneath Simon as he tries desperately to keep his cock from brushing against the sheets. "Fuck...Fifty-" Comes soon after and both of them are so fucked out that Soap can only manage a weak spurt of cum, whole cock as red as Simon's rear.
"You two are doing so well," You praise, tracing the rapidly blooming bruises from the swell of Simon's arse to the middle of his thighs, purposely tugging on his tail to have him moan around Johnny's length, his cock weakly spurting a small dollop of precum onto the sheets as the wide head of the plug grinds against his prostate. "Just, one more, you can do it."
You wait for a few seconds after Soap cums again for Simon to settle against his legs, his body so worn out by the constant abuse on his prostate that he doesn't even notice when he nuzzles into Soap's aching cock. Only then do you strike again, abstaining from the paddle to smack the reddening flesh with the flat of your hand just so you can grope his cheek, making the plug insistently shift inside him.
"Fifty- shit, Fifty one..." Simon slurs like he's drunk, both of them long past tears. You draw out the last 9 slaps, groping and pinching his aching skin and loving how Simon groans and drools against Soap's cock. "Sixty, ah! Sixty!" Simon howls with the final slap, whole body feeling like it's ready to fall apart, his brain desperately clinging to his skull when the rest of him is ready to leak through his dick. There's a painful cramp in his stomach from having to hold off so long, having long since replaced the jealousy he'd felt at having Soap cum again and again while he's kept on the edge of a knife.
"Such a good boy Simon," You coo softly, even a gentle rub of his flesh causing him to hiss and attempt to wiggle away from your hand. You catch his eye as he stares back at you, Soap's cum staining his hair as his cock rests against Simon's face.
Soap can barely lift his head to look at you, eyes blurry as he tries to convey that he can't cum any more, his cock throbbing from the constant stimulation. When you turn off the vibrators he swears he'd cry tears of joy if there was anything left in him, body so lax he feels like a puddle.
Then you sneak a hand down to feel Simon's dick, still achingly hard , chuckling when Simon groans and bites down weakly on Soap's thigh. "How about it boy? Ready for your reward?" You laugh as your words make both of them twitch, Soap's hole clenching needily on the slim neck of the plug as the thought of having something thick spread him open cuts through the fog of overstimulation and exhaustion like a knife.
You smirk for Johnny and easily slide the vibrating plug out of him, receiving a whine from Johnny like he's hurt. You shush them gently, having to support Simon as you reposition his cockhead against Soap's twitching hole.
"Go on then, good boy," You chuckle, "Take your reward Simon,"
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ooffmlsorry · 4 months
Text
OP Men Dating a "Girly Girl"
A/N: sorry this took so long and I haven't posted anything original in a minute my life is mess and I'm so very tired jfc...I know this isn't more than my usual group but I was just gonna stop at Luffy and then decided to add Ace and Sabo as a thank you because writing these and putting them on Tumblr has been really good for me, so thank you for always being here to indulge me 🥲 ❤️
Sanji, Zoro, Law, Luffy, Ace, Sabo
Sanji
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Let's be honest, girly-girls drive Sanji craaaazzzzyy (not that all women don't, but he's definitely more partial to the feminine ones) Your make-up, pretty skirts and dresses, jewelry, and manicure, he can't help fawn over you constantly 😍Although you do it because you enjoy it, it's nice that your efforts are so appreciated!!
He spoils you soooo baaaddd!! He literally can't help himself when he sees something pretty or cute that reminds him of you, he has to get it for you. You're drowning in squishmallows at this point.
A river of blood shoots from him every time you show off a new outfit. You're going to kill him and he'll thank you for it.
Dressing up in nice outfits together, especially on date night, is a shared activity that you love to do together. Y'all are living your best happily ever after lives.
Ya'll definitely have scheduled self-care nights. You put on some slow music, open a bottle of wine, draw a bubble bath, all that.
He's utterly useless when it comes to helping you pick your outfits or makeup if you're stuck because he loves you in everything, it's too hard for him to pick. You're his perfect, beautiful Y/N-swaaaaan 😍💖💖✨
He does love to see you in pink or red though so he might default to those colors
Don't try to test your makeup on him lol, you're going to re-awaken the gender identity crisis...I mean Kamabakka trauma
Listen...I'm not saying Sanji has a mommy kink...I'm not even at Whole Cake Island so idk wtf is going on there. All I'm saying is if you give this man a bath, wrap him in a towel to dry him off, and rub him down with luxurious lotions and oils, you might awaken something...that's all...👀
ZORO
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He has no clue wtf you're doing. If it weren't for the fact that there's no proof that witches exist in this world, he'd think you are one
He looks at your vanity full of serums, creams, scrubs, lotions, etc, not to mention the makeup and he's like "??????" Just completely baffled
But what do you expect? This man would use that five-in-one Irish Spring soap if he could.
Just because he doesn't understand it doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate and admire the fact that you have extensive knowledge in something he can't even comprehend
He knows you like nice shiny things, and again, while he doesn't get it, he does think it's really, really cute when you go starry-eyed over a necklace or an outfit in a store.
In the same vein, he knows how much you love cute things and animals. He has absolutely found a cute animal in the jungle, picked it up, and brought it to you just to show you because he knew you'd love it.
Sometimes in his own gruff way he'll agree with you that it's pretty cute. Thank you for helping this manly man admit things are cute and that's okay.
Other times, he's the one making sure you don't get distracted because it's so cute
Unfortunately and fortunately, you're pretty to him no matter what you do to yourself so it's all kind of a moot point to him.
You can try to ask him about which 'x' to wear, sometimes it's helpful because he'll throw out a really practical answer and then other times he's like "How 'bout you just go naked" 😏.
He'll wear a face mask with you like...twice a year. And he's going to bitch and moan about it but he does it because he loves you. The entire process is like trying to give a cat a bath "WHY IS IT SO COLD? THIS STAYS ON MY FACE FOR HOW LONG???"
Exfoliate this man at your own risk...I'm dead serious that water is going to be brown
LAW
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I need you to know right now this man will let you paint his nails!!! I mean, not like gel or acrylics or anything, but he'll let you paint them any color as long as it's a dark shade of that color. You once designed Bepo on his middle fingers. He did in fact flip people off a lot more often when he had them.
Let's you wear a pastel boiler suit because you he loves you and wants to see you happy
Much like Zoro, he's got no clue what you're doing. He'll stand back and watch you while making the exact same face as the gif above.
He thinks he's being stealthy peaking around a corner to watch your morning or night routine, but you quickly catch on. Please please pleeaaassee ask him if he has any questions because he does. He's just really curious why you're doing what you're doing and what it does. It's basically skin medicine and he's really fascinated.
Knowing that you like shiny things makes his life admittedly a little easier, it's not that he doesn't think of what to gift you, he puts A LOT of thought into what he gives you, but knowing that earrings, necklaces, and bracelets always make you happy is great just in case of analysis paralysis or he forgets. Sorry.
Also you wearing the jewelry he gets you does something to him, especially a necklace he can pull on a little, mmhhm you're making this man struggle with impure thoughts.
You both love cute things, it's something y'all connect on. It's really good that you help him access that very neglected inner child of his and encourage him to coo and fawn over adorable animals with zero reservation.
He'll do skincare with you too when he's not super busy. He can admit it's kind of nice to sit in bed with a book, glass of wine, and a face mask and just bask for a minute
He acts like he hates when you rub serums across his face and use a derma roller on him but he loves it
Law doesn't really pay attention to your clothes, but when you really go all out he breaks out in a sweat and he can't keep his eyes off you.
LUFFY
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I'm not saying he thinks it's stupid, it just...why have an hours long care routine when you could be going on adventure with him??? 😭😭😭
He will help you pick out your makeup but don't expect it to look good. You're gonna end up with neon orange eyeshadow and green lipstick. Like literally every "My Boyfriend Does My Makeup" youtube video.
Plays around with your stuff but that's because he has no idea what all these strange contraptions are. The moment you try to explain his eyes glaze over and next thing you know he's whisking you away to go do something more fun.
He likes the shiny bright stuff (highlighter), makeup probably is the only part he even remotely engages in because it's
Explain how contour works to this man and watch him lose his fucking mind, he thinks you're a shape shifter now (honestly this applies to all of them except Law and maybe Sanji)
He never notices what you wear, Nami is gonna have smack him on the back of the head to get him to realize you put on something fancy
Luffy points out everything, it just so happens that things he points out sometime happen to be cute animals
Hides in all the stuffed animals and squishmallows in your room to surprise attack hug you
*throws mud at you* "Is this the kind of mud you like, Y/N??" He really means well though.
You know those hair masks with all natural ingredients like honey and banana? Yeah, he's gonna start sucking on your hair like spaghetti...I'm so sorry.
He'll bathe with you but that's because he wants to be close to you, it's definitely not about being pampered or relaxing.
Try to put a face mask on him or something else and it'll just become a game of tag around the Sunny. You can't catch him and he's having a great time outrunning and outwitting you.
He knows this is all important to you so even though he doesn't get it he'd never make fun of you for it and the moment someone calls you "extra," he's kicking their ass.
ACE
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Maybe all the glam is a little silly to him but that just makes you extra cute!
He will also absolutely let you paint his nails. Hell, he'll let you do a full beat on him just for fun and he'll wear it for the whole day because he's so unserious lol
...As long as he gets to do your makeup after...Much like Luffy you're gonna be covered in neon colors that don't even remotely match, but you guys have a great time lol
Admittedly likes to be pampered by you when he gets back from a long mission.
Please take a bubble bath with this man, it's not like the water is ever going to get cold!
I'm pretty sure you'd legitimately lead to Ace taking better care of himself. Got this man out here talking about his cuticles and shit lol
Honestly, it's really good for him because self care leads to self love and Ace needs a lot of help with that.
He tells Pops about all the stuff you do 1.) because he loves you and 2.) he hopes some of it will help Whitebeard heal a little, god bless him 😢
All of your hardwork doesn't go unnoticed, he legitimately gets kind of misty eyed when you really dress up because he's so so so lucky. He swears he doesn't deserve you.
He always brings back some kind of gift even whether it's a cute plushie or something exotic to wear from all of his long travels
I need to stress how much this means to him, everyone of these things is like a little proposal because he already knows you're it. Every little gift is leading up to a ring from this man.
He's also just genuinely impressed by the skill it takes to do your makeup so well, especially after he tries doing it on you
Much like his little brother unfortunately, he does play with all the little contraptions in your vanity, especially in the beginning because have you seen an eyelash curler? He's so confused lol
SABO
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Sabo and Ace truly are his brothers because he really don't get all the effort lol
Admittedly, a lot of that is because he thinks you're so hot already what's the point???
Once he gets this is just how you are he's less confused, he's probably the most normal out everyone. He lets you do your thing, although he's really curious how you managed to always look amazing while being in the fucking revolutionary army!!?? Where are you getting the time???
If someone were to intrude on y'all on a free afternoon you're both in fluffy robes with face masks on and Sabo loves to pretend to act like a bitch when he's in selfcare mode with you lol
"Are you seriously bothering us right now, ugh! I can't even right now!!" And then you both break out in laughter
He really thinks you should teach others how to contour and do makeup because it has great applications for disguises and infiltration.
And brags about your skills to everyone
Wonders how many of your makeup supplies could actively be used as a weapon *eye roll* jfc Sabo
There's a part of you that secretly worries all your boujieness will remind him of his blood relatives, but he assures you that it doesn't because you have a good heart and he never doubts that
Besides, being a little extra with him helps him associate those things he used to associate with his blood relatives with you instead so it's even better
He spoils you so bad, but with a Sabo-flair, ie. stealing from shitty people and bringing it back to you because you're oh so more deserving of nice things let's be honest
He gets jealous of the cute animals that you squeal over hehehe, please hug him when he starts pouting
He'll always wear a little pink just for you ❤️
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