This is where I reblog all the amazing fics that have me punching the air and kicking my feet, as well as where I put some of the things I write (though as of now I am taking a break from writing due to work). It’s mainly Call of Duty, Triple Frontier, Star Wars, and a little Marvel.
I by no means consider myself writer, this is just something fun to do to stave off existential crises.
This is a secondary blog and that comes with all the stupid secondary blog restrictions but I read every comment and have asks and messages open.
I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING SHOVED THROUGH ANY FORM OF AI OR REPOSTED ELSEWHERE SO PLEASE DO NOT DO THAT.
Thanks for stopping by and having such good taste in fictional men! 😉😘
Had the startling realization today that my consumption of smut, in particular well written smut, the lyricism and prose of which infects the very DNA of my biological makeup and rewrites it into something new and awful and corrupt- has made it so I cannot be with any man in real life because none of them will ever be that one man in that one fic that does that one particular thing in that particular way.
A little John Price x FemReader drabble because I think about John Price far too often for it to be considered healthy and my mind always comes back to this: he always seems so in control. Not just of his people, or whatever environment he is in, but of himself. He’s cool calm and collected and honestly?- I don’t think that aspect of Price would shift too much during sex. Actually, I think it would kick into overdrive. I think that cool calm collectedness would shift into a calculating tenderness.
You see, he knows you. Knows how you take your coffee in the morning, knows what makes you laugh, knows your favorite movie, he even knows what kind of toothpaste you prefer. And he knows what makes you shake and cry and beg and plead beneath him.
John Price has had you pressed into his bed for what feels like an eternity now, one of his strong arms holding your hips down as the other is busy working two thick fingers in and out of you as he eats you out not like a man starved but like one who knows how to savor a good meal, how to taste a fine whiskey, how to suck in the smoke from a cigar and discern every single note.
Your legs are trembling, your hands grip onto the back on his head and you try to grind your hips against his molten tongue, chasing the release he has denied you since kissing his way down your body and planting himself between your legs. He of course pulls away, as he has done every single time you finally got close to falling over that edge. Price prides himself on his patience.
Your throat is raw from the sounds he has been wrenching from you and your mind struggles to catch up from another stolen orgasm yet you still try to form his name though it comes out slightly slurred as you lift your head to look down at him.
He lovingly kisses the inside of your thigh, running his rough bearded cheek against the soft skin before glancing up at you. His hair stands up at all angles from your hands desperately clutching at it. His eyes glint like sharpened steel but crinkle beneath a lazy warm smile spread out over reddened cheeks. He blinks at you, your hair wild, a sheen of sweat glistening across your body, and offers a low rumbling hum as if deep in thought.
“What’s that, love? You need to speak up.”
His eyes never leave yours, your gaze just as locked beneath him as your body in his arms. You drag in a breath, trying to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as you can muster and you begin to beg.
He patiently listens to your pleading, nodding his head with your every demand, that grin on his face never wavering, until you are finished.
He shakes his head and sighs, “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
And god bless him, he lets go of his hold on your hips and moves his looming frame until he is kneeling on the bed just below you.
His huge thighs shuffle until they are flush with the backs of your own. His cock is flushed a vicious red, precum glistening from the tip, as he takes it in hand and rubs himself against your clit. You shake, your body body a live wire of pleasure beneath him, and your fingernails dig into his thighs.
“Look at you,” he huffs with a smile.
When he finally lines himself up with your entrance, you can feel your arousal dripping down between your cheeks and creating a small wet spot on the sheets but you don’t have time to care as John’s huge rough hands grip onto your waist and pull you onto the hardened length of himself as he pushes in. You’ll never get used to it, you think for a split second, before the stretch of him inside of you catches up to your brain making your back arch off the bed so harshly that you grit your teeth in pain.
Those hands of his soothingly rub your hips and one slides up to cradle the small of your back.
“There we go,” he praises, his voice low and sticky in your mind, “Such a good girl for me.”
This has you clenching around him so hard that your vision nearly whites out, and even gets you a little huff from John as he closes his eyes and relishes in the feeling of you around him. Then he begins to move.
John’s thrusts are not fast but they are not gentle either. He grinds into you, cock hitting a spot that has you gasping, clawing at his arms as he watches you. He watches as you fall apart beneath him, that smile still there, though his mouth now hangs slightly open in awe. His eyes are hard and focused as he completely gives himself over to the task at hand. Tears begin to gather in your lashes, slipping down your temples, as you blink up at the man breaking you apart. It’s only when his hand shifts to where the two of you meet, and his thumb begins an onslaught of circles against your clit do you begin to grasp the enormity of the cliff you are about to fall over. You sob out his name, the sound of it wretched from your chest, and you shake your head as your hands try to push him away, or drag him closer you have no idea which at this point.
“C’mon, just let go for me,” he urges, “I want to see it.”
And you do. You immediately fall over that cliff and you let go. You can’t even cry out his name, the ability to form any words seemingly lost as you grind yourself into his thrusts and brokenly sob incoherent nonsense as pleasure ricochets through your body electrifying every nerve in your system.
“There it is,” his voice comes to you amongst the waves of your orgasm, proud and praising, as he continues to grind into you, carving himself into your pleasure until he finally gives one last thrust, burying himself deep, before emptying inside you.
You stay there like that, him inside of you, as you try to will yourself back into your own body, listening to the sound of his breathing.
The feeling of those hands softly rubbing against your thighs helps bring you back, eyes blinking up at him. He grins back at you, all tousled hair and flushed faced, before leaning down to kiss you. You sigh into his mouth, but then you feel him twitch inside of you.
Honestly, it’s just something I think about sometimes. I also tend to think of Simon Riley, and how I think he desperately tries to hold onto control until it slips from him like a dog shaking off water. Or maybe Kyle Garrick who I think would let you think you have control before he pulls it from you with his bare teeth. And don’t get me started on Johnny MacTavish, a wolf in sheep’s clothing if I ever saw one, all charming smiles and blue eyes but deep down he’s a feral animal who gives in to any base instinct and relishes in dragging you down with him. Just some thoughts.
A little John Price x FemReader drabble because I think about John Price far too often for it to be considered healthy and my mind always comes back to this: he always seems so in control. Not just of his people, or whatever environment he is in, but of himself. He’s cool calm and collected and honestly?- I don’t think that aspect of Price would shift too much during sex. Actually, I think it would kick into overdrive. I think that cool calm collectedness would shift into a calculating tenderness.
You see, he knows you. Knows how you take your coffee in the morning, knows what makes you laugh, knows your favorite movie, he even knows what kind of toothpaste you prefer. And he knows what makes you shake and cry and beg and plead beneath him.
John Price has had you pressed into his bed for what feels like an eternity now, one of his strong arms holding your hips down as the other is busy working two thick fingers in and out of you as he eats you out not like a man starved but like one who knows how to savor a good meal, how to taste a fine whiskey, how to suck in the smoke from a cigar and discern every single note.
Your legs are trembling, your hands grip onto the back on his head and you try to grind your hips against his molten tongue, chasing the release he has denied you since kissing his way down your body and planting himself between your legs. He of course pulls away, as he has done every single time you finally got close to falling over that edge. Price prides himself on his patience.
Your throat is raw from the sounds he has been wrenching from you and your mind struggles to catch up from another stolen orgasm yet you still try to form his name though it comes out slightly slurred as you lift your head to look down at him.
He lovingly kisses the inside of your thigh, running his rough bearded cheek against the soft skin before glancing up at you. His hair stands up at all angles from your hands desperately clutching at it. His eyes glint like sharpened steel but crinkle beneath a lazy warm smile spread out over reddened cheeks. He blinks at you, your hair wild, a sheen of sweat glistening across your body, and offers a low rumbling hum as if deep in thought.
“What’s that, love? You need to speak up.”
His eyes never leave yours, your gaze just as locked beneath him as your body in his arms. You drag in a breath, trying to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as you can muster and you begin to beg.
He patiently listens to your pleading, nodding his head with your every demand, that grin on his face never wavering, until you are finished.
He shakes his head and sighs, “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
And god bless him, he lets go of his hold on your hips and moves his looming frame until he is kneeling on the bed just below you.
His huge thighs shuffle until they are flush with the backs of your own. His cock is flushed a vicious red, precum glistening from the tip, as he takes it in hand and rubs himself against your clit. You shake, your body body a live wire of pleasure beneath him, and your fingernails dig into his thighs.
“Look at you,” he huffs with a smile.
When he finally lines himself up with your entrance, you can feel your arousal dripping down between your cheeks and creating a small wet spot on the sheets but you don’t have time to care as John’s huge rough hands grip onto your waist and pull you onto the hardened length of himself as he pushes in. You’ll never get used to it, you think for a split second, before the stretch of him inside of you catches up to your brain making your back arch off the bed so harshly that you grit your teeth in pain.
Those hands of his soothingly rub your hips and one slides up to cradle the small of your back.
“There we go,” he praises, his voice low and sticky in your mind, “Such a good girl for me.”
This has you clenching around him so hard that your vision nearly whites out, and even gets you a little huff from John as he closes his eyes and relishes in the feeling of you around him. Then he begins to move.
John’s thrusts are not fast but they are not gentle either. He grinds into you, cock hitting a spot that has you gasping, clawing at his arms as he watches you. He watches as you fall apart beneath him, that smile still there, though his mouth now hangs slightly open in awe. His eyes are hard and focused as he completely gives himself over to the task at hand. Tears begin to gather in your lashes, slipping down your temples, as you blink up at the man breaking you apart. It’s only when his hand shifts to where the two of you meet, and his thumb begins an onslaught of circles against your clit do you begin to grasp the enormity of the cliff you are about to fall over. You sob out his name, the sound of it wretched from your chest, and you shake your head as your hands try to push him away, or drag him closer you have no idea which at this point.
“C’mon, just let go for me,” he urges, “I want to see it.”
And you do. You immediately fall over that cliff and you let go. You can’t even cry out his name, the ability to form any words seemingly lost as you grind yourself into his thrusts and brokenly sob incoherent nonsense as pleasure ricochets through your body electrifying every nerve in your system.
“There it is,” his voice comes to you amongst the waves of your orgasm, proud and praising, as he continues to grind into you, carving himself into your pleasure until he finally gives one last thrust, burying himself deep, before emptying inside you.
You stay there like that, him inside of you, as you try to will yourself back into your own body, listening to the sound of his breathing.
The feeling of those hands softly rubbing against your thighs helps bring you back, eyes blinking up at him. He grins back at you, all tousled hair and flushed faced, before leaning down to kiss you. You sigh into his mouth, but then you feel him twitch inside of you.
Still not over this slutty ass neckline, whatchu doin out here with all that jugular? Begging someone to sink their teeth into it that’s what. Whore behavior.
