#wc: 2k

[contritecactite]

Ahhhh sneaking in at the last minute. I've posted my fic for @aafranmayazine, which I absolutely loved working on! You can see the accompanying art piece in the zine, still available through tonight over at https://aafranmayazine.bigcartel.com/ ! Title: Photographic Evidence Rating: G Tags/warnings: Morgan Fey's A+ parenting, family feels, traces of found family, established FranMaya Desc: 2k. Franziska is determined to put together an album demonstrating that Pearl Fey is a vital, memorable person in the lives of her friends and family. Except... there are no pictures of her in the Fey albums. What's an aunt to do?

[seongclb-recs]

sobbing. where is my lovestruck smitten dorky awkward hoonie like :/ my actual BABY (he’s older than me)

fr tho saint u wrote this so well!! i love how j didn’t get bored and skip any like paragraphs yk like it all flowed really nicely and was entertaining! there’s the saint flair in ur works which makes me love it even more <3 i lvoe the way hoon is portrayed and now yn is always hilarious and cool!

FROM THE START — p. sunghoon

PAIRING ! sunghoon x fmr

GENRE ! idiots2lovers, fluff, unrequited love (?), getting together

WARNINGS ! mentions of blood and death ( hoons just dramatic ), swearing, they're idiots ur honour

W. COUNT ! 2.6k

S. NOTE ! god bless laufey.

sunghoon hopes that you don’t notice the shift in his demeanour. how he’s loud and obnoxious when you both are surrounded by your friends, but suddenly becomes quiet when he finds himself in situations alone with you.

it’s not intentional. being surrounded by friends helps keep the intrusive thoughts of confessing to you at bay, but those urges come tenfold when there is no one else around. it’s just hard for him to find the words to speak to you when all his senses are overloaded with you, feeling his words get stuck in his throat whenever you look his way.

looks that do not help the urges mind you. a tiny voice in his head tries to delude that each glance holds something, that she might actually feel the same but sunghoon has always been a logical person. convinced himself that the softness in your eyes and the smile on your lips were because you were a kind person, definitely not reserved only for him.

you’re both sitting on a bench in the courtyard, facing each other after the others had classes they had to rush to. “so sunghoon, anything new?”

sunghoon has never been more grateful for your skill to hold conversations, fearing he’d burst out into love confessions if he tried to start the conversation. he could hear the voices screaming at him to tell you how he felt, seeing how the weather was beautiful and you both were alone. feeling an itch under his skin seeing you scratch and pull at your cuticles, wanting to reach over and hold your hands in his own.

“nothing much really, jay’s trying to convince me to make chocolates with him for white day.” he noticed you slightly perk up.

“already? white day is in three weeks,” you giggled, hiding your smile behind the sleeve of your sweater. he wished he could lean forward and move your arm, wanting to see your smile on full display for him to use in his scenarios when he's falling asleep, “do you not have someone you want to give the chocolates to hoonie?”

if this was a shojo manga you’d see sunghoon's nose bursting with blood after hearing the nickname escape your lips. it wasn’t the first time you’d given him a cute nickname and not the first time that one was used on him but it has a different feeling when you use it.

seeing you still looking at him with something in your eyes he couldn’t quite pin, “no?”

your smile slightly widened at his answer, seeing the glint disappear, “is that a question?”

he laughed under his breath, trying to avoid eye contact before he got down on one knee and proposed, feeling heat rise from his neck to his face. “why, are you expecting something from someone?”

sunghoon wanted the ground to swallow him whole. he didn’t expect his statement to be so straightforward but decided to save the embarrassment for him to wallow in later when he heard you laugh.

“maybe.”

nevermind. sunghoon wanted lightning to strike him where he sat he could already feel the little bit of his brain that thought he had a chance shrivel up and die. and if there was something sunghoon was almost as good at as he is at skating, it’s hiding his feeling. “really, who?”

just because his hope and dreams with you have decided to up and leave, he’d never let that ruin your friendship. maybe, along the line, he could prove himself to be worthy of your affection.

a light pink dusted your cheeks slightly, “i’m not telling. but he’s so perfect, he’s funny—”

a burning pain started bubbling at the pit of his stomach, feeling his spread its flames through his body rapidly. rejection would’ve probably been more merciful than listening to the girl you are in love with talk about her ‘perfect’ crush.

he felt a little guilty that his brain tuned you out when you carried on explaining your new soulmate, but sunghoons was sure if he kept listening to you talk about how much you adored the dimple on the side of this unknown man’s face he’d rip his hair out in front of you.

he internally thanked the lord when he saw a message from his mother asking of his whereabouts, knowing he wouldn’t be able to find an excuse to leave you without sobbing his heart out, “i’m so sorry y/n, i think i need to head home now. mums texting.”

he flipped the screen to show you. just because you so happened to be in love with someone else doesn’t mean he’d start treating you any differently. It just meant he had some competition.

“no worries! i should start heading home too,” you smiled, grabbing your bag as you both stood up. before he could react, he saw your figure rounding the table towards him, pulling him into a hug. “get home safely!” sunghoon stood there for a few minutes alone, staring at the path you disappeared from like the idiot he was before a call broke his thoughts, “hello? i'm walking home now.”

+

sunghoon thinks he’s going insane.

currently lying on his bed in the same position that he was in two hours ago, just staring at the ceiling. you can’t really blame him, he was being ‘productive’ in his words — which actually meant thinking about you in random scenarios where you both were happily married with a dog.

the only reason these daydreams last longer than the average person is because sunghoon has no control over his mind. one minute he’s confessing to you with a song as you sit there shocked because sunghoon can hold a note when he wants to, but it seems the possibility that his love may be unrequited still loomed over his thoughts.

suddenly, you’re looking at him with pity, saying you have feelings for someone else that wasn’t him. even in his delusions he’s not safe from the terrifying and very real chance that you may not be harbouring any feelings that are in any way romantic towards him.

rolling over to smother himself in his pillow so his sister wouldn't hear him screaming at the top of his lungs, which he quickly realised was useless as he heard her voice shouting ‘shut up!’ from down the hallway.

maybe it wasn’t the right moment to start thrashing around in his bed like those girls in dramas when their crushes notice them, except his crush isn’t noticing him in the way he wants, because that’s exactly what jay and jake walk in on, “bro. what the fuck are you doing?”

sunghoon would’ve been more embarrassed if the boys currently welcoming themselves into his room hadn't already witnessed him at his lowest, but that didn’t stop him from being annoyed that his personal time with you ( in his head ) was cut short. “who even let you in?”

“mama park,” jay said, throwing himself on the bean bag beside his bed, “now why are you throwing a tantrum by yourself? did y/n reject you?”

“no,” sunghoon grumbled, throwing a dirty look towards the other two boys who were looking for any signs of a broken heart. “i haven’t even confessed yet.”

jake throws him a funny look that sunghoon would’ve taken more offence to if it wasn’t for what he said right after, “that’s if you even get a chance, i heard that junseo from heeseungs class is planning to ask her out!” you’d think they were talking about regular school gossip with the way jay and jake were invested as if talking about strangers who probably didn’t even know their names and not sunghoon's wife and mother of his kids.

well not kids, dog.

if jake hadn’t been sat at his desk on the other side of the room he would’ve lunged at him, instead opting to throw pillows using all his strength with malicious intent. he couldn’t understand jake screaming over his own voice, “what do you mean?!”

the only reason he stopped his attack was because he ran out of things left to throw, unless jake provoked him enough to throw his lamp at him, “dude! what is wrong with you?!”

“when is he asking her?” you’d think the soul of john wick possessed sunghoons body with the way he was staring at his friend who was acting as if he’d just been hit by bricks and not a few feathers.

“i don’t fucking know!” jake carries on to wail dramatically, the usual, “i’m calling the police, can’t believe you just assaulted me.”

sunghoon blocked out the sounds of jay and jake bickering as the situation dawned on him. he was going to lose you.

throwing himself back onto his bed like the prepubescent girl he was, going back to looking at the ceiling. except this time all his scenarios end in you saying the god-forsaken words.

‘i have a boyfriend.’

then out comes junseo with his big biceps, and his big beady eyes ( they’re actually very beautiful but sunghoons trying to wallow in self-pity right now ) and probably more experienced in life being a year older, of course, you’d be into older guys; not immature boys who still can’t leave his leg out the blanket in case a demon drags him into hell.

i mean, that doesn’t sound as bad as you getting with somebody that’s not him.

sunghoon had to ask you first, the possibility of you also liking him back is low but not zero. he had to take his chances.

+

in his delusions, sunghoon always imagined confessing to you romantically. preferably in front of the eiffel tower that he rented out just for you because he’s also super mega rich in these scenarios, or in the rain by a random lake where he’ll confess and you’ll pull him into a passionate kiss as a reply because you’ve always shown your words through your ( even in his dreams ). or even the odd times where he catches himself imagining confessing to you infant of the whole student population because he’d just watched bunny girl senpai — courtesy of his soobin-hyung — i mean, he has always had a knack of embarrassing himself in front of you so it’s not too far fetched.

but not this. never had he imagined himself walking to your house at 5pm in his pyjamas, he’d contemplated waiting for the sunset so at least there be a pretty view but he knew he’d have chickened out if he waited another few hours.

this decision was last minute, hence the outfit choice, he could hear his blood rushing past his ears and his heart beating out his chest as he picked up his step, hoping to get to you before the adrenaline wore out and he was back to square one.

he was hasty but not stupid. he had made sure to message you beforehand to ask if you were even home because if he walked 45 minutes just to face your parents he thinks he’d just start crying, and thank the lord you were. you’d even supplied that you were currently home alone and sunghoon saw that as a sign from god that it was time.

you’d think walking almost an hour he would’ve had enough time to compose a proper confession, with pretty words and flowery notes but to his core sunghoon was an idiot. so instead he spent his time wisely by going through every negative scenario possible.

you could slam your door in his face or slap him or even laugh in the middle of his speech cause he has a habit of stuttering when nervous. he doesn’t quite know which one would be worse, he just hopes that you let him down slowly and knowing you, you would. you’d probably reject him in the nicest way possible that wouldn’t even leave enough room for him to dwell on his broken heart, you were always sweet like that.

next thing you know, sunghoon is standing in front of your door showing no intention to actually ring your doorbell as he tries to calm his nerves down and of course, that would be the moment you open the door. there goes his effort as he feels his heart rate pick up again, “oh! you got here quickly hoonie.”

all sunghoon can hear is buzzing as he watches you smile at him. how could anyone expect him to even be able to think straight with you looking at him like that, it was already unfair that you looked so cute in your pyjamas whilst he probably looked like he’s been evading the police for weeks now.

“are you okay?” you wave your hand in front of his face. not the first time since he was known of his habit of daydreaming randomly but something stops working when you start to speak again, “did you hurt yourself on the way h—“

“i like you.”

he’s fucked it. no harm in just digging his own grave deeper by rambling the rest of his feelings.

“like a lot. a lot a lot, like i’m basically in love with you. it’s like cupid is shooting arrows at my heart every time you talk to me and i know it sounds crazy but to me, it’s not, i didn’t even realise it at the beginning since it was a constant feeling around you but now I’ve known it’s because i’ve loved you from the start and i wasn’t supposed to confess to you like this like. i had a whole plan and speech and all but i had to do it right now or i don’t know if i ever would’ve.”

maybe he would’ve appreciated it if you cut him off ( preferably by a kiss ) to save him some embarrassment and to cut his long speech short because he can’t figure out exactly what the look on your face meant. “we’re so stupid.” you laughed, bending over in a fit of giggles leaving sunghoon confused, “this whole time we’ve liked each other all this time and didn’t even know.”

your words repeated in his head like a mantra liked each other, liked each other, liked each other. sunghoon thinks he’s going to faint.

“you like me back?”

sunghoon might start believing in god because his late-night fantasies suddenly became reality when you pulled him connecting your lips. it was only brief, a short peck, but sunghoon felt like he was on cloud nine, “that was nice.”

all he got back was a quick look of disapproval before you pulled him into your house.

+

sunghoon wished he didn’t tell you about junseo, because now he was watching you wheeze whilst trying to not throw yourself off of the couch and crack your head open. he can admit he got a little in his head over some rumour jake told with him but look where that got him now — a kiss and his feeling reciprocated.

after you composed yourself ( barely ) you spoke out breathily, “well, at least now you can tell junseo you’re my boyfriend.”

sunghoon should be concerned about how quickly his body shut down after hearing those words, “boyfriend?” “after all that we’re not going to date?” you sighed, already used to his slow tendencies, giving him a minute to catch his breath.

“we are! oh my god, you’re my girlfriend now.”

“congrats!” you gave him little jazz hands, he could already hear jays voice in the back of his mind playfully reprimanding you for indulging his antics. “you did what junseo couldn’t.”

yeah, he definitely regrets telling you because no way you’re ever letting that go. but some sacrifices must be made and if it keeps you this happy and makes you laugh that loud, sunghoon is willing to put his dignity on the line. or whatever left of it.

because now he has you, and he always has. missing the longing glances you threw his way, your efforts to get him alone so you had an excuse to focus your sole attention on him and him only without raising suspicion between your friend group.

he’s always had you, from the start.

perm taglist @mesopret @whoschr ​@haknom @shinsou-rii @redm4ri @lacimolela @llama-lyna @boyfhee @lazysmushi @flwoie @kocokookie @kyexvly @seongclb @dammit-jjk @flwrshee @produmads ​@teddywonss @aleiouvre @dneltrise @aleiouvre @nyxvrse @yohanabanana @whois-alexis @sngvhs @tinyegg @sserafimez @satsuri3su @yuemvi @chirokookie @idk-tbh777 @seongclb

[moomeecore]

the idea behind this was 'sol warriorcats but drawn like an animated villain'

[ninewhiskers]

all wc artists should pay her for her service

[cultofdionysusnet]

Check out this Library of Illusion Event piece written by Sar!

Fantasy section | His Beloved Beauty

Group: ATEEZ

Pairing: Yeosang x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres + AUs: Non-Idol AU, Faerie AU, Dark Fae, Light Fae, Smut

Content & Trigger Warnings: Dark Fae Prince! Yeosang, Light Fae Princess!Reader, two dicks, saliva as an aphrodisiac, first time, multiple rounds, unprotected sex(wrap that shit up kids), multiple orgasms, loss of virginity

Summary: Your marriage to Yeosang has brought peace between the Fae clans, but you can't help feeling worried when it comes time to spend the night with your new husband.

Tags: @kpop---scenarios @stardragongalaxy @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @skeletor-ify @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @trashlord-007 @liliesofdreamsskz @rdiamond2727 @naturalogre @thelargefrye @yoonguurt @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @sanjoongie @bxffietheblxxdy

If you want to be added to my taglist, click here

Network pings: @cacaokpop-fics | @kdiarynet

MDNI banner courtesy of @cafekitsune

Event Masterlist || Main Masterlist

As you rose to your feet and pocketed the peridot-inlaid key from the Adventure section, you started to feel guilty for snapping at Seonghwa the way you did. The man had been nothing but kind to you, and this was how you repaid him? You decided that you would apologize when you came to him with all the keys, and hoped he would accept your remorse.

Time for the last one. Be strong, you can do this! You told yourself sternly as you entered the section.

Standing in front of the glowing book you took a deep, calming breath and opened it.

You stood in front of the black-trimmed mirror in your bedchambers, watching your new handmaidens go over your wedding gown to ensure that everything fitted as it was supposed to. 

Not for the first time you wished that it was an ordinary wedding, that you were not in this position right now. But you were, and it was all thanks to your father.

The Light and Dark Fae had been at war for countless centuries, until the current King of the Light Fae managed to come to terms with the King of the Dark Fae and a peace was brokered. Being the eldest princess of the Light Fae, you were offered in marriage to Crown Prince Yeosang of the Dark Fae as a way of sealing the peace and uniting the Fae. 

The Dark Fae were frightening in general, but you had heard terrible rumours about your betrothed and begged your father repeatedly not to go through with the marriage. He, however, was adamant and now here you were: about to be wed to a man who terrified you beyond belief. 

To make matters worse, the traditional wedding gown of the Light Fae had been forgone in favor of something that paid homage to the union of Light and Dark. The gown was mostly white; with the bell sleeves, layered skirt, and functioning corset-style back common to the wedding gowns of the nobility. The differences in your gown were the black roses and ribbons that decorated the top layer of the skirt and bell portion of the sleeves, the onyx brooch at the top of the white lace bodice, bands of black lace around the tight upper section of the sleeves, black lace at the edges of the corset, and black ribbons in the corset.

It felt sacrilegious, almost, to wear a design other than the one that had been deemed most appropriate by your forefathers. Unadorned gowns meant most eyes would be on the ceremony, not the bride's appearance. But then, these were the same forefathers who said peace with the Dark Fae was not possible, so maybe they hadn't gotten everything right. 

You had no idea what Yeosang looked like, only having heard that he was extremely attractive and garnered attention from all the females. You had also heard that he had an awful temper and lashed out over the smallest matters, and that he had trouble keeping his magick under control. Dark Magick was scary enough when wielded with total control, so the thought of what might happen when it was out of control scared you even more. 

A knock sounded on your bedroom door just as the handmaidens finished going over your gown. One of them went to open the door and revealed your older brother, Crown Prince Yuta. 

He smiled at you and you returned it, but you couldn't help the little twinge of envy in your heart. At least he would get to marry a Light Fae and stay in the castle where he'd grown up. Still you would always love him no matter what, especially since he'd become more like a best friend than a brother over the last few years. 

"How are you holding up, sis?" He asked, coming to sit on the big black bed behind you. 

"As well as can be expected." You replied, gently pressing your hands against your skirt in an effort to calm their shaking. 

Yuta sighed. "The little ones said to tell you they'll miss their favorite playmate." 

You smiled softly upon hearing the message from your younger siblings. You would most certainly miss playing with them, as they all had vivid imaginations and could come up with some interesting scenarios.  

"Tell them I'll miss them more." 

Yuta chuckled, then eyed you seriously. "Are you sure about this? You know there are laws you can invoke to stop the marriage." 

You nodded. "Yes, I know. But I'd much rather it be me than one of the younger girls. At least this way they can all marry Light nobles and stay in their home nation." 

At the end of the day you couldn't really be mad at anyone for this series of events. Peace was desperately needed, otherwise the two sides might battle each other to extinction. You would marry Yeosang a thousand times over if it meant ensuring that there would be an end to the senseless killings. 

The appearance of a handmaiden at the doorway drew your attention. "The ceremony is about to start, Your Majesty. I'm to take you to where you're supposed to be." Yuta stood and exited the room with a small wave. Once he was out of sight, you allowed the handmaiden to lead you through the castle to the Grand Hall where the ceremony would take place. 

As soon as you entered the room everyone stood, all eyes on you as you slowly approached the altar. Looking up, you felt your face heat as you got your first look at Yeosang. 

He was gorgeous, skin smooth and sunkissed. Longish night-black hair was locked back, save for a few strands that dangled into his fiery eyes. His all-black attire consisted of a black shirt with open shoulders and loose, flowing chiffon sleeves that hung down over his hands. A black choker hugged his neck and a corset wrapped around his waist accentuated his slim figure. His black dress pants were crisp and wrinkle free, with a black chiffon sash encircling his hips. 

For the first time ever you found yourself hoping that the rumours about him weren't true, because how could someone so beautiful be so terrible?

The ceremony passed in a bit of a blur, and before you knew it a crown of white diamonds with black diamond accents was placed upon your head. A similar crown of black diamonds with white accents was given to Yeosang, and then he was kissing you. His lips were soft against yours, the kiss gentle and sweet. 

The celebration that followed was long and tiresome, and by the time your handmaidens whisked you away you were more than ready for bed. Unfortunately, sleep could not come just yet, because this was your wedding night and you were expected to consummate your bond with Yeosang. 

You were dressed in a white silken nightgown with black roses going up the front of the skirt, as well as all over the train. The front and back of the bodice had black ribbons laced in a corset-like pattern, and a curling pattern of black embroidery covered the bosom. Similar to your wedding gown, the dress had long bell sleeves edged in black, with bands of black lace around the tighter part. A detachable hood, also edged with black lace, completed the ensemble.

Upon walking into the bedroom you would share with your new husband, you found him dressed in an elegant black silk robe with elegant gold patterns on the wide sleeves. He wore something of an awed expression as he looked you over, and you felt your skin grow a little warmer from the attention. 

"Skies and stars, Y/N, you are breathtaking. I must be the luckiest Fae in the world to be married to a goddess like you." 

You blushed. "Th-Thank you." 

Yeosang laughed softly and slowly walked towards you, a strong aroma of sandalwood flooding your senses as he did so. 

His hands came up to rest on your shoulders and you looked up, getting lost in the smouldering embers of his dark eyes. 

"Will you come to bed with me, my dear wife?" 

You nodded nervously and allowed him to lead you over to the edge of the bed. 

"May I kiss you?" He asked sweetly. 

You nodded and his lips met yours once more. As he deepened the kiss the two of you fell back onto the ebony duvet. Breaking the kiss, Yeosang slowly slid the skirt of your dress up to your waist and began trailing kisses up your thighs. Stopping just short of your mound, he looked up at you seriously. 

"If anything feels uncomfortable, tell me immediately." 

"Okay."

He smirked and leaned back down, tongue slipping inside your wet heat. You let out a squeal of surprise at how cold his tongue was, but it warmed up quickly and you began to let out soft moans as your walls relaxed. 

After a bit he added a finger in beside his tongue and the pleasure doubled. You felt heat gathering in your stomach and tried to warn Yeosang, but didn't exactly know what you were warning him of. 

Apparently Yeosang knew what was happening, because he started moving his finger faster until the heat in your stomach exploded, ripping an almost-scream from you. 

"Mmm, you look so divine laid out like this baby. Think you can cum for me again?" 

You nodded, feeling suddenly needy for everything he could give you. 

"What-Why do I feel so good?" You ask him, only slightly concerned. 

Yeosang chuckled. "My saliva is a natural aphrodisiac, it makes you feel really good." 

Sliding in two more fingers, he began stretching you out in preparation for what was to come. In the process you ended up cumming a second time, much to Yeosang's delight. When you were relaxed enough to take four fingers easily, he deemed you ready enough and began to disrobe. 

You felt your eyes go wide at the sight of not one but two dicks, both of them very thick and leaking precum. There's no way they'll fit! You thought to yourself. You decided to trust Yeosang since he'd been gentle with you so far.

The first press of them against your folds had you shaking with anticipation. Then they pushed inside inch by inch, and before you knew it he was bottoming out. You felt so full you thought you might actually explode, but it felt so good at the same time. 

He began moving slowly at first, letting you adjust to the stretch before gradually picking up his pace until he was pounding into you. Every thrust reached deep within you, hitting spots you didn't even know existed. 

By the time your third orgasm came over you, you were sobbing in pure ecstasy and seeing stars, barely hold yourself upright. 

"Cum for me baby." He murmured, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you in place.  "Get your sweet juices all over my dicks." 

You screamed his name on repeat as your whole body shook from the force of your high, walls clamping tight around his members. 

"Ah fuck baby. Gonna cum if you keep squeezing me like that." 

His movements began to stutter and then he slammed into you one last time, teeth biting into your shoulder as he spilled his load inside you. 

Once both of you had calmed down Yeosang cleaned you up and climbed under the duvet, pulling your bare body flush against him as he pressed a kiss to the back of your head. 

"You did so good for me, baby." He said, a smile in his words. 

"Take this for now, and come see me again soon." 

Something metal crossed your palm and everything faded to white. 

You weren't sure how long you had been roaming the Library, looking for your missing Fae husband, when a split-second of clarity had you stopping in your tracks and as you fully returned to yourself. 

Frightened at how deep you'd gone this time, you ran your fingers over the silvery-white key with black opals decorating its surface before putting it with the others in your pockets and heading for the front desk. It was time to face Seonghwa so you could claim the treasure and get the hell out of this place. 

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Soundly (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

Summary: You’ve injured your arm, leaving you frustratingly helpless to complete everyday tasks, like cleaning yourself. Your boyfriend and colleague Simon understands your apprehension towards accepting help for such a task and tells you how he does.

AN: Working title was “Sprain” for those of you who voted in the poll. I’ll be posting the Soap fics shortly and posting another poll for my other upcoming fics afterwards! Meanwhile, let me know what you think in replies or inbox me, tell me your thoughts on fics - present or future. 

I just want Ghost to feel loved and to recover from all the shit he went through. I did a fic for that and sharing a bed, so I’m doing this one for the reader a.k.a. me. Plus I like the head canon that Ghost is actually kinda talkative, like in the Alone mission. I know he’s probably partly chatting to Johnny to because he’s trying to keep him focused, guiding him to regroup and survive. But he’s telling dumb jokes and joking about watching his torture video. He’s got banter and trauma!

Content warnings: Allusions to Ghost’s time being tortured by Roba and the Mexican Cartel - specifically his SA as well as the reader’s. Reader is GN, no use of Y/N

Masterlist // AO3

For “just a sprain”, your elbow hurt like a bastard. It was resting in the hammock of the sling your doctor ordered you to keep on. Almost smugly, it sent a few stings across the bone when you were also instructed to restrict your movements and get support to complete day-to-day tasks before you were signed off on a month’s medical leave – pending review at the end of it for being brought back to work.

It was half your fault. The sprain in the first place was caused by some asshole who would not go down quietly and attempted to dislocate your limb. Thankfully, your training automatically twisted you into a position preventing that but then you had to shoot that asshole and your gun was in the arm he’d injured. The bullet that you fired solidified the damage and you were forced to focus hard on aiming with your non-dominant hand whilst slugging it over to the Heli half a klick to the west for recon. You didn’t have to shoot the guy straight away. You’d kicked him down and he was too far from his own weapon to have made it before you could have swapped your gun to your other hand and ended his life the same miserable way. But nah, in the heat of gunfire, you’d decided to end the fight as quick as possible then ran like a bat out of hell back to safety where the rest of your crew was headed.

Simon had known you long enough – and dated you long enough – to not treat you like glass. He wouldn’t insult you like that. Therefore you were very grateful that he was the one to take you home, and that his driving was a lot steadier and smooth on the motorway.

Letting you open the front door, he carried both his and your bags inside, ready to start your medical leave this instant. He was heading out of the hall with his shoes dropped loudly onto the rack when he asked:

“You want anything specific for tea?”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever.”

Despite years of therapy, this injury had dealt a hefty blow to your pride; you didn’t want to be any more of a burden than you were going to be over the next few weeks. Thank God you’d been to his place enough times for it to be considered familiar.

From the airing cupboard, you collected the towel that Simon had bought you after your fifth stay here and smiled at the memory of shopping for it together. He’d asked for what colour you preferred then gathering other items into the trolley that were the same shade: toothbrush, wash cloth, cup to sit by the bathroom sink. He was nice like that.

The bathroom door locked behind you, the final ebbs of afternoon reaching in through frosted glass. You thanked the sun for enabling you to keep the lights off; the buzz that accompanied their stark spark on the silky tiles was always too much for you. However as warm as the daylight was, it failed to soothe your state. When you tried to retrieve the memory of how you’d gotten this t-shirt on in the first place, your mind offered you a blank slate and tears of frustration bubbling over, stinging worse than the injury as you tried to warp it against its will. But to no avail. Your bitten tongue surrendered so that the crying could commence with your t-shirt still stuck on your body.

Gentle rapping at the door didn’t halt anything. Surrendering felt like an admission of weakness, failure, and it poisoned you against yourself as you twisted the lock in the handle and slumped on the rim of the bath.

A pair of plain-socked feet appeared at the top of your line of sight, lingering on the cobalt carpet side of the door frame.

“Can I borrow your scissors please?” You asked, toying with a stray string dangling from the hem.

“You gonna stab me?” Simon inquired semi-sarcastically.

“Yes.” It was a pathetic little reply. But Simon pushed off the bath, belongings tinkling against one another as he rooted around then retrieved a small pair of scissors from the top shelf.

He sat down beside you on the rim, holding out the scissors by the blade, “It’s a nice shirt.”

You wiped your nose on the hem before taking the scissors, “It’s just Primark.”

“I can help you out of it, if it is Primark’s finest.”

“Was just cut it off.”

But of course your dominant hand was tied up in the sling, and you only just realised now.

“I could help you take it off.”

You’d never been undressed around Simon. The closest you’d gotten were jogging bottoms you’d cut into knee-length shorts and the sleeves of your t-shirt pushed onto your shoulders whilst you both worked out at opposite ends of the gym. Towards the end of your set, you mopped at your brow with the hem of your shirt once and the sliver of skin nearly sent Simon into anaphylactic shock.

He knew why you grappled with the notion of undressing. But he didn’t ever linger on you going elsewhere to change. Across your relationship, and even before it started, he’d shown you love in so many other ways that you would forget about what had happened to you.

Today was the first time he addressed it: “I understand why you wouldn’t want me to help.”

Without moving your head, your watchful stare latched onto his adjusting to the nuisance of sitting on a thin perch of porcelain. He withdrew his skull balaclava from its suffocating in his pocket and began kneading at it until the eyehole faced the ceiling you’d stared at many times, wishing you could be more intimate with the man you loved more than life.

 “Your reasons aren’t so different from mine.” And he held out the mask to you.

The olive branch was accepted and you thumbed over the skull plate as best you could with the scissors still in your grip. Only when your thumbnail caught against the paint depicting a cheekbone did it dawn on you what your boyfriend was referring to.

“Simon-”

“None of that,” He interrupted you, gently, firmly, “I get it. I don’t wanna bother you if you don’t want me here.”

He rubbed along your shoulder as you matched your deep breaths to his, resting your eyes to bask in his comfort and crushing the mask in your loose fist. You’d always equated it to anonymity. Never had you thought of linking it to another form of comfort.

“You can bathe with your clothes on,” Simon suggested after a minute’s silence.

“Do you know how hard it is to remove wet denim?” You muttered with a crooked smile.

“I do,” and he pressed a kiss to your forehead – his preferred place to do so. “Let’s give this a go.”

You handed back his balaclava and took in his bare face, the medical mask – the one he’d been wearing whilst you were in the hospital and all the way home - gone, his expression carefully crafted to be neutral so that you didn’t have to be.

He eased your sling off you after the taps were thundering steaming water into the tub. Then he vanished to his room, returning with a pair of baggy sports shorts. Cradling them like a baby, your nose welcomed their softness and the steam whilst Simon knelt onto the fluffy bathmat, nodding after splashing the bathwater and twisting the taps into silence.

“I’m gonna stink if I don’t wash properly,” You whispered.

After opening his palms to you, Simon took your shorts and arranged them on the floor, “I’ll get you some wet wipes to use while we wait for your arm to heal up.”

You held onto his shoulders whilst he undid your jeans and eased them down your legs, his hands careful to stay hidden in the fabric whilst you stepped out of them and into the shorts. Simon to pulled them up to your hips.

“Why did the magician take a bath?” He asked you as you lowered yourself into the water.

“I dunno, why?”

“To clean up his act.”

Your chest quivered, struggling to hold in your groans and giggles whilst Simon pumped some blueberry body wash into his palm, “That’s good.”

Tenderly he circled the soap across your forearm, “Fancy another?”

“Go on.” You were nothing if not his little enabler, indulging in his humour even after the rest of 141 had lightly roasted him for it.

“Knock, knock.”

Your free hand fiddled with the sodden hem of your t-shirt, “Who’s there?”

“Dwayne.”

“Dwayne who?”

Soaking the flannel and wringing it out over your arm, Simon began to wash the suds away, “Dwayne the bathtub before I dwown.”

Your smile was not dampened by the tears that rolled down your cheeks and dripped onto the shallow waterline. Instead, you focused your blurry vision on Simon’s hoodie sleeves that were pushed up to his elbows, those broad forearms sprinkled with droplets and soapsuds.

When Simon was lathering up some more body wash, you offered your own joke: “What did the man say after he swallowed a clock and went to the toilet?”

“What?”

“Watch out.”

Simon snorted loudly whilst carefully manipulating your injured arm amidst the blueberry bubbles.

You wiped a new tear away on your shoulder: “I’ve already told Kyle but you can tell it to Johnny.”

“Much obliged.”

With permission and a slow touch, he started soaping up your shins. His contact always lingered for hours on your skin. This felt like a polish, not a scratch or a dent, which is why you felt so overwhelmed now, just as you did that first time he gave you a proper bear hug. You didn’t mind the blueberry, something else to focus on instead of letting yourself meander towards conjuring disturbing imaginations of what you’d just learnt about Simon’s capture in Mexico.

He let you take over for washing your thighs, sitting on the toilet still talking to you with a smile that cracked up his face like the scar, from lip to brow. His eyes never strayed from your face, though it never felt like you were a target down his scope, more like feeling the sun first thing in the morning with a delicate breeze that danced around your being. Such a gaze wasn’t alien to Simon, even if he rarely showed it to you, and never to anyone else. You were just grateful that he was able to be like this, and that he still chose to.

That same stare, he held it whilst draping a towel around your shoulders, patting over your arms before he gathered it at the front for you to hold in your healthy hand. Then he collected a pile of clean clothes from the bedroom, placing them onto the closed toilet lid, you noted the crisply ironed button up folded on top. You settled for nestling your head against his chest since you were unable to hug him.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll make dinner.”

The door was locked after Simon disappeared behind it. You did end up cutting yourself out of the shirt, rest in peace. Fogged-up, the mirror wasn’t so bad to stare at whilst you moisturised with your good hand. You could still feel where Simon’s calloused hands had brushed over your skin, tingling in each follicle, and it was protected by the button-up you were able to slide on – one of the few Simon owned. His bulk was once again your gain; the shirt was loose enough to give you some wiggle room whilst dressing.

Clattering from the kitchen caught Simon in the act of putting away the ironing board. He was taking loud and rehearsed deep breaths that hissed through the fabric of his freshly-donned balaclava, the board under his arm before he tossed it into its assigned slot. His hand shook as it released the cupboard door handle, searching for something to distract himself with until he latched his stare onto you bunching your shirt in the front.

“I can’t do my buttons up,” You said quietly.

Your stomach impulsively sucked in on itself when his hands reached for the buttons before it, joining them with the fabric. Nevertheless, your gaze found solace in the thatch of fine chest hair growing in the lowest peak of his V-neck.

Simon started from the bottom button and made his way up. With each wince, his fingers stalled. But you knew he’d never hurt you, never on purpose and never like that. He made steady progress until complete and even helped you replace your sling. But then he sniffed and brushed his nose briefly, stepping away and back to the kitchen. For five minutes he alternated between sifting through the cupboards and staring helplessly into the fridge, his face washed out by the stagnant light inside. You took the time to help him in one of the ways you knew how.

“I’ll order us a takeaway.”

Immediately he slammed shut the fridge door, “You’re a fucking star.”

You were not put off by his pacing back and forth, nor were you by his hovering over you like a gargoyle whilst you tapped at the screen – which you held in a way for him to see clearly in case he wanted to add something. A wide berth allowed you to approach him on the couch with the takeaway when it arrived half an hour later (always reliable, hence why it was your go-to takeaway place). Simon also accepted the drink you brought him, but only because he’d already gotten you one plus two pain meds he made sure you took after getting some food into your stomach first.

The cushioned lap trays you’d invested in were already paying for themselves.

Dinner inhaled and rendering you quite soporific, you mirrored Simon’s earlier actions and tentatively shuffled closer to him, “Is this ok?”

“Yeah.” His arm dropped to around your waist, and you tugged on his wrist to keep it there. Only then did you tentatively wrap yourself around his full belly.

“Fuckin’ softie,” He said under his breath. That didn’t stop him from giving you a little squeeze – his hand no longer trembling - and sinking himself lower so that there was no pressure on your sprain. He turned the volume down a little, which sparked inspiration in your mind.

Half hiding in his t-shirt, you projected loud enough for him to hear you: “The local TV controller museum shut down due to no visitors. Turns out people aren’t remotely interested.”

“Have you been researching these instead of doing your paperwork?”

“What makes you think I haven’t been doing my paperwork?”

Simon looked down at you, those expressive eyes communicating both the “are you fucking for real?” and the “you’re lucky you’re cute” in equal parts. But from the way his balaclava was balanced on his face, you could tell he was smiling at you. So you smiled back at him then snuggled back against him with a contented sigh and the existence of your new joke book still a secret (for now).

The next time you opened your eyes, it was much darker in the living room. A blanket was tucked around your legs. The glow of “Are you still watching Phil Wang: Philly Philly Wang Wang?” from the flat-screen, despite that not being what you were watching when you first drifted off, bathed you in enough low light to allow you a comfortable adjustment period. You squinted up at your boyfriend. Head back in the pillows, his chest was rising and falling with each breath he drew and released through his nose. You adjusted the blanket around to cover his legs too and, tucking yourself back into your bundle, both you and Simon slept soundly.

[jinhyun]

written part of heart out coming later todayyyy ✨

[elisemochi]

I think i am finished with my Bokumono exchange fic

which yay

its only like 2.5k but that's a pretty typical wc for me

like that's like top 5 on my sort by word count list because most of my fics fall more in the 1k to 2k range (out of my 70ish fics only 8 actually go above 2k fdsjfakd

so like i'm happy with that

I still have to edit though which ew

[keycarabiner]

So close to finishing carry me home chapter 2… Will be up sometime this weekend for sure!

[senqv]

starting my descent into insanity w this royal au kaiser fic

[ninewhiskers]

just some lovers

[mostardently]

.

[banggyu0308]

so... if you got four fics for yeonjun's birthday... one a little early for millie's event... is that a yes or a no?

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Naked Truths (John Price x Escort!Reader)

Part of the Purchase Your Time series

Summary: It's a late night call that brings you to John's house, and you can tell by his appearance - and his payments - that tonight might just be the time he starts to cross that line of his.

Content warnings: Smut (18+ only, Minors DNI!), blowjobs (male receiving), penetrative sex, oral sex (reader receiving), Reader is gender neutral (genitals vaguely described, no specifics)

Masterlist

Calling you on a random Thursday after two months of radio silence initially thrilled in your stomach and sent earthquakes through your hands as you answered your phone.

“When can I see you?”

“When do you want to?”

“Now.”

After confirming that you only needed a change of comfortable clothes before you’d be able to head over, John hung up first - another indicator that he hadn’t the energy to act like a normal person. Perhaps that should’ve set off alarm bells louder than your curiosity, but this was bringing you real insight to who he was, not what he acted like in front of you. The man who yearned for domesticity but hid behind charm and competence unless you dared to offer that kind of interaction in an open palm.

Within a minute of hanging up, you received your payment straight into your bank account. An overnight stay was indicated by the number of digits.

His house again was the location and it was just as you remembered, except all the lights were off and his truck was not perfectly parked. Before you could exit to investigate, the driver cleared her throat before she handed you a key. No keychain or ring to indicate it had ever been attached to a set before. You accepted and thanked her before closing the car door behind you. The slam and fading of the engine as the car sped away left you in noticeable silence, no greeting, no enticement, nothing but intrigue to bring you to the front door, which you knocked out of habit before trying the key. No surprise was felt when it let you in.

“John?” You called out, taking your shoes off and placing them beside a pair of worn, caked in crap laced boots.

A gruff “In here” led you into the kitchen. At the breakfast bar, John’s back appeared in your vision.“Hi.” You slid the house key across the bar, scraping the marble but not marring it.

John’s hand stopped yours in place, “It’s for you.” As you made a mental note to add that to your John inventory, give it its own identifier so you wouldn’t mix it with any others, John raised his short glass and revealed the heavy amber liquid that sloshed about the bottom of it.“Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you.” And only then was your hand released to tuck that key away into your pocket. “How are you doing?”

Pressing the glass against his forehead, John sighed, “Been a day.”

“What can I do for you?”

John sniffed then abandoned the drink on the counter. The breakfast bar stool spun as he stood from it. The ice cubes filled the silence with their tune like a wind chime in a breeze.

In one smooth motion, John’s hands – cool from condensation – tilted your head and swept you close by the small of your back so that he could kiss you. The oiled bristle of his moustache paired like a fine wine with his lips cushioned on yours. Yet this switch-up from all previous dates had you hyper aware and certainly to the fact that he was walking you backwards, his palm cradling the back of your head so that you didn’t feel the brunt of the wall when he pressed you against it. Your own hands had latched onto his neck and midriff in the crossfire, tickled by this absence of restraint and annoyed when John drew away with a sigh and an apology. You calmly demanded for an reason behind his quiet “sorry”.

“Grabbing you like that,” was his explanation.

“I’m fine. You wanted to, I wanted to,” You replied, “It’s quite literally my job. I’m like a therapist you can fuck.”

Unfortunately, your humour resulted in John letting out an empty laugh and freeing you from his hold. But you were determined to get a real reaction out of him, so you pressed on his bruise a little more. “I’m serious. I’m hear for whatever you need: hearing out your problems, talking about things you can’t tell anyone else, whatever you want.”

Knocking back the rest of his drink, ice cubes clashing into his teeth, John swallowed then scoffed, “Is that how you see me? Just like any other client?”

“I see you wanting something, and you wanted that with me, which is why you called me. But you can’t bring yourself to ask for it.”

“Maybe you should be a therapist,” John tipped his glass over in the sink, letting it flip and fall an inch from his grip onto the draining board. Even though you’d made the connection, you wished he’d stop telling you to be in other professions, as if that would solve his hang-up over not having a real relationship.

“Couldn’t stand the paperwork,” You approached him, rubbing up and down between his shoulder blades whilst knowing you could never sneak up on him. “What’s got you feeling like this?”

“I can’t talk about it.” And his head hung as he pressed into the sideboard.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t.”

This man with all his padlocks and precautions, preventing you from knowing anything he didn’t want you to – and there was so much left for you to learn about him. But it seemed there was still some learning on his part too. His mental hurdle, with the reminders that you were willing and funded for his delight, was one you would not trip or turn from.

So you hooked his chin and made him face you, “Then don’t.”

When you kissed him again, you let him pull you between him and the sink. Fists in your clothes, desperate to free your skin, John barely drew away from breath – enoughthat his lips still graced over yours when he spoke:

“I’m not in a patient mood.”

You held back a smile, “You know the limits and I know the safe word. Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Gecko.”

“There’s nothing more to it then.”

Grappling with your clothes, You knew he’d take you right there on the counter if you let him No, he wanted a domestic paradise spiked with homespun thrills.

A risk worth taking, to get him to recognise how much he wanted this, you tore yourself from him to race your heartrate up the stairs to his room, the thudding of John skipping steps to capture you shooting adrenaline through your chest. Fear, manufactured fear that felt just like the real thing, trapped your breath and giggles in your constricted throat, growing tighter with every step climbed.

All air was snatched from your lungs as he grabbed you in the doorway, slamming you up against a chest of drawers, knocking over whatever knick-knacks or trinkets he had out. His mouth was hot on your chest from the second he pulled your shirt off. You found yourself fisting his hair to keep his mouth on you, his spit leaving paths of where he’d given you attention. Fingers dug his nails in like he burying to be beneath your skin. Crescent moons were left behind amongst his scars through his tight shirt as you matched his vigour.

“Say you want this,” John whispered into your neck.

“I want this,” You whined as his teeth threatened to make a meal of you.

“Again.”

“I want this, John. Please. I want it now.”

But still, he stopped, panting and squeezing your cheeks, your chin caught in the V of his finger and thumb. He pulled his forehead to yours.

“Tell me you want this,” He repeated.

Keening into him, your nose dragged you close to breathe him in. You licked your lips, like a wolf lavishing in the blood that dripped from them, cleaning of the kill in preparation for the next.

“John, I want you.”

The same absence of any personal touches in his bedroom would’ve caught your attention more, at all, if it weren’t for how viciously John ripped at your trousers, whipping them from your legs like a bedsheet fresh of a washing line. The ripple effect through your body sealed you close to him, seeking out a solution to the wet problem growing between your legs.

The slowest he’d acted was when he carried you to his bed. Legs around his waist, hoisting you and pressing you into the wall, stabilising himself, he left a bitemark on your neck before he moved you. His hands squeezed tight on your thighs before releasing you to fall onto the duvet.

For a moment, barely a second, John grabbed at his side. A wrinkle ironed itself free from his brow as soon as it appeared. You could hear him supress the hiss through his teeth, hiding the sound somewhere in his chest. Once his shirt was gone with the wind, you saw why: scar tissue on his mid torso, red with recency so not from this last work trip, at least. It did absolutely nothing in terms of inhibiting his desires, his teeth latching onto the skin of your collarbones again. You decided to curb his enthusiasm a little, though not to dispel the swelling in his jeans that was being rubbed up against your thigh.

Your knees were grateful for the pillow beneath them as you knelt on the floor and kissed his belly, your teeth threatening to pluck at the ridges. You could feel how John stared down at you. It pleased you when he cupped your chin as you undid his belt, and you smiled at him while he did his best not to pant at how smoothly yet hungrily you freed him from his underwear.

You sucked on your bottom lip for a second before repeating: “I want to.”

And you did.Scruffing the back of John’s neck, you pulled him down for a kiss, dipping into his mouth to stun him before you pulled away and spat on his cock with a concoction of yours and his. Your tongue lapped at the head of his cock and spread across his sensitive skin, following down the vein like a road on a map.

John’s sharpened breath kept you fuelled, both savouring this appetizer that was hefty on your tongue and his mood. His eyes were creased shut like the bedsheets he gripped in both fists, the adorable slope in his eyebrows peaked in the centre as he began to surrender to you. You continued to seek out his pleasure, feeling him fill your mouth deeper and deeper with each return.

At last, he needed no encouragement from you. His paw-like hand coaxed you from the back of your head, insisting that your nose be tickled by his curled pubic hairs. Droopy eyelids and a softened throat let him take the lead like he wanted to. Your thumb was throttled in your fist to hide your gag reflex, the other hand teasing his . Still, tears began brewing as he stuffed himself into your mouth. Deep breaths flooded your lungs with sweat and salt condensation.  

When John brought you back up and pressed his mouth to yours, his tongue stroked in your mouth like he’s searching for something you haven’t said. You didn’t know why that made you nervous; you had nothing to hide, right?

The pads of his fingers traced down to you, smearing your arousal across your sex. He honed in on it like a beacon and tenderly petted you. His deliberate pace riled you up at an alarming rate, nails digging through his hairy forearm, to stop or hasten him. Either way, delightful as he drew control from you, eyes drooping and mouth agape to free the gasps. Somewhere, seemingly far away, you heard yourself ask for more as you felt yourself building up and up.

“Later,” and John licked his fingers clean, “I need to be inside of you now.”

You remembered, then, that he was the client. So you put your disappointment aside and opened your legs wider for him.

However, as he was positioning himself, John’s fingers dug in and he let out a different type of grunt, more strained than a release.You opened your eyes to find him grabbing at the back of his left thigh, squeezing in an attempt to soothe the cramp that had ruined his stamina. Before you could stop him, he planted his hands either side of you and went to lean. Swiftly he was cut off by a wince with his nose and eyes crinkled. His hand found his thigh again.

“Sit back,” You instructed, and he knew what you were getting at. Let me.

The manoeuvre wasn’t smooth but it got you over him. Whilst you settled into his lap, he had retrieved a condom and a bottle of lube from his bedside drawer. Delight swirled in your stomach at the thought of John buying it in anticipation for a meeting with you, or even just to ease his nights alone. It combined nicely with the shivers sent through his calloused fingertips as he massaged the lube around your hole, finishing the work to open you up to him. Within the minute, he was pulling you down on him, resting your forehead to his, John matching your breathing’s pace.

When he asked, you affirmed: “I’m ready, I want this.”

Controlling your pace, John took things slow to start. All that effort towards your orgasm that was lost began building up, even if it got distracted by John’s hand awkwardly trying to rub your sex whilst you grinded on top of him.

“Not there,” You tapped his wrist to make him move, gripping around it when he met your demands, “There. That’s it.”

A contrived head roll helped you avoid his stare and all its intensity. It wasn’t all an act; you were definitely enjoying yourself. But you had to pad the role a little to make sure he knew that too. You were doing a fantastic job, you thought, until John pinched your chin and forced you to stare him down.

“Tell me I’m a good man,” He huffed.

You did as you were told: “You’re so good for me.”

“Again.”

“You’re a good man, John. You’re my good man.”

He had you repeat it a few more times, his movements getting sloppier but nevertheless determined to get you both across the finish line. His teeth graced your shoulder as he rocked into you. His arms locked you in and you groaned at the prickle of his bite and his beard.

At last, you made it to release. Breathing slowly through it, a smile broke onto your face as it rippled through you. It was amplified by the harmonising noises John made, the feeling of him filling that condom up, his body up against yours in ridges and curves. When he slumped against you, you squeezed around him a few more times – just to be sure.

You leant against his head, kissing the sweaty cowlick whilst enjoying him knead your ass in a slow rhythm of clasp and release – like a stress toy. He was keeping you in the afterglow.

“You ok?”

“Hmm.” His hand found the back of your neck to make you look at him once he raised his head back up, “Are you?”

“You took such good care of me,” and you nuzzled your nose to his, “No ropes though?”

“Told you, I’m in no mood for patience.”

“That strikes me as out of character for you.”

John gave a one note hum again, “Next time, I’ll take all the time I need.”

“Sure you can handle that?”

Confidence returned, John’s slitted eyes sparkled as he smiled, kissing you with his arms pulling you in close, no air between your skin and his and only allowing a gasp in that vacuum when he needed to remove the condom. He delivered on your aftercare clause with the affection he sought himself, you combing your nails through his beard and kissing the flattened hairs whilst he cleaned you with a cloth and kisses. After, he curled up beside you, keeping you close. You’d known you would be staying as soon as you’d seen how much he was paying you, so this was no surprise. You made yourself content rising and falling on this furnace of a man’s chest.Of course, you’d have to roll over once he was out if you wanted any chance to get some rest, but this was fine for now. Until-

“One of the times we were together,” John whispered, his thumb tracing the same arc of skin on your back, “Before I left, I told you about my day plans. You asked me if you could help, instead of if I wanted you to stick around.” He took in and appreciated a deep breath, his grip on you tightening for a second. “Felt nice.”

Raising your head, you couldn’t stop your brow from creasing at his words: “What are you worrying about?”

“Not worried, but not foolin’ myself either.”

But this was what he wanted to be told. He made it clear when you first met: he wanted some sense of a reality he was prohibited from. He wanted to hear you say this, and who were you to refuse a paying customer?

You made sure he was looking at you before you spoke, resting in his chest with your nose brushing against his, “I want to be here, John. I want to be here with you.”

You slid off John’s chest as he shifted onto his side, taking your wrists into his hands and all the while keeping you locked in a stare with him. Intensity darkened his eyes and sent a chill through your back that locked up. Goosebumps pulled you back against John.

“Say it again,” He said hoarsely, “Please.”

You swallowed before speaking, “I want to be here with you.”

His lips lunged onto yours, his tongue yearning for more of your taste and only freeing you from his intoxicating kisses to demand another: “Again.”

“I want to be with you.”

The way his leg notched between yours rushed your heartrate; his hands were guiding your hips to grind upon it.

“I want you too,” He grunted against your gasps.

“I know.”

Next thing you knew, you were pinned back into the mattress and your whined efforts were ignored whilst John parted your thighs and feasted upon you. Any woes about professionality and separating truth from work were forgotten. All that mattered was his tongue and the way his lines by his eyes formed, as pleased to see you undone as you had been for him.

-----------

AN: There's a dark!version of this in my drafts that I'll post later, but also the brain worms are wriggling around putting Price through a Gone Girl situation still sooooo we'll see when that happens. Soon hopefully!

[contritecactite]

So happy to be able to share my piece for @7yeargapzine at long last! I even made an especially poorly planned graphic for this one for contrast to show just how beautiful the zine itself is.

You can find my fic about Franziska and Trucy's first meeting during the 7yg on AO3, but I also encourage you to check out the project's leftover sales while they're open!

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Bubble Baths and Blisters (John Price x Escort!Reader)

Part of the Purchase Your Time Universe

Summary: It's clear John doesn't take care of himself when he's at work, so you'll just have to do it while he's home.

Content warning: References to sexual content (erections, reader is a sex worker) Minors DNI/18+ only! 2.8k words

Masterlist

This driver didn’t speak to you at all on the drive to your meeting. You preferred it that way, curating your message to your friend with the address you spied in the SatNav.

At the front desk, you collected the key card then made your way into the elevator. Your new bag wheeled in behind you, a larger one to fit potential outfits you’d need in the coming days requested by your benefactor. It barely clipped your heel as you twisted around to select your designated floor. Muzak was your companion on the walk down to your room; you knocked three times and counted to four in time with it. The keycard found the slot in the door easily. It granted you entry to the room.

Already, the purple patterned wallpaper and sleek grey furnishings appeased your materialistic side. But it was the pair of shoes unaligned by the door and the outfit laid out on the bed that called you inside.

At the sound of a shuffle through the wall, you spoke, “John?”

“Just coming,” was your reply, accompanied by the flush of a toilet and a splash in a sink.

Upon the instant John emerged from the bathroom, you noticed the cut on his right cheek. It was wide enough to require tape stitch closures and thin enough to only have a few causes behind its creation. Your hands found John’s face.

“What happened?” You said, almost whining at him, as if he’d gotten hurt on purpose.

John attempted to wave you off, “Nothing serious, I’m fine.”

Still, you fawned over him a little longer, leading him over to the bed so you could get a closer look – and the longer you looked, the more you found to worry over. Split skin on his knuckles, semi scabbed over, worried you more than the bruise blooming beneath them. Those valleys of cuts scarcely healed were bound to welcome infection like a bellboy would a hotel guest.

Only reason you stopped was because John clasped around your wrists like the prettiest bracelets and squeezed so that your hands stopped using his jaw to tilt his head about for inspection.

“I’m okay,” He said, his voice firm but his eyes soft, for your benefit no doubt, and you felt the overwhelming desire to trust him. He’d make one hell of an actor.

For now, you switched to a neutral subject.

“Went all out on the room this time, didn’t you?”

“My colleague says I need to learn to relax. Thought this might inspire that.”

You cottoned on with a grin, “That’s why I’m here, right?”

A wince wrinkled John’s expression, and you were not sure if the cause was an injury or the comment, but the fact that he even let slip a reaction at all told you all you needed to know about his current state. Getting this man to relax and recuperate was your new goal.

“I thought maybe we could-” You stopped, watching John cringe again, this time pushing on his knees as he went to stand. Forgetting about your fancy clothes in your suitcase, you jumped with your gut instinct: “Let me run you a bath.”

“I didn’t call you here so you could watch me soak in my own filth.”

“You’re not that dirty.” John squinted at your through suspicious slitted eyes at your comment whilst you continued, “Besides, it’ll help you unwind, and we’ll have time after. C’mon, let me. Please.”

Begging was not something you did without being paid for it, hence why you were completely fine whipping out the puppy dog eyes now. With faux resignation, John acquiesced and, within the minute, you were filling the bath with all the bubble bath you could find, having demanded he get undressed whilst you prepare his tub.

As you swished through the water, blending the two temperatures into a pleasantly hot sting, John poked his head into sight. His naked arm pressed the door against him in case it decided to reveal more of him to you. A tattoo of a dagger speared through his bicep like it was still lodged into a slot made of skin. You stood quickly; the rush of blood from your head made you wobble and John made a move, revealing a hint of his chest to you.

“Normally, I’d light some candles, really set the mood,” You said just as fast as you’d stood. “Want me to turn around?”

Despite him shaking his head, as you “sorted” through bottles of body wash, you still glanced far enough away that his nude body was in your peripheral, blurred in your blind spot as he sank beneath the water and hid himself beneath the bubbles as much as possible. More tattoos masked beneath body hair like brick walls behind ivy vines, some linework slashed apart or speckled with more scars than there were bubbles in the tub, forming constellations. Other bruises of varying purples were contrasted by tape and gauze on his lower left shoulder. John remained upright, his back straight and arms balance on the tub’s rim. He shot you a look that told you not to linger on his injuries.

You ignored it, “Glad to see you at least went to a doctor before calling me.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I dread to think. Can I wash your hair?”

John hesitated for a split second: “Sure.”

You took one from the pair of drinking glasses beside the sink, scooping up bathwater and swiping the excess bubbles from the top. As you carefully tilted John’s head back, your hand defending his brow from any stray droplets, you made sure your touch didn’t cross paths with the string of numbers tattooed right above the top of his spine. The skin there was marred and raised; whoever tattooed it was not kind with their equipment.

Water slicked down John’s hair, then again and again, until hairs clumped together in thicker tresses. Your nails ploughed carefully through after each cupful. One occasion, it narrowly missed a hidden scab, which you added to John’s total of injuries.

A healthy dollop of shampoo was squirted into your palm, pressing it into your other and threading it over your fingers. Foam rose fast; you began to circle it into John’s uneven hair. Over the bubbles popping, you heard the fruits of your recently done-up nails as you scratched them through his head, parting locks like a plough tilling the land. His head rotated on its axis ever-so-slightly as you clenched and tugged on his hair.

As nicely as you could, you pushed on his forehead and received an open eye of curiosity as you tempted him to rest his head back on a folded towel. The eye shut again, satisfied, when youbegan to knead the dough of the fat thinly coating his right shoulder’s muscles. They were like dead roots, reaching far across his body and brittle with age left unchecked. Body wash slicked up the skin to ease your firm touch.

“Your coworker was right; you do need to relax,” You whispered.

“Don’t tell her. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“It can be our secret then.” A firm dig from your thumbs beneath both his shoulder blades resulted in the first groan-gasp combination from John. “Good?”

“Divine. You’d make a great masseuse.”

“I would. But then I wouldn’t get to see you.”

John had already opened his mouth to speak again, but as you massaged parallel lines down his spine, his head drooped, dragging him forward a little so you could reach further, and his chin closed against his chest.

“Yes?” You prompted light-heartedly, only to be met with him groaning again, “That’s what I thought.”

“Cheeky.” Though his tone matched the words, the timbre of his voice was thick, like his vocal chords had been drizzled in honey.

“You love it.”

Refusing to let him slouched for long, you eased him back upright to resume rubbing on his shoulder. Your fingers avoided the bandage on his pectoral as you soaped him up and washed him clean. The barrier of your hand protected the gauze. Surprisingly, you caught John staring a few times, his go-to move to smile and close his eyes whenever you did.

Perched on the rim of the tub, you began to work on his arms. As you circled the tips of his fingers and travelled down each knuckle, John started to pay more attention to you again. Occasionally, you would meet his gaze, not to challenge, just to smile at him and for that smile to grow when you hit a sweet spot that made him grunt and look away first. John kept his hand in your lap whilst you worked on the other one, his thumb rubbing back and forth at the same pace as yours. It left you content to feel the heft of his hand growing as you eased the tension from each tendon. He was trusting you to look after him, giving more and more of himself over.  

So it was a risky move to transition your care onto his right foot. Nothing that spelt rejection of this area when you first took the limb from the water, propping it on yet another folded towel at the rim for ease of access. Still nothing from John as you kneaded and pressed. It was only when you were zoned in on his calf that, through gritted teeth, you heard John force out the word:

“Love?”

Your fingers ceased all movement immediately, hands retracing in surrender, because John had never called you that before. Crimson had rushed to his ears beneath the shampoo bubbles. He cleared his throat as you leant your head left in confusion.

Then you saw his cock standing proud and poking out the bubbles. It was hardly the first erection you’d ever seen: pretty impressive, but pretty normal for your work week. You drew your eye away from it easily whilst John attempted to cover his groin up with more bubbles.

You looked back at him, hands back on the rim of the tub, “Do you want me to stop?”

John ground away at the enamel on his teeth whilst he deliberated over his best course of action. His knuckles ripped apart a scab with the grip they had on the rim.

Not wanting to send him off to an emergency dentist or A&E, you offered, “How about I keep going and you tell me when to stop or move on?”

John took a deep breath and spoke in a gruff voice, like the one when he was just waking up, “When I say.”

“Of course.”

He let you get to his knees on both legs before requesting you move on. Message received, you finished up fast and shifted focus on washing the shampoo gently out from his hair. As you rinsed through his hair, you noted that he seemed to have… calmed down. But the opposite effect seemed to have been achieved as a tear rolled down John’s cheek and plinked into the waterline.

You withdrew from him, trying instead to catch his eyeline, “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

But John turned his head with a sniff, water sloshing as he withdrew a hand from the tub to pretend to wipe his nose, no doubt an attempt to remove the stinging sensation in his eyes. However, he was still smiling , close-lipped and slightly strained under his bought of emotion.

“I’m fine,” He muttered, his hand melting beneath the water as he pushed up and down his thigh. You wanted to joke that “I’m fine” should become his catchphrase, but you held off. He was the most open he’d been with you at all, even if he was lying about it.

“Anything I can do?” You asked instead.

Shaking his head, John braced himself on the sides of the tub, “Gonna get out now. Could you…?”

“Sure.”

You practically fled the bathroom in an effort to do what would make him feel comfortable. Water cascading back into the tub echoed off the tiles and into the bedroom whilst you texted your friend to confirm you were still safe.

When he finally came out the bathroom room, steam rolling in like fog over San Francisco, he was cleaning out his ears with a complimentary cotton bud. His eyes held no signs of crying, and you hadn’t heard any further evidence as such, so you felt only a vague sting of guilt for ogling the way he tied his robe, granting you access to follow a stray drop of hair weave its way down through his chest hair.

Determined to let him know you didn’t care about what transpired – except that you wanted him to be okay – you stepped close to him.

“Okay, don’t laugh but I’m begging you to let me at least moisturise your face. It’s gonna crack like dry earth.”

John let out a short laugh as he sauntered over to the bed that clued you in on his answer: he was prepared to humour you. He tossed the cotton bud neatly into the bin – nothing but binbag – and took his seat, once against observing you whilst you gleefully collected your face cream from your bag.

Standing between his legs, you dappled blobs across his face with a practiced fingertip. Stippling across his face displayed the freckles that populated his skin in a flattering light. Working in delicate circles so as not to cause any further damage, you were aware that you were likely pulling weird faces for aid of focus, and you probably had been whilst you were massaging him, but John didn’t react to them besides his slow cat-like blinks that let him pivot his gaze around your face and his hands curving at the tops of your thighs.

Hecaught you in his grasp again just as you were finishing up, and you paused to let him speak.

Holding your eye contact as gently as he held your wrist, John murmured, “I think about you a lot when I’m away.”

Your thumb carefully dragged the last of the lotion across his cheek, vanishing it into his skin. “I think about you too.”

A couple of inches breathing room between you became too much, what with John’s eyes drooping to your lips for increasing intervals. You decided to toss your face lotion bottle on the bed before you kissed him. Hardly heated, you were gentle as before. Something sweet and simple to soothe him back to normal life.

But as John pulled away, you saw none of that. You saw remorse that ran as deep as the damage his scars hinted at. All he managed was a slight embellishment of a smile whilst he wiped away a smear of lotion that had transferred onto your face.

“What time’s our reservation?”

“An hour.”

Plenty of time.

So, instead of pressing him like your gut yearned to, you kissed his forehead and stepped away. You didn’t call out how he leant towards you, even tilting on his axis to follow your lips for more, or how he closed his eyes with his shoulders sagging and a sigh caged in his ribs. He probably didn’t want to be seen as the sad man who asked you to kiss him so he felt better about getting a boner over getting his hair washed.

You let John stick to his plan and thank you by taking you out to dinner. Despite feeling like you were making progress, knowing him a little more, he seemed to be digging into the Earth to create more distance between you both as he sipped at his drink and dodged your queries about what he planned to do with his time off. Distance was healthy, necessary even for your work. But much more and you might not be able to stomach it.

With his new found vantage point, John as your voyeur continued his new role throughout and past dinner. The only time you crossed into his territory again was once you’d completed your nightly routine under his watch. You crossed the shag carpet to stand between his legs, kiss him goodnight and thank him for treating you so well. Reminding you that you hadn’t lost all that progress, John squeezed your waist as he affirmed you deserved every luxury. His forehead rested against yours as he told you this.

But there was damage done still. John reached out for you in his sleep. His arms found your waist every time he settled, and every time he woke back up, he retracted his touch back to his side.

You didn’t hear from him for two months after that meeting, something with work he’d said. You still thought about him a lot. You wondered if he still did too.

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AN: Thanks for your patience! You voted for a bathtime chapter; we got one! I've got a dark!fic au of this I'll post later on too.