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the-californicationist · 2 months

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That Fire is Repeated

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From an anonymous ask: fic of where instead of Price, it's reader who's been infected with sex pollen?👉👈please and thank u!

Deep in the southern jungles of Urzikstan, Captain Price is sent to help with your extraction. On your way out of the makeshift Konni laboratory, you accidentally step on a trap, and Price volunteers to save your life.

“I can’t hear her comms!” Simon yelled out over the noise of the helicopter, pointing to his headset and giving the thumbs down to Laswell.

She typed something into her datapad and showed it to him, yelling back,

“Dead zone! You’ll have to go in on foot.”

Price adjusted his vest and checked to make sure his gun was fully loaded,

“I’ll go. She’s my recruit, my responsibility.”

“Sure you’ll wanna be the big hero for her, too, huh?” Farah laughed from the cockpit, glancing over her shoulder as Price twisted his face, cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink from his shame.

It was well-known that Price had a terribly strong crush on you. You had accepted his advances, but he was reluctant to take it further, realizing that fraternizing was frowned upon. So, you pined for each other from afar, and the whole base knew about it.

Laswell rolled her eyes at Farah’s comment,

“Should we go back to basics? Captain: don’t subtract from the population,” her eyes narrowed, “Don’t add to the population…”

“Yeah, alright, Kate. Got it. Loud and clear,” Price waved her off, staring out the window and ignoring the obvious ribbing from his colleagues.

“Go get Sparrow and let’s go the fuck home,” Laswell hollered at him, opening the door to the chopper and letting the air whoosh inside.

The wind stung his cheeks, and the tall grass blades spun and twirled like violent dancers as he made his way towards the old, dilapidated lab. You’d been sent to infiltrate secret Konni operations here, disguised as a chemist. Now that the Konni operatives had been dispatched, you secured the intel and were ready for extraction. Price was ready to have you back. These types of ops were so delicate. One wrong move would put you in danger. He was glad the worst of it was over.

As quickly and as carefully as he could, Price made his way inside. It was a little odd that you weren’t outside waiting for the extraction, so his guard was up. In the main lab, he spotted you, standing with your bag and your weapon with your back towards him.

“Little bird?” Price questioned under his breath, moving forward slowly, using the pet name he saved for when you two were alone.

“Hey, Captain. Glad you made it,” you called out to him, your voice tinged with obvious sobbing and stress.

“What is it, Spar? What’s happened?”

He made his way around the lab table and saw you. You were standing stock-still, staring down at your foot. Then, he knew what had made you cry.

Jutting out of your pant leg, a giant syringe was stuck into your calf, empty.

Price leaned down to help you, removing the needle, panicking at the thought of losing you,

“Can you move?”

“When I do… Captain, it’s excruciating.”

“Fuck,” Price tried the comms. But, then he remembered it was a dead zone, and no one was coming to help him. He asked you, “Is it poison? How’d this happen?”

“They call it XLR8. It’s what they’ve been working on. A prototype. I was bending down to grab my bag and this was rigged to hit me. They knew I was a spy.”

“What does it do, this prototype?” You heard his voice quiver at the end of his question.

You blushed, laughing a bit,

“It incapacitates you, first. Removes your inhibitions, next. Then, it causes extreme vasodilation…”

“In the Queen’s bloody English, love. Please…”

“John,” you used his name, looking up into his eyes, “I may ask you to do things to me. Things that I might not usually ask for. And I want you to know that you don’t have to listen to me. I don’t want you to do anything… I don’t want to force you to do… things…”

“Birdie. Tell me what I need to know.”

“When the Konni scientists injected it into mice, they would breed… for hours. They wouldn’t eat, they wouldn’t sleep. One time, a researcher opened the door to the cage, and they didn’t escape. They only bred…” You looked at him in his eyes, making sure he heard you, “But, the mice who were alone in their cages and were given XLR8 got a high fever and died. Every last one of them”

“Are you… “ Price pointed down at your leg, “Do you mean to say that you’ll need someone to…”

You looked down at the ground, steeling yourself for the harsh reality of what was to come,

“When the drugs hit my system, the effects were immediate. Stage one should be almost over now.. You’ll… you’ll know it when you see stage two. But, listen to me, John. I couldn’t live with myself if I forced you to do something that you would regret. Please. I’m sure they’ll think of some other way to help me…”

“Little bird,” he caught your gaze and smiled softly at you, “I’m here for you. I’m not going to let anythin’ happen to you. I won’t lose you to this. I can’t… I care about you too much. I’m going to catch you, and we’re going to get out of here. Just fall forward into my arms, love. I know it hurts. We need to get you to the bloody medic as soon as we can.”

You nodded, and then you did as he commanded. Every movement felt like some sort of hell. You could hear yourself screaming, but it was muffled, your face buried in his chest. You were hanging, limp, against John’s body. You could feel every stinging step he took as it jostled your body. Suddenly, you heard the angry clipping of chopper blades. Then, you passed out.

Sometime later, you awoke, still on the chopper, sitting in the jump seat way in the back. Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. Price was sitting in the jumpseat and you were… straddling his lap.

You were humping him, shamelessly, right in front of Farah, Laswell, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost. The helicopter was full of soldiers, and here you were, uncontrollably rocking your hips against your captain. The others tried to avert their gazes, sitting at awkward angles, trying not to watch, but that somehow made it worse.

You cried out as if you were in pain, and Price held you closer, soothing you with his deep, rumbling voice, speaking to you right in your ear,

“Shh, shh. It’s alright, little bird. I’ve got you. Almost home. Just a few more minutes.”

“John… fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… I need… oh, God.”

“I know what you need,” he kissed your neck, and he took his hand and shoved it down the front of your pants, giving you something to grind against.

His fingers were strong, and the tips of them were thick, easily pressing through your folds for you, exciting your nerves just the way you liked.

You moaned loudly, unable to stop yourself. When you did, you saw Soap’s head peek around the back of his seat. Then, a gloved, skeletal hand yanked him back around to face the front. If you didn’t die from the XLR8, you’d die from embarrassment afterward, that was certain.

“It’s okay, bird. It’s not your fault. They know that,” he tried to reassure you, but you hid your face in his neck anyway, unable to stop your wanton writhing, soaking his fingers until they slid against you unimpeded.

You felt your hands reach for his belt, digging under his vest and all of his equipment straps. You wanted to spear your body onto his thick cock. You were sure that it would cure you. The fever made you feel too cold and too hot all at the same time. You shivered in his arms, but your brow was dotted with beads of sweat.

He caught your wrist to stop you,

“Just a little while longer, love. Shh, shh, shh. I know…”

You sobbed into his shoulder, ashamed and needy, too weak to fight his grip.

“Hey, look at me,” you obeyed, and he rubbed your cheek, “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

You shuddered, cresting over a brief, sharp orgasm, coming on him as quietly as you could, biting your cheek so you wouldn’t cry out. For a few seconds, you experienced some sort of relief, but then it was gone, and the overwhelming internal fire raged in your belly once more.

The chopper pitched, landing on the pad at your base, and everyone cleared out of the hull except for Laswell. She looked down at you, pity in her eyes, and then turned to him with concern,

“I’ll send a few supplies to your room. The medic wants to run some tests. How long is this supposed to last?”

John shrugged, petting the sweaty hair out of your face, tucking you in close to him in his arms,

“Not sure. Just trying to get her through it. Take her datapad. It’s got her notes from the lab.”

Laswell took it and stepped down from the chopper, jogging off to the med bay.

“C’mon, love. Let me help you take that fever away, hm?”

You nodded, feeling dizzy and dehydrated, letting him carry you from the helicopter. It seemed like the tight coil in your belly was getting more and more tense by the moment. Your orgasm had been too weak, and it was almost like you hadn’t quite completed the event. You were just stuck in between coming and not coming, waiting for someone to put you out of your misery. What you thought had been relief was really just a prelude to the main event. It was torture.

As you lay your head on his chest, you could smell his aftershave as it mixed with his skin, a comfortingly warm scent with woodsy spices and the faint hint of tobacco from his favorite cigars. You wanted more of it, so you turned your nose into him, running your hands across the belt of his pants, trying to pry your way in..

When he arrived in the barracks, he kicked open the door to a dark room. It smelled just like him. You realized then that you were in his quarters. He lay you on his bed and set to taking off your gear. Your boots and socks slid off, and he unclipped your vest. Then, you felt his fingers on your neck, carefully inspecting your wounds.

“Birdie…” He shook his head, obviously regretful for what you were going through.

You whimpered, looking up at him as you moved your hand down your own pants, rubbing yourself in front of him out of a desperate need,

“John, I don’t know how to ask you this.”

“You don’t have to. Medic’s gonna check you out, and I’ll give you whatever you want, little bird. I promise.”

“I need you, now. I don’t… I can’t… mmmngh...”

“Captain?” A woman’s voice floated into the room from the doorway. Price cracked the door and when he saw it was the medic, he let her in.

She knelt by the bed, and took your hand,

“Hey, Sparrow. I’m just going to check your vitals, okay?”

You nodded, trying not to stare down the dark opening of her lab coat. Her voice was so sweet, and her breasts looked full and soft. Her olive skin would probably feel so warm on your lips. Before you could stop yourself, you had your hand behind her head, kissing her neck, trying your best to unbutton her blouse.

“Easy! Easy does it,” John sat himself down behind you on the bed, positioning you between his legs, and held you back, keeping you from accosting the medic.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I… oh, my God…” You writhed, trying to fight the demonic need building inside of you.

“That’s okay,” she said, “They warned me. We’re going to get you some help… Let me take your temp… Goddamnit. She’s burning up. I’m going to give her a light sedative and something to try and cut her fever, but…”

She stopped speaking, looking up at the captain, trying to be delicate,

“You probably need to… um… begin. The sooner the better. I’ll leave these with you,” she dropped two blue pressed pills into his hand, “Just in case you, uh, need a boost.”

Price recognized the sexual enhancement drugs and put them on his side table. He waited patiently for the medic to take a small vial of your blood. He thanked her, trying not to sound like he was in a rush (even though he was), and eventually she shut the door, leaving you two in each others’ care.

John stayed where he was, but he softened his grip, kissing your neck. He reached down and unbuttoned your pants, giving your hand room to move. You rubbed your folds faster, making tight little circles around your clit, struggling to come.

“Nnngh… fuck. Fuck, I can’t do it. I’m so close, but…” You whined, gritting your teeth and struggling against the XLR8. It was making you woozy, and you couldn’t keep your strength up in order to get yourself over the edge.

“Show me,” he whispered, staring down at your furious masturbation, watching your hand as it worked, “Show me how you like it, little bird. Teach me.”

Your heart raced, equal parts excited and embarrassed to show him something so personal and intimate, but you did as you were told, letting him see how your fingers worked your flesh. He sighed, and you felt his cock shift against the small of your back.

He took over for you, sliding his hand down below yours, mimicking your movements, and getting very close to perfection.

“That’s it!” You hissed, keening for him, “That’s… oh, fuck, that’s so good. Don’t stop. Please, don’t —”

Your orgasm was almost immediate. Your body locked up, every muscle squeezing you until you were frozen, rigidly convulsing as you came on his hand. Your mouth hung open in a breathless, silent scream. Then, to your horror, you felt the heavy stain of some sort of fluid soaking through your pants. At first, you thought you’d wet yourself, but then when John pulled his hand away to inspect your emission, you saw the sticky, gooey consistency shining on his fingers.

“What… I don’t understand. What is that?”

“It looks like your come, yeah? Quite a lot of it…” He observed. Price brought it to his nose and mouth to smell it. Then, he licked his fingers tentatively, and his eyes rolled back into his head, “Mmm. Fuck. It’s sweet.”

He lifted you so easily, it was as if you weighed nothing. Propping you up on his pillows, he helped you out of your pants and boots, stripping you down. When Price saw you, dripping and pink, splayed in front of him like a gleaming prize, he stalled. Then, he looked up at you, eyes wide with glorious wonder,

“Little bird…”

“John,” you gasped, “Please.”

He didn’t waste any more time. In a flash, your thighs were hitched up toward your chest as he shoved them back, giving his mouth access to its warm, wet reward.

The first long lick was like its own kind of drug. Your whole body sang like a bell, trembling and ringing out for him and his soft tongue. He licked you again and pulled away, confused but pleasantly so,

“Fuck, love. You taste like strawberries. That’s… fuck.”

You lost track of time as he devoured you. His whole face was shining with your stickiness, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He was gasping for air, practically drowning himself, rubbing his chin and nose through your folds as he tried to writhe his tongue deeper into your core, fucking you with it to draw out more of your slickness.

The sounds you were making seemed almost inhuman. You were convinced you had never had a true orgasm before if this is what they were supposed to feel like. Every lap of his tongue felt like its own crescendo. You were putty in his hands, figuratively and literally judging by the dampness beneath you.

Eventually, he made his way back up your body, peeling away your shirt and bra, rustling out of his own clothes as quickly as he could, his muscular arms getting trapped in his jacket, stretching and pulling against his heavy bones for freedom.

“You alright, little bird?” He asked you softly, crawling over you and settling himself between your shivering thighs.

You nodded,

“Yeah, that was so amazing, John. I know its selfish, but I need more. Can… can you fuck me? Please? I’m clean, I have an IUD. Please? I won’t —”

“Shh. Hush, love. I’m not leavin’ this room ‘til I’ve cured you, one way or another. C’mere.”

He pulled you to him, kissing you, covered in your come. You tasted yourself on his lips, and he was right: it was exactly like strawberries. It must have been the stimulant, you thought. Something to… entice…

Your mind went blank as John began to feed his fat cockhead into your hole. All of the pain and the heat from the fever disappeared, and you were normal again. Well, a very horny normal, but at least you felt some relief.

“Oh, my God!” You cried, “That’s it. That’s what I needed. Oh…”

“Yeah?” Price narrowed his eyes, studying your face, watching your reactions with rapt attention. Where you were stabilizing, he was falling apart at the seams.

His whole body shuddered as he slid himself into you. It was shallow at first; he was too thick to fit inside of your tight pussy, no matter how wet you were. But, as he lubed himself up in your body, he squeezed deeper and deeper inside, eventually drilling down right to his base, slamming his hips into yours like a hungry machine.

Your screams echoed in his small room, and the metal bed creaked under his enormous weight. You could feel his power through his thrusts. He was so incredibly strong, and his muscles bent and twisted just to serve your pleasure. It was hypnotizing to watch. You were focused on the straining sinew in his immense neck when another orgasm threatened to bubble over inside of you.

It was too soon. You’d barely recovered from the first one, and as he felt your body start to contract around his shaft, he began to moan right along with you.

“That’s it, Birdie, let it out. C’mon. Come for me… That’s it. That’s… ungh!” He coached you, talking you through it, fighting his own pleasure like the dragon it was, the heat of his breathing furling in hot bursts down your neck.

His eyes were wrenched shut, but between his long, aching thrusts, he rambled, spilling out his words instead of himself inside of you like he wanted to.

“Spar… don’t you know how badly I’ve wanted this?”

Your pussy was being pounded so hard you could feel your pulse slamming against your skin.

“...I’ve wanted you… wanted to feel you…”

His face was near yours, close enough that you could still smell your sweet slick on his beard.

“...it’s so good. I never want it to stop. Feels like heaven…”

When he wasn’t speaking in that hoarse, smoldering timbre, you could see his jaw working against itself, fighting the inevitable.

“...so damn responsive to me. Such a good girl…”

Then, his tone turned dark, burning into your face as he spoke against your cheek through gritted teeth,

“You want more, hm?”

“Yeah…” You whispered, your voice sounding so small.

“Harder? You want it harder, don’t you, little bird? I can tell.”

You nodded, whispering your pleading to him in wordless gasps. He smiled. You could feel it against your skin,

“Bloody hell. Bloody fuckin’ hell,” he lamented, rising up above you, wrenching his fingers around your waist, the gentleness gone from his touch, “Fuck, Birdie. You’ll make me come. You… ah!”

He brought you with him as he tumbled over the edge. You felt like you’d been hit with a flashbang. You couldn’t hear, and your vision went white. When you begged your lungs to breathe, you couldn’t take in the air. All you could feel — the only thing your body would allow you to feel — was each silky throb of his cock as it pumped his come inside of you. You could feel it as it burst from him, and then as it melted down your walls, flowing across his fleshy head. It was lava-hot, and you knew nothing except that you needed more.

Price collapsed on top of you, his heavy, furry body sweaty and panting, gasping for air himself. He seemed spent, but you weren’t done.

You flipped him, planting him on his back, enjoying the shocked look on his face, his eyes wide and uncertain. He couldn’t speak; there wasn’t enough time. But, as you began to rock back and forth on his softening rod, he cried out with something between pain and bliss.

“Oh, fuck, love… wait! I’m… oh, shite…”

“I’m… so sorry, John. I can’t stop…” You ground your swollen pussy down to his base, fucking him raw and wild, feeling his come slipping out of you in foamy smears.

He nodded, hiding his eyes behind his palm, struggling to get his breathing under control,

“It’s alright, Birdie. It’s alright. Take what you need.”

As you rode him, he fully softened in you, and you cried out, trying everything you could to bring him back. Then, you watched as he fumbled across the end table, reaching for the blue pills the medic had left behind. He took one, and stared up at you,

“I’m sorry, love. C’mere.”

He grabbed your thighs, and with very little struggle, situated you across his face, grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto him, forcing you to put your weight on his jaw. He began to eat you out, licking long circles around your messy hole at first, and then he thrust his long tongue inside of you, rubbing his nose deep within your wet folds.

You screamed for him then, trying to battle your insecurities and failing. It was overwhelming. The pleasure just built and built inside of you, mounting up and then… nothing. It remained there at its peak, a tightened coil, ready to bust.

“John! John, I can’t… Help me, please.”

With all of his strength, he lifted you off of him, shoving you on all fours, situating himself behind you.

All of his movements were rabid and unwieldy. He was struggling, trying to overcome his soporific pleasure to accommodate you. Hungry for you even though he’d recently been sated.

Your chaos quieted for a moment when you felt his fingers prying your lips apart between your legs, slipping into you like a cork, sinking down to his knuckles into a perfect fit.

“Oh, Sparrow. So fuckin’ soft. So sweet.”

As he praised you, he ate you, pulling out more and more of your stickiness onto his hand, lapping you up with his tongue. You were coming unwound, and it felt amazing. It was as if he was pulling pulsing orgasms from your body on a long silk ribbon, one after the other, soft and slick, neverending.

Then, finally, you felt his head tapping its way into your wet hole once more. Fucking you from behind seemed to be your commander’s preference. It was either that or he had become beyond overstimulated. His noises were a cross between whimpers and growls. He kissed his way up your back, sinking his sharp teeth into your neck and shoulder, grunting like an animal as he buried himself into you.

“You’re so big. I feel so full,” you whispered to him, glancing over your shoulder as he knelt over you like a feral hound, bucking into you shamelessly.

“Feels good, little bird? ‘M not hurtin’ you, am I?”

“No, John. You’re perfect,” you found his jaw as he kissed your neck, nuzzling his face with your own, rubbing against him like a cat.

“Gonna come for me, love? Squeezin’ the fuck out of my cock.”

“I can’t help it,” you cried, feeling hot tears run down your cheeks. You were so overwhelmed, your body was processing every sensation, fraying your nerves. He wiped your temple with his hand,

“I know, Sparrow. I know. Let it out, love. C’mon. I can take it.”

“Nghah!” You screamed, trying to relax into the blinding pleasure, feeling your legs start to tremble from it.

“Mmm,” Price groaned deeply, sitting back on his knees as he felt you spill over the edge. Your sticky come coated his cock and the dense hair at his base, matting the dark fur, “Tha’s it, baby. Fuck, so wet.”

You sobbed through the orgasm as it wrecked your body. John gathered you up in his arms, taking the sheet with him, clutching you to his chest messily, still humping himself into you as gently as he could, but unable to quell his own lurid desire.

“Lay down, Birdie,” your captain whispered, pulling the sheet away and pushing you prone into his mattress, “Try to breathe for me. Tha’s it.”

You tried to do as he commanded. You wanted to be good for him, but your breath kept hitching in your throat. You needed more, and you didn’t know how to get it. You writhed below him, feeling his cock slipping in and out of you, the wetness from your body pooling beneath you.

“John, I’m still so hot. Feels like I’m losing my mind,” you looked at him over your shoulder, and you had to admit he didn’t look much better. He was spent, fucking you on auto-pilot at this point, letting nature take its own path. He was nothing more than base instincts at this point, and you could tell he was having trouble keeping himself tied down.

He wanted to come again, you could feel it in how rigid his cock had become, helped by the pills. Something inside of you wanted to force his come from him, to make him explode in you again, filling you up. So, you pushed your hips back, arching your spine to allow more of his cock inside of your pussy, teasing him with your swollen hole.

“Oh, fuck. Sparrow… don’t…”

“Does it feel good, John?” You asked, not following his orders for once, “Do I… make you feel good?”

“Holy fuck,” he spat, his voice dark and animalistic, unable to tear his eyes from where your bodies were joined together.

You twisted your hips back and forth, effectively jerking him off with your drooling sheath, listening to his deep whining as you tormented him, pushing him to the brink but not fucking him fast enough to toss him over.

“Little bird… Please…” John whimpered, overstimulated and eager to come.

“Tell me,” you teased him, not recognizing your own voice, “Tell me how you like it.”

“I fuckin’ love it. Just like that, Birdie. So damn good. Keep movin’ your hips like that, pretty girl. Gonna make me come again.”

You could feel his eyes watching you fuck him. He used his hands to pull your ass cheeks apart, giving him a bird’s eye view of both of your holes. You could feel the cool air rush across them, exciting you and making you shiver from the sensation.

“So damn pretty,” Price crooned, whispering almost to himself, petting your stretched skin with his thumbs, smearing your wetness all over you.

You felt him grab your hair, right at the nape of your neck, forcing your back to arch, pulling you up to him,

“You want me to come in you, little bird? You want my fuckin’ come? Hm? Tell me!”

“Nghh… Yes,” you hissed. His grip was so restricting, and you felt the air try to escape your throat, “Come. In. Me.”

“Sparrow!” Price shouted, releasing your hair to hold you across your belly, wrapping your body in his arms, ramming himself into you as deeply as he could, letting his cock spill into you once again.

You were full of him. John was everywhere. He was wet and dripping within you, and as he fell to the bed with you, his body covered yours fully, wrapping you beneath him. You shifted a bit, convincing him to roll onto his side, kissing his neck and face, whispering sweet nothings to him as he caught his breath.

“So good, John… You are so good to me,” you let your lips sink into his warm, panting mouth, letting your lips slide together.

“Mmm,” he sighed, “Still hard. The medic was right about those pills.”

“I’m so sorry,” you straddled him again, humping against his still-rigid shaft, “I still need you, John. Please?”

“Sure, little bird. Ah! Oh, fuck, I’m sensitive. Easy… Ngh!”

“I’ll go slow,” you leaned forward to kiss him, capturing his long moan in your mouth.

Suddenly, there was a quick knock at the door and then a slit of light as it creaked open. A skeletal gloved hand reached in with a stuffed bag and dropped it just inside the room before shutting it tightly again.

Price removed you gently, watching you pout, and he explained,

“Laswell’s care package.”

“Come back, John,” you pulled his hand toward you as he opened the bag with the other.

He started laughing, letting you guide his cock back into you while he was standing at the edge of the bed. You watched as he pulled a couple of water bottles out of the bag and set them on the end table, still chuckling to himself.

“Hey,” you pet your fingers through the hair on his belly as you writhed against him, “What’s funny?”

“Strawberries,” he smiled as he pulled a small box of the fruit from the bag, his eyes twinkling in the low light, “You want one, little bird?”

You nodded, but then felt the sudden emptiness of him removing his cock from you again. Then, with a devilish grin, you watched him dip the tip of the bright red fruit into your pussy, twirling it around in your juices, coating it with your thick stickiness, and then sucking it into his mouth, eating half of it and letting it drip down his chin.

He brought it to your mouth, at the same time thrusting himself all the way inside of you, making you gasp,

“Open wide, love.”

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stoccoin · 2 years

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Mobileye Global Inc.(@mobileye ), the self-driving technology company owned by Intel Corp., is targeting a valuation of about $16 billion in a public offering, far below its previous target amid a rocky year for new listings. Intel had recently lowered its expected valuation of Mobileye to $30 billion due to turbulent market conditions, Bloomberg News reported last month. The company plans to sell 41 million shares for $18 to $20 each, raising $820 million according to a filing on Tuesday with the US Securities and Exchange Commission. After the offering, Intel will retain a controlling stake in Mobileye. The shares are set to start trading within weeks. Despite the drop in valuation, the listing is set to be one of the year's biggest IPOs. Amid heightened volatility and disappointing debut performances of last year's listings, IPO volume in the US has plummeted to $22.3 billion this year, compared with $277 billion at this point in 2021, according to data compiled by @bloomberg Bloomberg. . . Follow @stoccoin for daily posts about cryptocurrencies and stocks. NOTE: This post is not financial advice for you to buy the crypto(s) or stock(s) mentioned. Do your own research and invest at your own will if you want. This also applies to stock(s) or crypto(s), which you see in our stories. Thanks for reading folks! IGNORE THE HASHTAGS: #stoccoin #ipo #intel #mobileye #crypto #stocks #stockmarket #bitcoin #cryptocurrency #btc #metaverse #nft #sensex #nifty50 #bse #nse #banknifty #usd #investments #finance https://www.instagram.com/p/Cj9z9U6SHnv/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#stoccoin #ipo #intel #mobileye #crypto #stocks #stockmarket #bitcoin #cryptocurrency #btc #metaverse #nft #sensex #nifty50 #bse #nse #banknifty #usd #investments #finance

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don-lichterman · 2 years

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Chip Manufacturer Stocks Fall Globally as Taiwan Tensions Mount Ahead of Expected Nancy Pelosi Visit

Semiconductor stocks fell globally on Tuesday as an expected visit by the US House of Representatives Speaker Nancy Pelosi to Taiwan, which China claims as its territory, fueled a fresh escalation in tensions between Washington and Beijing. China views the visit by Pelosi, second in the line of succession to the US presidency and a long-time critic of China, as sending an encouraging signal to…

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#intel #micron #NVIDIA #qualcomm #tsmc qualcomm micron nvidia asml infineon stock drop china taiwan nancy pelosi visit tsmc

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adrinktostopyourthirst · 2 years

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Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Following Orders

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Plot: Bucky is always grumpy, so you've resorted to being aggressively bossy. But he will show you what following orders really looks like.

Warnings: 18+. Smut with a plot.

Words: 4,8OO

A sharp hiss comes from the man before you and you clamp your thighs around his ribs tighter to steady him, the air pockets from the storm that make the plane shake and dip through the sky already making it hard enough to finish your sutures on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Would you sit still?” you snap at him and grab his shoulders to pull the open wound closer to you and make it easier to see what you’re doing. In a plane, with minimum light and a diminutive amount of supplies to help your colleague with – a colleague that never manages to ever crack a smile, especially not towards you – your current situation pretty much sucks.

“Would you just let the serum do its job?” he sneers back, but lets you pull him closer anyway as he drops his head back down, his elbows resting on his pulled up knees.

“I think it has proven to not do its job, don’t you think?” you snarl and wind the needle through his flesh again, finding it harder and harder to be careful if he keeps snapping at you like this. But your reasoning seems to shut him up since all you can hear now are small groans from the back of his throat when you tug at the torn skin.

The healing powers the serum usually served Bucky with, have abandoned him and you have a feeling it’s because he has barely slept in the past two weeks and your current mission is an assignment from hell that has lasted longer than any of you anticipated.

Yesterday, a fish hook back at the harbour had made a gnarly gash into the flesh of Bucky’s shoulder and you’d never heard him roar like that before. However, once he saw you, he quickly composed himself and made sure the two of you got out of there and onto the nearest jet. That’s where you got clear instructions from Steve to make it to one of the safe houses on the other side of the world. Why so far away, you had no idea, but you assumed the team had to split up because the intel Steve and Natasha were after gave them information that could harm the entire team.

This whole ordeal seems far from over.

So now you’re stuck on a jet for ten hours with Bucky sitting down between your legs and you situated on one of the crates in the loading space as the jet navigates through the storm on autopilot. It’s been four hours and you had slapped Bucky over the head when you realised that his wound hadn’t started healing yet at all, activating autopilot as you grabbed Bucky by his jacket and dragged him back. You were surprised that in spite of his whining and grumbling, he didn’t use his superstrength to stop you.

You’re confused that the serum could ever even heal a wound like this since you’re sure the tissue was stretched too far. So to prevent infection and improve the self healing, you offered – well… forced – him to let you stitch him up. One glare of yours and Bucky decided not to fight you on it. Besides, he couldn’t bring up the energy anyway, especially not against you.

Bucky is exhausted and the feeling of your warm thighs against his sides as you stitch him up, combined with the rumbling of the plane, almost has him lulled to sleep. After all, a soldier can sleep in any condition. Until of course, a nightmare makes the bliss dissipate.

Finishing up your handiwork, you gently clean the wound once more, making Bucky clasp onto your calves for support, before having it covered with a large bandage.

“You good?” you ask him as you throw the contaminated materials away.

“What the hell do you think?” he grunts and you flick him in the head.

“You’re welcome, you ungrateful dick.”

Bucky lets out a huff as you come to a stand, walking over to the side of the jet and pulling out one of the bunks. Moving over to one of the stocking cabinets, you find a sweater around his size and throw it in his direction.

“Put this on and for everyone’s sake, get some fucking sleep. You’re unbearable to be around,” you order and walk forward again, slipping back into the pilot seat as you check the coordinates again, hoping the storm didn’t mess with your course.

“How are you so aggressive when you’re trying to help?” he grumbles under his breath, not quite low enough or you not to hear. So you turn your head to give him another look and you see him struggling to walk. Quickly coming back to a stand to jump to his side, he almost pushes you off until his vision starts to spin. Gently helping him straighten up and walk over to the bunk, you look up at him.

“Because you won’t let people help you, but you’re surprisingly good at following orders,” you simply answer and help him down onto the bunk, your eyes softening when you watch him wince. “Seriously Bucky, get some sleep. I’ll keep on lookout and I’ll wake you when we’re there.”

Bucky reluctantly agrees and carefully lies down onto the bunk. The softness in your voice almost swept him to sleep without getting situated first, but he puts his trust in you and allows himself to fall asleep soon enough.

…

A gentle stroke over his arm makes his eyes flutter open much more peacefully than he usually wakes up and his eyes meet yours. Your voice is gentle, understanding that he came from the deepest sleep he’s had in a long time.

“We’re here. You want to come inside?” you ask him and he pushes to a sit with a deep grunt, your hands gently helping him up. That’s when Bucky notices a thick layer of multiple blankets slipping down to his hips and the chill coming in from the loading rig that’s descended onto the massive grass field the jet had landed on, the warmth from his sleep chilling his skin.

Bucky slowly assesses his surrounding and nods, “How long have I slept for?”

“The storm derailed us from the course, so you had a few extra hours. I loaded everything into the safehouse and have some food on the stove already. I’d say about eleven hours in total,” you explain as you walk off before putting your hands on your hips and staring him down. “You good to walk, soldier?”

Bucky shakes his head back to reality and nods, pushing off and following you down the rig, towards the cabin at the edge of the full forest surrounding the field.

“You stayed awake for that long?” he asked as he sauntered after you into the cabin.

“Took a short nap myself, just to be sure I could stick the landing without crashing to our deaths.” You shrug and slip your thick jacket off before making your way further into the home, walking up to the stove to check on the simmering food.

“Come here. Need to take a look at the stitches,” you bark your order and turn back to him as he walks over, a deep frown still etched into his face even after the good sleep he had.

“So bossy…” he grumbles and you roll your eyes, forcefully spinning him back around and lifting his sweater up over his shoulder where Bucky’s metal hand catches onto it so you can inspect him.

Removing the bandage, you smile when you see the insane improvement to his skin and open one of the drawers to grab a small knife to cut the stitches with. Gently cutting them and leaving just his flesh to do the rest of the healing, you’re almost sure you can see the skin mending itself.

“I think this might not even leave a scar,” you tell him proudly with a tinge of awe, and he spins around to face you.

“Good. What are we eating?” he asks and peers over the stove.

“Hot air for your rude ass.” You roll your eyes and lift the lid of the pan to stir the soup you had simmering on the stove.

In the beginning, you wouldn’t touch Bucky’s presence with a ten foot pole. The man radiated introversion and pretty much only wanted to talk to Steve. After you saw him snarl and snap at any other colleagues trying, you stayed far away from him, despite your initial intention to make him feel safe and welcome. But Steve saw your professional and withheld response to the whole Bucky situation as the perfect asset to make you both each others’ partner in missions. You wanted to complain – you really did – but you worked exceptionally well together. It turns out, when you don’t talk, you get an awful lot done.

It’s not that you don’t like Bucky, you greatly appreciate him as a colleague. But if he only likes you when you mind your own business, he would be dead. The amount of times you have saved him from himself is too many to count and you gave him a scolding twice as often. Yet all Bucky ever replies with is a huff, a roll of his eyes and turning his back on you as he saunters off to someone who won’t be on his ass all the time.

“Always so mean,” Bucky grumbles and lifts himself to sit on the kitchen counter, cleaning his hand with a cloth he found laying around.

“What can I say? Your endless optimism and happiness just brings out that side of me,” you hum sarcastically and blink harshly a few times to will away the sleep in your body, demanding for you to have a nap, making you unable to see the hint of a smile at the corner of Bucky’s mouth.

Not much later, the two of you finish your soup and you get up to clean the bowls and stuff them away, but Bucky clasps his metal fingers around your arm and stops you.

“Get some sleep. I’ll clean up,” he orders, his voice surprisingly gentle. But you frown at him and shake your head with a shrug, trying to wrench your arm loose from his grip only for it to tighten even more. “Not a request, sweetheart. Sleep, or I’ll knock you out.”

“Resorting to threats now, Barnes?”

“Don’t tempt me. You don’t know where I draw the line.” His warning and narrowed eyes soften on you and it tugs strangely at your chest. “Sleep.”

“So bossy…” Noting the seriousness in his eyes, you know not to fight him on it any longer and you put down the bowls, throwing him one last defeated scowl before making your way over to the couch and curling up on the worn cushions after putting a blanket over it.

The last thing you notice as the weight of sleep presses you into the cushions, is the gentle touch of a duvet being tucked around your snoozing frame.

…

To say it’s disorienting to wake up revitalised in the middle of the night, in a cabin you don’t know, where it’s so dark that you can’t see a hand in front of your face, is an understatement. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, your pulse having erratically quickened from the mind-numbing sleep it was in mere seconds ago, and your fingers dig into the cushions below you to ground yourself.

Swinging your legs over the side of the couch, you hear a loud grunt and something catches onto your legs, pulling you down. In your sleepy state, you barely get to scream before you’re pinned under a super soldier that looks like he went into fighting mode with his eyes closed, your eyes finally adjusting to the darkness.

“Bucky. It’s me!” you hiss and he squints down at you, taking a second to realise before slowly letting go and flicking on the nearest light, still straddling your hips.

“What the fuck, man…” Bucky groans and rubs his eyes, his voice rough and raspy from sleep. “What are you doing?”

You peer up at him with wide eyes “I just tried getting up. I couldn’t see shit, so your stomach became the ground.”

Slowly climbing off you and resting his back against the couch, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and heaves a deep sigh.

“Well, that’s my rest gone for the rest of the night…” he grumbles with disappointment and runs a hand through his hair. You come up to a sitting position as well and make a noise in agreement.

“No. You’re going back to sleep.”

Your head snaps to him, “Excuse me?”

“Sleep.”

“What. Or you’ll knock me out?” you scoff as you rub your eyes.

“Don’t believe me?” His eyes are on you now and you tense before slowly turning to face him again.

“You are not going to knock me out!” You think. Right? “You’re not going to punch me, Barnes!”

He lets out a low laugh that skitters down your spine and your brows pull together. “I don’t have to punch you to knock you out. There are plenty of other ways.”

Your sleepy brain has a hard time catching on, before your eyes widen and you let out a noise of disgust. And your heart starts to pound harder at the wild insinuation. Why your heartbeat drops to between your legs, is something you ignore for the time being.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you scoff, if only to distract his senses from the heat radiating off your face, “you can’t fuck a woman to sleep.”

He leans in and you are on the edge of knocking him out, but his breath on your skin halts you. “You have any idea of the perks of being a super soldier?”

His voice, that deep fucking voice and the gravel in it, makes you gulp, your eyes fluttering against all your inner protests. Your fingers curl on top of your bent knees and you quickly scramble away, up to a stand. Bucky laughs up at you and shrugs, standing up himself.

But that’s it. You don’t move.

You stay quiet. Contemplating. Like only now his words sink past your skin and into your system, which heavily responds to the idea of Bucky.

Bucky fucking you. So hard and deep that you can’t help but cry out, but sob for more. You crave the satisfaction of sleep after a good, thorough pounding. And by someone who is strong and firm and has a filthy mouth. Someone you have no other attachment to. Someone you know answers perfectly to you, as proven by the many missions that showed the two of you working in such synchronised manor, it almost scared you at first.

Bucky cocks his head, “Is that what you need?”

You catapult out of your thoughts and quickly look at him again, “What?”

A smirk. “You need me to fuck you to sleep, sweetheart?”

Fuck. That is a bit direct. And if it doesn’t make you almost drool.

“Don’t say stuff like that,” you whisper breathlessly. It sounds like a plea and round eyes look at him like it is.

A plea.

But not for him to stop.

“Why?” He takes a step closer to you, his eyes darting between yours. “What does it do?”

You roll your eyes and his flesh hand raises to cup your face. His long fingers tangle into the side of your hair and his thumb tips your jaw up to tilt your head towards his gaze.

“Use your words. What does it do?” he rasps, taking another step closer until he breathes your air, leaving you with none, it seems.

“It–” you struggle to find the words. What he does to you. He makes your blood turn hot and your skin prickle with cold. He makes excitement flutter in your belly, but it might be anger – indignation at his wild behaviour towards you.

“Not so talkative now, are you?” he croons and you grit your teeth at his incessant teasing. “Or are you waiting for me to take it from you? Make you sing instead?”

Yes.

“Make you cry out for me?” he smirks. “Or maybe just make you cry? Make you beg for it – for me. You’d be such a pretty sight with tears in your eyes.”

Your head buzzes and you don’t know whether he is complimenting you or dragging you through the mud. It feels so similar and it has your heart pounding and slick coating the fabric of your panties. You try to say his name, but no sound comes out.

Bucky understands, however, the moving of your lips, and wants to bite them. Those lips. Suck on them, have them tremble.

After all that disgusting distance between the two of you from the beginning, it would be deeply satisfying for him to tear you apart like that. Have you cry out for more of him. He would take his sweet, sweet time, too. If he can control himself, that is. But he wants to take his time – mess you up real good. Have you despise that distance between you two in the future, like he has always despised that distance.

The silence between the two of you is deafening and it makes you want to squirm. Closer or far away, you don’t know.

Bucky doesn’t feel like Bucky anymore. He feels like the devil taunting you with your deepest desire. But it’s him. He’s your desire. And you can’t tell if it has always been there or if he’s manipulating you into it. He could, you know he could. But you are starting to care less, the more he looks at you. You want him, need him. Your bones are crying out for him and you want to vocalise it.

You want him to drag it out of you, those cries and that horrible, terrible need.

You imagine it. His fingers, two of them, curled inside of you. And a drag. A curl. Another drag. Tearing out your soul, one moan at a time, as he peels that pleasure to the surface.

When the quiet between you becomes unbearable, you dare to nod, give him permission. But the thought of a nod crosses your eyes and Bucky drags your mouth to his before you can give your confirmation. It is hungry, but hesitant. His soft lips and his rough fingers curling against your scalp has you whimper softly, giving him permission with your pleasure. And he unleashes himself, groaning as his other hand drags your head even closer to him.

He nips and sucks and bites at your lips, not giving you any space to venture into the kiss yourself. But you whine softly and he complies by stroking his tongue into your mouth, tangling with yours as he pulls your body up against his. Your knees are weak and your hands clasp desperately at his forearms to make sure you don’t float away, away from him. From his promising kiss for more.

The ache between your legs is near painful and you squirm on your shaky legs, needing relief desperately. But you don’t want his mouth to stop doing that. Stop kissing you, Abusing your mouth with his own. Desperate, claiming, slow, aggressive – selfish almost.

“Fuck me to sleep, Bucky.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

…

“Ah–” you rasp, squeezing your eyes closed as pain, whining pain, pulsates through your core and thighs. Your limbs are trembling and your bare skin is covered in sweat. Your arms are aching from the stretch above your head and the grip Bucky has on your wrists feels like a faint bruise.

But you haven’t come yet.

His deft fingers do nothing more than graze over your clit and you shudder, the touch agonising. He’s been at this for what feels like hours – rubbing, stroking, circling, taunting – and you feel like you are going insane.

His deep voice growls lowly against your ear, “You want to come.”

A small part of you wants to slap him for that obvious statement, but that part of you is so small, so faint, you barely know her anymore. No, that other remaining part of you lets out a wanton whine. Pathetic. Completely desperate for anything. Your mouth opens to plead, but nothing else comes out than ragged breaths, your sweaty chest rising and falling as that sweet relief is withheld from you.

“You see,” Bucky whispers, his muscular body only in boxers now, and another press of his finger to your clit has you writhe and forget that he was talking to you in the first place, “I agree with you that I respond better to orders. But I have found myself to be better at giving them. Orders – And orgasms for that matter.”

You groan.

“But you wouldn’t know that,” he continues, “since you haven’t come yet, have you?”

Heaving a deep breath, you don’t deign to give him an answer.

“I think I want the first time you come for me to be on my tongue– ” he muses and your eyes fly open. “It’d be a shame if you passed out after the first one though. You have to stay awake for me, okay? I’m not done with you yet… Wouldn’t that be cruel – to just be done with you now?”

That drags you out of your stupor and you give him the biggest eyes you can muster, the most pathetic plea you can will into your body, “Please!”

“So polite,” he hums and presses a gentle kiss below your ear. But he decides he wants more and drags his open mouth over the skin of your neck, his tongue lashing over the heated skin before sinking his teeth into it. You sigh softly, as it seems any of his touches are a relief to the endless deprivation of him.

His mouth encircles your breast, the warmth making goosebumps prickle at your skin as your nipples stiffen. Bucky hums against your skin, his tongue circling around the taut bud before giving a playful bite to the soft flesh. His mouth dances further down and his hand slips from your wrists, his palm stroking down your arm and chest to follow his mouth. You know better than to move, your fingers digging into the pillow below your head instead. Focusing on your breathing, you try to get through the ache between your hips, that desperate throbbing for the man descending your body.

Both his palms press against the inside of your thighs and press them apart, the stretch in your muscles making you arch your back. You dare to look down and your jaw drops at the sight of his dark, ravenous eyes on your cunt. His hands holding you open like it’s nothing, like they are pressing to the table his meal is on.

It takes ages, his examination of your pleasure, and your hole pulsates in answer to his stare. Your breathing hurts from heaving the thick air and you can’t take it anymore. One hand reaches down and combs through Bucky’s full hair, through his locks and cupping his face. His eyes dart up to yours and you hold back from frowning at the daze he sprung out of.

“Bucky…” you breathe, a soft question for him to give you what you need. What you want.

He nuzzles into your palm with a grin and locks his again darkened gaze onto yours, before leaning down so agonisingly slowly. But a firework as large as the galaxy springs apart when his warm lips wrap around your clit and you could mistake it for an orgasm, only to find out that when Bucky sucks your clit into his mouth, you know for a fact a deadly orgasm is well on its way to shred you to pieces.

He hums lovingly against you and you let out a raspy moan. Your thighs get pushed to the mattress as Bucky wetly suckles at you, your chest rising quickly now as your orgasm crawls higher and higher in your body. And just when you think you’re there, Bucky retreats and drags his tongue between your folds, lapping up your slick from the source.

A strangled whine slips from your lips and Bucky groans in agreement, “Fuck, I know. But I haven’t tasted you yet. Let me just– ”

Another drag of his tongue has your shivering and your hand curls into a tight fist with his hair between it. He hums in delight at the tug at his scalp and buries his face deeper into your cunt, breathing harshly as he struggles to combine it with eating you whole. But the sounds alone, get you closer and closer and– “Bucky!”

“Go,” he hums against you, almost hurried. “Come on my tongue.”

An order indeed.

Body curling, your orgasm barrels into you like an avalanche. Endless weight presses on your nerves and you sob and moan and cry out, twitching against Bucky as his arms slip around your thighs to hold you to his mouth. Drinking your orgasm up and grinding his own hips into the mattress, Bucky devours the feeling of having you come under him. He had been teasing himself, never mind you. He wanted it to last, wanted you more pliant and bendy before he allowed you to come.

He crawls up your body, but you barely notice it, your orgasm still haunting you, racking through your spine and turning your blood to syrup. Bucky takes advantage of your open mouth and licks into it, teasing, smiling, taunting. For you to respond to him, prove him you’re still there.

So you move, languidly dragging your mouth against his as you tangle your hand into his hair again, pulling him closer. He groans into your mouth and a feeling of triumph swells in your chest at the way Bucky’s body melts to your side. Though the deception of his surrender might have been a distraction when you suddenly feel two fingers press into you, instantly curling against a swollen wall inside of you that has you gasp against his lips.

“Oh, fuck!” you moan and Bucky chuckles deeply above you, his fingers retreating before pressing into you again. His thumb teasingly darts over your swollen clit and lightning strikes your every nerve.

“You think too lowly of yourself to think I would be done with you,” Bucky rumbles, his lips moving against the flushed skin of your cheek, your eyes having closed in overwhelming pleasure. His fingers move faster and twist into you, opening you up. Then then slow again, teasing – endlessly teasing. Then faster. Slower.

Unpredictable – and your body cannot keep up as it hauls you closer to your high before retreating like it burned itself. But to burn yourself on the devil – on Bucky. What a delight. You sigh deeply and let the bed swallow you whole as you buck up against Bucky’s hand. He presses soft kisses to your cheek, mumbling to you that you’re almost there and you have to let him make you come again.

“More,” you breathe out. “More, more, more…”

He obliges and presses into your spot so well, his thumb dragging two firm circles over your clit at the same time and you burn alive. You arch like a string pulls you to the ceiling as Bucky’s fingers fuck you through a numbing orgasm. From your crown, all the way down to your toes, fire bursts and surges and implodes. Your moans sound attractive to your own ears as you come, your voice breaking and filled with breaths, crying out to the heavens that the devil made you come again.

And the haze clears, the fog lifting as your eyes open to watch a heady Bucky lick appreciatively at his fingers, the gleam on them reflecting the minimum amount of light in the bedroom. Your hand slides from his hair to his chest and you press him to the mattress, his own eyes widening as you crawl over him.

You straddle his waist, hissing as your bare pussy settles over his angry, hard cock. The fabric is rough to your skin, but you can only focus on his face.

Bucky leans up on his forearms and raises an eyebrow at you. “I don’t think so– ”

“Oh yes. You are going to let me use you and then,” you smirk, “you can make me pass out. Since you have failed to do so thus far…”

A slow smile spreads over his face, “So bossy…”

You answer with a grin and a slow grind over his weeping cock, making him stutter under you, “Let’s see how well you follow orders now, Mr. Barnes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

#its 1am #i miss you guys #i feel like u can tell which books ive been reading this summer #my writing might have changed quite a bit #BUT I WROTE YOU GUYS #isnt it amazing??#Alright as always pls let me know what you think??#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #writing #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #oneshot #e to l

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live-love-be-unique · 3 months

Text

Crossing All The Lines

Summary: Callsign: Tink. Brought into the taskforce as a hacker/ intel specialist, you butt heads with your captain.

#47. Reader is a hacker or intel specialist for @glitterypirateduck O,Captain! challenge

Also, inspiration for a chubby reader and the death of a certain Austrian from @391780, Early I hope I did you proud.

Parings: Price x chubby f reader

Warnings: Idiots in love, female reader, smut with some plot, oral (f!receiving), vaginal sex 18+ Minors DNI

“It’s your eye in the sky, so to speak” you said, holding the small drone you had been tinkering with before he had walked into your office. You animatedly showed off the newest toy you had been tinkering with, pointing out the features you had added “it has the capability to record and store six hours of audio and video. I’m working on the signal range to extend…”

Price reached over the desk and turned off the screaming you called music that was blasting through your computer speakers “I’m not taking some flying toy into a war zone” he said with finality. Laswell’s recommendation be damned, he didn’t need some little dolly bird tottering around the base in ridiculous shoes telling him how to run his taskforce.

“Oh ok, so will you be letting Gaz know you’re planning on pitching him out the side of a helicopter again to run surveillance or am I?” you say, casting him a smirk over your shoulder as you place the drone on the shelf behind you. Price groaned and rolled his eyes away from you.

You were the newest addition to the taskforce, at Laswell’s insistence, she claimed you were the best intel operative she had encountered in years. She had pulled a few strings and called in some favours with the higher ups that Price could only fantasize about knowing to get you after you had saved their arses with some quite impressive hacking skills.

To say you weren’t what Price had been expecting was a massive understatement. The day you were introduced to the team, you were all bright colours and sparkles in a sea of soldiers. Hardly military issue, as you arrived on base, you had poured your soft, rounded curves into that dress. A wiggle-dress his mother used to call them, and ridiculously high heels. The sight of you made his mouth water and his hands itched to feel your soft skin and overflowing curves. Soap and Gaz took to you instantly, bestowing you with the callsign Tink because of your love for tinkering with random projects or Tinkerbell according to Soap, Ghost took a little longer but your preference for a proper cup of tea and non-judgmental attitude towards his unwillingness to show his face quietly won him over.

The only one you hadn’t bonded with was Price. You butted heads and frustrated each other. Trading snide comments and jabs. Price did appreciate the fact that you kept a jar of sweets on your desk that you made an effort to keep stocked with his and the lads favorite treats and he had to admit that, Laswell was correct, your hacking skills were second to none.

Price watched as you spent the first three weeks of your time on base bringing in new trinkets for your small office. Candles, figurines and a small cactus that Soap didn’t notice until he sat on one day. You admonished him for weeks until he brought you in another, non-spiky one. “I’m sorry, Tinkerbell, forgive me?” he’d pouted, holding out the small succulent towards you. Your office was an explosion of colour like you, and there was always music playing, you’d even created a playlist with Soap and Gaz.

But…on more than one occasion not that he would admit it, Price found himself in his office late at night surrounded by the cloying scent of artificial strawberries from the candles you preferred to decorate your office with that seemed to follow you around, with his hand furiously fisting his cock. Your bratiness was like catnip to him. Every cheeky little sass you threw his way made him harder than ever.

You yourself, never thought you would be one to enjoy it when a man yelled at you but with Price’s gravely, low voice and the sheer broadness of him…damn...you couldn’t count the nights you spent with the absolutely non military issue neon pink vibrator between your legs imagining it was Price instead, his booming voice echoing in your ears as you came. Your embarrassing crush on the captain had stopped you from dating, all bar a handful of dates with that very tall Austrian colonel from Kortac, you thought he had ghosted you after your dates but came to find out that he had died from ingesting strychnine poison in a Romanian brothel after sleeping with a married woman.

“Are you even listening to me?” Your voice pulled Price back to the present.

“There’s nothing to hear, we’re not taking that thing” he pointed towards the shelf.

“It’s already been cleared. You just have to control everything don’t you?”

“I’m the captain for a reason” he muttered, stubbornly.

You scoffed “god, I bet you couldn’t last one day without controlling everything”

Price leaned forward, open palms resting on the desk in front of him, staring down at you “try me”

“What?”

“You heard me…try me, doll”

You can’t tell who made the first move as your hair was wrapped tightly in Price’s hands as he pulled you against his lips in a heated kiss. He groans deeply as your teeth nip sharply at his bottom lip.

“That dress looks divine on you” he smirks, pulling away from your lips breathing heavily.

“Thank you-”

“How easy is it to take off?”

You smirked, turning your back towards Price, moving your hair over your shoulder and glancing over your shoulder at him.

Price licked his lips as his hands slid slowly from your waist up your back. His hands made quick work of the zipper as he slid the dress down over your shoulders, placing a gentle almost loving kiss between your shoulder blades.

You turned to face him as you dropped your dress to the floor. You felt exposed as Price’s eyes raked over your near naked form.

Price couldn’t take his eyes away from you. The lacy navy coloured lingerie hugged your soft, rounded curves perfectly. Your eyes locked with his as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

“Tell me you want this” his eyes bore into yours as his hands toyed with the waistband of your underwear “tell me you want me”

“Price…”

“John, call me John…please” he whimpered.

“Please, John”

“Fuck” he uttered as he dragged the lace over your hips and down your legs. You shuddered as the cool air met your soaking core.

He pushes your legs apart, pressing little kisses on your inner thighs, before nuzzling his cheek against you, breathing in your scent as he lifted one of your legs to rest on his shoulder.

He looks up at you, eyes blown out with desire. Before you had a chance to think of a witty retort, he dives in, tongue sliding through your folds. You fall back against the desk with a soft groan as your hands find his hair, gripping tight as he laps at you like a man starved. “Fuck,” he moans against you. “You taste so fucking good.” He spreads you apart, adding a finger into the mix, he thrusts it in and out of your eager hole as his tongue laps at you. You moan softly, hand still tangled in his hair as you arched your back, body chasing his tongue against your heated skin.

“Stop wriggling” he gritted out, his voice strained as his calloused hands gripped the plush of your thighs.

“Make me”

Price chuckled as he grabbed your waist and lifted you, you squealed and wrapped your legs around his hips as he sat you on your desk “just once, will you do as you're told?” His hands on either side of your hips, holding you firmly against him.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You smirked, locking your ankles behind his back and pulling him closer.

Price grunts, gripping your thighs against his waist as he leans forward and leaves wet, sloppy kisses along your shoulders and up the column of your neck. His teeth nip and bite at the delicate skin, marking you, claiming you as his own.

“You have no idea how much I want you”

“Oh I think I get the idea” your smirk as his lips continued their path towards your chest. You ground against him and chuckled as you felt the rumble of a moan in his chest.

“I want to ruin you”

“Please…do it”

That was all the encouragement he needed as he hurried to undo his belt and shove his pants to his ankles.

“Your hand feels so much better than my own” he rasped as you wrapped your hands around him, lining his cock up with your pussy. You moaned against each other's lips as he sinks into you. The stretch to accommodate him is nothing short of delicious. Your grind against him as he bottoms out.

Your eyes meet as he pulls out of you before snapping his hips back against you, filling you so completely that it steals the air from your lungs.

Your hands grip anywhere you can as Price rolls his hips up into you, the way you squeeze him spurs him on as you writhe and keen underneath him. Your nails leave crescent shapes in the skin of his back as he looms over you, his arms caging you against his broad chest.

Price couldn’t stop himself, he kissed at the skin of your bare shoulder, bared his teeth and bit, hard, you yelped. Oh shit, he thought, have I gone too far?

He stopped and looked into your eyes, searching for any type of distress.

“More” you purred. You’d be the fucking death of him.

He smirks as he can feel your body tightening around him, you’re getting closer and he isn’t far behind as he slams into you with one final snap of his hips. His lips find yours as you moan into his mouth, tongue and lips clashing together as you come.

Your door swung open “about time” Ghost muttered as he closed the door again.

“So…that was…” Price stumbled out as he pulled out of you, picking up your dress that laid crumpled on the floor. He gently pulled it over your spent body. Resisting the urge to drop kisses to any sliver of skin he could see.

“Great, it was great” you smile, pausing slightly before standing up on your toes to place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. He turned his head, chasing your lips as you shared a soft kiss.

“Yeah, it was great” he smiled, suddenly bashful.

#captain price cod #price smut #captain john price #john price #captain john price smut #oh captain my captain

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bonkwosher · 1 month

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Our Little Secret

A/N: The movie isn't out anywhere I can watch it over & over yet so I'm going off of memory from the one time I saw it in theatres. Maybe I'll come back & edit this, who knows?

Pairing(s): "Frank" (Former Detective Adam Barnett) x Reader (Nickname: Parker)

Contains: Mentions of character death, things get a little hot

Lambert had just finished explaining the situation to the seven of you, giving each of you a name, yours being Parker. No one knew each other, at least as far as you knew. You were in different cars initially & after the group got together in the getaway car, it was impossible to recognize the man with all your masks on. But once Joey took the girl off to another room & everyone had taken their masks off, you recognized him. As Frank looked around at the beautiful, old mansion, his eyes wandered. His eyes glanced over you for a moment then kept moving, but quickly snapped back to your form. His eyes had only slightly widened, he was doing well to mask his shock. He started walking towards you, briskly, reaching out to touch you as if to test if you were real.

Before he could make it to you, you felt an arm wrap around you shoulders. It was Sammy, "Hey, Parker. Let's get to the bar. Didn't you hear? Fully stocked!"

Sammy was someone you became acquainted with, getting Dean off her back while the three of you were in the getaway van. She dragged you off to the bar, getting between you & Frank. The rest of the group followed along with you. Frank felt he couldn't get close to you without risking his identity being revealed. He just stood in the corner keeping up conversation. After Joey finished reading everyone like a book, she ended up in front of you.

"Oh, no, no, no. I don't need you to tell me what I am," you spoke, waving your hands in front of you.

Frank's eyes narrowed as he stared at you.

"Oh, come on, Parker! Join the fun!" Peter teased, giving you a light shove.

"No, Joey has to go check on the girl anyway. Right?" You were quick to reply.

"Yeah, Joey. You should get up there," Frank chimed in, only letting his eyes leave you for a second to make eye contact with the person he was talking to.

Joey puts her hands up, backing away from you, "Alright, off I go."

Joey made her way out of the room & everyone went off to do their own thing. Sammy & Dean left the room separately. Peter found himself some more alcohol & a comfortable spot on the couch. Rickles headed up to his lookout spot. That left you, Dan, & an already very drunk Peter in the bar area. You decided to head to the kitchen, knowing it wasn't a good idea to drink on an empty stomach. You walked out into the main entrance, unaware of the quiet footsteps following you. You made your way down a long narrow hallway, your assailant only gaining on you. As you reached a t-junction, you paused to look to your left. At that moment, you felt a hand cover your mouth & an arm wrap around your waist. You were pulled forcefully down the hallway to your right & quickly shoved you into a hall closet. You were quickly spun around to face your captor but their hand was just as quick to find it's way back onto your mouth. You saw him.

"What're you doing here, Y/N?" He sounded almost mad, but mostly in shock.

You just looked up at him, scared. His hand still held a tight grip on your mouth despite him waiting for you to answer his question. It seems that he realized that, loosening the grip before releasing your face. Your hands moved to your jaw, feeling the pain of his hold finally going away.

Almost impatiently, Frank pushed, "I saw you die!"

You lifted your finger to your mouth, urging him to be quiet. As you straightened your posture & looked up at the man, a small smirk formed.

"You think I couldn't fake my own death? That's all I helped others do. I'm the intel person, it's my job, Adam."

At the thought of his true identity being revealed, his hands found themselves close to covering your mouth again. But his need for answers overpowered any fear he had.

"You were my partner! Why did you do all that without... telling me?"

You sighed, "Some cops were catching on to my side gig. Plus, helping people disappear was so much more lucrative. The only safe way out of the precinct was to disappear myself."

Frank gave you a look, you knew it well.

"Don't even attempt to judge me. We're both here now, which means you ended up a criminal too."

Frank's eyes softened, you were right after all. You were both detectives once yet you both stood in this house waiting to get paid for kidnapping a 12-year-old girl. Now that he had gotten the information he wanted he began to feel a little awkward. Past feelings flooded his mind. He remembered the night you died, or so he thought. You were chasing a suspect & the suspect managed to shoot you before continuing to run away. Frank had stopped to try to help you but you told him to go after the suspect. He wanted to hold you in that moment, be with you, but you made him go. He never got to share his feelings.

"Y/N," He spoke softly, "I have something to say... that I never thought I'd have the chance to."

"Go ahead, then get me out of this closet."

"I-" He tried to speak, but a long pause filled the air.

Without hesitation, he grabbed hold of the sides of your face & pulled you to him. His lips crashed into yours. It was unexpected, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't been dreaming of this moment. You threw your arms around the tall man's shoulders & pulled him even closer to you. Frank backed you into the wall, towering over you as he moved to kiss down your neck. You stifle a moan as he tugs at your jacket, trying to get the buttons undone. You two are torn apart when the closet door opens, followed by laughter.

"Woah, didn't mean to interrupt, lovebirds," Dean continues to laugh.

Of course, it was Dean. You fix the buttons on your shirt as Frank steps out of the closet, shoving Dean.

"What are you doing you idiot? Jealous you couldn't get with Sammy so you're snooping around trying to ruin the rest of our nights?"

Once you fixed your jacket, you joined the two outside, "Just get out of here, Dean."

"Fine, fine, get an actual room this time," Dean ran off towards the kitchen, continuing to laugh his ass off.

You turned to Frank, tempted to continue the makeout session. But soon you heard Joey storm down the stairs, calling out for Frank. Frank sighed & headed off towards the main entrance once more. Before he could get far, you grabbed his jacket lapel, pulling him to look at you.

"No one can know that we know each other, Frank," you emphasized the name that Lambert gave him.

Frank gave you a sly smirk, "That'll be our little secret."

#frank #frank x reader #abigail frank x reader #frank (abigail) x reader #abigail movie x reader #abigail movie #abigail 2024 #vampire #adam barnett #adam barnett x reader #dan stevens #dan stevens x reader #fanfic #movie #movie fanfic

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cod-imagines-fanfiction · 10 months

Text

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend to be interrogated by the 141 (2k words, part 1)

Summary: Inspired by one of my headcanons for Valeria. Valeria has gifted you a whole wing in her massive residence in Las Almas. Alejandro infiltrates the mansion to gather intel and finds you, Valeria's girlfriend. You are kidnapped by Alejandro and interrogated by the 141 on Valeria and her whereabouts. Got a bit carried away and will make a part 2! Link to fanfic on A03

Notes: Sorry for butchering Mexican Spanish, I Google-translated everything! Also tagging @lesvii in case u wanted to read it! TW: mentions of cheating, toxic Alejandro, threat of violence.

It was another beautiful night for you at the rich luxurious mansion of your girlfriend Valeria Garza, the infamous cartel mogul of Las Almas and Latin America. In the lowest basements of the estate sat enemies, tied on their chairs and ruthlessly interrogated by Valeria's henchmen. Blood stains littered the floor, the moans of these victims muffled by the layers of concrete that stood between them and the world above the surface. And much further above, on a secluded and spoiled part of the estate, you stretched lazily on a golden bathtub filled with hot water and bubbles, feeling the dolphin-shaped taps that winked at you with diamond eyes as you played around with the water. Your bathroom was filled with the scent of lavender and honey and you enjoyed another night of hard-earned relaxation. It wasn't easy being this loved and spoiled, but someone had to do it! Sure, Valeria had a prominently dark side that demanded constant attention, and could be a handful to love. Valeria needed three warm homemade meals every day, love each morning and night and a massage break during her siesta, and you met all of her wishes. In return, Valeria loved you hard and expensively.

Today was an especially tough day because Valeria needed to leave for a business trip.

"It's just three days, okay mi amor? I'll be back before you know it," she fussed over you at her doorstep, one of the few times she'd let you be seen by her henchmen. Ever since you were moved into Valeria's residence, she had scarcely left your side. And now here she was, needing to leave for some kind of business meeting that she refused to elaborate on. You knew it must've been important because you would hear various personnel discuss it carelessly when they thought you weren't listening from your balcony. And it must've been very important if it meant keeping her away from you for days. "But what about morning cuddles?" You sulked and held on to her shirt with the tip of your fingers. It was a bit self-indulgent and dramatic, but you really were going to miss her, and Valeria loved to feel needed anyway, so such pathetic displays were more than welcome. "I'll call you whenever I can, okay? Now give me a kiss."

And that's how you ended up having to amuse yourself for several days.

And that's when Alejandro decided to infiltrate the Las Almas residence.

You were soaking in the warm water, completely oblivious to the fact that your girlfriend's ex-lover was eyeing the residence for a vulnerable entry point. As you lathered your body in oils and creams, he was butchering the guards and dumping their bodies behind the bushes. As you sat on your Queen sized bed ready to rest for the night, he stood behind the door, listening. Alejandro had guessed that this must be Valeria's private area of the mansion because it was significantly nicer than the rest, and that said something. Whereas the rest of the mansion looked like it came from a luxury housekeeping catalogue, this part was more...personal. It had a personal touch to it, a woman's touch. And he knew Valeria had no interest in interior decoration. He passed hallways with floral and sensual pieces of art, past vases with carefully arranged flowers that probably had a deeper significance than he realised. Past a fully stocked kitchen with something freshly cooked on the stove, past a well-used sitting area decorated with pictures of two women smiling at the camera. Jealousy tugged at his heart at these displays of domesticity. He pulled a spy cam cord from his pocket and slid it underneath the door. And there on the bed, amid fluffy cushions and blankets, sat you.

And he remembered exactly who you were.

"Hermano, all good in there?" Soap's voice came through in his earpiece, jolting Alejandro from his revenge fantasy. "Si, be out in five," he whispered and pulled the camera back. It'd be more efficient to knock on the door and wait to take you with chloroform, but he could bet on his life that you were not part of the cartel. This was very much a regular civilian woman, a little trophy wife. And trophy wives can't fight off military personnel. Alejandro rammed through the door and lunged for you before you even had a moment to turn around. Having tucked yourself in your blankets, you had no time to even get up before this strange man put his hands on you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Strange men with various insignias on their uniforms paced around the residence as you were pushed forward and towards the garden. The man was with Mexican Special Forces, that much you could tell. He laughed darkly and tightened his grip on you. "So, big El Sinobre left you behind, eh? Not so big and scary now, are we?" To your horror and surprise, a helicopter was lowering itself to the ground and shone a bright light on you, like you were a criminal. You wanted to protest that you hadn't actually done anything, but you were guilty by association. Another man leaned out of the helicopter and extended his arm to grab you. "That don't look like cartel to me, brother," a slightly Southern American accent decorated his speech as he grabbed your elbow and chucked you in. The Mexican man followed you along with some others. "She's the next best thing after Valeria, trust me. She'll come running to us in no time."

"Hermano, you sure about this? There are different rules for civilians." Another man spoke, a man with a mohawk and the Union Jack flag on his vest. The helicopter started raising itself off the ground and took off to God knows where. You were in your pyjamas still, feeling silly and vulnerable, too afraid to say anything. Valeria always warned people to stay quiet in front of enemies, and you couldn't be blamed for anything you hadn't said. "I'm positive, Hermano. I know how she works. We take something from her, and she'll come looking." The man sat right across from you, his eyes never leaving you. He was tall and dark, around Valeria's age you'd guess, maybe older. There was a menacing look in his eyes, as though he couldn't stand to look at you, yet his dark eyes never left yours. There was something else lurking underneath that you couldn't put your finger on. It was almost like hatred, though you couldn't understand why he'd hate you personally - you'd never seen him before. And yet he spoke of Valeria with such familiarity...it chilled you.

Next thing you knew, you were in some headquarters. Masses of soldiers marched to and from the facility, taking the time to glance your way as the men brought you to one of the warehouses. Amidst the uniformed men with pounds of kit on themselves, you felt naked. Within the warehouse was a metal container that, to your horror, seemed to be your new resting place. You were thrown on a chair and the container sealed shut after them. "She's being surprisingly cooperative so far," the man with the skull mask grumbled as he leaned back with his arms crossed. "Either that or poor thing doesn't speak English," said the American.

"I can speak English," you whispered and nodded to them, the first thing you said so far. "Perfecto." The American clapped his hands and walked towards you. He lowered himself to your level and brought his face menacingly close to yours, so close you could feel his breath on your cheek. "Now, we can do this the nice way. Or we can do this the army way. What will it be, sweetheart?" He stared you down with his blue eyes and you noticed the scar on his cheek; a clean slice on his combat-hardened face. You swallowed hard. "The nice way." He grinned with satisfaction and raised himself. "That's what I like to hear."

The man who kidnapped you stepped forward, towering over you and not bothering to lower himself like the American. "Where's Valeria?" He spat her name out like poison and your heart sank. "I don't kn-," you'd started saying but stopped when you saw how his eyes darkened. "She doesn't tell me anything. She keeps her business separate from me." "And who exactly are you?" The masked man spoke, his deep voice reverberating within the container. The Mexican man scoffed and paced around mumbling to himself. "This should be good." "Alejandro, please." Another man scolded in a whisper. Alejandro glared at him and shook his head, then looked at you with a deep frown that contorted an otherwise handsome face. His eyes, you realised, were looking at your fingers, one of which wore a thick golden band.

"I'm her partner." You resisted the urge to play with your ring, afraid of making any move in front of them. The American laughed loudly, making you jolt in your seat. "A cartel run by a lesbian, eh? Man, I love my job." "She's not a lesbian," Alejandro snapped quickly. The American stood up taller. "My friend, I think you need to cool off." "¡Anímate y díselo!" He yelled at you. "Alright, now hold on. How do you two know each other?" The American demanded as he pointed to you and Alejandro. "I don't know him," you mumbled and shook your head. "Mierda! You know perfectly well who I am." He exploded again. The man with the mohawk and the other Mexican man looked at you wearily, moving a little bit closer to you in light of Alejandro's outbursts. "I'm sorry, I really don't," you said with a wavering voice. That seemed to really set him off. Alejandro charged at you while swearing. "Vete al infierno hija de puta-"

The two men reached forward and drew him away from you. "Alejandro-" "Calm down, Commander." He shook them off then span around and looked at you again, his firsts curled on the handles of his vest. "Okay, go on. Speak." "I already told you she doesn't tell me anything! She doesn't want me to be involved and she doesn't tell me where she goes. I just take care of the house and that's it. And she'll be mighty pissed when she sees I'm gone." You threw your words at him.

"And now, you," the American pointed at Alejandro. "Valeria served in the Mexican Army, same unit but different squads. Until she betrayed us for the cartel. That's how I know her."

Suddenly, you realised who he was. You'd heard whispers about him amongst Valeria's friends. She would frequently be teased about 'moving camps' and being a heartbreaker. One of them even joked about how you were a homewrecking housewife. Valeria made sure you didn't see those people again. You thought it was all part of a big joke, until now. That part of her past, you guessed, must be him.

The American looked at you and you nodded. "Yes, she did that when we first met. But I don't know anything specific, she didn't tell me." The man who called Alejandro 'commander' looked at you closely and he, too, seemed familiar. He was also part of the Mexican Special Forces and seemed to be paired up with Alejandro. He had large, round brown eyes that were not unkind. He spoke up: "I remember her too. Valeria and she met just a bit before Valeria left the Mexican Army." The American looked at you with disdain after that, and the other man continued. "But she's not lying about not knowing Alejandro. Valeria kept her out of our business." You looked at him with relief and he looked away.

"Well we just pulled a heck of an operation to weed this one out, and we're not leaving until we get some answers," said the American man. "And I don't believe for a second that you're entirely clueless. Now you can either start singing or I'm gonna show you the difference between the military and me."

Notes: Thanks for reading! Link to part 2 :> Link to part 3

#call of duty valeria #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #cod valeria #cod valeria garza #cod valeria x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #cod modern warfare #mw2 #valeria imagines #valeria garza imagines

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qvrcll · 11 months

Note

Hii. I just saw your works and I really love the writing<3. Anyways i saw ur taking requests and i really have one in mind.

So like vendetta leon was some sort of a mission (like something similar to the movie) and he Heard the virus had broken out to the city and the only thing he can think is the reader (I'd really love for the reader (which is a retired agent, to be preggy😭). Then he like straightly went to their house (or apartment) and the zombies have already broken inside.

(no angst pls my heart is too poor to handle angst 😭)

cherry waves

summary: with your retirement from the source of his burden’s and the arrival of your pregnancy, leon almost swears that things will be alright. but worrying intel from hunnigan and the affliction of his worst fears make things worse. make things bloody and gashed with the ultimatum of death — and the one thing on his mind? you.

warning: written with vendetta ! leon in mind, violence, afab reader, use of gun, mention of vomit, intense imagery of death / zombie bites, mention of pregnancy, angst (but happy ending), implication of smut (nothing happens :P)

a/n: firstly, ty so much for ur interest for my works! it always makes me so happy ppl like what i write 🥹 secondly, WOW, i loved this plotline and couldn’t wait to get writing it! thank you so much for requesting this because i had a great time writing it (anything exploring leon’s worst fears is an immediate yes from me!) i hope i did your prompt justice and hope you enjoy :-)

It would start with a mission, something so insanely emblematic in its own course that it made Leon scoff sourly.

Of course they would do this — do this to him, to you, try to rope him back into a hell he had once wished to depart for entirely. You’d done it, excavating all wounds and ties to that little milky tinctured office corner and a chock-full of folders, of late night runs to diners and the semblance of sentience. Leon had admired you, held you in high regard and shunned any and all faces that had locked horns with your decision, dragging them through filth and dirt and nothing but the crud of his hate and the spew of his regrets.

And after you’d promised the two of you this peace, this little hole of your own created in the cataclysmic remnants of what once was, in a tiny apartment stocked away into the city curtained with the foolish promises of a forgotten past, Leon had sworn that it had worked. Had been cut from an entirely different cloth, and woven into something… away from this hell.

But it’s always something other than peace in the end.

And when he’s on his own, cornered against a wall with little to no care for anything lavish, just the bile wedged in his throat from the coalescing pools of worry in his stomach, he tries to think of you.

“Leon, your slippers…” you’d called out from the living room, in his memory, voice soaked with little to no empathy. He’d mumbled something incoherent back, something unintelligible, that had sufficed for a few minutes before you’d thrown a shirt over his head. An injunction, he was sure it was, to his constant habit of doing away with his clothes in the wrong places. Next thing he knows, he was being smothered by your weight as your voice rung clear, a ring of indolence grating your voice, “Leave your shirt on the floor and I swear to god, Leon S. Kennedy—“

“Okay, okay, I promise—“ he’d chuckled, collecting you and your squeals in his broad arms, entrapping you into the planate sheets of the bed he’d laid in since the morning began, “I’ll be mindful of where I keep my shirts. Kiss me?”

And your resistance, your throes of faux fury, the crooning semblance of your squeals and laughter had dissolved into a stimulant, a drug for him to swallow wearily whilst his back was met against some other unfamiliar surface.

He holds his breath. Strengthens his feet against the bounding hard-wood floors as an outburst of flitting groans, cold and doggone with the smell, a reminder of 1998, sound out from beyond the foyer of the abandoned building. And he’s accustomed to the feel of blood between his teeth — god, he’s done this in repeated intervals before, so why did it begin to feel too pervasive in this moment?

His heart clamours in his chest.

His skin bursts with a sheen of cold sweat.

His teeth clatter with a fear he’d known all too well, for a time too long.

So why?

So he rephrases, rewrites this fear in him into something of a catalyst — he thinks of you again.

He thinks of your smell and your smile, your tears and the strength you’d accumulated when you had grinned goodbye to this shit hole. He thinks of your nails digging lines of red against his back, the rows that escaped you when he’d had you pressed against the mattress. He thinks of the day you’d staggered up to him, eyes rimmed with a similar shade as the vermillion he’d worn to some masquerade themed drivel (in the name of work), calling for him like you’d been bitten by the dark, searched for his face in the light — “Leon… Leon, I think I’m pregnant,” and he’d kissed you raw, kissed you like he fought, kissed you through the burn and edge of his tears cracking into the press of your mouths as he had felt grounded for once in his pathetic, penurious life.

He uses that, the glint of that vision, that new beginning, the shade of hope that came as you, to shape an opening — he aims his revolver at a blindsided corpse. Fires a crisp blow at a groaning zombie. Kicks, buckles and flanks against two more and advances with the burn of your memory in his mind.

It’s nearly ten minutes since he’s been stationed into the rubble of the desiccated building and Leon’s throat itches with a certain worry.

How were you? Did you need anything whilst at home? Did you think of him? Did you crave something demonically new? Did your feet hurt, like it often did following your pregnancy? Did you rest enough? Were you up, staring at the crescents and spoons of white dotting the sky, like he was?

And Leon nearly trips, nearly kisses the ground from thinking of you — but he needs to. Needs to allow himself this grace to make sure he’d not shoot himself, surely. Needs the image of your face to bless every corner of his mind so he’d remember what it felt to love you thoroughly, fully, to the point of death and damnation. Needs to feel you, if even in his mind, if even for a second too faltering, if it meant he could mow down another zombie.

“Leon? Leon!”

He cringes, retreats to a gap in the wall as he presses his headset into his ear — Hunnigan.

“Hunnigan?” he whispers, throws his voice to a lower sonority than before, so that he can hear her better. So that the clatter, the dash of undead a few feet up ahead, cannot pick up on his bearings.

He hears a cut from the other end, before the agent’s familiar voice cracks through, “Leon, there’s been new intel.”

He frowns. This can’t be good, if she’s already using his first name instead of a roster of aliases. Still, he needed to figure it out. Keep a locale on his bearings.

“New intel? Go on…” he breathes softly. He picks up the press of footsteps up ahead and smothers further into the tight bite of the space, wincing when his muscles flout back at him with an ounce of pain.

“There’s been reports of a zombie intrusion in the city,” Hunnigan starts, and Leon stops, “and there have been increasing hoards against buildings and apartments.”

And he drops.

His feet move, on pure muscle. On pure fear. On the cut-throat and persistent emotion that is love, of you, of the memory of you, of the promise he’d made and of the shattering grip of his life, as he books it out of there. Hunnigan continues, gathers something about altitude and choppers. Of gunfire and backup. Of something more, but Leon can’t tell.

To Leon, his mouth is already bleeding and his body is already teeming with wounds, with the futility of scars and the loom of death, when he pictures those sick, dead bastards at your door.

Why did he accept this stupid job?

Why didn’t he follow in your footsteps?

Why didn’t he stay?

And as he beats the ground with louder noises, attracts a few undead with the heave of his groans as he breaks for home, for your apartment, he can lay a hand over his chest and feel his heart attempting to splinter into knots as he runs.

He thinks of you, again. He thinks of your smile and the smell of rot. He thinks of your smell and the curl of lips and the gash against your hip. He thinks of your odd habits, your huff, your laughter. He thinks of your body stapled to the floor, marked with messily biten flesh and an aspersion of blood on the counter. On the floor. On your face.

And you and you dead and you dying and you growling and you—

“Fuck!”

Leon chokes, his throat jammed with pathetic cries. His eyes glisten and shed, but he quickly finds himself recanted in front of that familiar apartment, front so idyllic, it was burnt straight from his memory. His skin melts with sweat, with pin pricks and with the threat of throwing up right there, but he soldiers through.

At first, it’s hard. It’s hard to breathe, hard to see past his tears. It’s hard to get a clear grip on his weapon and it’s hard to blur out the mess of their groans, their staggering enumeration. But he finds some messy middle ground, grounds his feet and staples his teeth and shoots against brassy flesh, against bone and blood, barely cares for the splatter of blood against his lip, his chin, his hair.

All he cares is for you to be standing there, as you as you could ever be. As safe, as teeming with hope and the glimmer of tomorrow as you ever were, welcoming him home.

But he’s half delirious, half fucked for thought, as he makes it up the staircase with difficulty. He wants to delude himself and wants to believe the lies he’s almost weaving in his head. But the truth is vibrant, unpleasant as the verdant decay of flesh that hordes your apartment floor.

And he nearly throws up.

Your door is open, three zombies freshly approaching the crack of it. Their heads jitter and steer in the limelight, and Leon nearly breaks, but holds the pieces of himself as he shoots through their corroding skulls.

He shouts your name first, then chokes with grief at the sight of blood — and the image of you dead and dying and —

And he’s trying, yes, he’s trying, as he stumbles through the threshold with his gun quivering in his hold. And yes he’s breathing, but only so little, as he eyes the count of flesh against the tile of your living room. And yes he’s standing, but nearly crumbles with the thought of a repeat. Of a sequence to his worst fears.

“Leon!”

The scream gushes from the bedroom and his heart teems with that familiar feeling, slow but sure, of hope. Of love. He silently cries as he makes a run for your shared bedroom — his calloused palm harshly swings apart the door and sees you cornered atop the bed, bashing the head of a zombie in. It’s managed to corner you far up the bed, but you’re sour with spit and curses as you try to throw it off — but the undead prove to be a challenge.

And yet, Leon is a worse piece of work.

With his shot gun aimed at its head, the zombie flattens to the floor with an animated thud.

And then there’s silence. There’s a heave from you, as you gather your surroundings and make use of something solid to determine Leon actually there — actually standing in the stretch of your bedroom as he looks back at you, face bristling with blood and carnage. With tears.

And with time, comes semblance.

You dart towards him, worry in your hands when you gather him in your palms like life itself — “Fuck—Fuck, I was so worried. Fuck, Leon, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, sweetheart, I’m okay—are you?” he inquires, rushes for thought as he presses a hand into your side, your face and your back. Tries and thrives with the effort of remembering your warmth through his fingers — collected here, in the bloody mess of your apartment.

And you’re breathing and you’re alive and you’re smiling and you’re holding love in your hands when you cry into his arms.

And as he holds you like there’s so much of losing you, crumbles to the floor in the vacancy of your arms, he catches sight of your already swelling belly beneath his nimble fingers as you sigh out a laugh. Beckon his hand atop your stomach closer, say something about ‘knowing how to work a gun, even after all the bullshit I’d left behind.’

And Leon sighs with the thought of tomorrow.

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