#【 ☓ 】 ❙ THIS FACE WAS MADE FOR RADIO. ❙《 visage/about. 》࿏

[statiicstag]

at least if i'm not productive writing i can be productive with art

[statiicstag]

[ @countlessrealities ]

vox your pathetic side is showing

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: You were Alastor's weakness. Something about you drew him closer into your orbit. He knew this weakness would be his downfall, but he couldn't pull back. No matter how hard he tried.

☒ Contains: fluff, gender!neutral reader, slightly angsty undertones, affectionate!Alastor, also possessive!Alastor, sleeping together (literally), implied established relationship, cuddles, one forehead kiss, Alastor undresses the reader but it is not sexual

☒ Word Count: 1,374

Alastor was alluring. 

The mystery surrounding the radio demon made the man all the more interesting to you. The moment Alastor showed up at your friend Charlie's Hotel all those months back, his gaze fixated on you.

His crimson gaze was intimidating at first. But as more time passed, Alastor's stare became somewhat of a solace to you. You felt safe around him. Especially because overtime he seemed to become possessive with you.

Any time you would get a little too close to the other patrons at the Hotel, Alastor's eye would twitch. He would be at your side in an instant- ushering you away. Keeping his hand firm at your waist as he shot the poor sinner a death glare. 

It was flattering, really. You just didn't seem to understand why. 

Why you? 

But hey, you weren't complaining. Plus, it was probably best not to question it. 

It had been an overwhelmingly exhausting day at the hotel. Charlie had you working overtime in preparation for the newcomers ready to be redeemed. You couldn't help but yawn as you trailed down the corridor. Sleepily swaying from side to side as your half-lidded eyes got heavier with each step. 

Suddenly, you felt yourself slam face-first into something- or rather, someone. 

"Careful now, my dear! If you don't watch where you're going, you could end up in a rather dangerous predicament!"

The static crackle in his voice was all too familiar; Alastor.

One of his hands came up to your waist; fingers playfully tapping along your side. Alastor's other hand grasped your chin, tilting your face up so he could get a good look at you.

"My, my! You're looking rather worn down, my dearest! Seems like Charlie's working you to the bone, hm?"

His Cheshire-like smile caught your eye before your gaze met his crimson orbs. Alastor's eyebrows were knitted in concern, making your heart flutter in your chest. 

"Ah, sorry for running into you, Al. I'm just really sleepy. It's been a long day," Your yawn cut you off before you could say more. Your arms snaked around his slender neck as you rested your head against his chest.

Alastor and yourself never discussed the gravity of your relationship. He was bad with feelings, and even worse at expressing them. What you two had was an unspoken thing, and you felt honored to be able to embrace him in this way; knowing no one else had the privilege to do so.

Alastor let out a low hum, static grumbling in his chest. The vibrations lulled you further into dreamland. That was until Alastor's hands swiftly pulled your thighs up, and on instinct, your legs wrapped around his slender waist. Your eyes fluttered open from the swift gesture, and you tilted your head to read Alastor's expression. 

"Al... what are you doing?" You mumbled softly, tightening your hold around the back of his neck as he began his descent down the hall. 

"Why, I'm taking you to our room, my dearest! Seems as though it's way past your bedtime." His radio static voice held a playful undertone as he pulled the bedroom door open. Carefully, Alastor placed you at the edge of your shared bed. 

On most nights, you slept while he worked on his plans for the next broadcast. Alastor rarely slept, but he adored the peaceful sounds of your labored breaths while you rested. Your captivating visage distracted him- only slightly, most nights while he typed up his script. You were just too adorable for your own good, too entrusting. Too tempting.

"Arms up, my dear!" Alastor quipped in a sing-song voice. Sharp gloved fingernails grazed the bare skin of your waist as he tugged your shirt over your head. You shivered slightly from the touch, a coy smile adorning your features as Alastor worked on removing your pants next. 

Alastor hummed along to a tune you couldn't quite put your finger on as he finished undressing you. You couldn't help how your heart pounded against your ribcage from the way his crimson orbs raked over your frame. Strangely, you felt like he was looking at you as if you were his prey. It sent a wave of adrenaline through your entire being.

"No need to feel demure, my darling. You are truly breathtaking! Quite a sight for sore eyes." His voice lowered slightly at the end of his sentence. Alastor made himself comfortable between your parted thighs as he began undressing himself, crimson gaze never once leaving yours. 

He allowed his overcoat and bowtie to cascade to the floor as he unbuttoned his red dress shirt, slumping it off his broad shoulders. "Thank you, Al... you flatter me too much," You chuckled softly, looking at him quizzically as he began looping your arms through his crimson button-up. 

"Nonsense, my dearest! I speak nothing but the truth." Alastor's voice softened as he fastened a couple of buttons of his shirt around your frame, leaving it rather loose-fitting on you. You smiled up at him softly as he lifted you up once more, carrying you to your side of the bed. Slowly, Alastor lifted the sheets, tucking you under them snuggly.

"There, now my darling is ready for bed!" He cooed. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before darting back up. Just as Alastor was about to turn on his heel to begin his work for the night, your hand wrapped around his wrist. Alastor slowly turned his head, gaze fixated on where your delicate fingers held him.

"Al... can you lay with me? Only for a little- just until I doze off, please?" Your pleading eyes struck something deep from within him. Alastor swore you were his biggest weakness of all, though he would never admit it aloud. Let alone allow any lowly wretch to discover his drawback; you. 

"Well, how can I deny such a sweet little request from you? You did say please, after all!" Alastor wasted no time slithering in beside you, pushing you gently toward his side of the bed. His scarred flesh was cold to the touch as your hands came up to his bare chest. Alastor stiffened slightly under your touch before allowing himself to relax into the plush mattress. 

Alastor let out a hum of approval as you drew shapes into his chest with your fingertips. "Thank you, my love," You yawned. Finally, permitting your droopy eyes to close shut for good tonight. Alastor quietly shushed you before bringing his hands to your waist, holding you firmly against him. 

He became accustomed to your touch, something Alastor never believed would be true in his case. But you were just darling; he couldn't get enough. You were his and his alone. He would make sure everyone in Hell who dared to lay a single finger on you would be the next guest on his broadcast. 

Alastor's smile deepened as he played out his little murder fantasy in his head. Your labored breaths began filling the dimly lit space. The crickets chirped quietly from beyond the forest on the other side of the room. Your legs were tangled beneath the sheets as you sleepily weaved your hands in his two-toned locks. Alastor's breath hitched as your fingernails lightly grazed the base of his ears. A crimson color coated his cheeks. 

As Alastor allowed himself to succumb to your touch, his mind wandered. Just how did he get so soft? How did he allow you to sneak your way into his cold dead heart? His feelings were conflicting. Alastor cared for you deeply, but fuck did it frighten him more than anything. He was a prideful man, cool, calm, and collected. But you caused his mask to slip ever so slightly. 

Just what was he to do about this revelation?

A small sigh crackled out of his throat as his smile slipped; a rare sight to be seen. Alastor's eyes closed softly as he rubbed small circles into your hips with the pads of his thumbs. Allowing himself to drift off into a deep slumber. 

The workload would still be there in the morning after all, but this moment with you was fleeting. So he planned on greedily allowing himself to enjoy your embrace to the fullest tonight. 

[b1rds3ye]

hi!! this is my first time doing a request so idk if I'm doing this right haha but uh, I was wondering if you could do like. yknow the masked one you made for the 141 (I can't remember the name rn💔)? I thought of like, a sequel idea. like, what if during combat an enemy manages to take reader's mask, and so reader panics and like, rips the enemies throat out with their teeth (or if that's too violent, just goes basically rabid on them lmao) and how they would react?? if this is too violent or specific dw you don't have to!! anyways, I love your content it's totally awesome ur writing is amazing! have a good day!!

YES I LOVE THE BADASSERY AND THE UNHINGEDNESS!! If I'm your first request I'm so flattered anon pls do feel free to drop by again <333 Also just going to do general rabidness because ngl the throat thing sounds like an infection speedrun and we want our masked reader to stay nice and healthy <333

Word Count: 1.2 (it got a little long WHOOPS)

Warning: Canon typical violence, reader does get a lil sadistic and unhinged <333

Beyond Task Force 141 and Laswell, many - if not all - allied soldiers wondered about what lay under your mask. Obscuring even the eyes, your visage was more unreadable than Ghost's. Larger than life, a soldier among men.

There was a running joke that there was just nothing under your mask, perhaps an eldritch horror of sorts. You let the new recruits entertain the thought, it kept morale up as they conjured more myths of you. They said that no one has seen you without your mask. They were partially right.

It simply was that no one lived to tell the tale.

You were never one for close combat, but fighting terrorists was never smooth sailing. The chaos of battle had all of the 141 separated against the tight streets of Las Almas. How uncanny that you could not see your allies but hear their gunfire. Running out of ammo, you couldn't lament at your misfortune as a shoulder pummeling into your chest, sending you to the ground and the air out of your lungs. Head bashing against the floor you groaned as you furiously clawed up to whatever heavy weight was crushing your body. You were starting to make up the figure of a man hovering over you through the blurry haze of a concussion that filled your sight. The distant static of Price's voice through the radio, probably asking where the hell were you but you had more pressing issues at hand.

Through your struggle and flailing limbs you managed to wring the enemy's pistol off of them with a painful twist of their wrist. And they retaliated tenfold, a large sweaty hand reaching down and pressing your head back against the ground. Your adrenaline makes you writhe further, he was going to suffocate you, or worse, poison you with how fucking awful his hand smelt as the stink of burning gunpowder replaced any of your oxygen. But no, he committed a far worse crime.

A singular pull and the grating tear of fabric as your mask is pulled off of your face.

A heavy moment where your enemy looks down at you and his gaze is not like before. It's clear, it's deep. It is not looking at your facade but at you and you are no longer a soldier. You are merely a human, so fragile, so weak. One that is on the verge of death in a foreign land surrounded by bodies of fallen comrades and enemies alike. One whose mythos is all but lost at the victorious and leering smirk of an enemy as they take in your face.

That simply won't do.

Pulling your knee up to create space between you and the man, you pull out your tactical knife from your waist and drive it into his torso. His smile falls only to land at settle on yours below him, just like his blood that trickles as forbidden crimson down your hands and seeps into your uniform. It's disgustingly warm. He grows heavier as he loses all control over his body and you heave to throw his figure off to the side. You stab him once again for good measure. And then again. And again. Quick, short jabs down with a sharpened blade that cuts through uniform, flesh and bone alike. You did not count how many times you drove your blade down, numbers were too complex when your mind was running faster than any comprehensible speed. There was only one goal. To make sure no one knows what happened.

A harsh grip on the shoulder yanks you back up and you swipe with your armed limb to cut your new assailant's neck but they were onto you. Catching your arm, they pull it up as they hold onto your shoulder once again with a tightening grip that digs into your uniform. But they do nothing more, no matter how much you thrash and kick.

"Wake up, Sergeant," your opponent seethes and that voice makes you still, a buoy that floats across through your rage. Deep and grounding and your captain's.

You nearly stumble back but Price catches you before you crumple to the ground in exhaustion. The adrenaline was escaping your body leaving you with barely the energy to stay upright. Your head lolls back for a second before you bring it to the side to look at your direct superior, the remnants of a concussion making your vision blurry.

"You broken?" he asks.

"Negative, sir,” you respond immediately but he looks a little doubtful, a singular eyebrow raised as he inspects you. Not your body, but your face. The dilated pupils and the taut muscles told more than any wound.

"Can't say the same about your wee friend over there," Soap whistles as he tilts his head to behind you. “Christ, you did a number on him.”

You dare turn to look over your shoulder but Ghost already situated himself in front of the body. But between his feet you could already make out the indistinguishable mass of tattered fabric and discoloured flesh. Fresh blood filled the rivets between the cobblestones, the remnants of the body inching its way closer to you-

"Was it the mask?" Simon brings your attention back to him. You nod dumbly. He only dips his head in what you can only describe as understanding as he folds his arms, fortifying his stance in front of the mess you made. You weren’t going to see your handiwork, he was too kind to ever let you.

John drops his hands down to his sides as Gaz approaches you with your mask.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," Kyle offers you a sympathetic smile.

"Learnt that the first day I saw 'em on duty," Johnny retorts and you instinctively smile as you take your mask from Kyle. The hardened plaster of your mask had cracked, the fabric that hugged your neck had become torn but it'll do for the remainder of the mission. Slipping the mask back on, Simon offers a nod of approval while Johnny tugged at the fabric for a few finishing touches.

Ultimately the mission was successful. The task force returns to base and although none of the boys mentioned the carnage you left, there are still whispers of it on base. You had hurried to debrief and get your mask fixed but it seemed some privates caught sight of you and that was enough to spark rumours. Your mask had gotten so fractured that a shard was left back in the streets of Las Almas and revealed one of your eyes to the rest of the world. Such a small organ but so vivid. The privates saw, and more was added to the myth that was you. There was now no question about what was under the mask. No lovecraftian horror or empty space, no monster beyond comprehension. No, what was under your mask was terrifyingly human.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[hazelfoureyes]

Coven: @fraugwinska @minkdelovely @sugoi-writes @macabr3-barbi3 @synamartia (banners by Syn!)

Masterlist for Kinktober (Thank you Syn!)

Kinktober 2024 - Day 19 - Cuckolding

Alastor fucks Lucifer’s wife and Lucifer isn’t as mad as he thought he’d be about that.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷

「warnings/promises: Alastor x AFAB!Reader, breathplay, breeding kink if you truly look in your heart, cuckolding the king of hell is a bold strategy cotton let’s see if it pays off for him, creampie, cock too big but Alastor is ambitious and indifferent」

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷

MDNI 🦌 🚗

Alastor was already rubbing his cock length between your wet folds when Lucifer walked in the room. The king stopped, in obvious shock, to see his daughter’s hotelier fucking his wife. Well, about to fuck his wife.

He opened his mouth to speak but his attempt to say your name was drowned out by you moaning Alastor.

Alastor looked up, locking eyes with his sovereign as the shorter man seemed torn between coming in and retreating. The sound of your voice was candied; sweet and crisp. For some odd reason, he felt like he was intruding on your pleasure. Not that you could see your husband, the door was to the right and behind the large four post bed and taken out of your view entirely by a small enclave.

He’d expected his majesty to show up, but more towards the end. What was the point of fucking his wife if he didn’t get to feel Lucifer’s rage and humiliation over it?

A wicked grin spread on the radio demon’s face, one hidden from you as your eyes were clenched. He wasn’t terrible at improv, he could give it a whirl for the early audience. Your senses focused on the feeling of his heated member, cockhead catching on your clitoral hood as he ran it up and down slowly. It had all happened so fast that you didn’t stop to consider what you were doing. 

Everyone was drinking and dancing and partying, then Alastor was beside you. There was no sudden shift to blame. He took you for a spin around the room, and he said some funny things about the hotel, some sly things about upgrading wives, and then… a dark chuckle, warm breath on your neck, a proposal and now you were on your back in your marital bed.

Lucifer had always allowed you freedom to be with who you wanted, no restrictions to your pleasure nor to his. But, everyone knew how poorly he got on with Alastor. The image of his face screwed up and a fake smile twitching, sputtering out nervous noises of confusion floated to the surface of your mind. 

“Is this why I was summoned here tonight, my queen? To service you?” Alastor’s voice was low, but not quiet. It dispelled your husband's visage and roused you to open your eyes. Your response was a whimper, his own reply was a distant and nearly cruel laugh echoing off the walls.

You wouldn’t lie—- he’d caught your eye some time ago. Who didn’t like the hard to get? Though this had proven much easier than you’d anticipated.

Lucifer took a step forward into the room, a glare that threatened Alastor’s very soul made the sinner shiver. Alastor understood quite well he was most likely going to die a second, more permanent death. Why not put on a show as he went out?

You gasped, hands gripping into the bedding, as Alastor began to press into you. He’d been teasing you for just a few minutes.

Lucifer froze.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, and you nodded. You were wet and your pussy was willing, but his cock head was thick. The end was blunt, forcing your entrance to bend and stretch. “If only I had more time to prepare you… you’ll have to invite me again to the palace.” His hips moved and you gritted your teeth. “I promise it’ll be worth the pain, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t asked you if you needed him to stop, but you nodded again in understanding.  The thin skin beneath your hole felt sure to tear as he demanded a wider entrance, but the ache for him deep in your cunt was overpowering the instinct to pull from the pain. So far.

Lucifer felt himself lean back before he thought to do it, shoulder slightly knocking into the door and startling him. He could see Alastor’s cock suddenly lose length as his head popped in. The hate in his heart was being suffocated by the spark just south of his belt. Every ounce of outrage outweighed by the heavy sounds of your excited breathing. You whimpered, legs clamoring up and a foot coming to press into Alastor’s lower stomach. 

“None of that, dear.” His large hand wrapped around your ankle and lifted your leg up, resting it on his shoulder. The tension of your muscles made it hard to pull it back to yourself, causing you to be spread even wider for him. 

Regardless of how slick his head was, slit leaking excitedly into you already, he still grated against your insides. Precum meant nothing when his flesh was pushing up and out so harshly against your own walls. Until your body accommodated his girth, the experience felt closer to your first time than a quickie with the famed demon.

Lucifer saw the moment Alastor’s head and glands bullied past your g-spot, your thighs and stomach visibly tensing. The feeling of him pressing in and then releasing your inner spot was one that made your body feel weak from the core out.

Your breath hitched, “Ah- Alastor. Slower.” Your hands stretched to touch his knees and grip, but he just hummed, disembodied radio studio audience cooing at your pathetic request. He did not slow down. The advancing length continued to push you apart.

Upsettingly, Lucifer found your noises stirring his own arousal noises more and more. Alastor’s attention flitted back to Lucifer, eyes meeting his before drifting down to the prominent bulge forming as his cock tried to straighten itself upright inside the confines of his tight, ridiculous circus master pants. He offered a smile to his king before snapping his hips forward. His balls pressed into the soft round flesh of your ass as he dug himself as deeply as he could reach.

When you let out a small yelp and tried to scurry up the bed, Lucifer’s hand came to adjust his erection in his pants. Lingering, his fingers traced the outline of his manhood as he listened to your whine melt into a soft moan. Your vocal responses to sex always spurred him into a frenzy, though usually he was the one making you whimper. His cock didn’t know that though, it just knew you were feeling good. Very good, by the sounds of it. 

You held your breath as he pulled out halfway and slowly returned to your heat. He was churning up your insides, trying to elicit more of your own fluids to lubricate him. Alastor could feel he was snug in you, your walls writhing around him as you twitched at the intrusion.

A few more testing thrusts before Alastor pulled out to the very tip and began to fuck you proper. Your hole didn’t appreciate the repeated burn of his glands popping out and pushing back in, but knowing he was fucking you wider around him just made you fall deeper into the blind fog of lust. Lucifer was always so gentle, even when he was rough. But somehow Alastor’s most tender touches were still harsh.

You were entirely unaware of your husband some meters behind you, palm rubbing his cock through his pants to the pace of Alastor’s thrusts. 

“How are you feeling?” He leaned up and over, body bending unnaturally as his spine curved. Your mouth hung open, body slack with occasional jolts of pleasure. It wasn’t right, he needed you seizing and tense, “Tell me what you need.” If he couldn’t make you a shuddering mess begging for him then he was really just wasting his time. He wanted the king of hell to feel inferior. This happened to be one of the best ways to manage that.

Lucifer knew what you needed, because he often found himself helping you along with firm hands. 

You were too scared to ask, instead putting a hand on your throat and gently squeezing. 

“Ooh, look at you! Who knew the queen of hell enjoyed breathplay? I am happy to oblige you.” A hand several times larger than your husband’s rested on your throat, long fingers curling as he tightened in slow increment. You moaned when the pressure was perfect, and he stopped the increasing vice.

Your hips lifted slightly, chasing the feeling of his pelvis hitting against your clit. 

His body covered yours entirely, your own bent in half as he used your legs for both support and grip. Lucifer’s hand scraped against his belt as he shoved it into his pants to get contact with his now pulsing member. Your eyes were watering, mouth open and pleasured noises spilling from you with every move of your illicit lover’s body. The roll of his hips coaxed more and more of your fluids to leak and gather on his cock. 

“Look how wet you are, does the king not take care of you? My my, even the bedding is soaked.” He said it to you, but his eyes were peering through his sweat-dampened hair to Lucifer, now fully resting against the door as he stroked himself under his clothes. 

Finally properly covered in your arousal, Alastor was gliding through you. Every time his head hit your cervix and bottomed out, a small jolt of pain shot up your womb and stomach. He couldn’t fit himself entirely in without making your cervix bow against him. However he still did, shoving the rest of himself in randomly to get fully sheathed in your pussy every few times he fucked into you. 

There was some form of disinterest in your discomfort that made the situation even more arousing. Alastor only cared for your pleasure, he didn’t seem bothered at all with how much your body struggled to accommodate him while receiving that pleasure. 

Neither did you, though.

“Harder.” You choked out. Lucifer had to bite his bottom lip and still his hand to keep from moaning wantonly and breaking the illusion of privacy you and Alastor were in. 

Alastor chuckled again, the laugh trailing off high and wicked with a flourish of stations flipping through static. He leaned back, taking both legs by the knees and hooking them at the junction of his arms to pull you into his lap every time he thrusted forward. Effortlessly he jerked your body to meet his demanding pace.

“How is that, my queen?” Panted through groans, Alastor finding it hard to keep composure when you were so shockingly needy. He could nearly forget Lucifer was against the far wall, fucking into his own fist. But not quite.  “You’re so tight,  I’m sure our majesty will feel my absence the next time he fucks you.” He said it purely for your husband’s displeasure. 

The tension was ratcheting, the quick pace and occasional knock against your womb pulled long cries from you that stole your senses and any concerns about embarrassment. He was deeper in you than felt right, and you wanted him to fuck you until you were changed to fit him perfectly. 

You flinched, Alastor’s hand coming to stroke the black swirl of lines vaguely forming a heart (or was that an apple?) above your womb. “Is this the famed marking?” Tears streamed down from your eyes and tickled your ears. “The gift of fertility from your betrothed?” A silent scream pulled your body taut, orgasm so close you were scared to breathe and lose it. “I know it’s made just for him, but don’t blame me for trying.”

Releasing your legs, he pinned you under the full weight of his body. His elbows rested just above and to the sides of your head as his long thrusts now became short and deep. No longer was he teasing your body with part of his length but now burying it into you. Alastor was chasing his own release, sensitive and weeping slit of his cock smashing into the obstinate entrance of your womb.

You came with a broken scream, cervix lowering to receive the seed of your lover regardless of vows as your walls worked in tandem to coax his cock to breed you. 

Lucifer could relax and let himself cum to the sounds of Alastor’s pistoning member without fear, his mark only allowing you to truly receive his seed. He shuddered, body falling forward as he let his mind focus on the sounds of the room. Tight balls smacking into you and popping as they stuck to the thick slick coating your inner thighs and dripping down your cheeks. Your screams broke and devolved into wails and pleading, wordless begging for something– more, less, slower, deeper, it was unclear but you didn’t protest when Alastor quickened. 

He leaned his head back in time to watch Alastor’s hips press once, then twice and drive your body into the mattress. He could see the back of Alastor’s thighs twitching and tensing as his cock was surely pulsing shots of his hot semen into your hungry womb. The smallest flicker of worry about the failsafes of his magical mark appeared as he saw Alastor give your cunt another deep push before quickly pulling out with an audible pop of your body separating from his. 

You flinched again at the sudden loss, feeling something warm and thick threatening to leak out from your stretched and sore entrance.

“Quite the hostess, I have to say.” His finger pushed his cum back in. His other hand slipped up and over the marking with a ghost of reverence at the power therein before his presence entirely left the bed. “Lovely party, dear! Do invite me over again soon.” With a snap his pants were back on and shirt neatly buttoned.

As he approached Lucifer, still recovering in the shadows of the room’s entrance, he couldn’t contain his grin. Lucifer didn’t miss the way the sinner’s eyes shot to his hand and disheveled pants before returning to his flushed face.

Alastor’s own, still wet with the mix of you and him, came to touch and then swipe across the king’s chest as he slipped through the still open door, “Absolutely lovely.”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

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, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

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, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

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@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[statiicstag]

[ @damnedrainbows ]

Out to lunch

[sweetsaladpainterranch]

I just binged your Challenges of raising a demon in a day and I love how wholesome it is <3 Your last entry was great too. Like when Al tossed reader off the bed XD...can you ppplllleeeaaaassssseee write it from Alastor's POV?

Thanks, much love!

Hey again Anon 🙂

sounds really interesting so let's try it lol

...

It was approximately 1 am at the Hazbin Hotel by the time Alastor managed to walk into his shared suite to find the lights in the bedroom off and that you had already put your fawn to bed in the ajoining room. The you shaped lump on the bed stirred slightly so he quickly, but silently, made his way to the bathroom to rid himself of the day's stench.

A heavy sigh huffed through his nose as red chunks of viscera easily melted away from his skin in the hot shower. Knowing you'd disprove, he had only told you that he'd be away into the late evening on overlord business in the city and to not wait up for him. Truth is that he went to hunt down the cretins that had whistled and made lewd remarks about you a day earlier. He found out from Niffty, who had accompanied you to the grocery store, and it had made his bood boil.

No one may talk to The Radio Demon's mate in such a disrespectful manner, though he was more than willing to make examples should anyone need reminding.

Coming back to the bedroom, Alastor took a moment to look down onto your beautiful visage laying surrounded by a halo of your curly hair. Your face was completely serene and he could see how well the thin nightgown clung tightly to your more endowed features. He felt, as he always did in these quiet moments, a strong sense of pride that this goddess had accepted his proposal to mate.

Your husband slid into the crimson sheets and leaned over to gently brush his fingers over the wedding band on your slender finger, however, you stirred again and turn away from him on your side. Now that he could clearly see your curves, Alastor couldn't stop himself from reaching out to drag his claws slowly down your side to better feel your plush shape.

But it still wasn't enough.

He found his arms slipping possessively around you as he settled his body close to the soft skin of your back and inhaled your neck. An excited smile cut into his face as the smell of pomegranate and cedar wafted from his wife directly to his crotch. God, you always smelled delightfully of nature. Sweet and dignified, yet wild and unpredictable.

It didn't take long before his excitement made itself physically known and he snapped away his confining clothing, so that, his entire body could press against his beloved doe. You awoke from the feel of his alternate head standing at attention and eagerly sought his lips upon turning in his arms. Alastor felt hands wandering ever downward until you grazed his pelvic bone with a sigh when you understood that he hid nothing from you. He couldn't help but smirk at the blush on your cheeks as your doe eyes looked into his own.

You were still so adorable and his heart skipped a beat when you whined for another kiss ❤️

Alastor, mind fogged by loving lust, completely melted into his mate's sweet sounds and needy touches as he happily reciprocated. You had begun straddling him as he had finally had enough of your nightgown and began to thread it over your stomach when you suddenly froze.

He didn't understand why you whipped your gaze away from him until his blood deprived ears picked up the sound of a pacifier. He's ashamed to admit that he panicked and immediately pushed you off his lap, however noticing that he was too forceful and his goddess was yeeted over the bedside.

But before he could ask if you were alright, the tiny deerling intruder had already began climbing her way up onto the bed.

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Ffffuuuucccckkkkk!

He was explicitly aware that his body was completely uncovered still, except for the blanket that did little to hide his persistent arousal, and quickly snapped on a set of pajamas.

"E-Evie, my darling.", he hated how his voice trembled, "What is it that brings you here so late?"

His only answer was a weak whine as his daughter rubbed her tear stained cheeks, but his instincts picked up on how her ears were folded back and she slightly folded in on herself to seem small.

"Was it another nightmare, sweetheart?", Alastor knew which one and had experienced it himself several times. Deer demon often dreamt of predators lurking around them and of being eaten alive if caught. He could only assume it was because prey animals needed to stay sharp even when asleep. Though, his heart broke for his daughter just the same and he was about to take her into his arms when you had crossed the room to do the same.

In the end, the Radio Demon didn't mind falling asleep wrapped around the two most important people in his life. In fact, he had never felt more at peace than when holding his girls and knowing they were protected in his arms.

...

If this Anon is who I think it is, then I'm pleased to have spent a little extra time on your request and I appreciate you taking the time to send me these asks. 🙂

I really hope you enjoyed reading!

-SSPR

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Callouses on his gentle hands was absolutely adorable! It kept making me thing of a continuation of the sorts where some years pass and the reader actually enlisted in the military earning the code name Bird too without Price having any knowledge. Only to show up when he's a captain maybe even to be part of 141 or something important.

Idk if this is a possible request as I don't want to bother you but it would be amazing if there was some well timed banter and just generally happy.

Again your writing is so good it leaves me speechless I love it so much! 👁️〰️👁️

Calluses and Milky Scars

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: It's been years since you've seen or heard from John and yet you still can't get him out of your head. But can a chance meeting rekindle old emotions? (18+)

Word Count: 16.1k

Warnings: Angst, typical violence & gore, talks of human trafficking, vulgar language, eventual fluff, banter, smut, honestly I think I wrote switch!Price without even realizing it, p in v sex, fingering, teasing, breeding kink, etc.

A/N: Imma be honest I hate the first part of this duology - it was one of my earlier works - so I made this as standalone as possible. So if you don't wanna read the first part (please don't) you can still understand this one just fine by itself. (this is also an excuse for more smut practice). Anyway, enjoy! Part 1

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

They only saw the glint of a blade, the metal reflecting the light of a mist-filled night back into the whites of their eyes. You could see the result of your form in their terror-stricken visages as, one after one, they succumbed to the ministrations of your unyielding determination. 

You had forgotten when the act of taking a life had become so easy for you. It was as natural as breathing, now. Elementary. Your fingers could pull a trigger just as fast as they would raise for a handshake or a wave. There was little need to be shy about it – your days as a victim were far behind you, and ‘Bird’ was nothing more than a callsign uttered under hushed breaths. Said behind back alleys by Human Traffickers with fear-slick eyes. 

It was no longer uttered in a deep British accent, the word making your skin tingle and cheeks heat. No matter how much you longed for it to be.

You were a Captain in the military now. Working hand-in-hand with the CIA under the direction of a certain Kate Laswell. You even commanded your own Squad that specializes in getting others out of the very situation you had been in years ago with no mercy or hesitation. 

Revenge, you decided, was most likely why this was easy for you. 

You enjoyed it. 

“Perimeter clear, Captain,” Wren speaks into your earpiece as you step over the bodies at your feet, boots splashing through puddles of blood so starkly contrasting the grass it makes you smirk.

“Move up.” A balaclava covers your face, and sweat dribbles down your brow before you blink it out of your eye. 

Around your chest, the M4A1 sits with its familiar weight, and you wipe the life-fluid from your crude combat knife before sheathing it at your thigh. You had taken out three stragglers at the South End of the current Targets territory, your blood singing sweetly in your veins at the prospect of finally crossing another name off your list. 

“Eagle,” Your voice bounces off trees and low shrubs, and you continue forward as your fingers press the button on the old-issue radio. There were better versions nowadays, and you got teased for still using the ancient one you have currently strapped to your chest, but it was sentimental to you. An old friend had given it to you for safekeeping a long time ago…How many years now was it since you had seen or heard from John Price? Ten? Fifteen? Who could really tell, anyhow? Time moved quickly, and you ran through it even quicker. 

Your sharp eyes flick out over the view as you exit the brush, standing on the top of a large ridge – a series of warehouses lit up with large spotlights below your perch makes you frown. 

“Let’s get this started then, shall we?” You mutter, shifting your feet and rolling your shoulders. “Blackout in 3.” 

“Roger that, Ma’am.” 

You watch the guards walking like obsidian ants below, your predatory gaze missing nothing – you spot the mannerisms fairly quickly; who limps, who favors their left over their right. Who’s sleeping on the job. A first victim was almost immediately chosen as you tilt your head and feel the chilled breeze on your visible skin. Your Unit knows the procedures you’ve ingrained into them and they’re watching just as closely and predatory as you are. 

All four, including you, are stationed in a circle around the area, with Eagle, the man with the sniper rifle, taking point far off into the trees on a higher portion of the topography. Three seconds of prep time come and go quickly. And so do the lights.

A series of muffled pops and a shattering of glass break the night into chaos, and then the illumination goes out entirely. The area is plunged into an inky darkness of your own command – you revel in it. And then the screams begin. 

“Take ‘em.” You mutter through the open channel, and your feet then propel you forward, dodging trees and jumping downed branches as you skid down the slope. Your heart beats with adrenaline, the hunt making your nerves twitch. 

In your grip, you ready your weapon, flicking off the safety as shots begin to ring out over the land. Eagle was taking off the ones he could, but if you had to guess, Shrike was already in the fray, letting her face get bloody from the close quarters she favored. You only hoped the woman wouldn’t go overboard this time. Thrush was usually the one to help keep her head on, but the man was across the territory with his own hostiles to wipe the board of. 

You fire at the first shadow with a light finger, watching it drop and pivoting to pull the trigger at two more before they knew what was happening – too panicked by the sudden assault seemingly out of nowhere.

“Shrike,” Your voice wafts over the buzzing line, “mind yourself. I don’t need you put on Suspended Leave again.”

“Don’t worry, Ma’am,” Thrush’s light voice meets your ears as you take cover behind a vehicle directly in front of one of the warehouses, “I’m making my way to her now.”

“Ah, Fuck off, Thrush!” Shrike growls, and there’s a distinct sound of someone’s gurgling last breath in the background. It makes you let out a huff of demented laughter. “I know the limits!” 

“I don’t think she knows the limits, Ma’am,” Eagle grunts over the call, and a shot sizzles past your head and takes out a charging man that was making his way to your hunched and hidden form. “I really don’t.”

Rushing forward out of your cover, you chuckle breathlessly as Wren’s dignified voice pipes in.

“I’m making my way to the main building and getting set to download the data. Target’s nowhere to be seen, Captain.” Your lips thin under the fabric and you grunt, feeling a bullet graze your bicep. Ducking in an instant, you set your feet and fire, running past before the sound of the body slamming to the ground behind you can reach your ears. A burning heat enters your arm, but you barely acknowledge it. 

“Eagle, cover her until I get there.”

“Affirm.” 

“Shrike, Thrush, report. How’s the other warehouse lookin'?” Your body skids across the ground, and your hand connects with the warehouse you needed to clear before making your way to Wren and the Mainframe. 

Half of the Op was data retrieval, and the other was taking out a human trafficker only named in his file as Buck – bastard’s been running for a long time, and you needed to leave him a bloody mess before he kept his ‘business’ going. Laswell only sent in your Squad because she knew you could get it done with an efficiency no one else could. Nearly a perfect success rate got the attention of people worldwide; your waiting list was long of the places the CIA wanted to send you and your team. 

But you didn’t care, as long as your own list was getting checked off they could fly your ass to Antarctica for all it mattered. 

“Our warehouse is cleared out. Must not have expected us…they were running around with their heads chopped off.”

Shrike snickers. “Just like chickens.”

“Good. Join up with Wren and make sure she can get the download completed. Copy?” You grasp the large metal handle and growl, locking your arms and pushing with all of your strength. The weight makes your thighs shake, but you only open it enough for you to slip inside, gun at the ready as breaths puff from your mouth.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Boots shuffle over the concrete floor, and your ears twitch in the quiet darkness at the crunch of stray gravel underfoot. Your finger shifts slowly to the trigger, glaring into the nothingness. 

It was silent. 

You heard it then, like a spike to the heart – the panicked breathing; the sounds of shaking lungs and grasping hands. Sounds all so familiar it made you pause, mind for an instant blanking at the implications. 

There were people here. Drowning in fear.

You could see them in the corners, scores of bodies piled on top of one another to find some semblance of comfort. Their eyes wink in the moonlight of a single window in the roof, and the stench nearly makes you want to gag. Blinking, you lower your gun, feet shifting to stand straight like a statue; heart racing. These people weren’t supposed to be here, and already vicious comparisons to your own rescue by a certain man a long time ago invade your mind. Calluses seem to burn your hands under your gloves, and a gentle imaginary prod at an injury on your forehead makes the milky scar ache. 

He readies the wipe in one of his hands, the other coming up to your jaw. When you tense he freezes, but as soon as the hesitance leaks away from you like a wave, the slow motion returns to his limbs; his fingers come to grab at your chin, gently holding your head in place. When you place more weight into his hold and release a deep-chested sigh of content he quirks a dark eyebrow.

“This might sting, Doll,” John whispers.

“That’s alright,” You mutter back, staring into his beautiful eyes as the wipe comes into view in the side of your vision. “Not your fault.”

He only releases a puff of air from his lips before adding the smallest amount of pressure to your forehead, running the wipe over the red and swollen flesh. 

Taking a deep breath one of your hands goes to your radio stiffly. Eagle needed to know about this so he could send a message to Laswell – get an immediate Medical Evac for these people. 

In your hyper-focussed state, memories you wished would stay away rear their head; infect your intuition and common sense. You missed the click of the safety until the barrel of the pistol was level with the back of your head. Freezing, your fingers tense over the device, your body going rigid and muscles tight as the people in the corners gasp and cry out into the night. 

A panting man stands behind you and you feel his hands shaking as the barrel digs into the balaclava’s fabric.

Well, that’s unexpected.  

“Show me your hands,” He breathes heavily, and you feel his puff of air echo out over the open space. Tinged with fear. Dripping with adrenaline. 

Your lips pull back into a steady, hidden, smirk, head tilting as your hands slowly drift from your radio and let your weapon hang from its strap around your chest; feeling it bounce off the various packs and supplies you carry with pride. They splay beside your head, fingers lazily loose and leather gloves squealing into the night. 

Selene herself holds her silver breath, the winds sucked down into Hades as Cerberus breaks sinner’s bones with his savage jaws and blood-slick teeth. It was silent. 

Born and bred to violence, there truly wasn’t a better place for you to be than in the CIA. This was Hell, but you could play that black-clad ruler’s game just the same. You’d been dodging him for years.

“T-toss your gun to the floor.”

“You know that won’t matter.” You look behind you, side-eyeing that shaking would-be threat. Phobos lives in his very being. Coward. Pathetic. Red-hot anger lights your nerves, iris narrowing to black slits. This thing – he was little more than an entitled boy in a man’s body. Using others for his gain just like others had used you. This was your Target. 

This was Buck. 

“So this is the one who made an empire on the suffering of innocents.” You mumble, unafraid and unbothered with a scoff. “I really expected more than a man who plays with his food.”

Yes, the adrenaline was running in your veins; you were human. It was natural. But the way the wailing birds rampaged in your chest wasn’t – you should be afraid, not angry. Not enraged to the point you were shaking; fingers twitching for your knife. For spilled blood to coat the earth.

Phobos was this man’s ruler, but that Fear God’s father was Ares. And Ares was yours.

“I…I said drop your fucking weapon you bitch–!”

Your opposite hand knocks Buck’s wrist to the side and your body twists. In a single fraction of a second between the loud misfire that hits the floor and the ringing in your ears, the knife at your thigh finds purchase in his pliable neck. Crimson sprays over your eyes; staining the balaclava as your body falls to the ground as you jam the blade deeper – all the way to the crossguard. 

Buck grumbles wetly from under you, hands coming to weakly grasp at your arms and attempt to pry your unyielding body from him. His grip is as strong as a child’s, and as blood spurts from his mouth and entry wound, you slap your free hand over his face and twist the knife. Strangling the hilt in your grasp, you viciously jerk your limb, sending the edge sliding over his neck; cutting tendons and arteries. Creating a red-lipped smile from ear to ear that explodes with gore. 

Buck was already dead before the puddle over the ground grew an inch in diameter. 

Ripping your weapon out, you shove your boot into his chest and push off, stumbling to your feet as you stare down wide-eyed. Your digits shake, but the flickering of your gaze goes from the dead eyes to the open mouth of the corpse. Flicking your wrist, you splatter more blood on the floor to rid some of it from your blade before sheathing it. 

Gripping your radio, you speak clearly into the line. 

“Eagle this is the Captain – get in contact with Laswell immediately. Civvies in the far South warehouse. Ask for Medical Evac.” 

Say to bring only women, you want to growl but refrain. That was impossible to manage.

You stare at them now, the innocents, and see your own path reflected in the many colors and the feral glints in their irises. In the way their bodies huddle like cats with their backs flared. If life had been different, would you still be in a situation like this – waiting for your own John Price to break you out? It was a difficult question. Far more challenging to answer than why the body behind you was staining the concrete with blood and tears. 

…What would have happened if he had never kneeled down before you that day? Offered you his hand stained with calluses and gunpowder residue? 

You blink at the thin bodies, gaze flowing to each and every one in turn. With a slow motion you begin forward, hands at your sides and visible; you draw the memory to you. The one you think of often.

You had stayed there in fear, curled up in the corner, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Until John.

“Ma’am,” He had said, kneeling on one leg while his hands clutched his M16 to his chest, the muzzle still smoking, “I’m Lieutenant John Price in Command of Unit Bravo. You’re safe now.” 

Unit Bravo? Safe? You had wondered, looking up at the man with confusion. How can I be safe?

Nonetheless, when he offered you a hand, you had taken it, looking in awe at how gently he gripped your limb in his own; John’s limb completely swallowed yours and yet held you like delicate glass. 

You stopped before a woman far too young to be in a situation like this and kneeled. She watched you with a shaking body, the others curling away in fear. They didn’t know you, and so they feared you. Taking a breath, your hand raises, and the woman’s eyes are laser-focused on your form. 

I should make myself smaller, you think. And so you do. 

The fabric is sweat-heavy; laden with dirt and other substances, but you grasp it without hesitation and peel it off of you. It sits in your hand with the weight of the past in the thick polyester threads. Swallowing down saliva at the breeze that hits your face, you watch the lady blink at you, her gaze filled with confusion. 

An easy smile comes to your face; if they hadn't just seen you murder a man, they would not believe you to be the same person. Yours was not the face of a killer – of someone who twists the knife deep and revels in death. It was soft beside the scar above your eyebrow, easy to look at. Innocent.

A simple Bird, no. A vulture perhaps suited you better, if they were to get into specifics.

You clear your throat and they all flinch. 

“Ma’am,” Your voice carries. Again, not the voice of a monster. But even Ares marries a beauty. Could you not be a spawn of them? Beautiful and utterly bloodied by the rules of war? Oh, yes, that’s what you were, you had to be. Nothing else would make any sense. But they gravitate to you nonetheless – war and love often go hand in hand. Especially when one killed the ruler of their torment. “I’m the Captain of Raptor Squad. You can call me Bird, if you want. It’s alright. We’re gonna get you out of here and get you some help, okay? You’re safe now.”

The woman can’t help but nod sheepishly. 

Who says no to an offspring of Gods themselves?

—

The helicopter ride back was silent, with everyone tired and covered in more blood, dirt, and sweat than they can recall. Buck’s body was stuffed into a black bag and sitting in the walkway at your feet – you needed it for positive identification back on Base. You had shuffled back into the balaclava, taking comfort in the security and anonymity it lent. Below, your eyes watch the word whizz past, one foot limply hanging off the side thousands of feet above the ground; you swish it back and forth like a child and allow yourself to think. 

You had joined the military only a few years after John had rescued you – much against the wishes of your therapist, but seeing as you were of sound mind, it wasn’t that difficult to enlist. The brown-haired Brit had sent you letters for the first three months after you had left the Base you had been recovering at and then, inexplicably, they had stopped. No letters, no contact. The radio – along with you – was too far away to get a signal; that was how it ended.

Not with a kiss or a soldier’s goodbye, just nothing. Silence.

But you never held it against him. Perhaps, you reasoned and partially believed, he was already dead. At the end of the day, he had been a great motivator for you, and over the years your fists and skills had propelled you to top ranks. Laswell had been in contact soon after you had been promoted to Lieutenant and Raptor Squad had been formed when you had chosen the most violent and perfect bastards to join it. 

From there it was win after win and the CIA soon counted this team as one of the most lethal in its roster. You’ve been all over the world. 

More than I could imagine I would become in a concrete corner and locked in a cage. 

Your eyes watched the expanse of forest outside, but there was still something missing. Why had John just…stopped? It was the one question you could never answer. 

Did I really not matter to him at all? Around your vest, your fingers twitch as the helicopter bounces on airwaves. Blue eyes still haunted you – the ones that held silver starlight hostage. How they used to soften with care when they looked down at you. John shouldn’t have mattered this much to you. 

Why can’t I just let go of him?

You bite at your hidden lip with sharp teeth, peeling back the skin as Wren shifts in her seat beside you. She speaks into the comms to avoid yelling over the drowning sound of helo blades and you lock your eyes on her form.

“You might want to look at the info I retrieved from the Target’s mainframe, Captain. Didn’t Laswell mention she had a separate Task Force going after someone named Casilda Kalpana? She’s mentioned in this file.” Wren hands you her tablet, and you hold it in one of your hands as your hard eyes slim down the screen, taking in compiled sources. 

Casilida Kalpana was on your list of Targets to take care of, but Laswell had given the job to another Task Force – designated TF-141 – for the small difference that this woman had ties to multiple terror organizations. Raptor Squad was no stranger to that, but Kate had also stated that the Captain of that group had been incredibly instant on taking it himself. 

Your head tilts in memory.

“Kate, I’m not understanding why you think we can’t handle it.” You huff, shaking your head with an exasperated expression. “It’s no different than anything we’ve done before.”

“I have no problem with you participating, but the Captain pulled in a favor. Said he ‘felt obligated’ or something like that.” You pull a face, and Laswell glares at you from behind her desk. “Bird, I really don’t have the time to argue today – I’m stuck with stacks of papers because Keller decided to get himself lost again.” 

“I’m not trying to argue, Kate.” Holding up your hands you chuckle and roll your eyes. “The only thing that matters is that the Target ends up six feet under at the end of the day. You know what it means to me.”

The Agent looks up from her papers and pauses for a moment, a pen placed between her digits, and her eyes soften around the gray edges. 

“I can personally assure you, Captain, that this Task Force will see it done…Now hurry up and get ready for your own mission – I hear South America is warmer than usual this time of year. Pack a cold drink.”

The words in the file make your stomach churn; leading to your eyes widening. You flip the tablet back to Wren and radio Eagle who’s blankly watching Shrike and Thrush play rock-paper-scissors across from you.

“Eagle,” the man’s head snaps to you and he blinks, “Patch through to Laswell. Tell her to gather Task Force 141 in the meeting room on Base and wait for me. Under no circumstances should they be allowed to leave on the Op for the HVT Casilda Kalpana. We’ve got vital intel.” 

Eagle nods and gets to work on a secure call to Kate, as you turn to Wren, clapping her on the shoulder and leaning close to speak into her ear over the noise. 

“Good work, Sergeant. Get all that transferred onto a flash drive for me, yeah?”

“On it, Ma’am.”

This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? You sigh deeply, tilting your head back as the sun starts to slowly rise over the land, bathing it in an orange glow that spreads out like fire. The large Cargo plane following behind the Helicopter would carry the innocent victims of Buck back to Base, and you fight the urge to get in contact with the pilot's headset to ask how it was going for them. It was hard to not get attached – especially when you knew what was probably going through their fear-stricken brains. 

Left wondering in silence, your fingers pick at themselves over your gloves, peeling at frayed threads and durable fabric. As the minutes stretch into hours, you lift a hand and run a digit over your scar, caressing the skin as the forest pulls back and buildings emerge. Turbulence overtakes the helicopter, and your hand grabs the net on the side of the wall to steady yourself as the descent begins. 

Settling your nerves, you wait until the ‘all good’ from the cockpit before you hop out, signaling with your finger for your Squad to follow close behind. Someone else would come and grab the body bag – it wasn’t your problem anymore. Your feet pound the Tarmac, and you can’t help the look you send up to the sky, watching the cargo plane on the horizon as it comes closer. Frowning under your covering, you re-focus. 

I need to stop thinking about it – I always get like this with civvies. 

It was hard not to. You only wanted to bring them the same comfort that John had brought you. 

God, stop fucking thinking about him! His phantom haunts your every step like the two of you were Orpheus and Eurydice – only one of you wasn’t dead in the first place. One had left; abandoned you to the wolves. You had said you held no bad feelings towards the Brit but was that true? And if he was really dead, would you ever even know it?

Your feet carry you forward as the helicopter blades slice the air, making your clothes ruffle and shake under the combat vest and around your ankles. 

The last time you had contact with the brown-haired man, you had been reading his letter in a free-of-charge home given to you until you could get on your feet and secure a job. John had been sent back to the UK on another assignment, leaving you a nervous wreck surrounded by people you didn’t know the intentions of. You had been excited to go to the mailbox at the time – even if being outside still made you nervous. Everything was just so big to you back then. When your fingers had opened the small metal box and found the white letter with the elegant script on top, you felt a smile rip open your face. 

But the contents had been less than they usually were. Stiffer; formal in a way you had yet to associate with the man. He had always been nice to you. But maybe he had grown past that – you feared that thought.  

“This’ll be my last letter for a while, Bird. I’m going Black. Make sure to remember to go outside and drink water for me, yeah?” 

-Price

There had been the start of another sentence before it had been scribbled out and then had been it. No updates; no return address this time so you could write him back. And then you had bever received another letter until you had gotten fed up with your life going nowhere and enlisted. John Price had disappeared, and whether he was dead or halfway across the world you knew not. 

He had been the only man you had trusted until Eagle and Thrush had become a part of your group. Still, even now, the opposite sex made you hesitant – you didn’t like being alone with a man you didn’t know. Your line of work didn’t help that notion, either. 

“Bird,” Shrike’s voice brings you back, and your eyes slide to your side to look at the smaller woman. You hum in question. “What was in the file Wren downloaded? And who’s Task Force 141?”

“All in due time,” You mutter back, your hand opening the front door of the main building. No one was bothering to remove their gear or clean themselves – they all understood from the way you were walking faster that this was important. “And as for TF-141, I have no idea. Never met ‘em.” 

Wren coughs, and Shike looks over as Thrush and Eagle listen silently, the former handing a cigarette over to the other.

“One-Four-One is a Multinational Special Operations Unit comprised of operatives from all over the globe. Much like what we do, but on an infinitely larger scale. I believe Laswell asked our Captain to join it a year ago…” Wren trials, not bothering to look up from her tablet where she still reads through files and other intel from the mission.

Thrush’s eyes widened. 

“Holy shit, really? And you passed it up?” 

“Obviously,” You snort, itching at your bicep where the bullet graze still sits in dried blood and dirt. You repress an annoyed hiss of pain. “Why do you think I’m still stuck here with you lot?” 

“Awe,” Shrike coos, scrunching her nose, “She loves us.” 

“Loves to hate us,” Eagle whispers. You send a half-serious glare as Wren chortles to herself. 

“I can always ask Kate for the offer again.” A loud uproar makes people in the hallway turn and stare, and you laugh under your face-covering, chest light. 

You all arrive at the meeting room door and you don’t bother knocking, shoving your way inside with Shrike still giggling behind you. There’s the presence of five others in the room, and one stands at the head of a large table, a blank projector behind her in dim lighting. You don’t bother looking at anyone else – still keeping that habit of being nervous around new people. 

Laswell sighs as she looks you over, crossing her arms over her blouse. 

“We're all here, Captain. What was so urgent that you had to show us?” You slip past her and head to the computer atop a wooden stand, hearing whispers and muttered comments as your groups disperse around the room. Heavy stares that peel back skin like batter nearly make you sweat. They were boring into you, making your heart race. 

They’re waiting for us, you remind yourself. 

“Wren.” You call steadily and a second later you’re catching a well-aimed flash drive without looking and plugging it into the computer. 

Before touching anything else, your hands reach up and grasp the balaclava, tearing it off your head in one quick motion and hooking it onto your belt. It was rare for you to wear it on Base.

A sharp inhalation of breath makes your fingers over the keys pause, but you only blink and return to typing – pulling up file after file. The air in the room was already tense, but whatever had just happened was setting off alarm bells. 

Who are these people? What just happened?

Nonetheless, you get to work and turn to Laswell with the intel on screen.

“You’re going after a useless player. Casilda Kalpana is only a pawn in a much larger scheme.” Kate’s eyes snap from one digitized document to another as you continue, staring at her and no one else with a blank expression. “If you had sent your Task Force, they would have died. They already knew you were coming.”

“Well,” a distinctly Scottish accent makes your fingers twitch, but still you don't look as a comment is said into the air, “I’d have to disagree with that, now, Hen.” 

Blood and sweat stain your skin, and you’re covered in more of it down your gear. Your gloves are stiff with dried crimson and even the small amount of interaction you had on the computer left stains over the keys. But you still find the energy to roll your eyes. 

“Can you fight off upwards of one hundred hostiles while trying to sneak through a city so inhabited that it's practically a human ant hill? No offense, but if you answer that with ‘yes’ you may need a psych eval done.” 

There’s a pause before a small masculine snort echoes out. 

“Shut your gob, Garrick.”

“Laswell,” you remain on topic and the woman looks at you with inquisitive eyes, “The only way forward with this is cutting the head off the snake. I say we go one above Kalpana and take out the ring leader.”

“Abel?” Kate’s eyebrows raise, “Bird we’ve been looking for him for years – I don’t know what you expect us to do with noth–”

Your finger hits a key, and the next document pops up. 

“You can thank Wren for compiling the sources. Lots of emails to go through on the helicopter ride. Some not as fascinating as finding coordinates for a Target.” 

“You can say that again,” said woman huffs from the back of the room, “you know how many kinky photos these people send to one another. Shit’s disgusting.” 

The Scot speaks up again, “really? On a scale of how bad it was – one to ten, Bonnie.”

“Fifteen. I need my eyes bleached.” 

There is a gaze that doesn’t leave you; it hadn't since you had walked through the door. It is hard and unrelenting. It does not falter or blink away. 

It makes you nervous. 

Sucking down a deep breath you try to focus on what everyone is saying, but it becomes more difficult with every second. Your hand reaches up to your head, scratching at your scar as the presence follows your actions. 

Who is this? You wonder, but clench your jaw and listen to Laswell speak.

“--reliable is this source?”

Shrike answers from near the door, chuckling, “very, Ma’am. Rarely do these people sugarcoat things. Small brains, you understand?”

“...At the very least I need more than a location and a vague date. Bird,” your head turns slowly away from the floor, “can you give me a week?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand.

“A week?” You frown, eyes narrowing at the blonde, “He could be off in the wind by then. Do you have any idea how much this guy runs – I’ve been tracking him down ever since I joined, Kate. This is the most I’ve gotten in that entire time.” Splaying out one of your hands for emphasis, everyone hangs off your words. “He’s the source of all of it. When you cut a snake up, the head can still bite, sure, but at least you know where not to step. Kill Abel now, and all of them are left bloody in the dirt. Ready to be picked off.” 

Before the stoic agent can say anything, the radio on your chest sizzles to life and you forget about the hot eyes and the thick air. 

The people from the warehouse. 

Hand snapping up, you turn your head down into it, facing forward as your eyes stiffen. 

“Cargo plane is clear for landing, Ma'am. Just thought I’d let the Squad know.” 

“Thank you, Cadet. I’ll be there momentarily to help out…” You blink, “Try to make sure only female medics work on them but make do if you have to.” 

“Copy that. I’ll spread the word.”

“Rog.” You don’t bother to take the USB from the computer before you turn away – they’ll all go over it while you see to the Civvies. 

“How many this time?” Kate asks seriously as you slip past, her body pivoting to orient herself as you pass.

“Warehouse full.” You grunt, itching at your bicep and shuffling to the exit. “Less than last time.” The agent knew better than to try and stop you. 

“That’s an old radio you’ve got.” The British accent makes you falter for a second; it was deep, aged like a fine wine that coated the vowels with clipped authority. Familiar for some reason, but you took no notice of it. “Must be one helluva long story, eh?” 

“Very long,” You say as your nimble hand connects with the door, “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to tell it–”

Your body freezes as you send a quick glance to the voice’s owner; stance suddenly locked tighter than a bank vault as your optics find familiar blue eyes. 

…John? There was suddenly a violent silence in your head, a sheet of white paper held in front of your brain to block it from firing. 

He looked older, but then again, it had been years. Many years. But the build of his face hadn’t changed so much to a point you’d be unable to recognize those blue eyes. Oh, that blue. Like deep water and sea foam on a cold shore. Was it possible to know someone only by their eyes? You had to argue that, yes, you could. Because the man sitting down at the table, flanked by three others that all watch the interaction with confused eyes, is not the Lieutenant you remember.

The beard was new – shiny brunette like his hair under his bucket-hat-covered head – along with the stature. Before, Price had been large, sure, but now he was built like a bear. Your tense eyes slip over the tight compression shirt covering his arms, the bulk of his thighs as he shifts in his chair to stand up firmly. John clears his throat, and your face heats under the flesh, but upon the doorknob, your fingers strangle the metal. He was taller. 

In your chest, the aggressive pounding of your heart rivals a cheetah.

What the fuck is he doing here? You can’t help but glare when the man frowns, his eyelids half-down in a studying look as his eyebrows push in. Like he was just as surprised as you were. Hesitant. But I’m not the one who disappeared. I’m not the one who made the other think they died.

When your face shifts to anger, John freezes, his hands coming up to cross and grip the collar of his beige combat vest looking about as awkward as he can. When you huff out a breath through your nose, his feet shuffle shoulder length apart. Ever the soldier – waiting for a lip-lashing. You watch the wrinkles on his forehead with growing hatred. 

“Bird, I…”

Breathe.

“Well, this just keeps getting fucking better and better.” Without another glance, you wrench the door open and shoulder though, tossing it back with a decent enough force to make the wall rattle as you disappear down the hall. 

But he won’t leave your thoughts. John Price. Alive. Here. 

What kind of game was this? 

Your hands are shaking at your sides when the door, already far down the hallway, opens quickly. But the feet are not heavy. Wren slides up next to you, her feet pumping. She doesn’t say anything, just walks next to you as your eyes shutter closed and you take a deep breath. 

“You up for helping out in the med ward?” You force yourself to say, hoping to distract yourself as your face once more moves back to a picture of innocent calm. 

How can he be here? Fuck…h-how? John was part of the 141 for this entire time? Did he know I was here? He couldn't have, no. But what if he did…

Why didn’t he say anything?

“I’m certainly more inclined to lead my abilities to the nurses, Captain. You’ll find no resistance from me.” You liked that about Wren. She never pried about things she knew you didn’t want to talk about. 

“Good. They’ll need them.”

—

“John!” You laugh, hands coming up to your head where the Lieutenant had placed his beanie, the chill outside had made your nose hurt and your breath puff out in clouds. 

Standing just outside the main exit of the medical ward, you grab the fabric as your face turns up to the tall man at your side. He had just shown up from a meeting, and the door closed behind his back as he locked his arms on his vest collar and set his feet shoulder length apart. 

“Well now, what’re you doin’ out here?” It was rare for you to be out of the building – open places still scared you. “You alright?” 

But you needed to think. 

Stiffly smiling, you try to hide your running thoughts from the man who narrows his deep blues at you. He shifts closer, and you can feel his heat melt into you, making your shivering slow for a moment. He made all of it better.

John huffs.

“You’re about as easy to read as anyone, Bird. Go on, then.” 

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” You play with your fingers, skin pulling tight. “I’m just overthinking everything.”

“You’re nervous.” He states, glancing ahead with a tilted head and a raised brow at no one. 

Under your feet, the snow shrieks as you shuffle, looking to the ground and sighing deeply. There was no point in hiding anything from him and his damn hawk eyes. 

“It’s just…I’ve missed so much, y’know?” Your teeth bite your lips as you feel his firm eyes on you, locked onto the side of your face and caressing your visage with their path. You blink out over the base, seeing everyone move from one place to another with a purpose in their steps. “I have no idea what I’ll do with myself all alone.” 

Whispering out the last sentence, you look at the ground, lips in a line. 

It’s a good while before the Lieutenant speaks, and he sighs deeply before he does. You don’t suppose he’s ever had to deal with something like this before. But he’s learning. All the others at Base and in Bravo Unit had been surprised that the two of you had formed such a tight bond in the limited time you had known each other. John Price wasn’t known to be the easiest person to speak to – especially when traumatized victims were on the other end. His stoic and quite confident attitude was the main deterrent, usually, but his hard eyes and face that rarely showed any emotion were a close second. 

But to you, he was the nicest person you had ever spoken to. He never made fun, poked, or prodded, and he certainly didn’t act mean or bossy toward you. John was kind and warm; gentle when you got to know him. 

And you quite liked his company. 

John’s sigh puffs out over the air, and you grab the sides of his beanie and pull it farther over your head to cover your ears. You send him a curious glance and watch his fingers tighten, one eyelid creasing farther than the other when he looks at you in turn. Locking eyes, you can’t help the small smile that twitches your lips, liking the natural handsomeness of his face. You wonder what a full beard would look like over his cheek beside the current scratchy stubble that you had always known.

His eyes flick to your lips, and his teeth grind against each other for a moment before they snap back to your face. 

“They’re sendin’ you out in three days, yeah?” John asks, scratching at his jaw with three fingers before settling his hands back into his vest. 

“Yeah.” You affirm, smile turning to a frown. The man tenses minutely beside you before clearing his throat.

“Well, where they shippin’ you off to? Someplace nice I’d imagine. Heard somethin’ about bloody Oregon, but they wouldn’t give me much more than that.” You tilt your head at that, expression turning amused.

“You asked?” 

“‘Course.” He raises a brow, and his eyes crinkle down at you. “You expect me not to?”

Face suddenly hotter than the sun, you blink rapidly, snapping your head to look out at the base once more. You may have imagined it, but John’s chest jerks in velvety chuckles you miss due to the ringing in your ears. 

What was happening to you?

A small silence wraps its arms around you before you gather the ability to speak again.

“I think it was Washington, actually.”

“Hm, that it?” John frowns to himself, “Lots of people, Love. How are you feelin’ ‘bout it?”

“I don’t really get a choice,” you chuckle, licking your chapped lips as your pulse rises, “whoever has space was kind enough to offer it, how can I say no to that?” 

“By tellin’ ‘em you don’t want to.” Price shuffles so he’s standing in front of you, blocking the people you were watching. He splays his hands at his sides and waits, blinking with a loose jaw. You nod an approval, though feel confused. 

His hands go to rest on your arms, holding them incredibly light; barely applying pressure but you lean into him anyways. You enjoyed it when he touched you like this – the only person you would allow to do so besides nurses. Your tension softens into pliable clay when he watches you. 

You could get lost in them, you knew, his eyes, if you stared for too long. There was an undeniable attraction to the man that you wanted to push away, but couldn’t help yourself. John was everything to you – he brought you books to read, sat with you as you ate in the cafeteria; he sat up with you when you radioed him about nightmares in the small hours of morning. 

That memory made you giddy. Price would stay in his barracks – unable to leave because of curfew – but would speak to you over your shared channel. Use that soothing tone of his to make your eyes flicker back into slumber until he hears your soft breath over the line and sighs. 

John’s throat releases a grunt, bringing you back to the present. He was staring at you softly, a small smile on his lips. You try not to suck in a soft breath. How long had you been staring at him?

“Focus, Bird.” You can’t stop the mute giggle on your tongue. 

“Sorry.” 

The Lieutenant's head tilts, and his usual expression shifts back. He studies your face, eyes sliding over to the bandages above your eyebrow. 

“If you don’t wanna go, tell ‘em, okay? No one can force you to do anything.” He sighs. “I need you to understand that.”

“...Where else would I go?” You mutter, keeping your eyes locked. “It’s not like I have a home, John.” 

His eyes snap away to look at the wall behind you, narrowing. The expression makes you grin, finding it funny when the man thinks so hard. John blinks, cycling back to stare at your lips. 

The air heats and in your chest, you feel your heart beat just a tiny bit faster. Grumbling, Price peels back and releases you before his hands travel up to his beanie. He pushes it down farther, lightly ruffling your head in the process. 

“Hey!” You huff, annoyed. Your hands flap above your head, shoving his digits away as his chest jumps in low chuckles. “Jerk.” 

You shove the fabric from your eyes and beam. 

“Couldn’t help myself, Love. Here, let me.” John’s hands find your chin, fingers so delicately, brushing the chilled flesh that immediately warms at his work. One limb stays, while the other goes to fix the position of the hat.

Sucking in a slow breath, you look up into his eyes and blink as he focuses on your head with a concentrated furrow in his brow. How did he always manage to make you feel safe? Take away your worries as if they had never existed? If there was one man on earth that could make all of this better, it was the one standing right in front of you.

It would always be John.

“Will you keep in touch?” You whisper, nervous for the answer, and his eyes momentarily snap to yours as his motion slows. A pause.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.” 

“Hm, well then, I'll write ‘til you tell me to stop.”

—

The reports make you want to bash your own skill in. In the dim light of your office, you sit into the deep hours of the night in your chair, spare reading glasses on your nose to help you force away the blurriness from fatigue. You had spent the whole day with Wren in the medical ward helping the civvies get settled and the nurses with the workload. Such a large influx of patients had set them back for weeks, but it couldn't be helped. They weren’t the people to push anyone away – you knew that firsthand. 

You were still in contact with a few nurses from your own stay all those years ago. Good people.

Swishing another of your signatures on a confidentiality document, you slide it to the side and stifle a yawn with the back of your hand before picking up the next file. Your fingers flick the manilla paper open to where you plan to write gruesome details into the blank lines of the sheets inside, and you just begin to let your ink bleed into the paper when your mind suddenly runs to a brown-haired Brit. Pausing, you blink sleepily before pulling the pen back and setting it on the table with a long sigh. 

“Fucking hell.” A groan escapes your lips. This had been going on for hours. You’d try to start something and then the thoughts would get blocked by that damn man. 

He was even more handsome than you remembered him. Lightly tapping the tabletop with your nails, you can’t deny the heat that had entered your body when you had seen John again. The coarse beard. The writhing muscle of his thighs paired with that tapered waist. 

He had aged beautifully down to the very atoms of his makeup to a point it made your breath go thin; pupils widened in a primal display of need. It was pathetic. But the carnal attraction had always been there along with the normal crush. There was something you had learned a million times over – it was never going to be anyone else but John Price. Even so, it wasn’t for a lack of trying. You’d had plenty of boyfriends throughout the years – small flings that never lasted. 

None made you feel as secure as the once Lieutenant’s simple presence had. Wren had told you in the med ward that he was a Captain just the same as you, now. Captain Johnathan Price. If anything, it made you mad that the title had a nice ring to it.

Your face twists into thinly-veiled annoyance. What gave him the right to come waltzing back? You thought he was fucking dead. Instead, you had been ghosted so bad you joined the goddamn military to help cope. Fuck, maybe your therapist had been right all along.

You’re just about to let off a spring of audible curses when a knock on your office door makes you flinch, eyes scrunching before sense finally finds you again.

Can’t I wallow in peace? You ask yourself, hoping Shrike hadn’t gotten into a fistfight at the local bar in town again. I swear I need to put Thrush on watch duty for that woman. Maybe Eagle’ll convince him for me. 

“Come in.” You stand as the door opens slowly, hinges echoing out as you slide the reading glasses off your face and toss them down. “I swear if Shrike got suspended again I’m going to hit her over the head with the code-of-conduct manual.” 

Snapping your fingers and cracking your neck, you huff when no one responds before turning to the door.

“What’s going–Oh.” 

John stood in the doorway, wearing nothing more than a thick black cotton shirt that covered his large arms and hugged just the perfect amount over his triceps. It showcased his large shoulders before being tucked into his cargo pants. For once in your life, you think you’ve seen him without some sort of hat on his person. 

Freezing, you stare wide-eyed at him. John frowns from where he lets the door automatically shut, nodding his head towards you firmly in greeting as your heart kickstarts. His large hands enter his pockets like some guilty teenager as you gape at him. 

John clears his throat. 

“Bird.”

“Get out.” You deadpan, not bothering to hear the man out. Price groans, head tilting to the side to glare at the wall as his jaw clenches.

“Love, would you let me explain–”

“No. Frankly, I’ve had enough adrenaline rushes for one day, you damn jerk. Now, get out of my office.” You begin making your way from around the table; pulse flying through every point in your body. 

You can’t be here, John, you clench your fists, please, you can’t be here. 

Annoyance sparks in those blues that you love to stare into, but all you do is go to stand right in front of the man with a violet frown that he mirrors. 

“Bird.” He says again, setting his feet.

“John.” You raise a brow and cross your arms. The Brit growls, gaze flicking away with a heat to it before wafting back like fog over water.

“What’re you doing here?” He says slowly, trying to keep the peace between the two of you.

“Well,” under your arms, your hands shake, “what the hell do you think? Working the same as everyone else. Or at least I was trying until you showed up.”

“That’s not what I bloody fuckin’...” John trails off, closing his eyes before taking a deep breath and letting the tension in his shoulders loosen. His hands exit his pockets, and you stare as they splay by his waist. “Please, Love. I’m not trying to argue with you.” 

“Arguing is the least of what you should be worried about.” Grumbling under your breath you lick your lips as his eyes lock with yours. 

There was something there you couldn’t name, but it sat on the tip of your tongue – perhaps close to the emotions of guilt and horror that left the Brit’s jaw tight and his eyebrows constantly furrowed. Had he really never expected to see you again? 

Yes. You figure with a heavy heart and a spark of hurt. Had you really been so discardable? In your mind, you had thought that you meant something to him. But maybe that was just another lie. 

Letting out a scoff, you roll your eyes before looking away.

“Weren't really many options for me.” You concede a small portion of yourself if only to get him to leave so the way he makes your lungs sputter and face heat can cease. The others would make fun of you for this. A pointless crush on a man you hadn’t stopped thinking about for ages and held a great deal of resentment toward. When would the self-sabotage end with you? “Thought it was a better way to help others like me.” 

You turn back and raise an expectant brow. “Happy now?” 

John just continues to stare, lips thin and pulling under his beard hair as he raises a hand to itch at his jawline. A growl digs at your throat. 

“John. Leave.” Not able to help yourself, you spit out, “if you wanted to quit talking to me all those years ago – you could have just told me instead of making me think you were fucking dead.”

The man’s head immediately flinches back, face scrunching in genuine confusion as his mouth parts. Under his shirt, you see his heart skip a beat.

“What are you sayin’ Bird? I never did anything fucken’ like that. What are you on about?” He shakes his head, “you stopped answering me.”

“The fuck are you saying? No, I didn’t!” Reeling back, you throw your hands above your head in a display of surrender; about to slink back to your desk and try to forget the heat of John’s body and the blaze of his eyes. “God, I give up on you and your stupid accent. I have reports to get done without your presence making me want to vomit.” 

“Oh, my presence,” The Captain throws out a humorless chuckle that makes you want to cry. “Eh, you’re angry at me – you have every right to be, Love. I fucked up,” He growls, teeth gnashing, “But don’t fuckin’ lie to me. That is not what bloody happened – I never stopped writing you.”

“What the hell do you mean that’s not what happened?!” Your scream surprises you, with your voice bouncing off the wall like a demented banshee was in the room. You snap back around on quick feet and stalk over to the man. John’s eyes widen at the enraged tone and he blinks in shock as you continue, backing up a single step when you get in his face. “I waited and waited for you to send another letter – I waited months for nothing! Do you know how that felt, John? To-to go over in my head that maybe you never made it back from that Black Op at all? That you were dead somewhere in a fucking jungle or a desert or anywhere? I tried to get in contact with everyone, and nothing panned out. They wouldn’t tell me shit. So don’t stand there and say it never happened like that, because that is exactly how it happened!” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears are dripping down your chin, hitting the floor with muffled plops.

 John is slack-jawed, eyebrows all the way up on his forehead and orbs stuck on you – on your obvious panic. His breath is heavy, and you feel it spread over your face from how close the two of you were; you had ended up pointing a finger right into the Captain’s peck. Under your harsh press, your flesh felt his pulse flying off the rails. Your nose scrunches as you sniffle, aggressively ripping your limb back to your side. Oh, but he had been so soft under you; his skin beneath that fabric reacting to your own by pulsing to life. John’s tongue wetted his lips. 

Scoffing, you take a step back, but the man speaks before you can get far enough away. It was quiet, how he said the words, and his expression was one of genuine confusion and concern. His eyes were brighter than the moon – that gray space rock put to shame by the rolling beauty of his optics that reflect light far better than she ever could. Gentle Selene, how did it feel to be beaten by a man covered in more death and blood than anyone? Who’s skin is tough and callused so perfectly that a child of Ares wants to feel those fingers caress her in forbidden places. Oh, to be kissed and loved by him. To be worshiped like a god. 

“What in the hell are you talking about?” It was nothing more than a gasp, and you see his fingers twitch to touch you; to hold you to him as if nothing had ever happened.

“John, I’m not repeating myself.” You sob down a breath, looking away and shrugging pathetically.

“Bird, listen to me. Eh, eh. I…I never stopped sending you letters, yeah?” Blinking, you turn back to him and frown dumbly, your eyes furiously dancing from one wrinkle of his forehead to another. A minute passes where you feel more tears drop to the floor. 

“...What?” Confusion laces your eyes, “but I never got anymore after…” 

You trail off, letting the sentence die as your heart does. 

What does he mean he kept writing letters? I…I waited and I never got any. None of this made any sense, but the man in front of you was never one to lie. Ever. 

John takes a step forward and you tense. He freezes, face hard and jaw set beneath his beard. You can tell he’s still confused – just as you are, but his attention is fully on you.

“Can I touch you?” He asks lowly, hands outstretched but never even grazing your shaking shock-filled form. His thick fingers are all separated, the digits lightly curled inwards to the palm. Those hands. Would they even feel the same as they did back then? 

But did that matter? Neither of you was the same person anymore. Both of those people had been lost in the annals of history – their story was already over and done. The pages turned. Cover closed. 

Those two kind people had died. They were buried together under the ground, bones turning bleach white and wrapped in vines; nothing more than a ghost of a dream.

“Bird?” John whispers, his head tilting down to look at you closer as his chin bumps his chest. His feet move carefully as his hips shift and you feel his body heat like a noose around your neck. Your resolve was slipping, but it had already been fraying when you had first laid eyes on this changeling – this person wearing the Lieutenant’s face and eyes. 

John.

You nod without looking at his creased eyelids, and he slips you into his firm hold without a second thought. 

“Oh, c’mere, Love.” Standing heavily, you breathe in a deep breath as your head meets his chest, body wound tight. How many times have you dreamed of this? Finding him again despite all of it? It felt…wrong. 

You had been sure he was dead. How was he not dead? 

“Little Bird, I’m so sorry.” Your eyes widen, and a sharp gasp is ripped from your mouth; lips instantly begin to shake and pull tight. 

No, you want to scream, no don’t say that to me, John. Don’t do that to me.

But he mumbles it again into your hair as his hand cups the back of your skull, weakly swaying back and forth in this dim office surrounded by blood and death. His body is like a rock all around you, and as your arms rise to wrap around his waist, you hear his breath shutter down over your forehead; his lungs hitch. 

“I thought you died.” You hate the whimper that gets muffled by his shirt as you nuzzle into it. Hate it with a burning passion. When was the last time you had let yourself break like this? Left staining someone's shirt with tears and muttering fears into their chest. But this wasn’t someone, this was John – John had promised you he would come back for you, always.

And so John just holds you tighter and kisses your forehead. He lets you cry. He makes you feel safe where no one else ever could. 

The man – a triumphant Orpheus – keeps you close until you can breathe firmly again. Only then does he carefully peel back, and you catch a glimpse of his soft face. The face that you missed ogling as you walked beside him. His hands go to cup your cheeks, thumbs slipping to wipe away tears that clog your vision with his quick eyes falling to study your visage; you liked when John took care of you, even if you knew you could handle it yourself now. 

He made everything better. 

Peering into his eyes, you catalog the new aspects of his face as your breaths mingle, bodies close and intimate. He had more wrinkles than you remember, and his eyes were even more cold. John’s beard was perhaps the change you liked the most besides the nicely trimmed head hair. 

“MacMillan.” He grunts out and you frown as he continues with a sigh. One of his arms goes to slither around your waist, pulling you even closer as if he couldn’t be separated for one more second. “He didn’t like that I was writing you, Love. Said I’d been too distracted. Must have stopped the letters from gettin’ out…bloody fucken’ bastard, he is.”

You hum, content for the first time in a long while. John’s chest moves against yours – pressing into it and making you ache with every fast puff of air. Noticing the rapid movement of his heart, you look deeply into his expression and find his pupils blown wide, a deep heat taking root around the room. 

“If I had known, I would have found a way to give ‘em to you myself.” Your body tingles, and your fingers dig into his skin from around his waist as your noses nearly brush. He doesn’t pull back. “You know that, don’t you? I’d have hopped on the first damn plane – shown up on your doorstep. Gear and all.”

“Now, I would have paid to see that, Captain Price.” He purrs, and the vibrations of his chest make your eyelids flutter. “Standing on my porch like a husband who came home from war. Pity.”

Chuckling breathly, you can’t help but giggle back, leaning into his hold on your cheek. You don’t remember ever feeling this happy. 

A moment of stolen breaths and wandering touches ensues; beating hearts that make muscles writhe and inner tensions reach a breaking point. Finally together again after so long apart – there were so many things to say to each other. 

“Hm, Love?” John mutters as his nose bumps yours, making your head lightly tilt to the side to make his lips brush yours with every panted gasp. You lick your lips and accidentally slide your tongue against the side of the Brit's mouth; you watch his eyes darken with a smirk. 

“Yes?” You wonder aloud, eyes hooded, and his gaze narrows on you – a blatant enticing accusation making John’s skin thrum with electricity. 

“Can I kiss you?”  A breathless grumble. 

“Yes.”

Your lips meet with a clash of hellfire and a song of lust, sparks like jumping embers lighting across lit flesh. Digging into his waist, you enjoy the way John’s ribs flare with large lungs as his teeth clatter into yours, the way his grip on your face trails to your neck, digging and making you gasp into his mouth when he slightly presses into your pulse point. 

He chuckles pridefully before reconnecting his face to yours, feeling your heart pound outside of your body. The two of you were so close to one another that it was nearly like you were trying to melt into one being – an amalgamation of calluses and milky scars; violence and unspoken words. 

The both of you had been waiting for this for years. Ages.

A swipe of his tongue over your lips and suddenly your mouth is wide open, letting the muscle delve into you before retreating once more; leaving strings of saliva as you let him separate. Face hot and breath panting, you both stare at one another with swollen lips, red and bitten. There’s a small moment of quick inhalations and banging chests before your nails suddenly dig into the small of his back, dragging him forward once more as he heaves under your hold. 

No need for talking, you could get everything you wanted to say across just by how you bite into his bottom lip, how your knee brushes his crotch and leaves him jolting into you. Groaning into your mouth. 

John’s fingers kneed your flesh, every brush like a cattle prod. Without even realizing it, both of you had started to back up, your feet skimming the floor as one of your hands went out behind you to connect with the desk edge. 

“Lift.” You mumble into his mouth, and not a second later the man’s large hands grope at your thighs, squeezing once before he effortlessly manhandles you upwards. Your legs spread and go to wrap around his waist, locking at the ankles and producing a deep churning in your gut.

When your backside lands on the desktop, your lips have traveled to lay nipping kisses on John’s neck and under his ear; hand now over his abs and dragging down while your nails leave him shivering. He grunts and clenches his jaw when you bite into his flesh, the delicious tickle of beard hair brushing your nose as you watch with feral satisfaction upon the flush on his complexion. 

The Captain’s hands run up and down your hips fervently, mapping out the flesh above your loose sweatpants. Before long there’s the feeling of pressure forming above your core, a deep imprint of tented cargo pants leaving a familiar feeling of passion leaking out into your panties. The both of you were utterly addicted to the other. 

“Eager?” You breathily wonder, teasing, leaving another hickey on John’s pulse point as he side-eyes you with blown pupils. Your gaze only catches a flicker of a smirk before his hands suddenly bore down into the skin of your thighs and his hips cant into your core. 

Gasping out a moan, your fingers twist into his shirt, face falling onto his shoulder. 

“J-jerk!” You keen, face hot, and mouth open to help you suck down air before he does the same motion again, liking how you look when his erection rubs the right spots. Shaking, you feel John leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on your skin, beard coarsely stimulating your already warm skin. Under his unrelenting hold, your legs quiver to try and move faster.

Smug bastard, he was enjoying this.

“Now, then, who’s eager?” A confident superiority was stuck to the tone like the slick was making your underwear stick to your slit. It felt dirty, but you liked when he talked like that – tried to use your words against you as his own pleasure was making him go slack-faced. 

How would it feel to have him moving inside of you? Leaving you sobbing from pleasure as your shared release dripped over the floor and his veins caught your ridges just right? 

Your back arches into him, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling as his hand presses into your tailbone to angle you upwards into him as he groans into your shoulder and stutters his animalistic pace. The feeling was unlike any other you had experienced; you could feel the electricity every time he stimulated your clit, leading to involuntary jerks on your part and thin breaths. There was barely time to suck down air over the lightheadedness. 

“I-” Your voice cuts as cold wetness slides down your folds, and you shiver despite boiling. “I think you’re the one rutting into me like a bitch in heat, John.”

“Well, you’d be right,” he growls, and your fingers slide down his shirt before you can slip into his pants. The Brit sucks in a sharp breath and his other hand, once on your thigh, goes to slam onto the desktop in a quick motion when you play with the strap of his boxers. “Fuckin’ minx.”

You smirk, angling your head to the side to watch his normally stoic face begin to break when your nails trace the trail of hairs that lead down. Close but not close enough to where his cock strains violently; twitching as the telltale leak of precum stains his underwear and pants. You doubt your appearance down there is any better. Everything sticks to each other so tightly that you were slightly worried your desk would need a deep clean. 

John’s eyes are closed tightly, teeth clenched tight when your nails trace circles along his prominent ‘V’ line while his abdominal muscles tighten to an attractive degree of internal yearning. Around his waist, your legs are vibrating with eagerness, your skin so sensitive it was like every nerve was being fired. Oh, you liked that look on his face more than anything.

“You’ve got to say it, Love.” You watch as his biceps tighten and strain, hand over your desk clenching into a fist behind you. Your hand dips lower in his boxers as your core begs for something to fill it – anything to make the cum drip out of you and give overstimulated aftershocks. Your other limb goes to pop the front button of his cargos as your sweaty face angles itself to connect your nose with the Captain’s larger one, smashing against it desperately. “Open your eyes, John. Tell me what you want me to do.” 

Breathing over his visage, he flickers his eyes open with a small struggle and you almost moan at the heaviness of them as they gaze at you. He says nothing to you, but his digits at your tailbone leave their position to mirror your own actions. Your confidence stutters when John deftly pulls at the string and slips his rough pads under your panties, stopping on your body where you wait on his. 

Your eyes slightly widen and your heart beats impossibly faster. 

So that’s what this is…some kind of cat-and-mouse game? Alright.

The desk is uncomfortable under you, but you find you don’t even care anymore. Staring into John’s unblinking eyes you raise a brow. 

“Not saying anything?”

“I’ll leave it to you. Do what you wish, Princess.” Your fingers experimentally skim to the base of his cock, playing with the hairs and feeling his fingers mirror, stopping just above your aching clit and barely touching you. This would be easier with the clothes off, less awkward angles if you would just fuck each other like you both desperately wanted. Raw and fast, no time to breathe before starting another round to make up for lost time until the two of you were too tired and sensitive to even rut into each other without passing out. But the two of you were too currently obsessed with battling wills – this was a game that made you even wetter, and him harder. 

But, fuck, it physically hurt not to have his dick inside of you right now. Maybe a substitute could work? 

Your fingers grip him inside his boxers, and before you can laugh at his throat-strangled moan of carnal pleasure, his own are delving into your drenched heat relentlessly. 

“Fuck!” You whimper, hips jerking as your mouth falls open, eyes rolling back. He has the audacity to steal your laugh from you and throw it back as it puffs out over your cheeks. 

When John feels the drowning wetness stemming from your slit and he curls his digits, he can’t help the vile smirk that infects his lips; a raised eyebrow, and a comment on his hot breath.

“All this for me, hm?” You don’t answer, too lost in the blue of his eyes and the sparks that emulate at having another living being pulsing over your tight walls. 

“S-shut it.” Groaning, you pant trying to move your hips before he growls in front of you, making you pause as your hand around his cock twitches.

“None of that, now.” There was no amusement in his eyes, but a steel-like determination and a demented tilt of his head as his forehead connected with yours. “We’re gonna help each other, yeah? Make it a little game of who can get off first. Can you do that for me, Dear?” 

Where has your confidence gone? Has it leaked out of you? 

You whine as your eyes crinkle, desperate for something on your clit despite the feeling of being stuffed by two of John’s large fingers. John frowns, and his thumb hits the perfect bundle of nerves like he could read your mind. Writhing, you feel your eyes wet with pleasure-tears.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your mind is going so fast that it’s blank, only able to focus on John and how his hips sputter to try and fuck himself on your hand. He was just as needy as you were, skin flushed and muscles tight under his clothes.  

“C’mon, Love.” He groans, nipping at your wet and red mouth and pulling at your lip as his calluses rub in small sparking circles, trying to get you to respond. Your hips careen forward to chase him. “Where’s my sweet Little Birdie gone, eh? She’s so wet for me, can’t have lost already. Listen, now, okay?” 

He begins to fuck you with his fingers, moving painfully slow in and out, pushing and prodding as you moan and gasp when he runs over the tense walls. But you do listen – God, how couldn’t you? 

“You hear that?” Your eyes widen and your hand tightens over his cock like a vice. Your own cunt was so soaked that every motion of John’s fingers made an obscene squelch, and your walls tighten in retaliation around him as he groans deeply, feet shoulder length apart. “There she is.”

You match his pace with your hand, collecting his precum at the tip and spreading it down the shaft as you both get each other off with fast breaths and locked eyes. 

“T-that’s a girl.” John can’t help the way he moves faster, eager to release the strain on his balls, his fingers rapidly moving and thumb pressing tightly as you squeeze around him. “Fuck.” He growls, hunching over you and taking a peek down to where your sweatpants and panties strain to hold his hand inside as you work him. “Fuck,” he repeats, “such a lovely fuckin’ cunt of yours. Grippin’ my fingers like a damn noose, you are. Can’t wait to—”

A strangled whine breaks through his clenched teeth when you twist your hand, creating a rhythm of your own that makes sweat break out on John’s forehead. 

“Bloody…” his head falls to your shoulder, where you lick and bite at the side of his ear with hard teeth, thighs burning as you jump every time his thumb weakly stutters over your clit. Your ankles dig into his tailbone. 

“C’mon, John,” you gasp, sweat trailing your spine and soaking into your clothes as the sound of rabid slopping echoes off the walls along with loud moans and guttural grunts. “This is what you wanted, right?” He bites into your shoulder through your shirt. 

The Brit was close, you could feel it in the fast careening of his hips; the way his dick in your soft hand was twitching and covered in just as much wetness as your splayed slit was, where John’s fingers continue to spread you violently wide. But his motions had faltered, but still, that tightening in your belly was there even as he slowed at his impending release. Your pleasure stemmed from seeing him lose it under the twist of your wrist and the lick of your tongue under his ear.

His groans were getting louder, body hunching in around you as the desk knocked into his knees. 

“Little more,” you like the way his beard burns your neck flesh, how his body pulls you even tighter against him so you won’t take away his climax at the last second. “C’mon, let me feel it.” He gasps and twitches a whine stuck deep before it is expelled from his lungs as he shakes like a leaf against you. 

He shoots his cum down to stain his boxers and cargo pants and you look down in a daze to look at the patch, but his locked fingers inside of you involuntarily curl all the way up, pressing into that spongy spot as you clit it pinched so tight your eyes widen. Before you can stop it, you're moaning out loudly and breathlessly, back arching and releasing just like that. Spazaming, it’s cutting through you like a knife, filthy stickiness coating John’s hand in a thick layer in an instant as your walls clench.

The both of you shake into one another, bodies coated and clothes wreaked – fingers and hands not willing to part from the other's wreaked pants. 

Whining, you force your flicking eyes open and feel John breathing heavily into your neck. Sucking down fast breaths, you lick your lips and state, perhaps a little smugly, “I…I win.”

A panting moment of sweat-coated silence. 

John starts laughing, deep bouts of shaking movements that make you follow. In the dim office atop a ruined desk, you both lean into one another, clean hands digging into the others’ clothes and hair. The lingering pleasure was addictive. 

“Fucken’ hell…yeah, Love, guess you did.” The brown-haired man pulls back, and your hand falls from his cock and lands in your lap. You unlock your ankles and shiver when his fingers brush inside of you when he takes them out, teasingly running over your overstimulated clit and huffing, amused when you whimper pathetically and slap his hand away. Glaring, he smirks and you roll your eyes. Raising a brow as sweat falls from your nose, you shift over the wood and stare at John as his hidden emotions wash over you in the form of blue water.

You can’t really think that I’m done with you? You want to say.

“What do I get, then?” Your thighs twitch, legs still splayed around his wide hips. He frowns teasingly.

“What’s that?” 

“I won, didn’t I?” Staring intensely, both of your hands go to hold you up behind you, leaning back so you can place weight on them. Already, your slit is aching again, your navel pounding as the room smells like sex and messy release. “I want a prize.”

“That how it works, then, Captain?” John sighs, crossing his arms and puffing his chest as your leg moves up and down his thigh, “You expect to be rewarded? Hm, you’re in the wrong profession, you are, Love.” 

“No,” you smirk, “I’m not.” 

Reaching, your fingers grasp the bottom of your shirt, feeling John’s eyes bore into your skin as you pull the article over your head and let it hit the floor. You hear his breath get shallow, and, disliking how the cum staining your lower body feels, you lift your hips and slide both your panties and sweats to your ankles with a quick motion.  

Looking up at John, you smile innocently, only clothed in a bra.

“Take off my shoes for me?” His blue eyes are barely visible anymore, black already taking over as his piercing look stays on your shiny cunt like a dog with a bone. You see his breath get shallow and the hard-on under his clothes once more grow larger. “John?” Prompting him to move, you take one of your hands and spread your folds. 

The man’s hands twitch, feet shuffling, but other than that he stays stone still until you speak once more, even if he’s almost physically vibrating at the sight of you. 

“I’ll let you clean me up if you hurry up and get my clothes off.” His large hands snap to your laces, untying them expertly and pulling them from your feet so they clatter to the ground. The remaining fabric follows. 

Giggling, your breath gets caught when John’s fingers trail up your ankle, his free hand going to lay firmly at your opposite knee. Using one of your hands you reach up and unclip your bra, slipping it off your shoulders. The reports on your desk are all most likely ruined – you’ll need to rewrite them tomorrow – but for right now you’re transfixed on the sight in front of you. 

John looks into your eyes and utters, “you sure you know what you’re doin’ Sweetheart?” 

“Take off your shirt.” You smile in return, your fingers going to slip into your eager cunt, still burning from John’s long-gone relentless digits. Your eyelids flutter at the fire. “And your pants. I wanna feel your muscles movin’ when your tongue cleans up my cum.” 

His chest is heaving like a wounded animal, and you whine when you curl your own fingers in your heat, wishing it was John’s dick. Fuck, you needed him to hurry up already. Your digits couldn’t satisfy you as he could – when you had been stroking him you had marveled silently at the girth, the sizable veins that pulsed in your grip when you squeezed. 

Watching like a hawk, John slowly moves and pulls off his shirt as you lazily fuck into your wet entrance. You spy his large pecs and nicely shaped waist as chiseled abs make your mouth water and lips part in soft puffs of breath. The coarse hair over him was the same shade as his beard, and you followed the trail with greedy eyes until it disappeared below his unbuttoned and stained pants. 

Your chest gets just a little bit together; cunt tightening dangerously.

“You’re droolin’, lovely,” John smirks down at you, “careful now, don’t wanna finish on yourself. Just makin’ more of a mess for me, hm? Naughty.” He strips off his pants and boxers, kicking his boots off, and you stare wide-eyed at the spring of his dick, noticing the way it hits against his stomach with a molten red tip. 

You would have gotten on your knees and sucked him off, but he beat you to it. 

The Captain forsakes his own needs and does as he’s ordered – he kneels to the ground and levels his face where your cum stains your skin and nudges your fingers out of the way. He begins to lick along your thighs as your wet hand goes to slick his hair back, gripping the strands and observing the phenomena below you with a slack jaw. 

Oh, hell. 

He stares at you as he does it, cataloging the flesh that makes you jump and the places that leave you shaking with need. His tongue sucks and bites, but never goes where you want it to, instead, he just spreads your legs farther and makes comments as you grunt above him.

“Such a mess, Princess…I’ll have to take care of you.”

“That’s it, Love, fuck my face – try and get off. Good girl.”

“Fuckin’ delicious, that is, eh? Here, have a taste.”

You’re left a shaking mess by the time the remnants of your orgasm are traded for saliva, his muscle slurping up every droplet without complaint as his fingers leave bruises in your thighs from how tight he has to hold them to keep the limbs apart. This wasn’t going to plan for you. 

Whining and whimpering, you ache for him, your lower body throbbing as more slick begins flowing. At this rate, he was going to suck you raw and leave beard burn all over your inner thighs. 

“J-John,” you plead, disheveled as your hand grips his hair tighter, biting into the brown whisps. You were going to climax without him even entering you.

“Hm?” He groans out, licking a long stripe over your entrance but never sinking into it. Your body shivers and jolts, chasing that friction but he moves away too soon. You nearly sob. No, no, no. I can’t take it. “What is it, then?” 

“Fuck me.” You feel the twist of his lips more than see it.

“Yeah? That what you want?” 

“I swear to God, John–!” He stands so quickly that you yelp, legs wrapping behind him as his arms go around your backside and hike you into his hold. 

Moaning loudly, you feel the press of his cock over your slit, whining and immediately trying to shift in his grip to attempt to slip him inside of you with a twisted face. But the Brit’s hand on the small of your back is tight, keeping you trapped against him. 

“Not yet.” He growls in his ribcage, and you connect his forehead with yours and force yourself not to beg as he narrows his eyes at you. But you're not a fool, you can practically hear his cock trying to move against your heat; his thighs quivering. “Fuckin’ hell – you’re impatient. Your whole squad like that?”

“You’re a damn tease.” You huff, rubbing and pressing your nipples over his chest hair to stop the throbbing in them. “Ruder than I remember. Didn’t even let the girl suck you off.”

“Then you’re gonna hate what I do next.”

Your confusion bleeds into your expression as he situates himself in your desk chair, leaning back into it with a groan and squeezing you in his arms. His dick slaps at your backside when he lets you go and just stares. Furrowing your brow, he tilts his head down at you as your arms rest on his pecks, playing with the hair there and tracing scars.

“Go on.” The Brit prompts with a tilt of his head toward you, a nonchalant expression on his face that makes him look more like he used to – outwardly not caring but studying every move and twitch of your body.

He watches you like a wolf.

“What?” Questioning, your head pulls back as your legs fall limp at his sides to dangle above the floor.

He huffs. “You said you wanted your prize – take it, then.”

“...b-but…”

“Go on. Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

You glance down, utter exasperation showing on your face, “how am I supposed to…?” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure that out, Love.” John’s hands go to sit on the armrests, fingers swishing as they hang off the ends. Your face burns, annoyance filtering into your veins as your eyelids crease. 

Trying to prove a point, you stave off the awkwardness of the angle and shift upwards, using John’s broad shoulders as a way to lift yourself up. Taking a shallow breath, your breasts are shoved into his face when you free one of your hands, going to grasp him to line the joining up. You feel him distantly nipping at the supple flesh, his hands over the rests jerking as his legs open wider under you. When you grab him, he grunts, and your nails leave crescent marks on his skin as you clench your jaw as it rests on his head. Huffing, you jerk him off a few times to make his body writhe before, in one fell motion, letting yourself fall onto his dick. 

You both let out sounds that are more animal than human, deep wails and keens that shake the office walls. 

“Fuck, John,” you make noise like a damn porno, head slotted in his neck as you shake and jolt this way and that with rapid nerves that shoot down your arching spine.

He was tearing you open – ripping you apart with the spearhead that curves so deeply you struggle to breathe correctly. Jesus, was he in your throat? Gasping, you feel so full in such a unique way it leaves you addicted, your cunt so tight around John’s cock that the walls inside of you quiver with every small movement. When he gasps out breaths with his closed-tight eyes, you notice the way your body convulses, red-hot pleasure rocketing to your brain and pumping endorphins before clenching around him. 

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit, I can feel his goddamn veins digging into me! Your small mewls of pleasure spill out even as you both stay still to adjust. Sex had never felt like this before.

John spasms, hands immediately snapping to your thighs to keep you there as he wheezes. 

“Fuckin’....christ!” Blinking rapidly, you bite into John’s neck to ground yourself, hips rocking despite his pleas. “So tight. Squeezin’ my cock just perfect. Take it, Love. Fuck, c’mon, take it.” 

Your slick and his precum make it easier, the wet squelching once more resuming at a faster pace than before. You release his skin, intent on chasing after the orgasm building around this man’s dick that hits every spot like it was target practice.

“John, feel so good,” you moan, breathing loudly as the Brit watches you take him like it was nothing. 

“H-hell.” He groans long, hands helping you jump when your legs shake too violently every once and a while. He’ll have blood dripping from his shoulders from how hard you dig into him, but watching your cunt swallow him over and over again is payment enough as a ring of milky white forms at his base. “Look at you. Fuckin’ good girl. Keep it steady, now.”

“P-please,” you sob, eyes shiny as your walls ache – your needy clit was burning. John watches wide-eyed; blues boiling. “Clit. I need…” 

Trailing off you connect your lips to his when one of his thumbs goes to your nerve bundle, quickly working at it in tight circles that molds your lips onto a silent scream. John whimpers when your pussy clamps, his senses all covered in you – your scent and how your tits bounce so beautifully – a second later he can’t help himself any longer. 

His feet plant themselves to the floor, and he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth as his hips rapidly thrust, skin on skin the only sound above high moans and muffle pleas of release. 

It was far past words anymore, just feral animals seeking an earth-shattering orgasm at the other’s hand. Drool was slipping down both of your lips, splattering down chests and cheeks as sloppy kisses miss marks. 

So close. So close.

The snake was coiling, walls shaking and alternating between squeezing too tight and letting John hit as far into you as possible. You suddenly wail into his hot mouth, eyes rolling back when he angles his thrusts back towards himself as he slouches in the chair.

“There it is. Bloody bastard.” John hits it again, leaving you collapsing onto his chest as his hands go to wrap around your back, large arms using you to stay still as he pants ferally, eyes wild as they stare down at your blessed-out expression. Fuck, were you even able to speak anymore beyond whines and gasps? The clench of your pussy?

“Don’t worry, Love,” One thumb still plays with your overstimulated clit, making tears splatter his chest hair and get stuck as every sliver of skin that’s coated in sweat and joined slick. “I’ll make it up to you, yeah, I’ll fuck you proper later.” 

Your eyes roll back, back arching into him. God, was this not fucking you properly? But then again, John was a gentleman at the end of the day – his idea of proper was probably a bed and a glass of water on the nightstand. 

But this was so much better. The neediness of it, the emotional release besides the physical. John could fuck you anywhere at any time, as long as you got to hear him speak to you like that. Breathless, whiny like he never was and probably never will be outside the company of just you – even after being separated, you knew he was never one to do things like this.

“Tell me you’ll let me cum inside this cunt, eh, Love,” his accent is stronger as he gasps, raspy, with muted growls, before his head tilts back behind the chair’s backing. He speeds up until you were sure the chair was going to break in two, the material squealing. “Let me breed you like I always wanted to, yeah? Watch that spent cunt drown before I pump back in and stuff you full again. Please, Bird, let me…Let me…!”

You're about to lose it, hands raking down his chest and legs numb before you can gasp out a single sentence before the rope snaps.

“God, John, don’t…don’t let any go to waste.” You moan and slot your head under his jaw, feeling his beard bristles burn your nose when you finally let the snake strike. 

Freezing, your lower body jolts as if connected to an electrical line, walls constricting around the foreign entity inside of you as it continues to chase its own high. One firm thrust, two sloppy ones, before a groan so loud you feel it reverberate in your heart enters the heavy air. There is an undeniable fullness to your womb that shoots deeply into your being, splattering your thighs and staining John’s abdomen. From there it’s small instinctual thrusts as your ringing ears twitch at the sound of cum dripping on the floor. Panting, you can’t help the fucked-out way your mouth parts to release a satisfactory sigh at the feeling of euphoria in your brain and cunt. 

It felt like you were floating on air when John finally started rubbing a hand up and down your back, shaky fingers hard and sure as they trace old marks. 

Still short of breath, the two of you revel in each other's company with palpitating hearts and half-lidded eyes. Still slotted under his jaw, the brown-haired man mutters softly.

“New?” As he taps a bullet wound on your right side that’s been healed for years now. 

“Hm,” uttering softly with a hoarse voice, you smile weakly with warm cheeks, “old. Three years.” 

“...I have a lot to catch up on, then, yeah?” 

“Very much. But don’t worry, I’ll be patient.” He chuckles, making your form move with him. You take a deep breath, finally feeling yourself come back to earth, albeit on unsteady feet. 

A good bout of calming silence forms before you speak through a haze of fatigue. It had to be late by now – incredibly late. Maybe just using the pullout bed would be better than doing the walk of shame back to your barracks. John could join you here, you decide internally. 

“How did you know I’d even speak to you in the first place?” You ask as the man shifts under you, lightly lifting your black and blue thighs as you begin to whine quietly; he shushes you with a calm presence. Delicately pulling out, he lets his spent cock exit your red and swollen hole as more combined fluid falls from you to run over his hips and pool below. Resettling you, he brings a hand to the back of your head and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“The radio. You kept it.” You grin shakily, feeling him run his fingertips down your spine, finding more milky scars and caressing them with callused hands. 

You’d have to tell him all of your stories later, and in turn, he’ll tell you his. There was a lot to learn, but this certainly wasn’t a bad spot to start. Nuzzling farther into his neck, you sigh dreamily as his pulse sings you to sleep like a lullaby. Before you drift off you whisper out a reply that leaves John shivering. 

“...I guess I did, didn’t I?”

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @antigonusyuki, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @lora21, @330bpm-whiplash, @michirulol, @john-pricee, @cl0wncxre, @jade-jax, @anna-banana27, @lothiriel9, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @bespectacledhuman, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @wolfyland07, @shoe1412, @jaimiespn, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaut2029, @shmaptin, @levietc

(if anyone has any idea why some aren't working I would love to know lmao)

[statiicstag]

[ *will smith poses* i commissioned @rradiio to bring my design for my alastor to life and omg look at him!! im so thrilled with this, thank u again salt !! ❤️❤️ ]

[spenglersglasses]

❤️‍🔥🎙️Hey there fellow SINNERS!!!! 🎙️❤️‍🔥

This is my first and very much-loved endeavor into the Hazbin Hotel fandom!

I know that the canon thought is that Alastor is asexual but in this fic he has a rare change for one person in particular and is NOT aromatic. If this is something that bothers you or if you are not a fan of the Alastor/Charlie ship (Charlastor/RadioBelle) then this is not one for you my fellow smut enjoyers.

If you aren't bothered then be prepared, this will be a wild ride!

This first chapter is a bit shorter, just for the set up!

Also, when Alastor has moments of "glitching" or that infamous radio cracking to his voice, his speech will look like this (Ĝ͎͍͓͌͠l̡̟̩͍̐̐̕͞ì͓̞̗̜̇̿͝ẗ̼c̬̮̹̔̒́h͚͇́̓ ̙͕̮̣̎͑͛̚s̟͇̽͞p̫͉͆̈e̡͇͉͐̑̊e̻͞c͙͇̆̏h̺̗̭̙̑̓̄͝), I will be making a note of what is being said, so those who have a harder time can understand it, but I thought it was an awesome effect lol.

*Special shoutout to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the GLITCH dividers!

Now without further ado!

D̢͙̯̦̙͎̎̽̇̔̾͊̿̚͜͟A̜̱̫̭̽̌̔̄R̫̬͊̈̊͜Ļ̮̗̲̤͎̙̅͒̿͒̿͊͡Í̱̮͑́͢͜͠N͔̗̘͈̲̤̳̉̅̉̀͗̔͠͝ͅG̢̻̱͐́̆͜͠ (Hazbin Hotel)

When Alastor made a deal with Charlie Morningstar, he knew it was a chance for him to ascend the ranks. Now that it's been weeks since the events of the extermination battle, Alastor decides it's time to collect…what he didn't expect was to slowly fall for the Princess of Hell. But hey, a deal's, a deal.

Chapter 1: A Deal's, A Deal...

Also available HERE on AO3.

Eventually will be NSFW below the cut!!

FḼ̯̔̅A̛̮̬̗̓͡S͚̬̹͋̌͝Ḧ̡̡͓̬̙̎͑͋͒͗͜B̥̠̭͇͚̠̉̾̔̏̍͠Á͉̙̌CK̡͔͔̱̘̣͆̿̈̐͗͝

“I know something you don’t know—” Alastor gleefully professed. His voice, rich with a smug assuredness that only he could have. It was the moment he had been waiting for. A chance that fortune had afforded him. Since the moment the head rolled out of Velvette’s filthy hands, he knew he could gain the upper hand and now was his chance.

“Huh?” Charlie asked, looking over to him in confusion as he approached her. That spine tingling smile, seething with intention, spread wide across his handsome face.  Though she had been warned numerous times about trusting him, she had to know. She was desperate. Betrayed by Vaggie, getting Heaven’s help was a bust, and the extermination was looming on the horizon—what could he know that could help? 

“Those big scary angels are not quite as indestructible as they seem…” he began.

“What are you talking about?” 

“...just that you and your little band of misfits might stand more of a chance than you think.” Alastor continued, fiddling with the leaves that hung precariously from the plant on Charlie’s bedside table.  

“How? I’ll do anything.” she pleaded. The Radio demon began turning back to face her. Amused with himself for having once again gained the upper hand. Delighted as things began to unfurl in his favor. 

“Anything?” He began his eyes growing large. Like deep pools of contemplation. It was clear from the look on his face Alastor was scheming.  

Oh fuck, What have I done ? Charlie asked herself, her mind spinning with the possibilities of what he might ask in return.

“Then—let’s make a deal.” he said, bending forward and offering up his hand. Charlie looked down at it with fear and apprehension. Her heart, pounding inside her chest as she replied. 

“You want my soul?” she asked him, slowly backing away as he seemed to inch towards her in a fluid, confident motion. 

“Your soul….” he began, his voice deepening. His face, turning sinister and cold before returning to his normal visage. “Heavens no! All I need from you is one itty bitty favor.” he explained, playing with her ponytail as he circled around behind her. Charlie tightening up as she felt the heart from the demon's hot breath against her neck. “What's a favor between friends?” he asked, wrapping his arms over her shoulders. Squeezing her tightly against him. His touch, a little too familiar—too intimate. 

Charlie quickly pulled away. Feeling a flash of fear spike within her. She felt it—his heart had been beating as fast as hers, but why? “I won’t hurt anyone for you.” she told him. Standing her ground as best she could.

Alastor perked up. Looking up through his brows as he responded, “Who's asking? One favor at a time of my choosing where you harm no one.” he promised. Charlie began chewing her bottom lip as she considered his proposal. Finding it harder and harder to look him in the eye. Though his own red, hot eyes were fixed on her. 

“...in return I tell you what I know… do we have a deal?” he continued, spinning his cane and once again reaching out his hand to shake on it. Alastor, knowing full well what he would come to ask in return. Razzle and dazzle growling at him as if they could since his sinister intentions. Charlie swallowed back the knot in her throat. Her people meant everything to her and no matter what he would ask, it would be worth the price of their salvation—wouldn’t it? 

“Deal.” she said, her horn buds began to appear. Budding out beneath her blonde tresses. Eyes glowing red as she took Alastor’s hand. As they shook hands, the power between them began emanating a haunting green light. Alastor’s true form, stitched and ominous, flickering before her. His power sealing their agreement—it was too late to go back now. Once a deal was made with the Radio Demon only the soul’s destruction could undo it. The spirits of hell began howling as they swirled around them. The hotel became shadowed in Alastor’s magic, alerting Hazbin’s inhabitants to what had happened. 

"No… No!” Vaggie pleaded, racing up the stairs before breaking into Charlie’s room. Horrified to see them hand in hand.

“Right on cue.” Alastor remarked, grinning ear to ear as Vaggie stood dumbfounded in the doorway. Pleased that she was too late to stop it. The deal was done.         

- 3 Months later -

“Yeah, well I think it’s a great plan… after all ole’ scales would appreciate the sentiment.” Angel Dust remarked, leaning back against the red velvet cabriole sofa and crossing his legs. He and husk had been discussing a night out for some time. It was clear that while the imminent threat of extermination was over, it was only a matter of time before something else happened. All of them reveling in the calm before the storm, figured it would be a good time to go out and celebrate. 

The hotel had just finished renovations. Things were going smoothly between residents, and now was as good a time as any to memorialize their friend Sir Pentious. With a round of drinks and debauchery, Husk and Angel would drag the rest of the crew with them. Even Cherri Bomb agreed to come, feeling the need of a good pick me up and some blow. Sorrowful herself at the passing of her admirer though surely, she’d never admit it.

“Nah… I don’t feel like it. You all go without me.” Vaggie huffed. Chiming up from the bar stool as she waited for the feline bartender to pour her another shot. 

Suit yourself.” Hush said, his voice gruff as ever as he handed her the glass. Both he and Angel, rolling their eyes at one another. 

“Oh come on.” Angel sneered. They had all been frustrated with her lately. Vaggie had been a bit of a killjoy for a while. Things between her and Charlie never seemed to recover as she revealed herself to be an angel. While Charlie told her that they would move on and grow from it, she wasn’t too sure. Charlie was preoccupied it seemed and even more consumed with her goals than before. Vaggie was beginning to wonder where she fit in—jealous even at the Hotel for stealing away her girlfriend’s attention. 

“Listen you gotta let loose toots, might help pull that stick you have wedged in your ass—unless you’re into that sorta thing.” Angel shrugged. Vaggie squinting and mocking.

“Well…” Vaggie began, throwing back the shot of whiskey and wiping the remnants from her mouth on her sleeve. “Fine then.” she reluctantly agreed, the room of miscreants cheering her on.

She was thankful the majority of it remained. Holding the gnawed-on scraps close to her chest, before reading. Thankfully it seemed Emily was making progress. Requesting to speak with the counsel of Archangels. 

“Argh, now where did I put that damn thing?” Charlie said, rummaging around her desk. Razzle fluttering around behind her, pieces of paper sticking out of the corners of their mouth. Charlie, turning to face her fluffy royal servant, looking guilty as sin. “Did you? Ah!” Charlie groaned, sending them a stern look, half smiling at their antics before finding the chewed-up letter on the ground. 

The letter was the first of what Charlie hoped to be many correspondences from her Angel friend. Knowing that it was important to both of them that they find out the truth behind the exterminations and find out what exactly would allow her people absolution. Though it had been a while since they talked, things had been looking up. The hotel was even host to a few new residents. 

Sev and Trix, two twin sphinxlike sinners off the streets, with the most potential. Coming to join them in hopes of avoiding the next inevitable extermination. Not quite the reasons Charlie had hoped to attract guests, but reason enough to start since no one had been officially saved as of yet. Charlie, however, was more determined than ever. If Heaven wouldn’t help her, she’d find another way. 

She sat back down at her desk, staring out of her window at Pentagram City. It seemed the Pride Ring never looked as beautiful. Despite the fires and the occasional scream, it was her own little piece of Heaven. Charlie then was startled by the sound of tuning. Alastor was broadcasting something from his tower. The sounds, cracking in and out before finally she could hear him speak.

“Hello my faithful, unsavory auditors!” he crooned. “Don’t touch that dial. You heard right—Alastor your favorite host is back! Stay tuned tomorrow for a Special Broadcast…Ȯ̱͓̻̘̒̃̈́̀͟N͍͂Ĕ̡̼̖̅͞ ̫̺͕̊̌͞Y̞̖̩̜̋̊̀̅͘͜Ō͕͚̭̥͌̋̕Ư̢̧̟̱̪̑̊̀͞ ̫̮͉̀̔̒W̳̖̓̌O̡̫̭͂́̿̉ͅN̦̪̼̬̞̓́͑̚̚'̘͍̈́͋T̻͍́̊ ̗̝͔̀̓͝Ẅ̯A̡̼̮͆̍̄͘ͅN̨͔͌͊T̹̤̪̱̆̈́̑̿ ̭̺̳̃͆̇T̢̥̺̜̂̅̈́̄̊͜Ȏ̩̊͜ ̺͙͒͐̒͢MI̎͢Š̢S͇̠̻̪̈́̓̐̎.” he finished, dropping off air as fast as he came. Leaving the pride ring a buzz with his impending return to form–wondering whose screams would grace the airwaves. 

Charlie found herself deep in thought. Ever since they shook hands things had changed, though she wasn’t quite sure how. She found herself often looking at Alastor. At first not thinking much of it, but realizing as he came close to her, that she couldn’t help but feel flush. Rosey-cheeks, more pinkened at the thought of him. That dapper way he had about him and his charming but menacing smile. 

She felt ashamed—disturbed even for having the thought. Surely Alastor had no such interest in her. Rosie had all but confirmed as much. Somewhere deep down, however, she wished things might be different. 

In quiet moments her mind would drag her down into the abyss. That dark place where her hidden desires to be all consumed by the Radio demon lie. Their flesh melting together as one, with his quick, witty oration tantalizing her ears. His eyes locked on her, and she could almost feel the fabric of his coat beneath her fingertips. 

“Argh… what is wrong with you?” she asked herself, holding her head in her hands. Frustrated with herself as she contemplated what he was up to. Her heartbeat, betraying her. 

In the recesses of his broadcast tower, Alastor sat back in his chair. Fingers, intertwining as his shadow danced along the walls. Alastor deep in thought as it tempted him to speak. Growing as impatient as he. Subconsciously waiting for the right moment to strike.  

“Soon.” Alastor hummed, his shadow smirking back at him. The sounds of crackling and distant radio sounds swirling in the air. Alastor was as powerful as ever and would grow only more so. While he had come close, too close, to perishing at the hands of the Angelic exterminators—the fight wasn’t over yet. 

“If they think I can be undone by some uptight, winged twit, Ţ̰̲͕̓̐̌͟͞͠H̪̯̽̾Ë̩́Y̬̌ ͙̮̳̥͋̑̄̽̅͜Ḩ̭̂̾Ā̭̝̯̗͇̾̇̏͡V̤͇̊͌È͙̠̹̐̿ ̯͉͐͆A̖̗̽̿N͔̣͗́̂͜O̟̣̗̟̅̾͂͞T͔͇̋͊H̪̲̾̄E̮̦̬̹͎͊̉̃̀̈́Ř̝ ̨̺̱͑͆̆TH̛̥̙̙̑̀̋͟IN̛̻̬͕̮͋̎̄G̫͇̯͋̾̕ ̱̳̉̆Č̖̣̣̎̂O̧̡̗̖͆͂̅͡M̛̘̫̞̽̓I̢͈̟͐͡͡N͍̑G.” he hissed. Static filling the room as his shadow beamed. Contorting around him as Alastor’s true form came peeking out from within. Laughing at the foolishness of anyone thinning that he was weak—Alastor knew better. 

It would take more than that to have him running away, tail tucked between his legs. He had much bigger fish to fry. He was however reminded after the close call that the time to call in his favor was close at hand. Deciding to embark on something, dare he say no one had ever imagined. The clock, ticking in his ears, reminding him that he was on borrowed time. The thought of it engulfed him in flames. Interference and static hissing and cracking as his Shadow disappeared. His antlers, growing in size as his blood began boiling—steaming hot. Angry at his forced servitude to HER. 

Suddenly it all went back to normal. Alastor, taking in a deep breath before opening his eyes to the whole of Pentagram City before him.  Returning to his usual form, he stood up. Adjusting his monocle and tapping his cane to adjust his voice. His shadow, reappearing as he set his path back into the hotel. 

“Seems almost too perfect a chance to pass up my dark, looming friend. Our beloved Princess will have no idea what hit her. Though surely, I won't be getting down on one knee.” Alastor chuckled as he disappeared into the darkness.

Great Alastor, the Radio Demon, would become Prince of Hell. Taking Charlie as his bride. 

NOTES:

Ȯ̱͓̻̘̒̃̈́̀͟N͍͂Ĕ̡̼̖̅͞ ̫̺͕̊̌͞Y̞̖̩̜̋̊̀̅͘͜Ō͕͚̭̥͌̋̕Ư̢̧̟̱̪̑̊̀͞ ̫̮͉̀̔̒W̳̖̓̌O̡̫̭͂́̿̉ͅN̦̪̼̬̞̓́͑̚̚'̘͍̈́͋T̻͍́̊ ̗̝͔̀̓͝Ẅ̯A̡̼̮͆̍̄͘ͅN̨͔͌͊T̹̤̪̱̆̈́̑̿ ̭̺̳̃͆̇T̢̥̺̜̂̅̈́̄̊͜Ȏ̩̊͜ ̺͙͒͐̒͢MI̎͢Š̢S͇̠̻̪̈́̓̐̎.- One you won’t want to miss.

Ţ̰̲͕̓̐̌͟͞͠H̪̯̽̾Ë̩́Y̬̌ ͙̮̳̥͋̑̄̽̅͜Ḩ̭̂̾Ā̭̝̯̗͇̾̇̏͡V̤͇̊͌È͙̠̹̐̿ ̯͉͐͆A̖̗̽̿N͔̣͗́̂͜O̟̣̗̟̅̾͂͞T͔͇̋͊H̪̲̾̄E̮̦̬̹͎͊̉̃̀̈́Ř̝ ̨̺̱͑͆̆TH̛̥̙̙̑̀̋͟IN̛̻̬͕̮͋̎̄G̫͇̯͋̾̕ ̱̳̉̆Č̖̣̣̎̂O̧̡̗̖͆͂̅͡M̛̘̫̞̽̓I̢͈̟͐͡͡N͍̑G- They have another thing coming.

[80s-song-smackdown]

Song Contestants

Here are the 64 lucky ones that made the cut!

99 Luftballons – Nena

It’s My Life – Talk Talk

Too Shy – Kajagoogoo

Age of Consent – New Order

Here Comes The Rain Again – Eurythmics 

I Don’t Like Mondays – The Boomtown Rats

Just Like Heaven – The Cure

Drive – The Cars

Eyes Without A Face – Billy Idol

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun – Cyndi Lauper

We Got The Beat – The Go-Gos

New Sensation – INXS

I Ran (So Far Away) – A Flock of Seagulls

The Look of Love – ABC

Radio, Radio — Elvis Costello

Rio – Duran Duran

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) – Eurythmics

Come On Eileen – Dexys Midnight Runners

Love is a Battlefield – Pat Benatar 

I Want Candy – Bow Wow Wow

Relax – Frankie Goes To Hollywood

Smalltown Boy – Bronski Beat

Karma Chameleon – Culture Club

Ashes to Ashes – David Bowie

Love Will Tear Us Apart – Joy Division

Sunglasses At Night – Corey Hart

NeverEnding Story – Limahl

Only You – Yazoo

Just Can’t Get Enough – Depeche Mode

One in a Lifetime – Talking Heads

Our House – Madness

Everybody Want To Rule The World – Tears For Fears

Avalon – Roxy Music

Kids in America – Kim Wilde

Tainted Love – Soft Cell

Don’t You (Forget About Me) – Simple Minds

The Safety Dance – Men Without Hats

Take On Me – A-ha

Vienna – Ultravox

Don’t You Want Me – The Human League

The Killing Moon – Echo and The Bunnymen

Girls on Film – Duran Duran

Call Me – Blondie

Venus – Bananarama

Don’t Stand So Close To Me – The Police

Goody Two Shoes – Adam Ant

I Melt With You – Modern English

Fade to Gray – Visage

Only The Lonely – The Motels

Walking on Sunshine – Katrina & The Waves

Manic Monday – The Bangles

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic – The Police

Whip It – DEVO

Cars – Gary Numan

Video Killed The Radio Star – The Buggles

Love Shack — The B-52’s

The Metro — Berlin

Voices Carry — ‘Til Tuesday

Down Under — Men At Work

You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) — Dead or Alive

If You Leave — OMD

Ghost Town — The Specials

Obsession — Animotion

Love My Way — The Psychedelic Furs

[territorial-tarot-tahr]

I was bored. It was meant to just be Cyberpunk-2077 smut but I got carried away.

Word count: 9.3k+

CW: kinda suicidal and depressive thoughts. There's also sexual content inside though it is not the focus.

Summary: V tries to relieve stress after bottling up emotions.

If you found my A03 from this, no you didn't. Shut up.

There are spoilers for the game Cyberpunk-2077.

🚨Go to my main account "rorschach-retrograding-rotary" for commissions or requests🚨

🚨This was not proof read and I hate reading my work so I have no intention of proof reading it🚨

Feel free to commission me or donate

𝕙𝕥𝕥𝕡𝕤://𝕜𝕠-𝕗𝕚.𝕔𝕠𝕞/𝕤𝕒𝕪_𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕤𝕖

The hiss of water as the shower turned on sent a sigh from her lips, the warm steam hit her in the face and promised a quickly achievable sense of cleanliness and relief after days of running through the filth covered streets of Night City. Blood, sweat, dirt and grime had made themselves at home in forming a layer, akin to a second skin underneath and on top of her clothes. Her hair practically crunched when she brought her hands to run through her tresses and push them out of her face. She gripped the sides of the sink, staring down the face that greeted her in the mirror as condensation covered the surface.

Dark bags under her eyes, an almost gaunt quality had taken over her face. A few weeks prior when she'd held her job at Arasaka tower through exploitive or deplorable manners of it needed, but typically through tossing enough money at whatever problem arose. The "old" V would've probably thought her current situation as unthinkable. Her? Running through alleys and picking up random jobs for cash to try and keep alive while also tracking down a way to keep a haywire biochip from eating away her brain. Nah. Lowly behavior. A cruel joke. Well hardy har-har. Funniest shit known to man.

She pulled back her gums for a moment, checking the small dribbles of blood that she spotted trickling from different cuts she'd scored from an almost constant set of scraps. The most recent fight with Razor had left her with enough respect on the streets than she knew what to do with, but an ache in her bones and muscles that left simply climbing the stairs to her apartment as a Herculean task.

Coughing up blood, bile and vomit had become a common occurrence as well. A migraine always tracing along the edges of her brain as she navigated different requests and jobs people tossed her way. She rubbed her fist over the mirror, clearing her face properly and allowing her eyes to trace her trembling form before the condensation devoured her visage again. Her right hand shook as she placed her pointer finger on the mirror and drew a shaky smiley face, almost in spite of herself.

"You're the reincarnation of Van Gogh. Mind turning on the radio?"

A disgruntled sigh left V's lips as her mental hitchhiker made his appearance. She spun on her heels with a spark of energy she hadn't realized she'd had, leaning against the rim of the sink as she watched the final pixels of Johnny's appearance settled in for the most part. Every few seconds she'd see him phase in and out of detail as he paced a few feet, lounged about on whatever debris or simply stared disapproving at whatever V was doing. A flash of bright cyan pixels that covered the entirety of his being occured as if on cue with V's train of thought.

"Just listen to the channel I've got." V brought her hand to her eyes, rubbing them a few times as if she might chase the fatigue away with a few scrubs.

"You've got shit taste in music. As a double, I've got no interest in feelin' like a wet cat."

There was always something that made things difficult with his almost parasitic relationship. If he was visible, great. He got to enjoy the same sensations that she did. Tapping into the receptors that the biochip had managed to already consume and replicate or that they were currently fighting for control over. The rollercoaster had been a fun treat for both of them and V would find herself often thinking about bringing up whatever giddy yelps he'd vocalized when the coaster had taken a nose dive down the tracks, the wind whipping through her hair and the smell of sea salt practically palpable. Whenever he decided to show his mug, he'd get to feel the the sun on his skin through V, get to feel the tang of liquor on her tongue, and the rough leather on her skin as she navigated the streets. During these times, he'd manage to tap into whatever technology she had wired into her skull, in turn her music and radio.

However, he could cut himself off from the sensations if he so chose. Slinking out of her body to leave her alone with the splitting hangover, leaving her to feel the violent punches of her opponents alone while he occasionally tossed out a comment or some kind of sarcastic encouragement. This usually resulted in a far lesser connection on his end as well. Staying out of her dopamine receptors, and nerve endings that would've given him the sensations, also resulted in a loss of connection to just about her entire head until he reestablished the connection.

He didn't want to feel the sensation of water on his skin but he still wanted music...great. and this was her problem how?

"It'll only be a couple minutes. You'll live." V rubbed the corner of her mouth as she waved a hand dismissively at him. She was met with a grimace from him as he opened his mouth, snapping out of and then into existence but in front of the curtain of the shower this time as he wiped his dry lips.

"Radio. Or I ain't screwing off and you get an audience for your shower."

𝘽𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝. 𝙒𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮?

His arms were crossed and the glare he was shooting her from behind his mirrored shades clearly stated that he was. He was still as a statue, determined in his decision, his jaw was set, a few strands of hair that lay in front of his eyes as he stared down at her. He wasn't particularly tall. V was sure she could point out a few people on the street who could easily trump him in size. And yet he was still held usually to the whim of V and where she decided to go and what she decided to do. She was sure his ego always took a beating whenever she shut down his ideas or suggestions, though he made sure to get his jabs in no matter what. Small battles he could win such as this.

V felt her eyebrows twitch as she leered at the engram, her hands ball-ed into fists at her side. She could always pop a few of Misty's pills, sure, but she was sure he'd come back with a passion whenever they wore off. Maybe even allowing himself to dip back into the violent and suicidal side he'd shown off in their first meeting.

"𝙋𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙧."

She was cautiously optimistic now that he wouldn't parrot the sentiment again if put into the situation again. That they'd grown too close of "friends" for him to actively say he'd rather they both die together instead of exist with the notion that he a passenger in her brain and not at the wheel. Though a small part of her usually chimed up that she was giving too much credit. He may have found his vocabulary to involve more begrudgingly complimentary verbage and vocab towards her, but she was sure if pushed, he could find it in his heart to turn cruel and sour again. Maybe he didn't even care in the slightest about her well being and he was just buying time with a nice persona, hoping that she'd grow too attached and chicken out of getting rid of the biochip. Instead, letting him take over. Maybe he was-

"Earth to V." Dry humor in a haphazard tone. He snapped his fingers in front of her face before turning his pointer finger to the box on the counter by her couch.

"Radio. Water bill 'ill be sky high pretty soon."

She blinked for a few moments and flipped him the bird before storming off to the radio, tracing her fingers along the few buttons before flipping it on and listening to the music begin to fill what silence the static-crash of water droplets against the wall provided.

"Retro station. Might hear something of yours or some other fossil tune." Her snark was palpable but her fairly blank visage seemed to more than prove that it was more annoyance instead of anger that sparked her comment.

The distinct auditory cue of Johnny's disappearance resounded as V cast a glance over her shoulder. She managed to catch the final flashes of bright blue as his engram vanished from in front of the shower curtain and rematerialized on the couch, legs kicked high up on the back of the couch.

His face was upturned to the ceiling, his attention apparently too important to even toss her way now that he'd gotten what he'd wanted. Though he did give her a thumbs up, the metallic coating catching the light but not reflecting on anything properly on account of him not even being there. For something that didn't have any proper affect on the world as he was right now, he was an attention whore and still managed to cause her more strife than he had any right to on occasions.

She waved a hand absent-mindedly at him as she made her way to the shower sloughing off her jacket and boots which soon found a new home in a small pile by the sink. Her thumbs found the hook of her jeans, quickly finding herself casting another glance at Johnny, seemingly just to ensure his gaze had stayed intently focused on the ceiling, instead of a straying glance her way. Luckily, she was correct and his gaze was on the ceiling, the only proper change in behavior being he was making random gestures with his hands as he mouthed along the words to a song he seemingly recognized.

V wasn't sure if she could define the song by a genre even if held at gun point. In all honesty it just sounded like every other grunge rock band but evidently, Johnny enjoyed the sound enough to have not only listened to the song years before, but recognize it on a "retro" station after half a decade of hanging around in the mind-fuck that was "Cyberspace" as a whole.

She quickly yanked her top and pants off before slipping past the curtain and into the warm embrace of the water. Her gaze was low, focused on the stream of water as it stole the dirt, sweat and grime from her skin, leaving it to swirl on the floor of her shower before disappearing down the drain. She huffed softly, and dragged her nails along her scalp before slipping them through the strands of her hair, working knots out of her tresses.

The simple acts such as that were now things that seemed to be practically luxury now that she had barely had time to breath between jobs. There was always some Cyberpsycho causing a rampage, a race that needed to be run, or the emperor recent one, "Kerry's manager had signed a label without his knowledge and now all of a sudden it was her problem that needed solving too." After a few heated words had been shared, she'd found herself taking a picture for them, all together and smiling as if he hadn't been holding a gun at them and yelling like a loon mere moments before.

On the way home, she'd managed to find herself hit by a car after a few carless steps in the wrong direction and a few seconds spent focused trying to read a text from Claire and she'd found herself thrown across the street. The driver had quickly left and no one had said anything, 'course when she so much as made her ride jump the curb, every available unit had been on her ass before she could yell.

"Everyone, no matter what! Keep your eyes peeled for the gonk with the pink hair and Samurai jacket! No matter what she does, if you see her driving for even a split second, start shooting or T-bone her car!"

"Understood!"

Fuck off.

To be fair though, the last time she'd managed to mess up her driving, the police hadn't been there for a good long while, Instead johnny had also been keen on her about not scratching his ride after materializing in the passenger seat, insisting that she was being too reckless and should let him drive his Porsche instead.

"Show her how to really make it purr."

Screw off.

While Johnny taking over wasn't the worst thing known to man, it did leave her wife a killer headache and a queasy stomach. Especially the performance she'd allowed herself to be talked into as a last "hurrah" to Samurai. Her finger tips had been worked red if not bleeding, sure, but she could've sworn her ears had still been ringing, even hours after the gig had ended. Adrenaline still coursing through her body and making her feel more weary than she had any right to be when the high eventually ended.

She wiped water from her lashes, running her palm across the wet-canvas of her face as she exhaled. The warmth of her breath being lost in the swirl of steam that wafted form the steady flow of water. She blinked, a few droplets hanging on hard to her lashes as she stared down at her forearms as she held them firmly against the smooth tile of the shower wall. The vibrant colours of the Tyger Claw tattoo she'd gotten as well as the insufferable heart and arrow tattoo Johnny had gotten without her knowledge. She couldn't decide which tattoo made her more uncomfortable. The Tyger Claw's tattoo brought up memories of Wakako Okada and to some extent, Takemura, before he'd met his demise in the collapsing debris. If he'd managed to survive that, the Arasaka agents had probably ensured his brain had become well acquainted with a metric shit-ton of lead.

Takemura. Now that was someone she hadn't thought about in a hot minute. Why hadn't she? His blood was practically slathered on her hands, each handprint a deep crimson with all the other unfortunate souls she'd ended up killing on her own accord or simply as collateral damage. She'd planted bullet after bullet between the eyes of more people than she could count. Her own companions falling behind her in due time. Letting her deranged quest drag others into her bullshit and ruin their lives. Meddle in affairs that weren't her own. Goro, Panam, River, Judy, Evelyn, Sampson, Jackie-

Jackie. That one still hurt. When they'd been sliding down the glass, the case containing the chip gripped tightly in his hand, she'd been sure she was going to die. The fall to the pavement below had driven a scream from her lips and she would've sworn up and down that she was was in more pain than she could put into words. Though the feeling that caught in her throat like bile when she'd seen Jackie clutching at the wound under his suit? Incomparable. His steps getting heavier as he trailed further and further behind, his breathing falling uneven as he attempted to continue shooting at enemies. The way his eyes had searched hers when they sat in the car, a solemn expression on his face as he went limp. The way her breath had caught in her throat as she stared at his body- his mother. She had to tell his mother- she had to tell Misty- she had to- she had to-

Her throat tightened and her stomach churned as her knees buckled. A moment longer and she was forced to to watch whatever she'd recently ingested move down the drain, leaving her with a pale complexion and feeling grateful that Johnny had hopefully been too engrossed with the radio to hear her losing her lunch. It shouldn't have hurt so badly even this far past the actual event. Everytime she had saddled Scorpion's Apollo, she found herself feeling guilt gnaw at her mind. She owed it to Jackie to use his motorcycle, did she not? Though at the same time, she was terrified at the prospect of scratching it. Ruining the pristine condition he'd been convinced it had to be in. A bright coat of a paint and an engine that roared.

No. She didn't deserve to ruin that.

She would just fuck it up like she always seemed to.

As her stomach settled, she shoved her hair from her eyes again as she focused on the sensation of the tile against the tips of her fingers. The condensation clinging desperately to their section as V slid her hands back and forth across the tile. She was here. What was done was done. She could only hope she could do better in the future. A heavy exhale passed her lips as she blinked rapidly, the sound of the water slapping against the tiles filled the room, drowning out the sound of the radio in the other room.

Though the quiet chirp from her implants broke the monotony of the water before it could gain any proper standing. Panam. A nonchalant text about hearing about how the Aldecaldos had just moved again, a swift description of the environment before saying that she wished V was there. It set her stomach in knots again. Something she'd never managed to put into words was how desperately she had wanted to stay when Panam had offered. A moment of proper vulnerability as she attempted to explain why her staying would simply cause more strife than mirth. Though the Relic had malfunctioned and she'd fallen to her knees, waking up hours later. The explanation hadn't seemed in good place to put into words there. "I know you're worried that I'm dying but I'm not looking to burden you, bye!"

Panam wouldn't have allowed that excuse for a second. So instead, she'd gotten the concise phrasing that V had tried her best to keep to a script about. She was going to fix this. Fix the screwed up mess in her head and then she'd make her way back to Panam and she'd love among the nomads. Watch the setting sun fall beneath the dunes of desert rock and cacti, hear the wind whistle and the animals announce their presence during the dead of night. Spend hours around a campfire with people she could call family. But not right now. And not in the way V would like. Panam had rejected her advances before, seemingly downright uncomfortable much to the distress of a quickly apologetic V. V wanted something from Panam that she couldn't give, and she couldn't blame Panam for that. But she'd blame herself for being foolish enough to think it would work out.

V turned to the side, her back against the wall as she allowed herself to sit down on the shower floor, her gaze trained on the grout of the tiles as she laid her hands on her biceps, knees tucked to her chest as the water continued. She'd thought of them getting together since really the moment they'd met. A few anxious comments about beds or one room had been enough to tip Panam off, and V had spent that night laying in the twin bed staring at the wall, her back to Panam. Long hours spent envisioning and hoping that at some point she'd look over her shoulder and see Panam by the side of her bed, or that she'd find her lips meetings hers as she took a perch on the bed. But her sleepless night had ended with nothing except a few chortles from Johnny and a damp spot in her underwear.

The call came from the other room, though she didn't seem to care at the moment. "V! Mind toweling off and changing the station?" She was half-heartedly aware of the sound of the radio, the tune sounding more akin to something from a stereotypical boy band.

V moved a hand from her bicep, resting more on her hip as she tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. An hour spent envisioning and day dreaming wouldn't hurt anybody. She brought her pointer and middle finger to rest slightly below her navel. It wasn't as though she was a virgin. She'd spread her legs more than a few times and allowed herself to be charmed by a few folks at bars. But she has never been big into masturbation.

"it's for lonely losers who can't get a proper lay." Would've probably been her response a while back. Well guess what, now she couldn't get a lay without having an almost perpetual spectator and commentator throwing in his two cents. A few moments chatting up a guy on Jig-Jig street had earned her a few comments from Johnny about how "This choom probably lets himself be cucked. Teeth like a beaver and hands that shake like a leaf. You really about to sleep with 'im? Everyone's got a low point I suppose." For the girls he'd jested about their tits, their hair, have much of their face was even 'ganic. Until eventually V had given up. Even if she'd managed to work through those comments, she'd have still be left with him casting judgement the minute the Omega Blockers wore off.

"Hundred eddies says you came faster than a choir boy getting dicked by a priest."

"Standards really got that low, huh?"

An endless barrage of condescending comments would probably be what she was met with whenever she came back to reality. Though in all fairness, it been a while since one of those comments had passed Johnny's lips. Or at least he made it more obvious that he meant it as good natured teasing as opposed to rabid mockery. Guess she was one of those sexually lonely losers now though.

"V! Station change. They're playing genuine shit now. I didn't listen to some of these songs when they came out so why the hell would I want to listen to them now?"

She ran her fingertips along the length of her vulva for a few moments, giving her clit a few flicks before sinking her fingers into the warmth of her cunt up to the second knuckle. It drove a startled grunt from her mouth, though she stifled it as best she could. A fake cough also being utilized Incase somehow Johnny heard her over the sound of the radio and the sound of the water. She felt like a skittish teen again, looking at pictures of things she's shouldn't have been, hands below the covers of her bed as she attempted to listen for the sound of her guardians footsteps.

Why the hell would Johnny care anyways? She'd already had the misfortune of viewing a memory of him screwing his old girlfriend, albeit that was from Brigitte's will and Johnny had held just as much influence over the viewing as V had. That is to say, they'd tossed a memory in his face and he'd been forced to relive it. Whether he considered it as a source of shame for his prior actions or a source of pride for his "glory days" she couldn't tell. It was always hard to pin things down with him. Though the point had still been that he had no control over what she saw or was tossed to watch in that instance. She on the other hand, was very much aware and in control of her actions.

Whatever. It was her body. After a few more moments, she went back to slow and tedious work with her fingers. Her thumbs rested on her clit, as she used her point and middle finger to work in and out of her cunt. She'd been expecting more of a reaction from herself in all honesty, some further flurry of arousal as she attempted to work herself up to an orgasm. Though she suspected her aforementioned views and the coinciding habits had very well left her as rusty in this area of expertise.

"Alright, just have to try something different."

V didn't own any sex toys. If she'd been horny, she'd find someone to sleep with. Instead, she let her eyes travel the walls of her shower in search of something to improvise with. Her shower walls were typically bare, though she'd bought a handled loofah a while back when she'd begun going to sleep in her undergarments and finding the stains of grime and blood that had been left in spots she couldn't reach. She reached up and over, unhooking the handle from the small hook she'd latched to the wall.

The whole item was probably a bit longer than her forearm, though she had little intention of pushing herself near that far. Instead, she attempted to mentally measure the length of the texture handle and the groves that sat in it, allowing someone's hand to grab hold of the tool easier. She'd never been the best at math or guess work but if she had to wager, she'd say that portion was maybe 5 or 6 inches long. She blinked and turned the item over in her hands a few times. She was desperate sure, but was she really this bored? ....yes

She turned the loofah part to face away from her, positioning the handle towards her cunt, where she began to languidly drag the handle up and down the length of her vulva. She watched the subtle twitch of her legs as the pressed and flicked her clit with the handle as she huffed softly. Another soft grunt left her lips as she sheathed the handle in the warmth of her cunt as she brought her left hand to wipe the droplets from her lashes. She tightened her grip on the handle before coaxing the ridge coated handle back and forth, a firm shove back in her pussy that made her brows furrow at the surprisingly unpleasant and dull pain that the contact made.

Maybe she was sore? Maybe this was how it was supposed to feel when she wasn't drunk as a skunk with the scent of liquor on her breath, enough alcohol in her blood to knock an elephant out and dull the feeling. A mental shrug fell over her as she pulled the handle out again, dragged further out and angled up so that the ridges bumped against her clit as it sunk back in. Another full pang. Fuck, what was she doing wrong? Seemingly out of frustration now, she worked harder, a thumb on her clit as she tried to fix her mistakes. A harder slam, a sharper angle. How was she this bad at something as simply as getting herself off? She-

"Knock it off or do it right." The voice was an uninvited intrusion, the sound of the pixels reforming hadn't even been heard by V as she cast her gaze to the voices direction to the form of Johnny standing in the doorway of the shower. V quickly yanked the handle out of her cunt, her eyes narrowed to allow a better leer as she gritted her teeth.

"Fuck off, Johnny!" It was barely a coherent sentence, blurted out in a way that sounded more akin to a tell of frustration rather than an attempt at communication. She'd let him use the radio. He was a lot of things, but she had at least expected to be able to count on him keeping his word for something as simple as staying out of the shower while she used it. What should've been basic courtesy had even been an exchange. Radio for alone time. And he couldn't even do that! He-

"Not happening. You're screwing yourself like a virgin." The reply was more matter-of-fact than what V enjoyed, though when she got her thoughts together to toss a mental message his way, she was cut off by his continued message. His arms were crossed, his head tilted so the crown rested against the wall that he was leaning against.

"Fuck, all the gonks in Night City and I still managed to get saddled with the only one who can't make 'erself see stars. You realize how bullshit that is? I-"

"Why is this any of your god damn business? Turned on the radio for you. Go listen to it."

She was met with an arched brow from him as he looked at her from over his glasses. The polarized aviators didn't have much light to catch from the surrounding environment, but the dull glow of her bathroom light still caught and brought an orange hue to the shades.

"Radio channel started playing shit. Asked you to come change it. You didn't. I figured you had to be listening to something pretty good if you couldn't hear me, so I tuned in only to find lo-and-behold, you were sitting there hammering that into your pussy. Wouldn't normally care, but considerin' I, as your glorious passenger have the luxury of getting tangled in your sensations, I figured I have a right and obligation to tell you: you're doing it wrong."

"Great. You told me. Now screw off."

"Options are, cheesy boy band radio, sensory deprivation, or feeling you try and jack-off. I pick the latest. And, since I'm such a generous brain tumor, I'll even offer you something."

"Unless it's you fucking off, I don't care."

"Whatever gonk it was that jammed that stick up your ass even further than it already was is a talented creature. I'll give 'em that." He fished in his pockets for a moment, absent-mindedly speaking as he yoinked a cigarette from the crumbled box on his pants. It wasn't as though his pack had nicotine or even gave any sensation when he smoked them, so V always ended up looking at him through scrunched eyes and a raised brow as he puffed. Small plumes of smoke curling in the air around him as he waved a hand to emphasize a point, ashes falling off the tip of the cigarette as his movements became more dramatic.

"Ain't like I'm asking you to pop one of the pills and let me grip the wheel. Just a little trust instead." His statement was followed by stare that made V's skin crawl as she haphazardly attempted to cover her breasts, her legs held close together in order to retain some form of dignity.

"Uh-huh. And what's this trust exercise get you? Another date with Rogue? Another 'boy's night out'?" The warm droplets of the torrent traced over the gooseflesh that had developed on her skin during the initial startle.

"Nothing more than what I'd be getting already. I'll just stay synced to you so we can actually screw off properly, unlike whatever the hell you'd call your activity. Plain impalement. Gonna bruise your cervix all wrong and make your hips ache. Though if you wanna bang yourself up enough so you end up wobbling around tomorrow like your boyfriend went overboard on you the night prior, feel free." Monotone. Deadpan....jerk. V's brows knitted together as she glared up at the musician. A few moments later and she found her nails digging hard crescents into her palm as the water pelted her.

His discomfort at the water seemed palpable, practically twitching at every droplet that hit her skin, though he held his ground as the offer filled the dead air with a pregnant pause. He'd made jabs about something as small as Kerry's offhanded tease about sleeping together. Her chastised her for her conversation with the Joy-Toy in Clouds. He'd insisted they should leave Judy to sulk in the cabin. A moment spent attempting to discuss her thoughts with Panam was met with him yammering away at how corny V was being or that Panam wouldn't be as understanding as V hoped.

Whoever spoke first, lost. It didn't matter what passed their lips at this point, whoever finished their "silent vigil" first, would be on the loosing end. And that wouldn't be V.

That. Wouldn't. Be. V.

Absolutely not.

Wouldn't be V.

No matter what.

Wouldn't be.....

"Pervert."

"Whore."

"Cuck."

"Skank."

Goddamnit.

V cursed herself as she watched take a knee in front of her in. The flecks of warm water droplets sending the pixels of his form into a frenzy as he squatted and situated in front of her. What the hell was he even going to do? The world's shittiest game of Simon Says? It seemed leagues stupider than it had been before.

"Well I mean- hold on-." Bashful didn't describe it properly, sheer embarrassed was probably the better word for her feelings at the moment.

"Gettin' antsy?"

"No, just-" Sorry, you just make me nervous and sometimes me heart feels like it's in my throat when I look at you. Hell no. Fat chance she would ever say that in front of him. Instead, she furrowed her brows and worked up an attempt at venom in her voice, trying to make the comment snide.

"Know sure as hell we aren't working with actual sex, so how do you have any 'perience with this style? Rogue and Alt prefer a dildo or a JoyToy and they let you sit in a chair to watch?" .....did that sound like anything? Shit, she hoped it did. Though Johnny's seemingly disinterested expression proved otherwise.

"I'm not the one fucking 'emself on a handle. Wanna keep running your mouth and I'll have no problem leaving you to whimper as you bruise yourself up." The gaze that he shot her was a narrowed eyed stare over the rim of his glasses. "You want my input or not?"

impudent. Unbelievable. Rather than attempt whatever staring contest he seemed intent on putting on, she turned her gaze to the side. Her line of sight lay solely on the shower wall now, watching the traces of condensation slide down the tiles in an race with endless opponents, ending with their demise as they hit the floor and joined the swirling mess of droplets that traveled to the drain, swept away in the pipes.

She was wasting water.

She was reminded of her time at her prior job, her shoes clicking quietly against the elevator floor as it took it's sweet time to bring her to higher floors of the tower. Files or miscellaneous papers had a permanent home in her hands, clutched to her chest or held by her side. But she always had somewhere to be and something to do. Another bonus assignment, another bullet to be subtly placed between someone's eyes. Another employee let go. Another ex-employee who seemed too lose lipped about company secrets needing a proper silencing. Someone to serve because her own wallet seemingly couldn't get fat enough.

She was wasting water.

She might've screwed up, sure. Gotten herself kicked out of the company. Gotten her privileges, her money, her status, everything revoked. She could live with that. It should've only affected her. She'd been sloppy. Should've covered her tracks. But it'd tossed her into Jackie's arms. Made her get more involved with the family. Made her bring him into further danger. Get him brought into a job he didn't need to take. Get him six feet under and her still alive. Why did she deserve to even live? She was a walking time bomb. Half her brain wasn't even her own, a Frankensteined mishmash of her's and Johnny's. She should've died in that car. Jackie would've known what to do. He would've had a better plan besides running around Night City desperately hoping someone could help. He would've figured something out. Or at least spent his last few months in a meaningful way. He had a mother and family that cared for him, that mourned him. What did V have? What would she have when she finally dropped dropped dead? What would Silverhand be met by? A stray cat that drank from the sink and a few motorcycles. She was a fuck-up.

She was wasting water.

"V?" A vibrant buzz of sensations along her face caught her attention. She might've jumped had it felt like her legs were willing, but instead she found herself simply snapping her gaze back to Johnny. She was met with a seemingly somber expression despite his recent snark.

"Everythin' good?"

Did she want to tell him? She didn't think he'd be winning any awards for sympathy anytime soon but it wasn't as though he was wholly apathetic to her. Divulge a bit. Share the psychological burden. It couldn't be that hard, right? Just say it. Say you felt guilty about Jackie. Say you weren't sure if you even wanted to be alive right now. Say sometimes you wished Johnny would take overall ready so you wouldn't have to live with a brain that seemed intent to make you feel like every second you were alive was a second wasted. Say it. Say-

"Just thinking about how you took your sweet fucking time before even deciding to offer help. Hoping that I'd be desperate enough for your input if you let me bang myself up a bit?"

"Don't lose your tits. Know damn well I don't have the luxury of getting your sensations the minute you do. Got your attention when I felt it." The sanely grin had returned to his face and she watched him pull his hand away from where he'd evidently touched at her face for her attention. As time had gone on and his own tumorous brain had begun to make the beginnings of nerves, they'd found that it was possible to get flashes of sensations of the other as if they were genuinely touching. His brain registered that he was touching something and as such attempted to make a copy of it for him to interact with in Cyberspace as he often did with stools, bottles or even when he leaned against or sat on something. Her brain, now half overridden with his, registered that and began to attempt to register his interaction with the copied item at the same time as it misfired and worked through the idea of seeing something touching her but not feeling it. His brain registered that he should feel her while also trying to copy her. Her brain registered trying to copy itself for him to interact with while also registering that she should feel something. All this culminated in a misfire on both their ends which usually manifested as a subtle buzz that traveled through her as though a dulled version of what happened last time she'd accidentally grabbed the metal prongs of a plug when she'd been pulling it from its socket.

It only lasted a second if that, but it was still something.

"Uh-huh, sure." Snide. Keep your tone level. V watched the way he had begun to flinch every few seconds. His face scrunching as if in disgust but quickly returning to what she considered his normally sneer not long after, flicking his face to the wall opposite side of the shower head when he did. V didn't envy his position, she couldn't be sure if his brain was registering all the droplets and slapping the sensation across his body every few seconds or if maybe he felt it as individual flecks hitting him. Whatever sensation it was, she found her mind likening it to Chinese Water Torture as she kept her gaze on his attempt at subtly or playing off his flinching as he kept his eyes locked onto hers.

V brought her hands to just barely grace the end of the handle, unsure where to rest her palms now that the attention was on her. Blush laid claim to her face as she attempted to keep her expression null, though he reached out all the same and brought his hand to rest on the hilt of the handle. Her hand snapped to attention as the same jolt was sent through her skin, retracting her digits to lay across her chest as though clutching at pearls.

Bzzzt

You're here? I'm here. You're here. I'm here?

Bzzzt

That was how V had chosen to envision the split second interaction between their brains as they confused themselves. Though it didn't matter much how she pictured the conversation. The "why" was not the main thought in her mind as she watched Johnny reach forward to try and put the sensation to use.

A momentary glance up at her seemed all the warning for his quick experiment before he rolled his point finger to lay curled on his thumb before snapping it forward to flick her clit with his chrome arm while his other hand resting gently on the handle.

A yelp had forced it's way from V's throat before she'd even registered the vocalization, leaving her seemingly just as startled by the noise as him. It hadn't burned and the sensation hadn't been entirely unpleasant, but the feeling had still shot through her in a white-hot burst. She could only suspect that the more unpleasant or seemingly more intense part of the sensation had now gone simply from the fact that the connection was moving through a simply more sensitive portion of her body. Similar, she supposed, to how a tattoo hurt more in certain areas than it did in others considering where you got it. Ribs, hands, neck, versus arm or legs. Her brows were scrunched together, almost in a scorn of disapproval as she attempted to keep a straight face and turn her attention to the side.

She believed he'd called it a "whore face". An argument had broken out between them over whether he could have the body to get a good lay. He claimed that 50 years of celibacy was more than any human should go through and she'd insisted he should drop dead. At that point he'd begun tossing out off-handed and almost off-handed comments in a way of coping with the disappointment. The fox calling the grapes sour as it were.

"Not interested in lookin' up and catching glance of the mirror above an' your whore face starin' back at me anyways." Had been his final comment, refusing elaboration before disappearing in an explosion of pixels and a flash of bright colours that lingered in the air for a moment or two afterwards. Regardless of if he'd meant it or not, the comment had stuck with her and she seemed intent to not give any of the illusive "whore face" if she could help it. If that meant staring like she'd had a lemon crammed in her mouth, so be it.

"Not even a smile? How'm I s'pose to know if I'm doin' a good job or not?" The snide smirk returned to his lips as he leaned to the left to try and keep in her gaze. A second later and she'd managed to wrangle her expression under control and she'd opened her mouth to speak, though he seemed acutely aware of this as his finger snapped forward from another nonchalant flick. Under normal circumstances she was sure she wouldn't find herself fighting the urge to yank her legs to her chest while she twitched from something as simple as her clit being flicked. Or at least not on the second or third flick. Though the seemingly spastic flurries of activity that his touch sparked in both their brains have V some kind of comfort and reassurance that this wasn't indeed normal circumstances.

"Just help already." An embarrassed whisper as she lay her left hand over her eyes.

"Couldn't quite her you. Gotta speak up for me, V." Jackass.

"Fuck me, Johnny!" Louder than she'd intended. Please don't let another noise complaint from her neighbors come her way. "...please." Less whiney. Curt. Good.

A roll of his eyes was the reaction she'd expected to be met with, and she was not surprised when he executed the action. His fingers rested on the handle again, the copy of the loofah forming almost instantly as the dull throb took hold of her cunt.

You're here? I'm here. You're here. I'm here?

Though now it worked from what she could only assume was Johnn's brain registering the use of cyberspace for objects as the same as himself.

I'm here. You're here. You must be me too.

You're here? I'm here. You're here. I'm here?

Whatever the fucking reason, V was glad it was in the coding or a glitch in the Biochip. Didn't feel like anyone had crammed a proper dick in her by any means but the dull shocks that came from the contact between his copy of the handle and her pussy were more than enough to make her yelp.

A soft whimper was dragged from her throat as she felt the languid motion of the handle dragging out slowly before sinking back in after making a circular motion at the end as if Johnny was cutting something with a knife. Pull back, lift up, push forward with motion in the hilt.

With her fingers lain across her eyes now, she turned her head to the side again. Her cheek brushing the wet tile of the wall as she let him repeat the motion a few more times over. The sensation of sparks zipping across and through her flesh as the contact continued, the hilt going as far deep as it could without bumping into one of her walls or her cervix sent a snap of sparks through her. The sensation made her clench her jaw and she might've sworn her heart had jumped into her throat if she hadn't felt it slamming like a truck in her chest.

Alongside the whimper that surprised her by slipping past her lips, she managed to hear it met with a soft grunt from her compatriot over the sound of the splashing water. The distinct chorus of the pixels of Johnny and the loofah copy loading in and out of existence as he worked filled in just about every second of empty audio space.

The rhythm of his motions had been set into a mental rut in her mind, only to be abruptly interrupted by the sensation of the sparks on her clit again as he laid his thumb on top of it. Letting the sensation repeat as he just barely graced the top in subtle bumps that sent jolts through her body. What ended up shocking her was the mewl that clawed its way out of her throat after a few moments as the bolt of energy flooded through her body again.

Her hand quickly slipped from her eyes, laying across her mouth in an attempt to keep further noises off her lips. Though a glance from her newly uncovered eyes showed her that Johnny seemed less than excited about the new situation.

"Gettin' shy? Seriously?" He might've meant it to sound sterner than it did, or maybe he'd simply choked on something, but she could've sworn his own voice warbling did show that to some extent, that the overwhelm of her senses and the borderline overstimulation was getting to him too.

She couldn't trust her voice and tongue to not screw up whatever snide comment or retort to try and take him down a peg. A warble in her throat from his pace picking up or maybe shoving the handle forward with the intent of tripping up her speech. Instead, she held her tied tongue and kept her hand laid across her mouth, though the small flecks of tears forming at the corners of her eyes seemed to say enough. It wasn't as though it felt perfect or even entirely pleasant to that extent, the jolt through her body served amazing stimulation sure, but the force of it, and even the sensation in it of itself also hurt.

It felt as though she'd banged her elbow on a table and the dull yet simultaneously all encompassing shock of her nerves trying desperately to try and figure out how to register the sensation had been spread through her whole body. She wouldn't pretend that some amount of the sensation wasn't pleasurable, but the amount of pleasure compared to the overwhelming static of emotions didn't serve as a fair trade off.

The handle bumped against her cervix again and she practically yelled from behind her hand. An impromptu orgasm rocking over her and finally driving the tears from her eyes and chasing them down her face as her breathing hitched. What surprised her, was when the burning sensation left her suddenly, torn from her as though someone had ripped a burning torch from between her legs.

She already suspected the reason, but she wasn't soon going to let herself admit that it'd been too much. The minute she looked over at Johnny, she'd be admitting that she cried from a single orgasm. Regardless of the fact that it'd felt like someone had been tearing up her inside with a dagger. Regardless of the fact that she wagered she'd rather take a bow of celibacy than have to deal with that same sensation anytime she found intimacy in others. Regardless, she was certain she'd still find herself being teased by Johnny about this. "Her breakdown" she was sure was what he'd call it. Something condescending or-

The sound of him leaving the environment in a burst of pixels took her by surprise, leaving her sitting alone in the shower.

~

Crawling into bed to sleep drew images of a wounded dog crawling into it's well-worn bed to lick its wounds. She could only imagine Johnny had spent the time in-between the moment in the shower and now, laughing to his hearts content in Cyberspace. She was sure the insults he'd toss her way when he rematerialized during whatever time suited him would be demeaning. Condescending. Whatever it was, she didn't want to hear it. Though the distinct sound of him snapping back into the visual plane drew her attention.

The sound came from behind her and she imagined he was probably sitting with his back against the wall, snide grin on his face and a cigarette gripped between his fingers. Maybe he wouldn't even let her sleep. Just chat her ear off or mock her. Though she wouldn't roll over completely and was already attempting to compile a list of retorts, specialized to his narcissistic, bombastic, rocker boy-

"Y'okay?"

A second or two passed....Concern? Was he goading her into seeming more pitiful than she already did? He hadn't sounded curt. He hadn't sounded particularly snarky either. A few more cautious seconds passed before she cast her gaze in his direction, looking at him over her shoulder. He didn't look as though he was waiting on the edge of his seat for an answer, eyes wide and chewing his lips in concern. But his brows were still twitching and seemed further scrunched than they typically were in his scornful glares. Actual concern.

Say you're fine. Say you're fine, tell him to fuck off and then continue with your shower. Tell him to go back to his stupid radio and leave you alone. Tell him-

"No."

"Didn't mean to hurt you that much in the shower. Don't know entirely about your pain tolerance but I just thought-"

"Fuck, Johnny, no it's not just that." She'd already returned her head to her pillow, staring across her upturned and well lived in apartment at Nibbles as he sat on the back of the couch and slept peacefully.

She could hear him open his mouth to speak, though he stayed quiet. Seemingly not finding the right words. Instead, she heard the shuffle of movement and saw his boots come into view at the foot of her bed an the corner of her eye to realize he was simply laying down on his back next to her, staring at the ceiling of her bed.

If she wanted to speak, now was her chance. Don't screw it up.

"I know-..."

Don't trail off. Speak now or forever hold your peace.

"I don't think I even deserve to be alive."

Silence. Crickets. A passing car. Johnny held his tongue.

Keep going.

"Started with Jackie. Well I mean, it didn't start with Jackie. Felt this way for a while but Jackie was the first real solid stake hold. Been thinking about how I should've been the one to die in that car. Bleed out and have my body sent nowhere. He had a family. He had people who needed him. People who missed him when he died. He was wheezing, panting like a dog and pale as a ghost but still refused to really let on that he knew he wasn't making it. He was strong. Just about everyone at that funeral knew it. In one was or another they'd all seen him act like their own personal savior. Caring boyfriend, trusted friend. They all had the right to mourn him. But Mama Welles asking me over there? What did I know him for? I spent six months taking their food, stealing a mother's boy away from her in order in earn scraps of eddies with him. I took someone's lover. He was a fighter sure, but he had a right to his own happiness and I just couldn't leave well enough alone. I tumbled in there like a damn tornado and screwed up everything that could've been. A moment of Jackie at Mama Welles bedside as she said goodbye. A moment of Jackie slippin' a ring on Misty's finger. Me? I don't even know who Delamain would've sent my corpse to. Probably couldn't kicked me into a dump without much fuss from anyone else. Goro too. He had a goal. He only got into proper trouble and that building with Hanako because of me and Jackie. He might've managed to actually get away or-"

"V. Goro would've died a Corpo dog. Shot in an alley in then dumped in a trash heap like worthless scum. He would've died without justified sense on his end. Yorinobu would've killed him and Goro would've taken it because of his whole bullshit obsession with honor. At least with you, he died for a cause he at least gave a fuck about. Do you really think he wouldn't have said 'no' if he had wanted out?"

"No, I just-"

"And I don't believe for a single second you'd trade Jackie's death for what you're doing now. Blood on your hands, vomit on the streets, bullets flying past your skull and not thinking you'll be around to see next summer. You wanna be emotional? Be emotional, you'd be trading his death, his death that meant something to you, for a death where he didn't even get to stay dead because I'd be livin' in his corpse. Forcing his family to see that, know that they couldn't bury their boy because they'd be killing someone else and 'Jackie wouldn't want that'. You wanna say you'd prefer a place where Misty really got to see Jackie rot from the inside-out as he stumbled through each day in a collapse and seizure ridden haze like you do? You want to make his mom see him like that.You wanna be pragmatic? Be pragmatic, you'd be leaving Jackie to suffer for six months as he scampered for help like you're doing. You'd be making those he loved watch him grow desperate, make deals with people he wouldn't bring around his family in desperate hopes of kicking his death date further away. I know you're sad. And I know-....Look I know it hurts, V. But thinking like that doesn't help anybody. And if sure as hell doesn't help you. I ain't saying you're a saint. I ain't saying you ain't made mistakes. But I want you to understand this, "

She couldn't be sure if he'd paused for effect or if it'd been unintentional, but she still found herself listening intently, even if she wouldn't admit it.

"Even though you may be a proper gonk sometimes, you've got a right to live, V. Don't forget it."

...oh.

Her breathing was soft. Shallow kitten licks of air as she stayed silent in fears of disturbing the bitter-sweet quiet that had settled over them. The small buzz of energy settled through her as she felt him rest his hand on her shoulder.

You're here? I'm here.

[statiicstag]

[ @damnedrainbows ]

[misskittyhart]

Chapter 3: Dark Night: A voice in the static

🔪Warning: violence/ murder 📻

It was pouring down rain. The sky opened up like a black abyss. The words Alastor had spoken to kitty nights before had her sleepless. Exhaustion weighing down her mind and her soul. Join Me! he had said to her a wild look in his eyes hand out stretched for her to take. She felt like she had made a deal with the devil himself. Still she was confused why she felt so compelled to take his hand and become partners in crime. His big goal was cleansing society of the undesirable people who were wicked deep in their hearts, those who kicked the down trodden and used up the innocent like a burned out cigarette.

The wild look in his eyes was burned into her mind. She felt she could see those eyes full of blood lust everywhere in the darkness of her room. Why had she agreed so easily to continue down this path of darkness? Her soul felt like it was in an struggle between redemption and damnation. His grin, was like a wild beasts, predatory and wicked.

Kitty sighed heavily splashing cold water on her face before looking at her tired face in the bathroom mirror. Her visage stared back at her, it looked horrid. Black bags under her eyes and a wild look of madness in her eyes. Did she just see a shadow move behind her? A voice hissing through the radio in the other room. The radio she could have swore was off.

kitty~~

She swore she heard it through the static. There was no way. She felt she was going mad. Covering her ears with her hands she stood still closing her eyes tightly. It has to be lack of sleep, pull it together. Shaking her head she splashed more cold water on her face trying to clear her mind.

She needed sleep desperately. Her eyes burned painfully. Stumbling back she made her way out of the bathroom. That radio static again. Shaking her head she quickened her pace to the radio. It was off. That’s it, she was going mad.

Her mind was reeling now. The loud sound of the phone ringing startled her. She moved quickly to the hallway and picked it up. Her voice was weak “h….hello?”

“Kitty? You okay? You’re late for your shift.” It was her manager

“Oh shit Glen I’m sorry….I didn’t realize” she said sounding distant.

“If you aren’t feeling well stay home dear. We can put on another act tonight no worries” he said sounding concerned.

Maybe that was a good idea.

“Okay…I’m sorry I’ll rest thank you.” She said before hanging up. This was unlike her. Just what was going on?

That hissing static again. She clapped her hands over her ears trying to block that sound. That’s it she really was descending into madness. She began to wonder had she made a deal with a devil instead of a man. Her dreams were plagued with his smile and his eyes. Burning through her like hell fire. Yet she was so compelled to seek out his company. Like an addiction.

Damn it.

She heard a knock at her door and it jarred her. Her eyes wild and wide as she stared at her door. More knocking. Louder and louder. More aggressive. More demanding with each wrap.

She swung it open in a state of panic wanting it to stop. A man stood there looking down at her. She recognized him immediately. It was the man from the club who had been desperate to see her outside of work. Very persistent at wanting her to be his. She gained her usual composure. Her eyes were cold as she felt sickness deep inside the pit of her stomach. How did he find out where she lived? Had he stalked her.

“Ah hello miss kitty~ have you thought about my offer?” He asked

“I’m standing firm with my no, Gabe” she said crossing her arms, “I’ve no interest in being your wife. Did you stalk me? How did you get my address?”

He laughed “I just had to see you somewhere more private” he dodged her question. He gripped her arm firmly, with a threat “I won’t take no for an answer.” He said firmly.

Kitty’s eyes flashed with rage before calming. How dare he touch her. How dare he come to her private home, and demand her to marry him. She jerked her arm out of his hand. “You need to leave. Now.” She said firmly.

“No.” He put his foot in the door and pushed into her home. The static became loud and wild in her ears. Her eyes narrowed as he forced his way in.

The door closed behind him. He rounded up on her grabbing her. Kitty wrestled in his grasp the urge to make him leave her be growing stronger. She’d do what ever it took to get him away from her.

Even kill him?

There was the static again, louder than the sea crashing on the shore during a storm.

He won’t ever leave you alone~ do it. Kill him.

Kitty felt the madness soak into her brain. Yes. That’s the only way to be free. She’d never let another abusive man chain her down. After all she had finally escaped her cage of an arranged marriage that was extremely abusive. She fled from her husband to New Orleans. He was extremely abusive to her, he’d beat her violently for any little thing.

She found freedom in the crescent city. Her wings able to spread and her voice able to carry here. She refused to go back into another cage.

Her attitude changed and she played flirty “you know…I think I have changed my mind. Would you like a drink?” She asked softly

“Oh that would be lovely.” He smirked sitting on her couch.

She moved to her cabinet and pulled out a flask of scotch. Laced with a little fox glove. Her window boxes held nothing but fox glove. Just a little drink of this would have him paralyzed and weakened unable to over come her.

She offered it to him. He took a swig and she felt wicked glee building inside of her.

The radio flicked on “good evening listeners! Welcome to the show~ I have quite the tale for you tonight~” Alastor’s voice carried over the radio.

Kitty felt her mind start to grow fuzzy hearing him speaking through the radio. It was surreal, and so strange he came on suddenly. After all her radio was off. But she didn’t want to linger on this, maybe she had turned it on.

His voice was going in the background. Gabe chuckled “sounds like that pompous ass of a radio host, Alastor” he mused drinking the liquor from the flask, “you know I’ve been jealous of him. I saw you leave with him. Is that why you gave me the cold shoulder?”

Kitty felt rage building inside “I suppose but I’ve changed my mind now. He’s nothing compared to you.” She lied but she sounded so believable.

Gabe smirked standing to hold her. “I knew you’d come around~” he wrapped his arms around her stomach drawing her close.

Her breathing stilled and her eyes looked dead. She made up her mind. He had to be put down. It was the only way she’d be free. So slowly and gently she moved her hand to her hunting knife hidden in her dress. Gabe started to feel funny, and light headed. He didn’t seem to notice her holding the knife now behind him. A murderous look burned in her green eyes.

That’s right~ just kill him then you’ll be free~

Static again. Alastor’s voice came through the radio “be careful who you take home tonight dear listener. There’s some real nuts out there~” he said amused. She could swear he was watching her right now

The green magic tube eye on the radio started to glow a sick green as it did when signal got stronger. Except it seemed to be putting off strange tendrils of magic in sickly green. Kitty didn’t notice as it was behind her.

She pulled back from agave suddenly raising his chin with her finger. He was feeling quite weak suddenly. She didn’t hesitate as he stumbled. She slit his throat. His blood spraying onto her pretty face. She was breathing heavy now at the spray. Sounding more like a wild fox than a human. She growled somewhere deep in her throat.

Gabe looked horrified grasping at his neck gurgling as he was bleeding heavily. It was good she usually stayed somewhere more remote. Normally she would make sure to take the victim to the bayou to make it more remote, but this was too unexpected of a situation. She never thought a man would stalk her to her home.

He stumbled backwards falling onto the wood floor. She dug her heel into his throat. “Die like the pig you are~” she hissed through clenched teeth. She panted heavily. He writhed weakly under her heel. Her eyes were cold and cruel as the poison set into him. She watched his crimson blood drip onto her floor.

Her heart was racing. She was free now. The light left his eyes, the rush of the kill was addicting. Her breath was sharp and her heart was racing.

Good girl~

She swore she heard from the radio. Out of the corner of her eyes she swore she saw his shadow. The knife fell from her hand. Clattering loudly to the floor of her cottage. Running her fingers through the blood on her face she started laughing. Wildly. Like a lunatic. She drug her fingers down her face.

His presence was surrounding her. Making her mad. Her phone rang again starling her. Her breath hitched as she came back from her madness. Coldly, she stepped over the body like it was nothing and moved to the phone.

“May I stop by, cher~” a voice came through the phone. It was Alastor

“Yes.” Was all she said her voice devoid of emotion.

She could almost see that smile of his now.

The phone hung up and she looked over at the man dead on her parlor floor.

At least Alastor could help her take care of this. She stared at the body with disinterest, and coldness.

I’ll make it all better~

The static filled her mind as she stood simply zoning out her mind going blank. The radio hissing and crackling in the parlor loudly. Green eye glowing brighter illuminating the room in eerie green light. Casting her in a sickly green as she stared coldly at the dead man on her floor.

Her soul was forfeit to him now. Alastor was twisting her mind to the perfect tool for him. The perfect companion to carry out his dark plans. Her broken soul was so easy to restitch into what he desired.

The sudden knock on the door barely registered til his voice was heard through the door “open up Cher~” he said warmly.

Kitty felt compelled to open the door. When she did his grin twisted seeing the man dead on the floor over her shoulder. “My, my~ someone’s been busy.” He chuckled darkly, “I’ll handle the disposal” he said simply closing the door behind him.

His thumb brushed against her face running through the blood on her cheek. “Oh darling~ you look magnificent in crimson~” he laughed coldly

Kitty felt empty inside her eyes meeting his as he caressed her face coating his finger tips in blood. The radio static had gotten louder and she felt it was filling her brain.

“Oh darling~ what a treat.” He patted her face, moving past her to check out her handy work, “lovely~”

[charlastorfrenchlove]

One Shot Charlastor FR

Un court extrait :

Le corps d'Alastor était ensanglanté , son corps était douloureux et il savait qu'il n'en avait pour plus pour bien longtemps le simple fait de respirer lui faisait souffrir sans doute du à ses côtes perforées. Pourquoi il en est arrivé là ? Pour sa liberté ou sa soif de pouvoir ou peut-être bien les deux , la grande silhouette du roi de l'enfer se tient face à lui lui tournant le dos . Visiblement le démon de la radio a été beaucoup trop gourmand , peut-être qu'il a été bien trop  présomptueux d'avoir voulu manipuler la famille royale d'avoir voulu se jouer de la fille de Lucifer . Elle a été si facile à séduire et à mettre dans son lit , des mots bien choisit un sourire enjôleur et un constant soutient aura suffit à l'avoir .  Charlie était devenue sa petite marionnette , elle qui l'aimait d'un amour sincère . Il lui a suffit d'une seule erreur tout simplement parce que notre démon de la radio a paniqué et à cru pouvoir évincer le roi de l'enfer facilement tout en se servant de sa fille en tant qu'otage .

Hors Al n'avait pas prévu que Lucifer ne prenne pas peur du fait qu'il menaçait sa fille et lui a fait regretter à bien des égards d'avoir osé se servir de sa fille de la sorte , bien que Charlie avait gentiment retiré sa laisse Alastor n'avait pas vraiment estimé la puissance du roi de l'enfer .En d'autre termes il s'est clairement sur estimé et de loin . Quant à Charlie cette pauvre enfant ne pouvait que regarder les deux hommes qu'elle aime de manière différente bien entendu , son père d'un amour filiale et l'autre d'un amour passionnée . Complètement paralysée par la peur , la peur d'en perdre un des deux voir les deux .

C'est une fois le combat terminé que la princesse de l'enfer retrouve ses esprits , son père était légèrement blessé mais ses jours ne sont pas en danger par contre elle ne pouvait pas en dire autant de son amant au sol . Après quelques instants d'hésitation la démone blonde se précipite vers le démon souffrant se met à genoux et cale sa tête sur ses genoux caressant doucement son visage .Les paupières du démon rouge s'ouvre difficilement et ses pupilles se dirigent vers la démone blonde qui caresse sa joue affectueusement .

...

Alastor's body was bloody, his body was in pain and he knew he wouldn't last much longer; the simple act of breathing made him suffer, probably due to his punctured ribs. Why did it come to this? For his freedom or his thirst for power or perhaps both, the tall figure of the king of hell stands facing him with his back turned. Obviously the radio demon was much too greedy, perhaps he was too presumptuous to have wanted to manipulate the royal family and to have wanted to play with Lucifer's daughter. She was so easy to seduce and get into bed, well chosen words, a flirtatious smile and constant support were enough to get her. Charlie had become his little puppet, she who loved him with a sincere love. All it took was one mistake simply because our radio demon panicked and thought he could easily oust the king of hell while using his daughter as a hostage.

However, Al had not expected that Lucifer would not be afraid of the fact that he was threatening his daughter and made him regret in many ways having dared to use his daughter in this way, although Charlie had kindly withdrawn his let Alastor had not really estimated the power of the King of Hell. In other words he clearly overestimated himself by far. As for Charlie, this poor child could only look at the two men she loves in different ways of course, her father with a filial love and the other with a passionate love. Completely paralyzed by fear, the fear of losing one or even both.

It was once the fight was over that the princess of hell regained her senses, her father was slightly injured but his life was not in danger, however she could not say the same about her lover on the ground. After a few moments of hesitation, the blonde demon rushes towards the suffering demon, kneels and places his head on her knees, gently caressing his face. The red demon's eyelids open with difficulty and his pupils move towards the blonde demoness who caresses his cheek affectionately.

[visage-of-hell]

[ shoulder ] a tender kiss on the partner's shoulder

It's a cozy night at the hotel, with Visage and Alastor seemingly having the main parlor entirely to themselves. As the Radio Demon lays sprawled out comfortably upon the lounge couch, she rests atop him, her limbs entangled with his as she nuzzles her snout against his neck. His scent fills her nostrils, making her feel safe. She feels his claw tips trailing lightly up her back, the heat of his breath against her fur as he leans in to press a long slow kiss against the curve of her neck and shoulder... ...And then in an instant, she jolted wide awake, lurching upright in her bed as she clutched her sweat-damp brow with heavy breaths. "What the actual fuck was that...?!" It wasn't often Visage had strange dreams, but this...? This was something entirely new. Granted, she'd been working in close proximity with Alastor for nearly a month by that point, but it was strictly a working relationship. Did she enjoy his company? In a strange sort of way, yes. But did she see him ... that way...? Until a moment ago, she would have vehemently denied it. And yet... With a tired sigh, she grabbed her phone to check the time--about an hour until the club opened ... which meant just about as much time until she was due to meet with her aforementioned 'business partner'. Not the wake-up call she would have liked, but it would do. Groaning, she rolled out of bed and went to start her coffee machine before making her way into the bathroom to shower and get ready for another busy night. -- Straightening her tie with a cocksure smile, the lupine Overlord made her way out onto the main floor of the club, watching as patrons were already arriving and ordering drinks. Silver eyes scanned every face, checking to see if the Radio Demon was among them yet.