#( THE FOREST IS JUST SO HEAVILY ON MY BRAIN )

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

I've said it before, I'll say it again: I can't fucking stand the double standards of this fandom. Everytime I see someone bitch about how the Targaryens are "colonizers" I want to bash my brains out. And these posts always include the op talking about how great the Starks are and how they do no fucking wrong.

Like where are these people's media comprehension???? Do they know the basic definitions of things? Add to that the fact that most of these people also constantly call Dany a "white savior". Like literally read a dictionary and try actually reading the books!

I just saw a post where someone was saying that they hate the idea of Dany being the Prince that was Promised because her ancestors were colonizers and she's a white savior.

Instead, they wanted Jon Snow, who, you know, doesn't have any colonizer ancestry. Because the Starks were perfect angels, who took control of the North by asking nicely. And the First Men were gifted Westeros by the Children of the Forest when they arrived because they were all such good friends.

Literally anyone who read ASOIAF (and has the smallest bit of media comprehension) knows that that's the farthest thing from the truth.

The First Men were colonizers who waged outright war with the CotF for thousands of years and desecrated their sacred places. Yes, eventually they made the Pact, but that only resulted in the CotF being slowly pushed out of Westeros completely and they were eventually fully walled out of their ancestral land. They're literally dying out now, as Leaf explains to Bran in ADWD.

Now, doesn't that sound familiar? To me, that sounds an awful lot like what the European colonies did to the Indigenous peoples of the Americas. Of course it's similar, GRRM is heavily inspired by history.

The Targaryens are conquerors, not colonizers. By the time of the Conquest, they have lived in Westeros for hundreds of years. The Conquerors, their parents, and grandparents were all born and raised on Dragonstone in Westeros.

The Targaryens are a Westerosi house, just like the Starks, Martells, and Hightowers. The only difference between all these houses is the timing of their arrival in Westeros. What exactly are the implications of this belief?

And obviously Dany isn't a white savior. Essos is a very diverse continent, so is their slave system. It's class based, not race based. A large portion of the Essosi slaves looked like Dany because they were of Valyrian descent. The slaves span every ethnicity, why is that so difficult to understand? Not only do the books themselves describe the ethnicity of many of the slaves, GRRM himself came out and debunked this interpretation!

I understand not being comfortable with this kind of story to an extent. The concept of liberation efforts has been tainted by the white savior trope. However, one's personal preferences don't equal the actual content of the story!

I think the thing that pisses me off the most about people who take these stances in the ASOIAF fandom is their pseudo-intellectualism.

Each person who writes these posts believes they have better media comprehension and even superior morality than everyone else. They misapply definitions of extremely damaging ideas so smugly. They believe they are correcting the views of other readers and GRRM himself, and as such, refuse to see how gravely mistaken they are. It's as concerning as it is infuriating.

[bonefall]

Elder Bones, what is your opinion on Brightflower supposedly being in the Dark Forest according to the 'magical warrior cats god' Su Susann? According to the Warriors Wiki, Su Susann put Brightflower in cat hell for hating Yellowfang once and supposedly not being sane after the truth was revealed about the death of her children. I quote, "On Vicky's Facebook, Su Susann wrote that Brightflower resides in the Dark Forest since she was filled with hate when she thought Yellowfang killed Mintkit and Marigoldkit, and was subsequently shocked and no longer sane when Brokenstar revealed the truth about the death of her kits." Seems pretty fucking messed up if you ask me.

HOT TAKE: I think it works okayish with the older "vibe" of the Dark Forest being the sort of place where your feelings put you. Like you lose a mortal part of yourself in death, and what lives on in the afterlife is your life's energy.

So it would be fucked up if, say, your kittens died and you blamed the wrong person, were consumed by it, and then in death were dedicated to that revenge in a sort of nightmarish Angry Ghost kind of state. But also, kinda neat. No wonder they take such good care of their elders, when their belief is that negativity at death can make you into an evil spirit.

And that's interesting with Ashfur in mind, too! Like it's not really something StarClan can control! If you feel like you were justified, if you didn't believe you had hate in your heart, you go where you think you should go. Tweak the line from Yellowfang to Ashfur, and have him decree, "My only crime was that I loved too much!" And you have GREAT setup for TBC.

It could unironically have made a really good way to drive conflict-- have heroes who believe they don't deserve Heaven, and villains who fully believe they do. Makes an interesting worldbuilding idea, at least.

BUT that said, that's probably a personal bias. I want the Dark Forest to be SOMETHING deeper and less simple than canon, where everyone who goes there is usually some flavor kind of murderous freakazoid (unless youre frecklewish, in which case, RIP but dont be The Nearest Woman next time, the Erins HATE those). I'm perfectly capable of seeing how fucked up it is that the two Authorial Damnations were basically just... sad women.

The other one was Lilywhisker, who was "bitter" because... she broke a leg. So the only two non-murderers who were actually sent to Hell under that feelings-first system were a Sad Mom and a Disabled Woman. If that system continued, you KNOW we'd end up seeing a billion girls damned to Hell while the boys are judged less harshly by the narrative, because the Erins are a LOT harder on women's feelings than men's.

In any case, it's not canon any longer so it doesn't invoke white-hot rage like some other statements. But it really was massively uncomfortable, considering their poor track record with both women AND mental illness.

[kinglyisms-archived]

My brain for the past week: we need a single father castle soldier.

Me quietly to myself: I don’t need more muses…

My brain aggressively: single father soldier werewolf muse.

[forwomenbiwomen]

The fandomisation of personality

So I asked nonbinary reddit this a while back:

And they really went all out, here are some of my favorite responses:

And of course, the most confusing of all to cis people:

Link to the original if you wanna see more responses! 

[rebelscums]

Angel (Qimir x Jedi reader)

Part One of Angel

Ratings: Angst | Fluff

Summary: After the death of your master you begin to question the dark side and just who keeps appearing in your dreams…

The ringing in your head only grew as you opened your eyes. Your vision was blurry, but you knew that you were hanging from something… You drained your neck up to realize that it was a tree. You were stripped bare from your robes and something dropped slowly down your forehead past your nose… Blood.

“Master?” Your voice cracked as you called out to her.

The air felt thick and the smell of blood grew stronger, but you could hear her to your right.

“You must whisper, my padawan.” She whispered in the same predicament you were in, “It is hunting.”

“What is?” You whispered confused, hurt, and you knew you had a concussion, “What is going on?”

“They betrayed us and now they are offering us to the beast they fear from this jungle. It has already taken the other. We must remain vigilant and strong as we find a way out of us.”

You looked around, the moonlight brightening the forest floor just enough to see all of the blood and bones scattered everywhere.

Hours had passed as you both struggled to get out of your bindings without falling to the ground. You realized quickly that the tribe you were trying to help had drugged you heavily making it even harder to escape.

With the luck of the force, your master unblinded herself and swung over to one of the large branches on your tree.

“Stay still.” She requested as she began to untie your bindings, “Once you are free we will make a run towards the north river. Our shop is just across the river.”

“Okay.” You whispered as you began to feel the rope loosen.

“Almost…” Master Runh went to untie the rope. You were almost free… Almost.

It was so quick that you could barely see it grab your master between its large jaws and drag her down to the forest floor. Her screams echoed throughout the night as she yelled over and over…

“Run!”

Tears streamed down your face as you watched her get torn apart. Struggling to free the last not so you could help her… Save her… You needed to save her. You were so close.

“Master!” You cried out as her final breath left her body and through your tears you saw something or was it someone standing beside the beast over your dead master just watching you…

You jolted awake in your room with a startled gasp. It took you a moment for your brain to let you know that you were safe and it was only a dream, but but the wetness on your cheeks had let you know that you had been crying.

You quickly wiped your tears and went to the fresher to compose yourself. It had been a couple hours since you have been in hyper drive and you knew you would arrive to the next planet soon.

That means you had a bit of time to talk about your dream to Master Sol… Maybe he would have an answer for the mysterious figure.

“Master Sol.” You drew his attention away from the map he was looking at from where he sat at a table.

His tired eyes were now trained on you, a calm look on his face as he greeted you with a smile. He was an ever present and diligent master and you silently thought of how lucky Jecki was.

You have been missing master Runh dearly these days. She was a great master, someone that you could count on for anything. She was wise, and strong, and brave too… She aided and guided you as you grew up, leading you down the path of the Jedi. You were grateful to her for everything she has done for you. You believed in what it meant to be a Jedi.

Until she was killed a few months ago.

It wasn’t her fault, the two of you were betrayed and sold out by the tribe you were trying to help… It shook you to your core, leaving you with nightmares and sleepless nights. You could still hear her screams, see her body be torn to shreds by that horrible beast… A beast you barely ran away from with your life.

You remember it’s sharp claws digging into your right side, leaving you with a painful reminder of that night.

That was when the urges of darkness started to rise. A growing pain that settled in the pit of your stomach and rose to your throat almost like a scream. Your calm temper had grown shorter these days and with no other master willing to take you in during your last few months of training as you were too old and they were looking for someone with a more pliable mind.

You remember scoffing as you stood in the council room, an annoyed look suddenly spreading across your face. Not one free master would take you in so you could pass your trials. You almost threw a chair at the weak minded fools.

That was until you were placed in the care of Master Sol. He had graciously stepped up and offered to take you under his wing along with his current padawan. Master Runh was a dear friend of his and he refused to let her padawan be casted out.

“Yes?” He asked.

“My anger towards what happened to my master…” Your voice lowered into almost a whisper, “I feel as though it is getting worse.”

His gaze turned concerned as he lowered his voice, “I know what have you experience has been painful, but rage will only lead to the dark side. It was not your fault young padawan and I know that you will overcome this tragedy with great strength.”

“Thank you master, but my dreams…” You shivered as you remember them so vividly, “It’s always the same every night, but last night was different… It felt as if my master was warning me of someone.” You whispered, “There was…” A dark figure standing above my masters body.

My explanation was cut short as his former padawan butted into the conversation, “We’re nearly there. I was hoping you and I could talk before we go find Master Torbin?” Osha asked master Sol.

A torn look spread across his face as he tried to choose who he wants to help more… The sinking feeling in your gut at him looking back at Osha sealed your fate.

He started to say, “Maybe we could…” continue this another time.

It was the same thing you heard before and you raised your hand to stop him, “It’s alright. I should probably go get ready anyways.” You stood up from your seat and Osha quickly took your place.

“Another time.” He said again, an urgency in his voice.

You didn’t spare him another glance as you walked away, “Sure.” You knew you wouldn’t talk about it again.

You thought back to the figure in your dream as you followed after the group. Yord fell into step with you as he kept a watchful eye out.

“Your lost in thought.” He mentioned which seemed to work in snapping you out of your daze.

“I’m just worried for master Torbin.” You lied and a part of you hated the feeling, but you felt that it was necessary to keep the figure to yourself for now. At least until you can find out more about it.

“Mae has already killed Master Indara.” You continued, “Who knows what she is capable of.”

“The Jedi do not judge someone we do not know.” He said and his words twisted a not in your heart, “But I am confident that we will get to him in time.” He glanced at you, “There is no need to worry.”

His confidence made you cringe. How could I not worry when there was a Jedi killing assassin on the loose? Is no one here concerned? You thought.

It was safe to say that Jord’s plan to confront the mystery man was stupid.

“Or we skip that and she just talks to him.” Jecki said, “If he’s Mae’s accomplice, we can send her in. She can talk to him and we can record and monitor the conversation that way we have a lead on Mae plus we also get a confession from him. Seems like the most logical way.”

“That sounds like the better option out of the two.” You agreed.

“I’m in.” Mae nodded her head as she stepped forward.

“We will follow your plan padawan. It’s a good one.” Master Sol agreed.

That was all that was needed to spring into action on our mission. You watched as Osha stepped into the shop.

“Hello there.” You could hear her say over comms.

“Oh… Hello.” His voice sounded… Chipper. It seemed that he was happy to see her. Maybe he and Mae do know each other on a deeper level?

“Hi…” Osha’s voice trailed off as she seemed unsure of what to say.

“Hi?” His tone now held confusion to it.

“Come on Osha.” You muttered praying to the force with words of encouragement.

He continued sounding concerned, “You alright? You’re back so early?”

“I wanted to see you…”

“See me? Oh?” His light chuckle sent a pleasant chill you didn’t know the exact reason for, “Mae… Are you okay? Did the poison work?”

“That’s it.” Jecki looked up from the comms ready to go, “That’s all we need.”

“Pull her out.” Yord stated taking out his lightsaber.

You also made motion to grab your lightsaber, ready to head into the shop and confront the mysterious man before Sol put his arm out to stop you.

“Wait!” Master Sol’s sharp word had you, Yord, and Jecki all freeze in place. The four of you paid closer attention to the comm.

“You’re acting so strange…” The man spoke through the comms. There was a pause, as if he was assessing something about Osha, “Wait.”

Please don’t figure out she’s not Mae… You thought with worry.

“You killed Torbin without the poison.” He assessed with a light tone to his voice, “He will be so pleased.”

That seemed to be all Master Sol needed to hear as he said, “Go.” And pushed his group towards the man and Osha.

He was different than you expected him to be. A good way perhaps… He was easy on the eyes for a smuggler or was he a dealer? You weren’t sure. What you did know was how quick he was to sell out Mae.

You stayed partially hidden behind Jord. Your hood was up and your hand remained on your lightsaber as the stranger continued to explain himself.

“Wait wait…” He stumbled over his words as he tried to explain, “That isn’t my thing. This is her. I didn’t know what she was going to do with that stuff.”

“If you cooperate. We will consider letting you go with a warning.” Master Sol walked around him, assessing if he was a threat.

The man clasped his hands together, “Okay! Thank you! Thank you sir, ah… Please don’t do the memory wipe thing or whatever it is you guys do.” He held his hands up in surrender as he followed Master Sol’s movements.

You studied his movements, they were graceful compared to the nervous way he spoke.

“What is your relationship to Mae?” Was the first question Master Sol asked.

“I’m just her supplier.” He explained quickly walking around the room and using his hands as he spoke, “Yeah, I started out gun running for the hits and now I supply people like her with what they need. For the right price.”

He seemed to calm but too fidgety at the same time as if it were almost forced…

“Well maybe you could supply us with the truth.” Jord’s voice was stern and left no room for debate.

You hid further behind his stance as the man turned around. Not ready to reveal that you have been studying him intently to see if he was telling the truth or stalling for time…

“Who is he?” Master Sol asked.

The man gave him a confused look, “Ah… I? I thought he was with you?” He asked pointing back at Jord.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped past your lips, but quickly stifled it as his amused gaze tried to find your behind Jord’s frame.

Master Sol didn’t find it funny as he continued, “Does Mae have a master? Is someone training her?”

“Listen I have no idea what’s going on with that girl.” He stepped towards Master Sol, “All I know… Is that she wants revenge on four Jedi.”

The room fell silent as a grave realization settled… Four Jedi was stationed on Osha and Mae’s planet and Master Sol was one of them…

His eyes widened as an idea sparked, “If you want to get to her, she’ll be back here tonight. I’m holding some things for her.”

“Jord. Secure the perimeter. Keep an eye out for Mae.” Master Sol ordered, “Jecki get to the ship. Mae, you are coming with me and…”

Your heart beat quickly in your chest as Master Sol looked in your direction, “You will stay here and make sure that he does not try to escape.”

“But—“ Your pleas were left unanswered as he gave you a look. You bit your tongue and nodded, “Yes master.”

“Good. Let us go.” Master Sol stated, “Mae will be here soon.”

You watched with a knot in your stomach as your group left. How could they just leave me here alone with a stranger? You thought as you clenched and unclenched your right fist to try and keep your nerves at bay.

You tried to take a calming breath. You are a Jedi. You can guard an unarmed man. He couldn’t hurt you. This will go smoothly without any problem… You squeezed your eyes shut as the screams of your master rang through your ears.

You were alone then too… You but your biotin lip, grateful that your hood hid your face as you stared longingly at the door. You didn’t want to be left alone with a stranger… You couldn’t handle it, not again. Your breathing began to pick up, something that the stranger noticed immediately.

“So…” He spoke in an airy tone in an attempt to lighten the mood and get your mind off of whatever you were thinking about, “Who might you be Angel?”

[gor3-hound]

sweet creature

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, mild dub-con, wolf!leon, bunny!reader, predator/prey, chasing, brief blood mention, praise, biting, sliiight dacryphilia, scent kink, breeding kink, knotting, p in v, creampie, oral(f!recieving), fingering, like one threat and mention of eating reader lmao

a/n: hiii! wolf x bunny fic as promised :) gonna be so real idek if i really like this or hate it LMAOOO my brain is so fuzzy from uni coursework and i have an exam tomorrow but the writing vibe hit so here we are!! as always, hope you enjoy <3

word count: 2.4k words

The weather had been awful the past couple of days, forcing you to retreat to your burrow. Your food sources are running low, making you resort to scavenge as soon as the storm clears slightly. It's a bit later than you'd usually venture out, but you really needed to find something to tide you over.

The rain is still falling, but not as heavily as it has been. It still has you shivering softly as you explore the forest, gathering what you could. The weather wasn't great for foraging - your sense of smell was dampened by the rain, and the darkness made it hard to see. At least you'd have some food for another few days. Hopefully the weather would clear up by the time you needed more food.

You're just about to head back when you hear a branch break behind you. Your head snaps back, your floppy ears perking up instantly as you listen for any more noises. You catch sight of movement, and then you catch a whiff of an unmistakable scent.

A wolf.

Your basket falls from your hands as your heart starts racing in fear, eyes trained on the grouping of trees as a low growling noise sounds. As soon as the wolf moves towards you, you dart off as fast as your legs will take you, weaving through trees and bushes to try and escape him.

You can hear him hot on your tail, which only makes you want to run faster. Your lungs burn from exertion, tears stinging your eyes as fear runs through you. You just need to lose him and reach your burrow, if you just turned in a few feet, you could use your smaller size to weave through the low branches and get away.

You're too late.

You sob as soon as you feel arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off the ground and tugging you against a firm, muscular body. You begin to struggle instantly, clawing at his arms and kicking your feet out.

“Shh, shh.” A deep voice whispers, rumbling the chest behind you. “It's alright, little one.”

You feel a nose brushing against the skin at the side of your neck as the wolf inhales deeply. You tremble in his grasp, but you stop struggling when you realise it's not getting you anywhere.

“Please. I just want to go home.” You say quietly, your voice shaking as you speak, tears streaming down your face steadily.

“You can. I won't hurt you.” He promises, his wet tongue sliding out of his mouth to lick your neck a few times. You can't tell if he's trying to comfort you, or taste you.

“I was going to eat you.” He continues, grip tightening on you as if he sensed that would make you panic all over again. “But you smell too fucking good. And you're so damn cute. Sweetest bunny I've ever seen.”

He has you pressed so tight against your body that you can feel him hardening against your ass, his nose still buried in the crook of your neck. His lips curl back and he lets his teeth brush your neck threateningly.

“I promise I'll be good to you.” He coos, setting your feet down but keeping a tight hold on you. One of his hands slides up to your jaw, tilting your head back to look at him. “I just want to play with you a little bit.”

He grins as he makes eye contact with you, his sharp canines on full display and glistening, even in the dark of the night. “What's your name, bunny?”

Your name comes out in the form of a pathetic squeak, your entire body trembling in his grasp. Your heart races fast as adrenaline pumps through your body. You open your mouth again, your lips quivering as you go to speak. “Please, just let me go.”

“Let you go? Of course.” He says instantly, giving you a smile that would seem sweet if it wasn't for the predatory glint in his eyes. “But don't I deserve a reward for winning my prey? It wasn't very nice of you to run from me, little one.”

You sniffle softly, your face crumbling slightly when you realise he's not letting you go unless you give him what he wants. Your nose twitches slightly, your ears drooping at his words. “I'm sorry.”

“Oh, that's okay, sweet girl. You didn't mean it. It's natural for a bunny like you to be afraid of the big, bad wolf.” He says with a chuckle, leaning down to run his nose along your cheek.

“If you listen to me, I'll be gentle.” He coos, licking a stripe up your cheek, groaning at the salty taste of your tears.

“If you don't… well, I'll sink my teeth into the back of that pretty neck of yours and take what I want.” He growls, the expression on his face darkening. “We don't want that, do we?”

You shake your head quickly, a full body shiver running through you. He slowly releases you, and you fight every instinct in your body to run. It's clearly the right choice, because his expression softens again and his chest rumbles with a gentle growl.

“There we go. Knew you'd be good for me, sweet girl.” He breathes out as he brushes your hair away from your face, his touch far too tender considering the situation.

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours. One of his hands moves to your floppy ears, playing gently with it. He kisses you gently at first before his lips are trying to pry yours open, using the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You let your eyes shut, kissing him back. As the two of your tongues slip together, you accidentally brush one of his large, sharp teeth. Your heart jumps, but this time you're not sure if it's fear or something else, because your panties are becoming damp and sticky with arousal.

Your fingers twitch, and then your hands are moving on their own, planting themselves firmly on his hips. He growls softly into your mouth, teeth nipping at your lower lip before he pulls away, pawing at your tits through the fabric of your clothes as he sucks on your neck.

You whimper softly, your head falling back on its own to give him better access. His hands start wandering, and then he's tugging off your clothes, ripping them in the process. The cold air hits your skin, making goosebumps prickle your flesh. You shudder, and he tugs you closer to him, letting his body heat seep into your body.

What a gentleman.

“How the fuck do you smell so good?” He groans, his nose trailing down your body - over the curve of your breast, then down the soft skin of your stomach before he's burying it between your folds, kneeling at your feet.

He doesn't do much for a moment. He just worms his way between your legs and then just starts sniffing, moaning softly as he does so. The tip of his nose bumps against your clit, and your hips instantly buck towards his face.

“That's it. Good girl. Knew you'd like it, honey.” He hums against your pussy, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through you. You'd be embarrassed by how sensitive you were from this whole ordeal if he didn't stick his tongue out and start lapping at you like he was starving, malfunctioning the part of your brain that helps you form coherent thoughts.

“Oh-” You gasp, your cotton tail twitching as his tongue dips into your hole, wriggling its way inside. He looks up at you from over his brow as best he can, pulling away occasionally to suckle your clit.

“P-please, mister. S'good, oh god, need more… need you, fuck-” He pulls back at your last word, giving your pussy a harsh spank that has you jolting.

“Call me Leon, baby.” He says, rubbing circles into your clit before spreading your lips to give you a smack directly on it. “And pretty bunnies shouldn't use such bad words.” He adds, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Leon dives right back into your pussy, happily drinking up any slick that spills out of you while making the most obscene slurping sounds. One of his hands make their way to your entrance, two fingers pressing in with very little resistance due to how wet you are.

You still feel the burn, though. A small whimper falls from your lips as he starts to scissor you open, pressing sweet, open mouthed kisses to your clit to try and get you to stop tensing.

“C'mon, little one. Relax for me. I'm gonna be a lot more of a stretch than any of those bunny boys you've been with. Don't wanna hurt you when I pop my knot in this drippy pussy.” He says with a grin, nipping at the skin of your thighs.

You nod slowly, forcing yourself to relax. He murmurs words of praise and encouragement, flicking your clit with his tongue to ease the feeling. He forces a third finger inside, and your face scrunches up at the stretch. He sucks your clit back into his mouth to distract you, applying suction and flicking his tongue against it.

As soon as he curls his fingers, you're cumming all over his hand and his face, your juices dribbling down his chin. He slips his fingers out with a laugh, spreading them to watch as the strings of fluid cling to his fingers.

“Such a messy girl.” He says, clicking his tongue with mock disapproval. He licks his fingers clean, standing up and tilting your face up by the chin. He uses a thumb to pry open your mouth, and then he's spitting a mixture of your cum and his saliva onto your tongue.

“Swallow for me… that's it. Atta girl.” He hums, reaching down to slip his cock free from his trousers. “Be a good girl and put that ass in the air, baby. Gonna mount this pretty pussy.”

He waits for you to comply, dropping on his knees behind you and spreading your legs further apart. He presses his hand on the small of your back to get you to arch it more, sighing with satisfaction as the tilt of your body exposes you to him even more.

“Fuck. You really are a good girl.” He murmurs, pressing the tip of his cock into you. You let out a loud gasp at the feeling, your thighs trembling as he stretches you further than you've ever felt before. Tears spring at your eyes as he continues to press forward, his cock so fat that you're sure he's going to split you in half.

“It's okay, pretty girl. I've got you.” He says softly, rubbing a hand up and down your back to relax you as he continues to press forward, stilling when he's finally buried to the hilt. “I'm gonna stay riiiiight here, and you can move those little hips of yours when you're ready.”

You nod, cushioning your head with your arms so you don't have to press your face into the muddy ground. At least the rain has finally stopped, and you're not so worried about the cold anymore when every inch of your body is on fire.

After a minute or so you experimentally shift forward before rocking your hips back onto Leon's length. You hear him growl softly, his claws digging into your thighs and drawing blood. It stings slightly, but you're willing to ignore it.

“Leon…” You start, sniffling a little as you shift your hips again, fucking yourself back onto his cock. It feels good, but it's not enough. You know he can give you what you need. “Need more, please.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that right?” You can practically hear the grin on his face, but you don't care. You nod quickly, keeping up your movements. You yelp as you're suddenly yanked back onto his cock fully.

Your cunt sucks him in greedily, fluttering around him as he starts to thrust into you. His hips smack your ass aggressively, heavy balls slapping against your clit every time he jerks forward. He doesn't let up, pounding relentlessly into your heat, mouthing along your back and sinking his teeth into you a few times.

He licks up the blood from each bite mark he makes along your back and neck, grunting and growling as he fucks you. His thrusts get more erratic, and he feels himself getting lost in the feeling of your perfect pussy.

“Fuck, bunny. I'm gonna keep you, no way I can let you go after this. Pussy's too fuckin’ good, shit. Wanna breed you so bad. Would you like that pretty girl?”

He groans, the thought of filling you up with his cum making his cock jump eagerly. He thrusts deeper, shifting his hips so he's bullying your cervix with every movement.

“Ohhhh, bet you'd like that… being filled with my pups… fuck, or kits. Don't even care, baby. Just wanna fill that pretty womb up. Cunt's practically milking me, think you want my babies as bad as I do.”

You can barely speak, babbling incoherently. All he can really make out is a few ‘please's or ‘Leon's sprinkled throughout. He can feel how you tense around him, and he knows he's about to fuck another orgasm out of you.

“That's it, baby. Good girl. Give me one more, and I'll fill you up, yeah? Get you swollen with my puppies. Fuck, you'd be such a good mommy… sweet girl. I'll take such good care of you.” He groans, dropping his head between your shoulder blades as his thrusts become sloppy and shallow while he tries not to cum.

You cum so hard you almost push him out, so he's quick to grab your waist and force himself balls deep into you, his knot popping in as he begins to shoot ropes of thick, white cum deep into you. It keeps going, and he grinds against you as he rides out his high, grunting softly when the final spurt fills you up.

His arms wrap around your waist and he lies on his back, ignoring the way mud coats his clothes and the fur of his tail. He wanted you comfortable.

“Gonna be a while before this deflates, bunny.” He says softly, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and licking the skin there in an affectionate manner. “Then I'm gonna take you back to mine and do it again. Make sure it takes.”

You just nod lazily, eyes already half closing.

Yeah. That doesn't sound so bad.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, vivid depictions of nightmares, vomiting

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

The first thing you heard was the song of the birds, signaling the sun was out and a new day had begun. You were slow to open your eyes, knowing that the world you would see was not the same as the one in your dreams. Those first few waking moments when the memories would melt into one another were the worst. It was a horror movie at the forefront of your brain and you had no choice but to watch. 

“I don’t wanna go!” You stomped your tiny feet, crossing your arms and giving the angriest pout you could possibly conjure. 

“I know, Peanut, but you have to go.” Your father cupped your chin, making a silly face as he gave your head a little shake. 

“No! No! I don’t wanna go, daddy, please!” Your hand was red, red, red. It was all red. You pressed on the wound but the red still came. 

“I know—but you have—have to go, Peanut.” Red on your father’s lips. His face. Red were your uncles. Your aunt. 

The bus pulled up as you clung to your father’s leg, scared but determined. 

“Don’t forget your backpack!”

The dead were spilling out of the trees, gnashing teeth greedy for living flesh. Red. You clung to your father. 

“Get your—your bag. Don’t forget your—bag.”

You grabbed your backpack, giggling when a strap got caught on the doorknob and most of the contents spilled. 

You grabbed your bag, screaming when a rotting hand tried to pull you forward by a strap and most of the contents spilled. 

You stood between the bus and your house, your father blowing you a kiss before he closed the door. 

You stood at the edge of the forest, your father blowing you a kiss as the dead engulfed him. 

“I love you, my peanut.”

“I love you, daddy.”

Your memories were red. 

“Daddy!” You bolted upright, nearly tumbling off the branch you had strapped yourself to for the night. You pulled your knees to your chest and cried into them, smothering your grief in the blood-stained denim. 

They were gone. 

Your family was gone. 

It took a while to get yourself somewhat under control. At least stable enough to climb down safely. Once your feet touched the ground, you simply stood there, letting the tree bear your weight. Your forehead was pressed against the bark so hard that it hurt. You wished that pain was the cause of your tears instead of the pain wrenching your heart in two. 

You needed to find water. You had been in that tree an entire day and night. Still, you should stay put. Daryl would meet you there today. Midday. You had to keep your wits about you. There were geeks in the forest now. And they had found you, found your family. 

And now your family was gone. 

You just needed to wait for Daryl.

You just needed to wait. 

Midday had come and gone without any sign of the archer. You had slowly sank until you were left sitting against the trunk of the tree, exhausted and dehydrated. Why? Why, out of all the times we’ve met, did you choose not to come this time?

You felt more alone than you had ever felt before. Your family was taken from you. Daryl abandoned you. But could you really blame him? You were just some chick in the woods. Just a hole to fuck. Your meetups were never meant to involve feelings. 

However, there was still that chance that you were carrying Daryl’s baby. Letting your head roll against the rough bark, you lazily tugged at your pack and unzipped it. The pregnancy tests had been lost in your struggle to get away. Fuck.

Did you even want a baby? Your own mother had abandoned you. You never thought of children of your own. You had your father to care for. You had to hunt and gather, even before the world ended. There was no time to think about such things. 

There was nothing to be done about it now, even if you decided you didn’t want it. 

Either way, baby or no baby, you had to move; get up and find water. You tried to stand, exhaustion pulling heavily at your limbs, enough to drag you right back down.  

“Get up.” You growled at yourself. “Get up.” Your voice was gravelly, your throat dry and painful. Everything hurt and you couldn’t understand why. You had tussles with a few of the undead but you weren’t injured. Dehydration was most likely the culprit but you couldn’t remedy that unless you got your sorry ass up and moved. 

“Shit.”

You opened your eyes at the sound of his voice, not even certain of when you had closed them in the first place. The blurry image of Daryl was running toward you, flickering in and out of focus like an old film. 

“Are ya bit?” He asked, crouched in front of you. You had enough presence of mind to shake your head. “S’all this your blood?”

Red. So much red. A sob broke free of your lips. “My daddy, he—” you trailed off, too exhausted to cry properly. 

“Goddamnit.” You heard him moving, felt the press of your pack against your hip disappear. “Alright. Guess you’re comin’ with me. Fuckin’ pain in my ass.” You were being moved, lifted. The redneck was muttering something, but you didn’t hear the words. The fog in your head was too dense, pressing outward against your skull until it stifled the last thread of consciousness you had been clinging to and you were thrown into darkness. 

When you awoke, it felt like you were being rocked. There was wind on your face and the smell of exhaust. You peeled open your dry, heavy eyes, the dashboard of a vehicle swimming into focus. Your stomach rolled, a wave of nausea washing over so intensely that you forced yourself to sit up, one hand on your stomach and the other covering your mouth. 

“Aw shit.” 

The truck swerved and the horn sounded while you fumbled with the door handle and gracelessly fell out to grass below, retching and heaving futilely. There was nothing in your stomach to offer but acid and bile, the rancid, burning liquid only serving to encourage your gag reflex. 

“Is she alright?”

“You still haven’t told us who she is. Where did you find her?”

“Shut up, man. I said she’s good. Ain’t no threat.”

“Well, she certainly doesn’t look like she could hurt anyone.”

“Everyone just give her some space!”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, looking up to seek out Daryl. You had heard his voice, knew he was near. He was the only person you could trust now that your family was gone. Well, you hoped you could trust him. He’d had plenty of chances to hurt you. He could have simply left you in the forest and no one would have known. Regardless, there were several other faces staring down at you, some concerned. Some wary. Some stoic and unreadable. 

A man was kneeling next to you, offering a bottle of water. “Here. Drink it slow.” You clumsily grabbed for it, reining in the strong urge to greedily gulp it down. With a careful tilt of the bottle you managed a sip, watching the man with a cautious gaze. He wore a police uniform. Behind him, Daryl was pacing, one arm crossed over his chest while he gnawed on the opposite thumb. 

“Ya done? We’re wastin’ time.” He snapped, stopping his nervous march to glare at you over the officer’s head. You narrowed your dry eyes at him and extended the bottle back to the other one. 

“You hold onto that. Seems like you might need it.” The man insisted, gently pushing the bottle back. “Can you at least tell me your name? Daryl hasn’t really been forthcoming with anything.”

You looked around at all the people awaiting your answer as if knowing your name was the cure to the outbreak; the answer to all their problems. 

“Y/N.” You took another sip of water. “My name is Y/N.”

[l1ve-l4ugh-lov3craft]

HI, CAN I TELL YOU ABOUT THE AKKALA CITADEL?????

Yes? Wonderful. Come, friend, have a seat. I have...a lot to say lol

Eight years later and I am STILL not over how absolutely genius this fortress is, like are you kidding me????? Everything from location to design to its inside defenses is just *chef's kiss* PHENOMINAL, and so because I have no filter, I am going to barf all my thoughts I've had on it in the past many many years.

Before we begin, shoutout to the WONDERFUL video by Zeltik that touches on this a bit and gave me a wonderful basis for my brainrot in the first place. Definitely go and watch it it's fabulous NOW! Let's get into the madness shall we? First let's talk about the location cos OHHHH MY GOSH. This was, hands down, THE best place they could have possibly put a fortress of this magnitude in Hyrule and I am going to tell you why. First of all, allllllll along the northern and northwestern border of Hyrule, there's those massive canyons

Passing over that in a way that would be effective military-wise is kind of impossible, so it provides a natural defense from invaders from those directions.

If you were to come from the South, you would hit the Gerudo desert and not only have to face the might of the Gerudo military, but also cross this EXPANSIVE, scorching desert before you can even make it to Hyrule field, and by that time, the royal leader could have very easily sent an army to intercept anyone trying to attack, so that's right out.

Which leaves coming from the Faron region next which is okay??? I guess??? but that's a LOT of swamp and forest you have to cross through, AND you go right past the Great Plateau where any army would have been seen and intercepted eventually. This takes us closer to the eastern coast of Hyrule, and you would be hard pressed to try and travel through Necluda, cos just l o o k at all these mountains you'd have to cross:

Horrible. And you probably don't want to go through Zora's Domain cos that's yet another heavily fortified and well prepared city in and of itself (please ask me about this one too I beg of you I love talking about Zora's Domain)

Any military leader with a brain isn't going to go through Death Mountain for obvious reasons, so really, all that leaves is this tiiiiiinnnyyy vulnerable spot in Akkala

And where did they put the citadel??? Right at the heart of that vulnerable spot >:D Like a boss.

AND SO! if invaders came in from that coastline, they have three options: They can take the path through the Akkala Highlands, they can go through the Torin Wetlands and up to the pass it connects to, or they can take the trail up to the Sokkala Bridges. All of these are TERRIBLE OPTIONS Akkala Highlands path: If they come up this way at the start

this will work allll the way until they get about here:

once they get here though, you are now not only bottlenecking an entire army meant to invade a kingdom (so probably roughly 1,000-1,300 people), but you're also directly under the shadow of the Akkala Citadel. There are archers there to fire on you, and they had a canon post on that side to potentially fire either at the incoming soldiers or fire at the opposite canyon wall to rain debris and rocks on them.

TERRIBLE for the other army.

And even if some did manage to survive, it would be painfully easy for the infantry at Akkala Citadel to send foot soldiers down below to cut them off.

SO THERE GOES THAT OPTION (and admittedly, I think it's probably the worst of the three)

Next option is to go through the Torin Wetlands and up into that same pass by the Citadel

this is ALSO a bad idea because the Torin Wetlands are a DELIGHTFUL tactical advantage for Hyrule. Once you get to that pass, you have the same problems as option one, but now you first have to pass through this wide marshland to get there. This will immediately slow down your army, and if that wasn't bad enough it's also in clear freakin view of the citadel and so they would be able to send their entire militia of archers and potentially even cannoneers to fire on the advancing army and take a bunch of them out before they could even make it to that pass.

So a smart general may say the best option is to go around the long way.

now this eliminates the pass and also slowing down at the marsh, and you could even make it almost all the way to the citadel without hardly any losses probably BUT! The first hurdle is those bridges. Wonderful for Hyrule, terrible for the opposing army. The three Sokkala bridges are SMALL, even smaller than the pass an army would have to go through with the other two options. This military leader would basically have to send their soldiers single file unless they have a way to expand the bridges to make them wider (which, admittedly, could be possible with a bit of foresight, but for now for simplicity's sake let's just assume they didn't think that far ahead).

This brings in an EXTREMELY slowly advancing army right to the heart of the Akkala Citadel's battery.

There are three locations with canons we see in BOTW that cover pretty much the entire open area the opposing army would come in on. And when you look at the amount of space each post covered

There is not a SINGLE spot in that valley a cannoneer couldn't easily reach. And, of course they would continue to have archers to pick off individual soldiers as well.

And if SOMEHOW

BY SOME MIRACLE

enough soldiers make it through that hell to be enough of a problem, there are plenty more soldiers in the citadel to cut them off as they come up the hill AND IF THAT'S NOT ENOUGH! there was this:

by the time we get to botw, it has been destroyed, but that is ANOTHER smaller stronghold that was probably pretty well manned in and of itself.

AND WHAT'S MORE

There's even this long cliff road with very little room to operate, so it would be extremely easy for the citadel to send over some soldiers to post up there and cut off anyone who tried to make it past. And with so little room to operate, it would not go well.

Ain't NOTHING getting past the Akkala Citadel, guys.

And that isn't even touching on the fact that the whole thing is build of solid stone??? And carved into a mountain??? The entire reason it fell in the first place was because the Guardians had enough of fire power to destroy the citadel that they had never seen before (also they could climb walls but that's a side note). This implies that no one in Hyrule or the neighbouring kingdoms had even CLOSE to that level of destructive power, so to try and raze it to the ground would have been impossible.

AND!! it was the most heavily fortified fortress in Hyrule second to the castle itself, and to most likely their military personnel would have been equal too, if not slightly more than even Hyrule Castle. That's A LOT of people!! With most likely endless support and resources from the castle and villages nearby as well.

It was placed geniously, it had impenetrable defense, it had a potentially endless supply of resources and people to use said resources, it was just

argjfbdkjgbks You guys don't understand how much I THINK about this place aghhhhhhhhhh

[syluscore]

Everybody's Gotta Die Sometime

~step brother Ghostface! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

happy halloween to my ghostface leon fuckers. and to hopefully my new ghostface leon fucker recruits. <3 (shoutout to @lipglossanon for making me discover my love of stepcest. and shoutout to @delusionalbunni for requesting this. and everyone in the discord server for giving me ideas constantly)

Word count: 5419

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DON'T FUCKING EAT IT, dubcon, noncon, dom leon, stepcest, kidnapping, drugging, bodily harm, wounds, cuts, blood, knife usage, serial killer, murders, stalking, pervert leon, discusses scenes from Scream, pet names, degradation, praise, dry humping, aggressive sex, finger sucking, slapping, ass slapping, daddy kink, baby trapping, forced impregnation, talk of body changes, talk of lactation, spitting, blood eating, BREEDING KINK, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, and more dirty talk then you'll know what to do with

!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!!

“Run, my pretty bunny,” he whispers in your ear before pushing you down into the mud. A yelp of pain escapes from your throat as you connect with the unforgiving ground. Blood is already running down your chest from where he cut you just moments ago. A little slice to show you just how serious he was. And if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you’re sure it’d hurt like a bitch.

“By time I count to twenty, you better be out of my fucking sight.” 

You push yourself up with all the strength you can muster and force yourself to move forward as he starts counting behind you. The drugs are still flowing through you, making your blood feel thick like honey. Your brain is enveloped in a dense fog that has you disorientated as you weave through the heavily wooded forest.

You know you don’t stand a chance; of course you don’t. But he wants to play this stupid game of cat and mouse, so you’ll play along; it’s probably the only way you’ll make it out of this alive. 

Your legs are unsteady as you traverse the uneven terrain, using tree branches to keep yourself up on your feet. 

Why you of all people? 

The Ghostface copy-cat killer has been terrorizing this small town for months now and you’d never heard of him taking any of his victims to the woods to play “chase.” His murders have always been quick, spontaneous, and brutal. There had never been mentions of a second location. 

You must be one lucky girl. 

You remember walking home from work. Sure, it was late at night so it was pretty dark, but you didn’t have any other choice. Your boss asked you to stay late, and if you had any hope of being brought on full time, you couldn’t say no.

So you said yes and before you could make it home, someone was grabbing you from behind and holding a towel up over your nose and mouth. Then everything went black.

And then you woke up, tied up in the woods with a bag over your head. The bag was quickly yanked off and the first thing you saw was that fucking mask. The Ghostface mask. 

You tried to fight him as best as you could, but you were far too weak, and he was far too strong. You never really stood a chance. You pleaded with him, begged him to let you go, but you were only met with anger. 

You knew you were poking the bear when you told him he wouldn’t actually do anything. And when he sliced you open across your chest with his blade, you only really had yourself to blame. And when he told you to run, that he wanted to play with you, you weren’t in any position to fight him on it.

So now you’re running through the dark wooded area. You don’t have a fucking clue where you are, you don’t know where you’re headed, you don’t have a plan, and possibly the worst part? You don’t know where he is. You somehow preferred being in that small clearing with him taunting and tormenting you than being out here amongst the trees all alone, every little sound making you jump out of your skin.

How long have you been running through the woods? Time seems to be passing by so slowly as you put forth your best effort. You’re leaned up against a tree, clinging to the bark to keep from completely toppling over. You’re so lightheaded, your head spinning, you don’t know which way is up and which way is down as the world spins around you.

Your lungs ache from the overexertion, the only things you can focus on being the sound of your heart beat pounding in your ears and fighting back the vomit threatening to spill from your throat. 

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your arms too weak to keep hanging onto the tree. You feel yourself falling backwards, feel yourself fainting and not being able to do anything to stop it. 

Before your body can connect with the ground, arms are wrapping around you just like they had before you passed out the first time. You groan out in pain as you’re laid gently on the forest floor.

Your head is still spinning, your eyes unable to focus as you hear a distant voice talking to you.

You slowly come back to yourself and when you do, you realize you’re looking up at Ghostface himself.

“Are you okay? Can you hear me?” He questions you. You try to answer him, but your words die in your throat. You’re still feeling too weak to even speak.

You look up at the moonlight breaking through the trees above you, thinking about how pretty of a view you get to witness while dying. You guess if you did have to choose, this is the sight you’d choose to experience while your body slowly gives up on itself.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when hands grasp your face firmly and pull you to look ahead of you. It takes a minute for you to fully process that Ghostface no longer has his mask on. And you’re sure you’ve died or are hallucinating as death pulls you under when you see the killer’s real face. And it’s not just any face, because that would be too simple. No, it’s one you recognize and one you recognize well.

You choke out words, them barely coming out above a whisper, “Leon? Is that you?”

His cocky, shit eating grin takes over his entire face. You don’t need him to respond anymore. That look is undeniably and so certainly Leon fucking Kennedy.

“In the flesh, baby sis,” he rubs his thumb across your cheek. 

“Are you- you’re Ghostface? Like, the Ghostface?” You’re trying to process what’s happening, but it’s so fucking unreal. There has to be some other explanation. 

“You’ve always been such a stupid girl.” He shakes his head as he fights back a smirk. “You never connected the dots? Never pieced it together for yourself?”

You stare up at him, giving up fighting your tears.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s you. All the random murders? Oh baby. They weren’t random,” he laughs with a look of disbelief on his face. “Let’s see. Your boyfriend? Couldn’t have him thinking what’s mine belongs to him. That girl that used to live in our neighborhood? She was always such a bitch to you.”

You search his face for any signs of what he’s getting at, but you don’t find any answers. “I don’t understand.”

“How about that barista who always had an attitude with you? Your old manager who made you uncomfortable and didn’t give a shit?”

All you can do is stare up at him. What does your old boss have to do with this? And what barista is he talking about? They’re all bitchy at the coffee shop near your place. If someone was ever nice to you there, you’d be worried about what’s wrong with the world.

“Oh! I know what’ll make you a happy little bunny! Any guesses?”

“I don’t suppose it’s you changing your mind and letting me go?”

Leon bursts out laughing at your response, “You’re so silly. No, baby. I found the lady who did that hit and run on your car. She was drunk off her ass that day and the day I found her. It amazes me how the police could never find her, yet it only took me two days. Now they’ll really never find her.”

He brings his face down to yours, until he’s barely a few inches away from you.

“You killed them?”

“Every one of them.”

“And what about the others?”

He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “Some were for practice, some were for fun.” He shrugs as if he isn’t admitting to a bunch of murders. “But if they were an inconvenience to us, they had to go.”

“None of them had to die, Leon.”

“Everybody dies, bunny. Better to be by my hand than some flesh eating disease, right?” The hand not caressing your face starts to slowly roam your body, his fingers gently running down your side. 

“Please let me go. You don’t have to do this.”

You try to shake yourself beneath him, but he’s using all of his weight to pin you to the cold, muddy ground.

“Big brother just wants to take care of his little sis,” Leon coos at you, his fringe sticking to his forehead as the blood there slowly dries.

“You’re not my fucking brother, Leon. We haven’t seen each other since we were kids.” Your voice is mean, a complete contrast from the way you look. Covered in mud, tears, sweat, and blood. You can taste it on your lips.

He laughs down at you. “We haven’t? Baby. I see you all the time. I see you behind the counter at work. I see you at the grocery store when you need to pick up some milk and bread. I see you when you check your pockets for your wallet and keys before you go in the back door of your house.” He drags his knife down your neck, hard enough to sting but gentle enough to not break the skin. “I see you with your fingers buried deep in that tight cunt when you think no one is watching. I don’t just see it either, I hear it. I hear how loud and needy you are. It’s as if you’re subconsciously begging for big brother’s cock. Calling out for me to stuff this little pussy full, breed that tight hole until you can’t take it anymore. I see you everywhere you go baby, even in the privacy of your own bedroom.”

You can’t formulate a response, so you just stare up at him dumbfounded. You hope he’s bluffing–he has to be bluffing.

“So maybe you haven’t seen me since we were kids, but I see you all the time, sweet baby sis.”

“You’re lying. Anybody could say that vague shit.” You give him a dirty look as he presses the blade harshly against your skin. You hiss out at the stinging pain and cringe as you feel your warm blood ooze from the fresh wound.

“Oh? You don’t believe me?” You shake your head, further cutting yourself on the knife, yelping before stilling yourself once again. Quickly trying to correct your mistake.

“Hmm, let’s see,” he shifts his eyes as if deep in thought. “What about that step brother porn you’re always watching? Oh step bro, we can’t do this. Mom and Dad will catch us!” Your face heats at his words. “Or maybe when you shoved your hand in your panties while watching Scream? You came how many times? Do you remember, baby sis?”

You stumble over your words. “I-, um, well, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You give him a stern look, trying to emphasize your seriousness, but it’s useless.

His hand quickly wraps around your throat and squeezes. You struggle beneath him as your air is cut off, but he only squeezes tighter. 

“Stay. Still!” He screams right in your face and you freeze in fear. You hold yourself as still as possible despite not being able to breathe.

“Remember when you came when Tatum got stuck in the garage door? Or maybe when Billy revealed he was Ghostface? Or when Billy and Stu were stabbing each other?”

“No,” you squeak out, barely able to speak with your constricted airway. 

He squeezes even tighter, your face is on fire as you gasp and whine for air.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, you fucking brat.” He shakes your whole body with just the grip on your throat. “You gonna tell me the truth?” He yells out as your vision starts to blur from lack of oxygen.

He loosens his grip enough to allow some air to enter your lungs. “Tell me, god dammit!”

“Okay!” You choke out and he releases your throat. You desperately suck in air and cough from the ache in your throat. “Okay. It’s true, okay?”

“What’s true? Use your words, princess.”

“I fucking touched myself while watching a Ghostface movie! Is that what you wanted to hear? Wanted to hear me admit it even though you fucking saw it! I got off watching it, okay?”

More tears stream down your face, shame filling you after your confession. Speaking the words out loud makes it all the more real, all the more embarrassing.

How the fuck did you end up here? Exhausted in the mud beneath your ex step brother?

He sits back on his haunches and picks the mask up off the ground, quickly slipping it back on and adjusting it back into place. When his hand falls back to his side, you notice the blood smears left behind on his white mask. Your blood stains it. 

“See something you like, princess?” Leon quirks his head to the side, his voice teasing. Your face immediately heats up from being caught staring. You hadn’t meant to be staring so long.

You avert your eyes, looking off into the trees and avoiding his mask completely. 

“Why do you think I wear this fucking mask?” He spits out, aggressively grabbing your chin and making you look right into the empty eyes of the mask.

You whimper out and shake your head no. He lessens his grip on your chin in favor of running his thumb softly over your cheek. 

“Oh, baby. It’s all for you. Don’t you see it? I killed them all for you, I chose this mask because it gets you all wet, and now?” He chuckles and brings his mouth up to your ear. He whispers as if he’s divulging you in some deep, dark secret, “Now, I’m gonna fuck you while wearing this mask. And you’re gonna fucking love it.”

Your jaw drops as your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. “Wha-what? No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He grinds his pelvis into your abdomen and that’s when you feel it. His hard cock pushes against you and it solidifies his claim. He’s really going to fuck you.

And you want to be disgusted, you want to scream and push him off, but you don’t say a word as you clench your thighs together. You had been so caught up in the chase, so caught up in putting up a fight that you didn’t stop and realize how fucking wet you are.

You cringe at the throbbing in your cunt. Your panties and thighs are soaked, you’re sure you’ve soaked all the way through your pants as well.

You want to explain it off. It’s just an adrenaline response, it’s out of your control. But as he continues to grind into you, you find your hips raising up and meeting his rhythm. Your lip is bleeding from how harshly you’re biting it, your hands curled into clenched fists.

“There she is. There’s my dirty fucking bunny. Knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself, knew you needed your big brother’s cock.”

You whine at his words, his clothed crotch grinding into yours causing your panties to dig into your throbbing clit. The friction is so good, it has sweat beading down your back, but it just isn’t fucking enough. Not nearly enough.

“Leon,” your voice is high pitched and whiny. You lift your hands from beneath his thighs and reach out to cling to him, but he’s quick to grab your wrists in one of his hands and pin them above your head.

“None of that, baby sis. Use your words for me. What do you want?”

“Please,” you both continue rolling your hips together, finding an achingly perfect rhythm. If he keeps this up, keeps grinding into that spot that’s just right over and over, you’re gonna cum just like this. 

He grinds into your clit particularly hard and it has your eyes rolling back, a pathetic moan falling from your lips and echoing out in the empty woods surrounding you.

“Please what, princess? If I don’t know what you want I can’t give it to you. And I’ll stop right now.”

“No!”

“Then use your fucking words, you dumb bunny,” He spits at you angrily. His muffled voice through the Ghostface mask sounds like sex itself. He could say anything to you right now and it would have you drooling for him.

“Wanna cum,” you whine out, toes curling in your shoes.

He slows his hips, just barely continuing to grind into you. “Not enough.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I want you to fuck me. Please, fuck me. I need you inside of me.”

“See? Not so hard is it? You want big brothers cock stuffing this slutty pussy full?

You arch your back, pushing your body up into his in desperation. “Yes. Please, fuck. Need your cock.”

“Who’s cock?”

“Yours?” 

“Nu uh, not good enough.”

You whine out, kicking your feet in frustration. “Big brother’s cock. I need my big brother’s cock inside of me. I wanna feel it.”

He sits back on his haunches, releasing your hands from his grasp. His hands go down to start undoing his belt as you reach out and palm his cock through his black jeans.

You gasp as you feel how fucking big he is.

Leon clicks his tongue as he releases his belt and slowly starts working the zipper on his jeans down, “What? Not what you were expecting?”

You whimper at his cocky tone, unable to speak. The only thing you can focus on is getting his cock inside of you.

“Need your big brother to fill you up with his big cock?”

“Yes. Please,” you whine as you wiggle beneath him. You can’t make yourself stay still, your body thrashes with need. 

His pants are undone, barely hanging onto his hips when he releases your legs and pulls you up into a sitting position. He grabs your shirt and quickly pulls it over your head, tossing it off to the side haphazardly. He doesn’t even bother pulling your leggings off, grabbing the crotch and tearing it open.

“Hands and knees,” he instructs you and you immediately comply, rolling over and pushing your ass up in the air for him.

He groans at the sight of your lace panties clinging to your pussy, your arousal working as a glue. He tears your leggings further, not stopping until your whole ass is exposed for him.

He runs his fingers over your panty clad pussy and it has you pressing yourself back into his touch. He makes a sound of disapproval before a loud smack rings out, followed by a sharp stinging pain in your ass cheek. 

He presses his chest into your back, bringing his mouth down to your ear. “Such an impatient slut,” he growls as he grinds his bare cock against you. 

You go to turn your head to look back at him, but his hand is quick to grab your face and force you to look forward, before his hand roughly covers your mouth.

“Stay fucking still,” he hisses out at you, causing all of your muscles to freeze up in fear. The tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine. Part of you hates it, but another part, a much bigger part, loves it and has your pussy clenching around nothing. 

“That’s it. Stay still like a good fuck bunny for your big brother.”

You feel him pull your panties away from your pussy and bunch them up and out of the way, before his fingers lightly graze around your needy hole. 

“So fucking wet. And you tried saying you didn’t want this,” he chuckles directly into your ear, sounding like pure sex to you. He releases your mouth and instead pushes your face to the ground and holds the back of your neck instead. 

His free hand leaves where he was teasing your hole, surprising you when he grabs one of your hands and brings it back to your wet cunt.

“Feel how fucking wet you are.” He pushes your fingers up against your soaked clit and your legs quiver at the sudden stimulation. “Feel that, bunny? Feel what your big brother did to you?”

You moan out as he continues rubbing your fingers into your clit.

“Yes,” your voice comes out whiny, “Big brother gets my pussy so wet.”

“Good girl. Should I give you what you want? Want me to shove my cock in my little sister’s pussy?” 

You push your ass back against his groin again. “Yes, your little sister needs her pussy bred.”

He pulls your hand from your clit and brings your wet fingers up to your mouth. “Here. Open up and tell me how this slutty pussy tastes.” 

You’ve barely opened your mouth before he’s pushing his fingers down against your tongue, causing you to eagerly lick and suck them clean. 

“That’s it, taste this sweet fucking pussy for me. Such a good slut, huh? Nothing but a fuck bunny for me,” he shoves his fingers to the back of your throat, forcing you to fight your gag reflex while tears slip from your eyes.

You choke around his fingers and he quickly pulls them from your throat.

“You like tasting your own slutty pussy?”

You can’t stop the moan that slips past your lips, “Yes. I love it.”

“You love what? Come on, baby. Use your words so I can reward you.”

Another harsh slap to your ass has you yelping out, “I love tasting my own pussy. Love when big brother makes me taste myself.”

You crane your neck to look back at Leon and he lets you look at him. Mask still in place, t-shirt bunched up above his belly, his pants and boxers pushed down his thighs. 

His cock is right against your needy hole. Just one small movement of his hips and you could finally feel him inside of you.

“There you go. Watch as big brother spreads you open on his cock.”

And then he slowly pushes forward and you look into his mask as you finally feel him inside of you. 

Your pussy is immediately clenching around him. Weak little moans continuously falling from your lips as he pushes in further and further. 

“Such a tight pussy, fuck.” He praises as he bottoms out and holds his dick inside of you. “You were made to take big brother’s cock. Look so fucking perfect like this.”

You whimper softly into the ground at his words, staying still and willing yourself to adjust to his massive dick. You feel split in half already and he hasn’t even started fucking you yet.

His hand runs up and down your back, along your spine gently. “That’s it, you got this, pretty bunny. Gonna bread this tight cunt, ruin you for anyone else.”

“Pl-please,” you whined out, “Please fuck me. I want it so bad. Big brother, please-”

You can’t even finish begging before he’s pulling out and roughly shoving his cock back into you.

“Oh my god,” your voice comes out in a tone you don’t even recognize as your own. “Yes, yes, yes, please. Oh fuck.”

He roughly grips your hip as he effortlessly thrusts in and out of your soaking wet pussy. 

“You like that, baby sis? Already going dumb on my cock and I haven’t even properly started fucking you yet. Such a pathetic little whore, my pathetic little whore. Taking my cock so fucking well.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slowly starts to pick up the pace of his thrusts. 

“All yours. Your whore,” you aren’t able to finish your statement before he starts aggressively fucking his cock into you. The only sounds leaving your mouth are broken gasps. The pleasure is too intense for you to make any other noise, mouth stuck open on a silent moan.

He moves his hand from the back of your throat, instead grabbing a handful of your hair harshly and yanking you back until your head is against his shoulder. The moan you release is nothing short of pornographic at the pain in your scalp.

He chuckles before speaking right against your ear, “Fucking take it, you stupid whore. Dumb little sis likes it rough. I’ll fucking give it to you just like you want it. Gonna fucking break you.”

“Oh fuck yes, daddy,” you don’t even register the words you’ve said until Leon let’s out a loud moan.

“Daddy? You dirty little girl. Want daddy to breed you? Need daddy to take care of you?”

“Yes. God, yes.” You’re too far gone in a pleasure filled haze to be embarrassed about calling him daddy. Fuck, you’d call him anything he asks right now.

“Gonna let daddy put a baby in you? Keep you tied to me forever.” He’s practically growling in your ear at this point, so worked up over you calling him daddy. “Gonna swell up with my baby and everyone will know how good I fuck you.”

“No, daddy, we can’t,” you try to reason with him through your brain fog.

He laughs loudly in your ear. “But I can, and I will. God, your boobs are gonna fucking leak all over. Gonna fucking suck those milky tits dry.”

You can’t stop yourself from clenching around his dick at his filthy words.

“Ugh, knew you’d like that. Gonna be tied to daddy forever. You’ll never fucking escape me. Gonna keep this pussy stuffed, gonna make you pop out all my babies. Gonna fucking show you how much of a daddy I am, baby.”

He quickly pulls out of you making you whine out in disappointment. But it doesn’t last long, as he throws you on your back. He wraps your thighs around his hips and shoves his dick back inside of you. 

He goes back to his unforgiving pace and all you can do is stare up into the Ghostface mask, which only intensifies your pleasure.

Your hands trail up his chest until you’re gripping the back of his neck and pulling him closer into you. You go back and forth between staring into the mask and squeezing your eyes shut.

You don’t know what comes over you, but you're desperate for skin to skin contact. So you grab the hem of his shirt and yank it over his head, but in the process, you pull his mask off with it. 

Then it’s just you and Leon staring right at each other’s faces. Sweat pours from his forehead, his mouth slightly agape as he pants from the exertion, and his eyes blown wide with lust. He looks like an absolute madman, but you suppose that’s because he is.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull yourself up into his body. Your chest presses into his as you connect your lips with his. One of his arms wraps around your lower back while he uses his other arm to hold you two up. He thrusts, never once slowing.

The kiss is sloppy. Your tongues immediately come together and explore each other completely. Spit drips down your chin as you moan into the kiss.

He bites your lip, you bite his. He sucks on your tongue, you suck on his. He sucks your lips until they ache, and you suck his lips with everything you have.

You finally break the kiss, but keep your foreheads pressed together. 

Leon pushes your bodies down, your back connecting harshly to the cold ground. He grabs your calves and brings your ankles to his shoulders.

“Oh god, daddy. Yes, fuck, please, fuck, just like that. Please, please, please, daddy, fuck.” You don’t process anything you’re saying. Words just keep falling from your lips as he continuously pounds deeply into you.

“I’m gonna fucking fill you up, baby sis. And you’re gonna take all of it. God, gonna breed my baby sister’s tight pussy. Gonna let daddy breed you, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please.” 

He brings his hand down between you two, ru

bbing your clit harshly causing you to cry out loudly at the intensity.

“Who’s gonna breed this pussy? Who’s baby is gonna grow in this fucking belly?”

Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head as your whole body feels more and more wound up, fastly approaching your release.

“Fucking answer me. Who’s breeding this tight cunt? Who’s cock are you gonna cum all over?”

“Yours. Yours, daddy. Gonna, fuck, gonna cream my big brother’s big fucking cock.”

“Yeah, that’s it baby. Tell me how it feels. Tell me how good big brother’s cock is making you feel.” He’s groaning, borderline growling, as he ruthlessly pounds into you.

You force your eyes open, force yourself to look into his eyes. “You daddy. You’re making my slutty pussy feel so fucking good. God, your cock is making my pussy feel so good. Big brother’s cock is making me feel so good. I wanna cum all over it.”

“Come for daddy, then. Cream my fucking cock like the dirty whore you are.” He pulls his hand from your clit so he can hold your thighs up more firmly. “Rub yourself for me. Wanna watch you push yourself over the edge.”

Your hand quickly reaches down, quickly rubbing fast circles on your soaking wet clit. 

“Look at me while you cum on my cock. Be a good whore and look at who’s fucking you like this.”

You bite your lip until you taste blood again. Moaning loudly as you stare up at Leon and rubbing your clit furiously. You’re desperately trying to cum, desperately trying to push yourself over the edge. But no matter how close you feel, you can’t send yourself over the edge.

Until a stinging, blinding pain seers into the back of your thigh and you can’t even process the warm blood pouring from the freshly sliced wound before you’re cumming. Cumming harder than you ever have in your life. Not one inch of your body isn’t shaking, not one part of you not exploding with intense pleasure.

You’re screaming, your throat burning from the strain. You have to force yourself to stop as the overstimulation sets in.

“Dad, daddy, please. Fuck, I can’t take it anymore.” You’re practically sobbing now, but your request is ignored.

He pushes your ankles off of his shoulders and you immediately lock them behind his back. One of his hands grips your jaw and spits on your cheek.

“You’re gonna fucking take it, fucking whore.” His other hand runs down the middle of your chest, coating it in fresh blood. You look down and see your dry blood combining with the new blood, staining nearly your whole chest red.

A sharp slap meets your cheek. Your cheek burns and your ear rings from the sheer force of the hit. Before you can even yelp out in pain, his blood soaked fingers are being shoved into your mouth and you’re immediately hit with the copper taste.

“I’m cumming, fuck. Breeding baby sister’s greedy fucking hole. Take it, you stupid slut. Fucking take it, fuck.” His thrusts slow, but are just as hard as he cums deep inside of you. 

You’re too distracted sucking his fingers clean to register what the stinging pain in your abdomen is. 

Leon groans and moans above you as he comes down from his high. He finally looks back down at your face and can’t stop himself from smiling at the blood and dirt all over your body. He could eat you alive right now, and he just might.

He slowly pulls his spent cock out of you, causing you to whimper at the sudden emptiness and the feeling of his cum steadily dripping from your abused hole.

He sits back on his haunches and lets out a throaty laugh. “Would you look at that,” You follow the direction of his eyes down to your abdomen where you see blood pooling. He quickly picks up his discarded shirt and wipes away the excess blood, causing you to hiss out in pain. 

But he finally uncovers his handiwork for you to see in all its glory. And you gasp out in shock at the sight of it.

Carved into your skin are messily drawn letters. L.S.K. 

“See? You’ll never forget who you fucking belong to now.”

~masterlist~

[frogchiro]

so sorry that u had to clear ur askbox because of some dickhead 😭😭😭😭😭😭 if it isnt too early to send a headcanon again... can i request some cow reader and wolf alejandro... because my weird little brain cannot resist inserting alejandro into situations.

also human cows are a real fetish called "hucow". just so anons out there are aware....

Wolf Alejandro is literally the worst :(( He may be very large and heavily build with strong muscles, a bit of chub and soft thick fur but he's crazy agile when he wants to be! And what he wants the most is getting to sneak into your private pen and get some of your milk and a taste of your pussy :((

He would sneak in during the night when he knows Price was already done with herding the unruly bulls back into their separate stable and is done doing a last check up on you for the night.

Imagine just rearranging the many pillows and blankets in your bed when you suddenly are spooked by the glowing eyes of the big bad wolf Ale :(( You knew the large male, you saw him prowling on the edge of the forest but it was during the day with everyone present and now you're cornered and left alone with an apex predator :((

Alejandro licked his lips and ran his tongue over his sharp canines as if reading for a meal before he prowled closer and closer to you until he could basically smell your delicious sweet scent and your milk♡

Please, just be a good girl and let him suckle a bit♡ You don't have babies yet and all that milk is supposed to go only to Price?? How selfish of him. Before long Ale has you on your back, his iron grip keeping you from wriggling too much as he suckles to his heart's content and your pretty moans only fueling his need for you♡

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I’ll Take the Night Shift

Pairing: Husband!John Price x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Before you knew it, John was gone - taken from right under your nose and leaving you no choice but to retreat without him. But you would do anything to get him back, even go into the lion’s den itself.

Word Count: 15.2k

Warnings: Torture, blood & gore, V suggestive & some spicy bits, vulgar language, angst, found family tropes, eventual fluff, and comfort, injured Price would be the sweetest person idc, so much plot, briefly edited

A/N: The flashbacks are spicy because I said so. (Soap request being written after this). Enjoy!

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

You try to remember how you felt the first time they told you. Your combat vest was still on, that night vision rig still connected to your head and weighing about as much as John did when he rolled on top of you in the middle of the night. At your front rested the M13, its black and sleek metal bumping against your chest with every teetering step.

Black, on black, on black. Except for one item, hidden, kept close to heart, and even closer to mind at all hours. You were always aware of it, the metallic press that was ingrained into your body just as the caress of John’s fingers was, burning over your pulsing epidermis as it traveled.

Around your neck, your wedding ring sat heavily on its chain – gold more bright than the sun and kept safe and warm against the flesh of your breast under the numerous padded layers. Your face was bathed in sweat, lungs aflame with blood dripping from a knife puncture on your right thigh. Although the limb is bathed in crimson, the dark fabric of your pants hid most of it. But it couldn’t hide the red footprints in the dirt.

It was a Black Op in Finland – a target stashed away in a mansion that was clawing for breath in this dense forest with more viridian-colored trees than any you had seen before. Green seemed to breed in the small spaces, between rocks, up crackling bark; crunching under your black boots as you came to a shattering halt. Moss and tiny plants get crushed under your fierce steps.

If it was any other circumstance, you would have loved to drag your husband here for a vacation.

You had felt fear when they told you. Cold. Chest-tightening. Skin tingling as your limping body fought to focus on anything but the pain that was spiking in your leg, but that was simple when the words flew from Gaz’s lips with panic. Simon had stopped behind you as well, the two men dressed just as you were and holding their breath for your reaction. They knew it wouldn’t be good.

“The Captain isn’t responding. Soap can’t bloody find him.” The chill of the night was nothing compared to the dread that flooded your veins, eyes snapping forward blankly at flashing shadows as your panting breath was all at once sucked back down.

What?! Is all you can numbly think.

A brief stuttering inhalation ensues, your brain screaming as if banshees wail and smash against the bone of your skull with sharp teeth and blunt nails; tearing to try and get out. But you were not born to break at such a fickle emotion as fear in your bloodstream, or the adrenaline making your eyes vibrate. You were taught to act. 

You’re turning on your heels and hiking back to the mansion without a word or hesitation, the world around you speeding by. In a single instant, the organ in your head promptly goes silent in a fell swoop of horrified realization. Everyone left in that mansion would be dead if you got your hands on them – ripped to tiny little pieces until that which was yours was returned unharmed and conscious into your arms.

You hold the M13 tight around the stock, jimmying it into your shaking grip.

“Whoa!” Gaz rushes to get ahead of your warpath – which didn’t take much as your wound was throbbing; making your head pound something awful. 

It doesn't matter what I feel…Where is my John?

Dark hands grasp your shoulders tightly, shaking you as your lips turn into a snarl.

“Out of my way, Garrick,” You growl, face suddenly twisting into an image of pure animalistic rage, “I’m going to Soap’s position.” 

Attempting to jerk out of the man’s hold, your skin crawls at the thought of John. He always answered the comms – always stayed within eyesight of his partner when placed with another individual. Your husband did not leave men behind. He would never leave Soap behind. 

And that meant he was either dead or captured.

Your mind jumps to violent imagery. Your Captain, riddled with bullets and bleeding as he writhes in pain; left to die like a feral dog as he snaps at everything that moves. Or worse, taken and stashed away, far from you, and tortured for information. John would never break – they’d have to kill him anyway.

There was no version of this story that involved him living if you did nothing.

“Johnny isn’t at the mansion,” Ghost comments, popping up in the side of your vision as you have a stare-off with Gaz and releases the radio attached to his vest, “He was under heavy fire – had to pull back. Should be closin’ in on our position soon.” 

“I’m still going back!” Growling, you snap your arms back and shoulder past Gaz, “You’re idiots if you think I’m leaving John by himself in fucking Finland surrounded by hostiles.”

But what if he’s already dead and I don’t know it? Can I handle that?

You grunt under your breath, trying to stop the sting of your eyes.

“Love,” The younger man pleads, Kyle’s dark eyes worryingly going from your thigh to your face, “You’ve got to be bloody joking with us. If you go back to that place you’re as good as dead. We have to pull back to the Evac Point. There are too many guns – we’re outnumbered.”

When you had joined Task Force 141 you had never expected to marry the older Captain of this rag-tag bunch. It had been surprising enough that you had been spotted by the brown-haired Brit at all, only seeing him once when he had come to teach a class of rookies on Counter-Terrorism. Naturally, the two of you had struck up a conversation – or, rather, you had forced him to speak to you. But how could you not? The man was about as handsome as they came. The gruff and gravel tone that rumbled his chest, his large build reminiscent of a brown bear, and how the muscles under his shirt had rippled when you snuck up on him. Physically, he was everything you wanted, and the same went for attitude once you got to know him.

And, hell, how could you look at someone like John Price and not get entranced by his eyes? Storm gray and raging waters; you swore you could see an entire world hidden in the flecks of silver as if he was carved from stone and his soul was pure electricity. But despite all of it, his serious face had seemed warm under that beard of his and that bucket hat on his head wasn’t helping. He seemed kind enough, and that had piqued your interest as you were constantly being surrounded by less-than-respectful men in the barracks.

In fact, your first sentence to him was, “How many times have you nearly lost that hat of yours mid-Op, Sir?” 

You had snuck up while the rookies were working through a practice course down below the loft, where the two of you currently were. John’s head had snapped to the side, his constantly narrowed eyes widening a fraction. If you had to guess, he didn’t get snuck up on often. 

But he had never met you before.

His arms were attached to the collar of his vest, and you saw the fingers tighten as his shoulder-width stance tensed below him. The shouts and calls of the people below blurred as you tilted your head, blinking innocently up at him, watching his lips move with heated thoughts. 

You quite liked him looking surprised.

“Ma’am,” He utters in greeting, before letting out a deep sigh that makes you huff a laugh in turn. He seemed tired – stressed, “Very funny. Don’t suppose you’re part of the others down there, then, are you?”

“Unfortunately, no, Sir,” Your gaze filters to the flailing limbs and you watch with creasing eyebrows at the chaos, amusement deep in your blood, “I mean…they look like they’re having fun, at least.”

“Yeah, that’s a bloody exaggeration, that is,” His wrinkled forehead had creased, following the horrific sight as well, “Laswell told me that this group was promising.”

Your laugh makes his head fully turn back to you, blinking down and fighting the flick of his eyebrow in confusion.

“Oh, God, she told you that?!” Shaking your head you shifted your body to face him and stifled your chuckles. You say your name and utter out, “If you want someone who’s not going to sugarcoat things for her amusement, Captain Price, you come straight to me. Squad 5 is the one you want for Counter-Terrorism courses; certainly not 3. That’s a good way to get shot in the ass by your own guys.”

He stared at you for a long minute before his eyes flickered down to your hand; he grunted and grasped it in his own. 

You were correct – he was warm. Firm. The ingrained lines of his palms splayed over yours, and the flesh of your lips softened at the delicate way he was holding you. Like you were a prized weapon. 

And you would have it no other way.

“Just Price is fine, Ma’am. Kate mentioned you in her call…You were in Romania in ‘04, Yeah? Quite the job to do by yourself…You ever think on joinin’ a team?” 

Three months later Laswell was giving you a call saying you were getting a promotion and the rest was subtle glances that evolved into stolen touches in dark corners when no one was looking. It had been scary how instant the feelings were realized…you trusted John with your life, just as he did with you. That was the first feeling after lust and the one far before love – protectiveness for each other on the same level as wolves in a pack.

You can’t leave him behind.

“He’s the Captain–” Your lips begin to hiss out, eyes narrowed at the ground as you struggle along. You were weaker than you should have been – blood loss leaving you nearly on the ground after the retreat, “He’s my husband!”

Rage was easier than panic. Perhaps that was why John called you Lion for a callsign.

“...And you’re going to get him killed.” The remark makes you freeze. Ghost doesn’t move from behind you as the echo of his words bounces off the trees, but you feel his presence just the same as Gaz clears his throat awkwardly, “You go back, Aarre Virtanen will put a bloody bullet in ‘em. Not a chance he doesn’t.”

Aarre Virtanen. The target that had escaped the Force’s grasp like the weasel he is. Your eyes alight with rage, and cities burn in your iris. 

“You’re just about the most impulsive person I’ve ever met, Love,” John mutters into your hair, running his fingertips over the hospital gown as he lays in the bed with you. Your eyes are closed, feeling your head rise and fall with the steady breathing in the Captain's chest – damn him, the way he touched you was hypnotic; putting you to sleep where the pain meds failed.

“Hm,” You groan, digging your head deeper into his peck and feeling him chuckle velvety.

“I need to teach you how to think plans through before you commit, Yeah? Else you’re going to keep getting hurt…and we can’t have that, eh, can we Sweetheart?”

“...If you’re gonna hold me like this when I get shot, I’ll make sure to take more bullets for you from now until the end of time.”

A puff of breath and a brush of coarse beard hairs over your scalp.

“You’re hopeless, you are. What am I supposed to do with you…?”

“Probably kiss me, Sir, but I’m not picky. You can fuck me too while you’re at it.”

A shuttering of leaves rips everyone out of their arguing, and in an instant three guns are held leveled at a dense bush, shaking in the moonlight. Every moment spent with John was flashing over your eyes like you were dying. Why was your breath getting strained? Why was your grip shaking?

“Friendly! Don’t go poppin’ off shots, it’s jus’ me!” Your stance lessens at the familiar Scottish drawl, air falling from your nose in a terse sigh. 

Soap’s body pops out a second later, and you’re right next to him with a heavy heart, gripping him by the arm and digging. It was hard, holding yourself together with string and fraying cloth, but you had to. You can’t break…not now. The man's vision is locked on your face, and you don’t like the thinness of his lips as his expression is layered with guilt. 

It mirrors against the desperation in yours, leaking into the tone coating your sentence like poison.

“Little Lady, I–”

“Where is my husband, Johnny?” Your face contorts, pulling back. He was supposed to be here, why wasn't he here? He took MacTavish with him because he needed an expert to detonate a bomb in the lower mansion’s tunnel structure. He said he’d be back soon…Where is he? “Johnny, please, he can’t…” Begging has never been implemented in your life. Never.

But for John, you’d do anything. 

The man in question flinches back, the dried blood over his face catching your gaze in the dim light as you stop dead; your eyes slashed the distance between Soap’s visage and the gore over his cheeks. Up his arms. On his hands. Staining his chest like fucking finger-paint. Before you know it you’re backing up, eyelids fluttering like hummingbird wings and jumping from place to place as all you can see is red. Your hands are slippery, and you hold them limply ahead of you. 

No, no, no. No, it can’t be.

“Holy shit, Soap,” Gaz whispers, voice horrified, and you feel his hand on your back trying to steady you, “Is that…” 

Ghost’s dead eyes stay locked on the scene, narrowing behind his mask. The Scot’s head flows to the blood, quickly inhaling as his nose scrunches. His lips part in horror as he tries to calm you down, backing up a step. 

But you can’t stop seeing red.

“Hen, now don’t do that – it’s not…I…He,” He stumbles over his words, swallowing thickly as you gape. Soap growls, splaying his hands, “Steamn’ Bloody Jesus! The explosive went off prematurely, fucken’ bastard of a device – whoever made it should get his neck rung – an’ the…the tunnel collapsed with us in it,” You just stare, and you wonder if your heart can hurt any more than it already is. At your side, Gaz blows out a slow breath, and over your back, you feel his grip tighten, “I tried to get him out of the rubble, Hen. But,” He stops, and one of his hands smacks against the top of his helmet, “Virtanen’s men got there first. God,” Johnny gasps your name, “I’m so sorry.” 

But all you do is stare. 

“Love,” Garrick lightly says, his breath on the side of your face, “Love, we have to move.”

But Gaz, You want to say; scream, as your stained fingers twitch when you level them with a heavy glare, Gaz I can’t leave him here

“He’s not dead.”

Ghost grunts, fixing the position of his gun over his chest; resting on hand on the end and looking off into the trees, “They’d keep ‘em alive. Try to get answers – who he is, who sent him…” The man trails. 

Your heart fractures your ribs, ears ring like cicadas under your skin.

He’s not dead, You have to tell yourself so you don’t break down, looking at everyone around with veiled shock, He’s not dead.

The only reason the four of you were still standing around was that, in the absence of John’s leadership, you took point. It hit you suddenly, then, in that instant where the storm that was going on inside of your head was silenced. These men were under your wing – they needed you to take up the mantle; you needed to trust that John was alright. If only to keep the whole of the 141 safe and alive.

Gaz had shrapnel in his back; Soap looked like he was about to either turn around and go on a rampage or slump over with his head in his hands. And Ghost well…he was Ghost, but even so, his clothes were layered with blood and dirt. Not to mention yourself – your thigh has since gone numb.

…And we can’t stay here. 

With your heart falling into a deep hole, you school your expression. 

Don’t think about him. Don’t do it. 

Your job has never been more difficult than at that moment.

“Evac Point is a ten-minute jog. L-Laswell’s expecting us.” The voice that comes out of your mouth isn’t yours, the tone is off and the structure is shaky at best and broken at worst. There was nothing more you could do, even if you knew you could drag your way back to the mansion and start a fight. 

Gaz was right, you would die if you went back. And you can’t get John home safe if you were dead. 

The team needs you to lead them just as your husband would. 

So, avoiding all eye contact and the wide looks, you slip out of Kyle’s hold, feeling your leg sizzle with agony as you put weight on it. Garrick mutters your name, and Soap clears his stuffed throat; coughing into the night. Ghost is the one who loops his arm under your shoulders when he strides up behind you, and you flinch at the contact before closing your eyes and feeling bitter tears drip down your cheeks.

“We’ll get ‘em back, Lion,” The man glances down at you, skeletal face glowing bone white, “I give you my word.” But you don’t answer, just grimace and will away the feelings in your heart and the vomit in the back of your throat. 

This is what John would want you to do, you know that – perhaps that was the only reason you were willing to leave and reevaluate at all – but, somehow, it still felt wrong. 

Akin to betrayal.

The ring around your neck suddenly weighed more than the numb flesh of your leg as tears smack the moss mutely.

—

Laswell is sitting in the meeting room as a nurse wraps your thigh tightly. The sutures underneath pull at your flesh; making it stretch at a touch of a finger as you stand upright. The others had pleaded with you to sit down, but nothing would sway you. Not even the needle that had been going through your skin when you refused pain medication. Being on your feet made you feel better – like you were about to do something which would stop the thinness of your breath and the jump of your heart. Your weight was mostly on your uninjured limb anyhow, shifting as the affected pant’s leg was cut lengthwise and shoved aside as the gauze slowly wrapped around and around.

“When are we going after him,” You ask Kate, rubbing the sleep from your eyes but only succeeding in spreading dirt and blood all over your sockets, “I’ll be ready in five if you need me to be. All of us will.”

“Damn right,” Kyle nods, “Just give the order.” 

The blonde sighs, and the other men in the room move on their feet in unease. No one was content sitting still – one of their own was missing. Soap in particular was taking it badly; almost as broken up as you about it.

“We can’t do anything,” Your rampaging heart clenches. You had been worried about that, “This mission was Black,” Laswell’s chair squeaks as she rises, a tablet in her hands and a scowl on her face, “Legally speaking, no one was ever in Finland in the first place. A blown power box was the cause of the explosion.”

“Kate–” Gaz growls, but Soap cuts him off.

“This is clatty, Laswell!” He crosses his arms, the mohawk on his head pressed down from being in a helmet for so long making him look unhinged. When the helicopter had dropped the Force off at base, a meeting had immediately been called; that was over three hours ago, and still, nothing had been done. It was precious time, “Send out drones, recon forces, anything. Hell, send us back in – we'll take care of this.”

“Sergeant MacTavish,” Kate stares at him, and she spares a quick glance at you as the nurse stands quickly and leaves. You clench your jaw. Without John being here the room felt empty, devoid of a very important figure; you were no leader, but what choice did you have but to take charge, “Price knew the risks, and…Black Op means no take backs. He’s been in this a long time.”

“We all have,” You whisper, grunting as a shiver of fire runs up your leg. 

In the back of your subconscious, you know everyone can see how shaken you are. Your eyes constantly rove to the corners as if shadows will suddenly take form and attack, your fingers twitch as if still around the trigger of a gun; when someone mentions John’s name your hand unconsciously reaches to grasp the ring around your neck. Gaz spares you looks, reaching up to fix the position of his ball cap with tense breaths. 

Inside, the thoughts were running faster than you could catch them. Every moment you spent with your Captain – dinner dates, gifts that you told him not to buy you but he did anyways…the list went on including the moments spent together. They were distracting you. He was distracting you.

Was this how it felt to lose a vital part of you? Like torture? But your person knows what torture was like – it had never felt as painful as this before. You couldn’t recall in your memory a time when your chest had been this wound tight, fingers so shaky and weak. Your brain was what you would consider your best companion in these situations…but this was different. Common sense had abandoned you in the form of a square brown-bearded face and strong arms.

God, John, You press your fingers into your eyes until you see stars, Please be okay. Please. I’ll be there soon. J-just wait for me.

There was another voice as well, telling you that if you just told yourself he was okay you could get through this easier. You could break later – you needed to focus on getting your husband back.

That was all that mattered.

Laswell scratches at the back of her neck, and your hands fall back to your sides.

“We can’t do anything,” Kate repeats, and the subtle change in phonics leads your head to snap up. Her deep blues were already staring at you; boring into your soul. The others perked up as well when your body stills, listening with predatory attention, “Shame. I heard the target was planning on being at a get-together in a week at his property in Poland.”

Your pulse stills, and you find your wavering voice, “...Can’t fault the man, he has a weapon-smuggling business to run…He’ll need more potential clients.”

“Hm,” The boys look back and forth with bright eyes, teeth showing as their lips peel back, “Affirm.” Laswell saunters to leave the room, slipping past you. But before she brushes against your shoulder her face tilts to you. You smell her scent – bark and coarse linen – as she speaks, “You might want to clean up the armory and get your gear repaired. John wouldn’t stand for his team looking like shit it if he was here.”

Kate saunters out the door, and you watch her back as the barrier closes, standing in silence. Sucking down a slow breath, your gaze filters back to the boys only to find them already staring at you. 

“Well,” Clearing your throat, your eyebrows twitch, “You heard her. We can’t do anything…officially.”

“I’d say we better go clean up, then,” Soap grunts, crossing his arms over his chest, and nodding his head to you, “Head off and get a good sleep.”

Gaz and Ghost spare glances, but look about as ready as you are. 

“You sure you’re up for this, Love?” Garrick asks motioning toward your leg with a head nod as he moves closer, “We have no problem doing this by ourselves.”

“I took my vows just the same as he did,” You respond immediately, gripping the younger man by the shoulder and sending a small, weak, smile, “You think he’d stay behind if it was me?”

“I think he’d rather let Soap make him tea again. And we know how that went last time.”

You huff out a sound that resembles a laugh, but the Scot in question refuses to look at you; your eyes catch Ghost sending you glances before he motions with his head to the man. Turning to Gaz you nod.

“You take Simon and get the gear ready. We’re leaving tomorrow first thing.”

“Copy, Ma’am.”

Ghost pats your skull once before disappearing, “Keep your head on, Lion.” 

The door once more closes, and silence overtakes the small room. Taking a deep breath that fills you with a wave of ease – even if for a moment – you focus on the second big problem after a brief second to close your eyes and think. 

Johnny.

He avoids your gaze; fidgets with his hands more than he usually does. The men of the 141 were dear to you and in a way, the entirety of it was a big family of people who really didn’t belong anywhere but with each other. You cared about them more than you cared about yourself – one of them was your husband, but the rest were your brothers. 

“You remember when I took a metal rod right through my lower leg?” You begin, hobbling closer and nearly laughing when the man takes a step forward to help with a grimace set on his lips. You raise a hand to stop him, “In Egypt about two summers ago?”

“You shoved me out of the way and got hurled through a window by a bastard with a knife, Hen. Landed in an industrial yard,” You stop a foot or two from him, attempting to get his attention while he stares at his feet and mutters like a kicked dog, “Yeah. Remember it clear as day. Price nearly had my head – knew right here that he was gonna marry you.”

The comment warms your heart.

“Did I ever blame you for standing near that window, Johnny?” You ask softly, tilting your head and catching his eye as he clenches his jaw in thought. The scar on the pale skin moves, and his stubble bunches.

“Never, Ma’am.”

“Then why would I ever blame you for an explosive that went off spontaneously – one that you didn’t even build in the first place?” 

He stays silent at that, but his head slowly rises to face yours fully. You had never seen him look so guilty before, those blue eyes of his so hopeless.  

“I couldn’t get ‘em out,” Soap whispers and before you know it you’re grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into an embrace, “I left him behind. How could I…?”

There was still blood on him, stuck in the makeup of his flesh like large bruises; dried, yes, but you nonetheless felt it. You found, though, that at that second, it didn’t bother you as much as it should have. The Sergeant’s arms hesitantly wrap around you and when you feel him press forward with his weight, your form loses tension. 

“No one blames you, Johnny,” He's shaking when you tell him, “No one. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Price,” Your throat tightens, “John knows how to handle himself, you know he would never be mad at you for retreating.”

Soap wetly laughs and places his chin on the top of your head; playing it off with a chuckle as the minutes stretch on, “I’ll just have to believe you then, Lion. Who’s to say I can go against my superior?”

Your arms tighten around him as a snort meets air, “You say that and when we get the real Captain back, I might not want to give up the position. The power’ll go straight to my head.”

“And it hasn’t already? Now that’s surprising, I could have sworn you were telling the others what to do not a second ago.”

There he was. 

—

“I’m just saying, John, Fantasy beat out Nonfiction as a genre,” You shake your head, bringing the cup of coffee to your lips and sipping. Over the rim, you watch the Brit toss his beanied head to the side in disbelief.

“Negative, Dear,” The Café was mostly empty today, considering that it was so late at night you were surprised it was still open and that it was a Tuesday, “I’ll agree to disagree.”

“Name me one Nonfiction book that beats ‘The Hobbit,’ hm?” Your eyebrow raises and you place the cup down, “That’s right – you can’t!” 

“‘The Guns of August’ to name one,” John raises a large brow, “do you want me to continue, Love? I’ve got quite the long list.” 

It was one of the rare moments when the two of you had Leave together – once in a blue moon. These moments were so special it became tradition to spend every moment together despite the wounds or the fatigue. You both had just gotten back from an Op and rushed to change into civilian clothes and clean up together before leaving.

Admittingly, the shower took a bit longer than expected, but who could blame the two of you for taking advantage of a chance to please one another? 

Across the table, your lover smirks, and you see his eyes dip to ogle the hickeys and beard burn on your neck with satisfaction. Under the table, you reel back a foot and kick his shin. Not hard, of course, but the message was received.

“Bloody Hell!” He sputters, looking back to glare comedically at you. His black athletic shirt was tight around his chest, making his muscles writhe under the fabric from where one arm sat over the back of his chair. You could imagine where you left nail marks down those abs of his; how his face had looked as you straddled his waist and used him.

“Don’t look so smug, bastard,” Your lips pull into an imitation of an annoyed frown, “Gaz is gonna make fun of me when we get back. I had a hard enough time trying to hide them when we were leaving!”

“Garrick?” John grunts from across the small table and the warm lights flicker above the two of you. His lips set forth a small smile, pulling his cheeks back and crinkling his eyes. The corner seat was the best in the café – allowing both privacy and a view of the windows and doors. Some things would just never die in the two of you, it seemed, “The Muppet can’t even pin you in drills, Sweetheart. If he teases you, just kick his legs out from under ‘em.”

“Encouraging violence between peers is not Captain behavior, Love. What would Laswell say?”

John grunts, “I couldn’t give a damn, Dear.”

While you roll your eyes and try to hide the adoring smile ripping open your skin at the man’s chuckle, you take notice of the street outside as time moves on. Staring out, your soft gaze dances over the illuminated areas of the street lights, finding old architecture and simply enjoying the scenery for what it was. When you were in the field, it was hard to take in the sights around you through the gun battles and tense situations; being able to take your time and admire was a gift. A calm silence falls over the café, and John hums gingerly from ahead of you as his knee brushes yours under the table.

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” Blinking, you connect your eyes with his lovely blues. 

The way he’s looking at you leaves your lungs tight, lashes fluttering over your cheeks as heat alights. His body had moved forward, hands and elbows on the table and leaning forward to gaze at you in reverence. 

“John?” Your eyebrows turn in, lips flicking to a gentle expression of giddy embarrassment.

“Shh, Love,” He mutters, tilting his head to stare at you as your fingers fix the weight of his lent brown leather jacket over your shoulders, “Let me admire my wife, yeah? She gets lovelier every second.”

In your own little world, your head is floating as your eyes stay locked on an ocean with flecks of silver and storms. The air is thick, and around the leather, your fingers twitch with a want to embrace him; pull at the fabric of his shirt and rip him into a kiss over the table. Your heart skips beats.

Where was this coming from? You want to ask, but all that comes out is a huff as you tear your half-lidded eyes away.

“You’re making me all shy,” You grumble cheeks hot and on fire under the flesh. Your lips try to restrain a giggle, but your chest is too tight to hold anymore.

“That’s my job, that is. No use tryin’ to stop me now; you’re stuck with me.”

“I will kick you again,” You emphasize as fire burns down your neck and ears, heart suddenly too big for your body.

“Hm, I’d let you.”

“J-Johnathan Price!”

His chest-shaking laughter is contagious in the best possible way.

—

He remembers the explosion and then nothing more. It was like a ball of fire, carried on the wind before Soap even had the time to call out a detonation time; the device went off in the deep tunnels after the order had already been given to fallback. The fire was too heavy – you had taken a blade to the thigh and that had been it. John had called it off immediately.

Just when he and Soap were about to rush to the exit, the bomb went off without call or meaning. The tunnels were part of an old wine cellar – the target had converted them to be a quick back exit if anything went wrong and he needed to disappear. 

The entire purpose of John taking Soap with him was to collapse the long stretches of rock and wooden support beams; to box Aarre Virtanen in the mansion like a bear in a trap but, of course, these missions could never go simply. 

He remembers the explosion, and then nothing more. 

The pressure of rock on his chest and gripping hands. Was Soap the one yelling at him to wake up? Shoving off the debris and ripping at his gear with grunted breaths? The barked orders were getting closer from all over.

Muppet, he should have just run. 

But then the heavy presence had disappeared, and John knew he had been left behind; his thoughts, before it all left him, were only of you. How would you take it? The fact that he wasn’t coming home with you was sure to induce you into a rampage of gritted teeth and hurled curses. That was, perhaps, the worst thing that could happen. He prayed for one simple thing – that, no matter what, the boys would convince you to hold back. 

And then he woke up in the room.

It was small; barren of anything besides the chair John was tied to. Under his feet was a drain, the silver metal glinting as the chilling overhead light cascaded down and left him blinking rapidly to push back the instinctual tears gathering in his ducts. As John moves his neck, it pops, making his jaw clench even as the bones ache deep under the layers of black and blue flesh.

His whole body hurts.

Blood is dried over his skin, and the world around him pulses as the stab of broken bones moves inside of him. 

Concussion, He assesses, moving his wrists under the tight hold of rope from where they’re restricted behind his back; tied to the back of the metal seat. Still unable to focus his eyes, he continues to go down the list of injuries, broken ribs, John sucks in a sharp breath when he attempts to rotate his left ankle, and broken Fibula and Tibia. Bruises and lacerations everywhere…shit.

But were you alright? Was the knife wound treated, wherever you were? Did Mactavish get out?

Groaning deep in his throat, the Captain shakes his head, noticing immediately the familiar weight of his gear was absent – his bucket hat and night-vision rig are gone as are the combat vest and M13. But under his shirt, one item is still there, pressed into his skin deeply. 

Golden metal. The wedding band. At the very least, that item could bring him a sliver of comfort.

Narrowing his eyelids and scrunching his large nose, a bead of blood travels down a gash above his eyebrow. 

“Fucken’ hell,” John growls, grunting and groaning as he forces his neck to right itself, lower body jerking forward to help relieve the pressure on his midsection. 

Finally, the water over his eyes dissipates like a wave in the ocean and his ears cease ringing. But the buzzing of the light quickly takes its place and his nose twitches at the stench of black mold and gore. Everything was concrete – the walls, floors. Blinking, John’s eyes quickly snap around the room to take it all in; trying to find the weak points that may come in handy later. 

There was only one door and no windows. When the Brit tried the rope around his wrists he found it was bound incredibly tight, even making the skin irritated at the slightest movement.

“Bloody bastard,” The Captain weakly mutters under his breath, shuffling in his seat, “First you stab my wife then you tie me up, is that it?” 

Struggling does nothing but serve to make John angrier, and the pain can easily be thrown to the side when his thoughts run to you. They always did, but now more than ever, considering he didn’t know if you had also gotten captured and were only a concrete barrier away.

While he tries to force down the floating feeling of his brain, a sharp cough works its way from his mouth, jerking his body back and forth raggedly. John is so out of it that he missed the sound of the door opening, the violent squeaking of the metal hinges, and the scrape of concrete. Heavy shoes pound over the floor, and when the air finally returns to his rampaging lungs, blue eyes lock onto the man.

 Aarre Virtanen stands with his hands behind his back, a smug expression staining his perfect, unscathed, face. The Target wasn’t more than thirty, dressed in a nice expensive suit and dress shoes on his feet shining with more polish than Price could begin to wrap his head around. 

Muppet, The characterization was almost instantaneous, Pompous little Muppet. Lion would eat ‘em for bloody breakfast.

John raises a brow slowly as a dribble of blood slides down his nose and gets caught in his beard hairs. The two men stare at one another, eyes clashing. 

“I’d like to imagine,” Aarre smirks down at the Captain, “That whoever sent you planned on my life being forfeit. Unfortunately,” John has to stop himself from laughing in his face, “As you can see, Sir, I am very much alive.”

Narrowing his gaze, Price runs down the length of Aarre’s twig-like form – Not much of a Smuggler, is he? His picture made him look bigger.

But all that meant was that he had others to do the dirty work for him, and John knew that, whatever basement he was cramped into, was guarded heavily just beyond eyesight. 

The chances of escape were drawing up dry, and his tongue ran over his teeth. 

“The real question is, however,” The thin man speaks, coming closer with a careful step. Nose twitching, the Brit can smell the disgusting odor of violent perfume; his head rears back in disgust that the Smuggler takes as fear. Aarre leans closer, “Who might you be? Your little friends managed to slip my grasp, but we got that bitch in the thigh–”

John’s head moves forward so fast all that was seen was a blur, and soon after a cracking of a nose meets damp air. 

A muffled yell echoes off the cracked walls like a satisfactory reward to the Captain’s ears, and the brown-haired individual quickly shakes his head to the side to clear the bouncing of his skull.

Definitely a concussion. He hisses and rips at the bindings behind his back; all that gets him is bloody skin and blisters.

“You,” Aarre is stumbling backward, one hand grasping his broken and bleeding nose. Crimson splatters on the floor and ragged breathing rattle chests from both parties, quivering around the room, “You…p-pathetic little shit. Fuck!”

His tears only serve to make John smile, cheeks pulling back as a humorless chuckle enters the air. Feral satisfaction lives in his flesh.

“You better watch your language there, Mutt. It’s not proper to insult a lady who can’t be here,” John’s tone drops, nearly a growl as the deep rumble leaves a hunched over Aarre flinching back; the Captain’s teeth are bared like an animal. Feet sound off in the hallways – rushing boots booking it down a set of descending stairs, “To knock your fucken’ teeth in herself!” 

Blood spits from John’s lips at the hiss, and his limp feet over the floor slump to the side as his legs fall open, body raging forward as if he could break the restraints. He wanted to – wanted to bash this little bastard's skull against the floor until he was unrecognizable. 

How dare he say that? How dare he call you that?!

Pain could be shoved aside in this case, his anger was so overpowering when it came to you that it simply didn’t bother him. You defended him just as religiously, and John’s mind flies to glimpse a fast memory of you physically getting in the face of a man who had insulted him over some pointless football game at a bar. 

“You better mind your tone,” You had spoken slowly, face calm and the perfect example of hidden rage shimmering under the surface. The Brit watched from the corner of his eye with a smirk on his lips; not at all opposed to letting you pick your battles and feeling his heart skip beats when his title falls, “When speaking to my husband like that.” 

Aarre’s guards rushed through the door, guns held in hands, all immediately leveled on John’s head. 

“Don’t!” The target gasps out, slapping one of the barrels to the floor and straightening himself, “Don’t.”

A deep smirk spreads the still-falling stream of crimson over the sides of his lips; the brown-haired man’s muscles are tense, stringing him up like a wire or a snake ready to strike. Torture was elementary to him, he’d gone through it all before and none of it had ever worked. He could take it, as long as you were far away from here.

“He’s going to have a buyer,” John’s eyes minutely widened in surprise, caught off guard, “Prep him for the flight to Poland. Don’t bother being gentle…the staff won’t mind if he comes in a bit damaged.”

—

Your fingers flinch forward as you shove the sapphire earring into your ear, the sharp point poking out the other end before you shove the backing on. Taking a deep breath, you feel the car under you bounce right as you ask your question.

“Gaz?” Lips thinning, you look through the limo’s glass separator and grimace at the man’s reflection in the mirror, “Are you sure no one knows what we look like? No one at the mansion saw our faces?”

“Lion, I’m promising you – it was too dark, and we were moving too fast for ‘em to get a clear picture.”

“Hm,” You grunt, flattening out the brown fur jacket over your form-fitting gown. The navy blue color was deep, reminding you of a Lapis Lazuli stone with veins of silver reflected in the jewelry around your throat and wrists. 

Poland was cold this time of year, and as the expensive buildings whizzed past just outside the glass, your breath created condensation. 

You were nervous, heeled feet shuffling over the tufted floor of the vehicle and sucking down slow breaths as a way to slow your heart. It had been a week without John at your side, and all the makeup in the world couldn’t hide the bags that had sprouted under your eyes; sleep had come in bouts of quick fatigue but then left just as swiftly. Your body wouldn't relax – couldn’t – until your husband was right beside you once more. 

And if he was already dead…

Your hand goes to itch at your neck, catching on the necklaces, one specifically, before you force it back down with quivering effort. Attempting to shake out your head, your ribs suddenly feel like they’re strangling your organs, and all you want to do is take off this damn dress.

Kyle utters your name from the driver’s seat, and when you blink over to look at him, you find his eyes already staring back.

“When I went missing in the Congo – you raised hell to go and find me,” He tells you, focus flicking back and forth from the road to you, “If anyone can get intel on Price and bring him back, Love, it’s you. He’ll be just fine until then, yeah? Bloke’s probably already out and rushing to get back to you.”

“Think so?” Your lips form a smile, and on your forehead, a brow raises. John was stubborn, there was certainly a chance he was already free.

“Know so, Ma’am. Just you wait and see.” Snorting, you return to looking out the window, breath now noticeably more even. 

There weren't many people who could make you keep a conscience; when you worked alone before 141 it was because no one else could keep up with your spontaneous plans or ideas. You were described in your file as a quick-witted and cunning nuisance for anyone on the opposite end of your weapon – whether that be your tongue or an actual gun just depended on the Op. But John and the other boys were more of a good influence than a bad one; in many ways, they were just the same as you. 

Sometimes it felt nice to have people that understood you. Your actions, the small tics that gave away how you were feeling. No one else could do it like Task Force 141, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The rest of the ride was silent, and soon the city was peeling back to show off more extravagant houses with iron gates and cobblestone walkways. Properties the size of football fields take up your view, and your eyes blink at the extravagance; all you can’t help but wonder about is if the people that live there even know how many rooms they have.

When Gaz makes the final turn onto Aarre Virtanen’s land, you suck down a deep breath. 

There were so many lights that the night sky is nearly re-illuminated with a bath of warmth – the people already inside can be heard out in the air, a chorus of phantoms just beyond eyesight who sing with alcoholic breath and gasp down smoke. You had been to many parties to infiltrate high-level organizations, but never had the stakes been so high. 

Or so illegal. 

When the car in front of you pulls out of the roundabout driveway, Garrick pushes on the gas to take its place. A moment of steel silence rings. 

“Earpiece?” Gaz reminds softly, and you nod in response, tapping the appendage on your right side.

“Earpiece.”

“Alright…The rest of us’ll be listening – I’ll circle ‘round and be inside in an hour and Ghost is already there. He’s the waiter wearing the silver Jackal mask serving champagne near the back window. If anything goes wrong, Soap’s our sniper on the roof of the neighbor's house. Say the word and he starts popping shots to give you an exit.”

“Affirm,” Your hand is already reaching for the door, but the man stops you one last time with your name. You find his creased eyes in the mirror, brown a deep shade of concern.

“...You look beautiful, Love, Yeah? I’m sorry the Cap. isn’t here to see you like this – he’d lose his damn mind. Go all slack-jawed and trip over his own feet; God, I’d pay to see that.”

Lips delicately slide into a smile, and your face heats at the compliment. Letting out a light chuckle, you whisper, “I’ll see you in an hour, Sergeant.” 

“Count on it. Stay out of trouble ‘till then?”

“Trouble? Since when have I ever gotten into trouble?” When you sneak out the door, a light chuckle bounces off the doors before they close, and your heels click against the ground like nails on a desk. 

With a bitter determination entering your blood, your expression eases into a look of smug superiority as you begin to move forward and ascend the steps in front of the mansion. 

Virtanen was inside those doors, and your ears twitch, listening to Gaz peel the car away into the night; plucking out the forged invitation from your jacket pocket, you can’t help but call John forward to memory. Carefully maneuvering your way up the last flight of stairs, you reach the doors and imagine your husband right behind you, clothed in a suit and tie like the one he wore to your wedding, waiting to take you by the arm and lend you strength. 

Keep me aware, You want to ask his phantom, Make me see the hidden details so I can bring you home to me. 

Invitation in hand – which Ghost had to go through quite the killing spree to get accurate – your lips flick into an easy smirk.

Your silver tongue would come in handy tonight, but you hoped you weren’t too tired to miss important social cues. You needed to figure out where John was by tonight, or there was the possibility of losing him forever. Aarre Virtanen was the target yet again, and you would do whatever was necessary to get information to spill from his mouth like prayers; the party was an obvious front to impress buyers. 

And you could play that part quintessentially. 

“Hello, Handsome,” Purring, you move fluidly, body swaying as you come to a stop, letting your fur jacket slip down around your elbows and display a delicious amount of skin around your adorned neck, “So sorry you’re stuck out here in the cold, I can’t imagine what a bore it’s been.”

The man couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, eyes wide as they bore into your form from behind a silver mask depicting a bird of prey. His eyes slip, and a very audible swallowing of saliva makes his throat jerk – the poor individual's face was undoubtedly beet-red, seen extending down his neck and ears. 

“I-It’s really no problem, Ma’am,” He stutters, grabbing the slip of paper from your outstretched hand and barely opening it before he shoves it back into your chest, “You’re all good! Please, enjoy the hospitality of Sir Aarre Virtanen to the fullest of your abilities.”

“Why,” You show an all-teeth smile, “I’m sure I will.” 

Slipping through when he opens the door, a woman in a cat mask offers to take your jacket to the coatroom, which you agree to immediately, and disappears a second later. 

“Did you just flirt with the doorman, Hen?” Soap’s voice nearly startles you, but with a subtle flick of your hair, you play off the flinch as you step through the extensive foyer; slipping past other well-dressed individuals to make it to the ballroom, “Tch, naughty, naughty.”

“You’d be surprised,” You mutter and send a polite smile to a man who ogles your form, his eyes boring into your flesh, “How fast people can look over an invitation if you give them an incentive. Simon’s forger misspelled the street name.”

“Bloody fucken’ bastard,” Ghost growls lowly under the line. 

“So vulgar, Simon,” You smirk, waltzing into the marble-floored ballroom and clearing yourself a path with wide eyes and stares, “We’re at a party. Aren’t you excited?”

“You’re not the one holding a damn plate of champagne, Little Lion. Feelin’ like I might bash someone over the head if they wave me over with a fucken’ finger again. Like I’m some damn mutt.”

Stifling a deep laugh, your fingers splay over your lips, “Easy, boy. Don’t go barking up the wrong tree.”

All you hear in return is a grumble and a muffled giggle from Soap. Gaz is most likely scrambling to get his tux on and tie a bowtie like how you taught him on the far street corner back in the city. Slowly, but surely, it was coming together. 

Soon, You tell yourself and imagine a steady hand splayed over your back; digging into your skin.

“Excuse me?” A presence slips up to your left, and you turn with a slow head and an even slower smile. Already, your cheeks were hurting from the constant fake expression.

“Oh, hello, Love,” It’s a man who wears an all-black outfit, fitted with silver buttons and a red pocket square, “How can I help you?”

“That’s one of the target’s guards,” Soap slithers out over the line, “Saw ‘em scheming not five minutes ago near the snack bar.” 

“I was wondering if such a beautiful woman might not humor me. I’m in desperate need of company for the auction later this evening.” Your smile turns deadly, a glint forming in your eye that should have deterred anyone who saw it – but sometimes people overlook the snake in the grass if it’s pretty, regardless of its fangs. 

Getting close to this man got you close to Aarre. Your hand reaches up to caress the wedding ring on its chain.

“Well, how could I say no to such a dashing man? But you must tell me, where did you purchase your tux? My brother has been looking for one that looks the same; you understand, of course, the kind that hugs the body just right…”

—

“You’re a fucken’ minx, you are,” John moans under you, hips sputtering and jaw clenched. He’s panting as you finally slip off of him, choosing to collapse to the bed just by his side with a breathy sigh. Your legs are still shaking, but the deep-rooted ache of pleasure takes hold in your lower body nonetheless.

Chuckling while sucking down breaths, you smirk and turn your head to the side, finding deep blue already digging into your skin despite the glaze over the orbs. Perspiration leaks down his flushed forehead, getting caught in the hairs of his eyebrow before you reach up, and flick it away with a firm finger.

“And you’re a lousy bottom, Captain, how many times did I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself?” You ask, eyeing the way the brown strands of John’s hair stick up at odd angles with growing amusement. He looked like a porcupine, “You don’t listen very well. I’ll have to fix that.”

“Damn woman,” He groans, turning his head away with a huff escaping his lips. Your ears twitch when he cracks his neck, stifling a chortle behind your fingers as he levels you with an unamused look, “Need to figure out a way to tire you out quicker. Gettin’ too old for this.”

“Hm,” Rolling your eyes, you shift till you’re laying on your stomach, legs sliding over the ruffled sheets, “I like you like this. Just perfect.”

“Yeah? Tell that to my hips, Love.” Now that really gets a laugh out of you, hiding your face down in the covers for a moment and feeling John’s eyes lovingly gracing down the curve of your spine.

Reaching over, your fingers grab onto the bare skin of his toned thigh and pinch.

Grunting in surprise, the Captain’s hand snaps to your wrist and grasps it as your giggles fill the air with softness. You turn your head up and rest your chin on your free hand, looking over and letting your eyes wash down John’s physique; a primal sense of possessiveness leaks into you when you know no one else gets to see him like this. The nail marks track down his pecks, over his abs and deliciously lower atop his navel, and over his neck and collarbone is the fresh array of black and blue hickeys. Just like you, his heart was still racing, seen moving under the skin.

He looked positively, beautifully, wrecked. The Captain’s eyes never left yours, side-eyeing you with a half-open mouth. A small sigh leaves his red lips.

“C’mere,” John mutters, and you squeak when his grip is suddenly pulling you right up next to his chest so that you were more than half lying on top of him. 

Moaning out in contentment when you feel his heat leak into you, your body goes limp against the man; leg thrown over his upper thigh. Eyelashes flutter over your cheek when his large hand keeps you against him, settling on your ass heavily. He squeezes gently in payback for the pinch, and you smile, knowing he can feel it against his chest by the way he purrs like a cat as you press a kiss to his sweat-slick flesh.

The moment of content silence leads long, but just when your eyelids are nearing their final shut is when you hear it, muttered on teeth-bitten lips for the first time, though it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Love you, my Sweet Girl,” John mutters deeply into the air, but you’re already drowned in sleep, satisfied and more at ease than ever before.  

But no matter, he’d just tell you again in the morning; make you say the same as he gripped your hips and used his tongue for more…carnal types of confessions. 

You had no idea at that moment, but two years from that day, you’d both be married. Husband and wife in every sense – bonded and promised to each other until the sun and moon collided; till every city burned and only dust remained. 

There was really no other pair so carefully crafted than the two of you. 

—

“Here you are, Lovely,” The guard, whose name is Mikael, hands you a champagne glass as you both stride forward to the bidding room. It had been two hours of entertaining this man – dancing, flirting, brushing off compliments that made you want to hurl – but none of that mattered. No matter the cost, you would see this done with a smile and a knife through Virtanen’s eye.

“Thank you,” You sing, toasting with him and taking a slow sip. The liquid sits bitterly in your stomach, a rock that bounces around with every clipped step. 

Choosing back-row seats, you sit in what could be described as a theater of sorts and place the glass on the floor. There was a large stage at the front, with rows upon rows of plush chairs.

How many people are here to buy smuggled contraband? You can’t help but wonder silently, eyes wide as more and more people flood through the doors.

“Do you usually get so many buyers?” Asking Mikael sweetly, you keep your gaze moving, filing every face into the back of your mind for later. 

His hand moves to rest on the back of your seat, and you have to hold back a grimace, “This is more than the last times, but, uh…well,” Sensing hesitation, you shift closer and peer up into his eyes, blinking innocently and smiling.

“Well…what?” 

You swore you heard Soap gag over the line and soon after a sharp shushing sound. At your side, Mikael’s expression gets giddy, pupils dilating as his vision darts down to your dress before righting itself. 

“My boss has got something good tonight – a new piece of merchandise that everyone wants to get their hands on. Apparently, some people here have been waiting for a score like this for years.”

“Oh?” Wondering aloud, you lean back out of Mikael’s hold with a furrowed brow and ignore his light huff of annoyance in your ear. 

Narrowing your eyes, you scrunch your nose at the thought.

‘New piece of merchandise?’ What the hell could that mean? The target mostly specializes in weapons – certain ones that are manufactured so that they can’t be traced…what could be so new?

“It’s starting, here,” The guard whispers as the lights dim, and hands you a golden-colored bid paddle designed with lace-like designs. You twirl it in your hands with an unimpressed look.

“How pompous can this guy get?” You mutter under your breath and startle when Ghost’s voice pipes up.

“Get me a new G18, yeah? Johnny lost my last one.” Resisting the sudden urge to cover up your face and hide your smile, you lightly hum in the back of your throat.

“I did not!” Soap starts a ruckus as the Auctioneer comes onto the stage, and you ignore the fast man’s voice as he begins a bid for a stack of RPGs – wheeled out in a crate by three other individuals in animal masks – in favor of the amusing argument, “I told ya’ where you could blood find it.”

“It was in the middle of an active war zone, MacTavish.”

“You’ve never complained about it before, ya’ bawbag. Canny be my fault if you don’t go an’ get it.” The Scots accent gets more prominent as the Auctioneer sells the current merchandise to a couple sitting two rows down, “‘I lost it’...utter shite.”

Gaz groans and you see a shadow near the door, leaning on the wood from the corner of your eye. The badly presented bowtie gives away who it is – you’d have to have John teach him how to do it properly when you got him back.

“Would the two of you shut up? Bloody hell, I’m about to scream.” 

The bickering went on for a while, making your tight chest just a little looser. John would be proud of them. 

“Finally,” The Auctioneer calls out, yelling over the crowd, “The grand attraction for tonight – a product put forward by our esteemed host Mr. Virtanen!” 

Your body straightens, spine tensing, as Mikael tries to get your attention fruitlessly to talk about a product he won. You ignore the guard, watching with a unique type of hatred as the weasel of a man swishes his way on stage from behind the red curtain. Immediately all conversation in your ear is halted, and try as you might, a growl builds in your throat.

“Easy, Lion,” Simon mutters, but all you see is red; red around an expensive tux and a lithe form of the man who had stolen away your husband from you without thinking of the consequences. The bandages over his nose gives you cruel satisfaction that someone, whoever they were, had gotten a hit in.

You had half the mind to tell Soap to take the shot but knew that if you did, John would be lost forever. Your Captain had always said violence and timing were the most important aspects of a mission – you had to politely disagree. 

Ops could be accomplished without violence, though it was rare, it could still happen on occasion and timing was all relative. One person could say it was time to act while a million others disagreed; this was shown in your case. You wanted to rush the stage, tackle the thief, and beat his head in – Gaz, Soap, and Ghost would all disagree, of course, but that was because you were thinking only about John and nothing else. 

What really mattered was cunning and drive. You had the silver tongue, and you, without a doubt, had the drive to see this through. 

But nothing could have prepared you for what came next. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aarre Virtanen called out, his thin face ugly and punchable, “May I present the star of tonight's bidding wars – an esteemed and highly sought-after mystery man! Captain Jonathan Price!” 

The curtain rolled back, and, tied to a chair with a light shining above his head, was John. Beaten. Bloodied. Barely recognizable besides the tufts of his brown locks and the glittering of golden metal under the ragged remains of his clothes. You can see his wedding band around his neck, and you go to grip your own in a flashing second. There was so much blood. Your heart ceased working, body suddenly very numb and stone-still despite the heat in it, as if you had been shot in the throat and all you could do was gasp out in panic. And gasp you did. It was involuntary, instinctual, like you could feel every ounce of pain and agony that he was undoubtedly in deep in your own marrow. 

What?! 

A loud, horrified, sound rips from your throat; the air was hard to suck down as your hand snapped to your mouth, muffling the exclamation of terror. Your eyes are so wide you’re afraid they’ll pop out of their sockets as you lightly hunch into yourself like a bug.

“Now, now!” Aarre Virtanen continues over the muttering of the crowd, oblivious to your panic in the back row. Mikael is giving you strange looks, lightly pulling away from you in confusion at your reaction; you don't register any of it, “I know what you’re thinking, my lovely patrons, but I can say without a doubt that this man–” He points to the limp figure, “Is the one and only Johnathan Price! Do you want to know why?” The crowd cheers, and in that instant you want to torch the entire building and laugh as it burns to the ground, “Because he and his precious 141 tried to attack me on my own property! The idiot’s explosive went off before they could run!”

Over the ruckus of gleeful laughter, Soap on the line is hissing curses under his breath, voice heated and full of hatred. 

What I’m I supposed to do? Your mind’s running. For the first time in your career, you can’t focus clearly. Gaz is saying something in your ear, his shadow slinking closer step-by-step, and Ghost is nowhere to be seen or heard. 

Oh, John, You feel like crying, eyes running from one injury to another as if he were just a punching bag – his body was broken, but still, you knew he hadn’t given anything away. In the chair, you can see the small inhalations of his lungs, jumpy and shaking, but he was still breathing.

“How did they figure out his name?” Simon grunts over the line, and his tone is the only one unaffected by emotion, even if you could feel the anger wafting out and mirroring your own. 

His dog tags, You want to tell them, He keeps them in his vest pocket because he said he wanted to wear his wedding band instead. 

Your hand tightens over your matching piece, one half of a promise to protect one another even in the direst of circumstances. 

Freezing, you snap back into focus as the bidding starts with Aarre Virtanen laughing and clapping on stage like some demented jester. So be it. Your mind halts and a rage-induced calm encompasses you as your eyes stick like glue to John. Tossing the joke of a bid paddle at a startled Mikael’s lap and slipping past him, your heels connect with the floor with muffled thumps, carrying you down the middle of the aisle. 

“Ma’am–!”

“Lion, what in the bloody hell are you doing?!”

“Playing the game,” You growl over the chaos in the comm, “Gaz, find a way to get on stage from behind one of the curtains,” People are starting to turn and look at you now, accusing glances that bounce off you like flies, “Soap, have a line of sight of the target – do not let him stray from it no matter what. And Ghost,” Your heart is speeding when Virtanen’s gaze snaps to yours, expression blanking. John groans weakly from where his head is downturned, and you can’t help but take a shaky breath at the sound, “Go find out where they store the sold items. Find something that’ll come in handy. Take out anyone you need, I give full Execute Authority.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” They all say it at once, and the line goes silent not a second after, flipped off so everyone can remain focused. Steeling your body, you put on a cloak of indifference, even as your eyes bug and sweat stains your palms – the stakes had never been this high, and if you messed this up…

The both of you would be going home in body bags. 

If I had known he was going to be here, I would have come more prepared. A knife in a carry bag or a hairpin – Something. But John had stated before that he loved you for your intuition. 

You simply needed to move your pawn piece and hope it wasn’t in the way of a bishop.

Sliding over your husband's slumped body once more, you have to rip your gaze away, else your cover be blown and everything falls apart before it’s begun as a sting forms in the back of your nose.

Just a little longer, Love, just hold out a little bit longer.

The Auctioneer halts when you stand just below the slightly higher plateau of the platform, and Aarre digs into your body with his dead face, body bent to stare down at you. All around you, the world is deathly quiet. A minute…two…

“And who might this be?” Virtanen spits, lips pulling into a sneer as his eyes crinkle, “I don’t have to tell you, Dear, that all purchases are final.”

Don’t look at John. Don’t look at him. 

“You said this is Johnathan Price?” Your voice carries; it's stronger than you would have imagined, even as your legs shake, “Well, I don’t believe you.” You swore then that your Captain’s head moved slightly, his face turning to the side, but you can’t be sure. 

Gasps are hidden behind hands and handkerchiefs.

“...What?” The smug look on the man's face falls in an instant, just as you had hoped it would – Virtanen relied on his power; ego, and unquestioned superiority. What you had to do first was break it down to a point where he was frothing at the mouth, “What is it that you are implying? That I would…lie to my loyal customers?!”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Your feet carry you away to the stairs, scaling them up to the stage and shoving past shell-shocked guards who didn’t know what to do, “Where’s the proof, Mr. Virtanen? I believe I would like to see it before I make any definitive financial choices. You could be selling us any stray British man you found on the street and we’d be none the wiser for it.”

There was a pause before a murmur of agreement from the crowd. 

Aarre gapes at you, mouth opening and closing as his face gains a red sheen, blood rushing to his head and making his eyes rapidly flutter from the guests to you. Swallowing down saliva, you saunter up to John, fingers shaking as they reach out to brush his arm. You nearly break when his flesh flinches and becomes tense, muscles writhing as you hook a finger under his chin all too aware of the eyes on you from every angle. It helps that one of them is Soap, though.

Looping the digit under him, John’s beard scratches your skin just like it always did when you ran your hands over his cheeks or around his square face. Moving his head up, your grip vibrates with anxiety when you’re finally able to take a full look at his visage. 

Please be okay, Love.

You can’t help the widening of your eyes when they lock on the bruises, the cuts, and scratches littering his large nose and forehead. His eyelids flutter over sunken cheeks, bags of severe color under his orbs as a rumble echoes in his battered chest.

Did they even feed him?

“I don’t – I don’t like what you’re implying, Miss!” The Target continues to prattle, but already your shoulders have squared, “I would never, in a million years, make such false claims–!”

When John’s eyes shutter open you seem to forget where you are entirely, head completely going silent off all fears or concerns. As the lids slide back, you notice one optic is bathed in red – the veins in the gentle sensory organ having been popped by relentless fists…but the other, oh, oh, the other. A shade so familiar it twists your lips and makes your heart clench. Storm gray; ocean blue, flecks of moonlight trapped just for you. 

John’s focus is blurry, his mind confused and in need of a dark room with a glass of chilled whiskey to put on his forehead, but...that finger under his chin. His gaze narrows, lips pulling tight under his beard hairs as a shadow stands in front of him. Why did it feel so familiar? So…warm? 

“John?” A soft voice graces his ears, leaving them twitching as his arms burn more than a thousand suns, “John, please, look at me.” 

His face scrunches, eyebrows turning in. Blinking, the man only succeeds for a few moments, consciousness so rapidly fading because of the wear on his body, but a few moments was all he needed. 

It was you – looking at him with terrified eyes, mouth slightly parted in awe. John’s heart skips beats. 

She’s here? He questions, weakly moving his arms to try and embrace her before the rope stops his bloodied and shredded hands, Why? How? And…oh hell, is that a dress?

Blinking at the navy gown, his eyes widened at the heavenly sight in front of him. Was he dead? No, he realized, you wouldn’t be here if he was. But that was the only option to see something like this in front of him when he was where he currently was. 

“L-love?” He gasps out, letting his full weight fall into your hold. 

Your hand brushes over his beard, tangling in the bristles and flinching at the open wounds that you find. 

“It’s me,” You whimper, “I’m right here.” 

If possible, he gravitates toward you even more.

“--Are you even listening?!” Aarre Virtanen yells, and people are standing from their seats out in the crowd, calling out in confusion. 

John murmurs out comments from under your grip, but they’re so weak you can’t make them out as he nuzzles your limb. From the corner of your eye, a figure rustles one of the stage curtains, held back in the shadows.

“I’m here,” Gaz says a second before Simon does.

“I found something that might come in handy...When I throw it, get Price out of there and take cover.”

“Soap?” You ask, voice low and gaining a sheen of ice. Slowly, your head tilts to the side, gripping your husband by the back of the head and drawing him to your stomach, caressing his scalp through his hair as he sighs into your dress.

“Yes, Ma’am?” 

“Take it.”

“...With pleasure.” The ear-ringing shot fires off, breaking glass and rustling half-drawn curtains, but it meets its mark with expert precision. 

Aarre Virtanen’s head pops like a balloon, and a moment later a smoke bomb is being chucked from halfway across the room by a Jackal-masked waiter with a strong arm. Before the guards can even get to their pistols around their thighs, Gaz has rushed through the smoke and sliced John’s bonds with a serrated cake knife. Both of you grab your Captain by one of his arms and drag him off to the side, disappearing just as the first screams wail out. 

The 141 works like a well-oiled machine, and not five minutes later everyone is in the limo that Gaz had re-driven and parked down the dark roads of Poland, rushing off as you press table cloths against your husband’s leaking cuts. Tears dribble down your cheeks, with large hiccuped gasps as you lean over John – who could only barely keep his eyes open to look at you as Soap and Ghost watch anxiously from their seats. 

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, y’know that,” You sob out, practically sitting on top of him to stop the crimson leaking over the cushions, “I need to keep a bell on you, my Love.”

Your wedding band sways just above his face, and his own glints below you, bunched on his collarbone.

“Go on,” He says in a low voice, eyes incredibly soft but still distant in a way that told you he was concussed. It was a miracle he was even conscious if you could admit it to yourself.

The man’s shaking hand travels to your cheek, brushing away tear tracks only to leave blood stains behind instead. He pulls away slightly, staring at the mark in disgust as his complexion gets even paler. Snapping your grip up, you bring it back, making him cup your flesh in his big hands and splay his fingers over your ear and weave into your hair. 

John hums under his breath, “Beautiful.”

Then he goes limp, and you start screaming.

—

Stripping your face of makeup, you step into the shower with only your necklace on, letting the water slap against your head as you take a deep breath in. You lean forward, letting your head connect with the porcelain of the hospital’s washroom as your body begins to shake – finally allowed to fall apart and feel the genuine horror that had lived in you for a week straight.

John was just a door away in the hard bed of some random hospital Gaz had driven to. Quite recklessly, you should mention, but it’s not like it mattered. 

Ghost was on the phone with Laswell, getting a protection detail in case anyone attempted to break into the room and stab someone with a scalpel, while Gaz and Soap also got ready for sleep. No one was leaving the hospital tonight. Garrick had explained the situation in broken Polish to the local authorities, and the staff was kind enough to give out a free office room with pillows and blankets. It was a good thing that the room was connected to John’s, otherwise, you might have refused…even if the bags under your eyes threatened to block your line of sight.

Wiping blood and grime from your body, you take less time than you should have in the shower – too occupied with being by your husband's bedside. The new stitches on your recently ripped-open thigh wound were red with irritation, but you had all but forgotten about it entirely. 

They had only just gotten John stable an hour ago. 

“They, uh,” Gaz’s eyelids crease, “I think they said that they had to re-” He halts, face going slack, and sending you a slow look, “restart his heart.”

“They nearly beat him to death,” You whisper, hands coming up to weave over the top of your head as you sob into the wall, “They…God, John. I was nearly too late.” 

Your words trail off in a weak whimper, muffled over the sound of water and the whirring fan in the ceiling. What if you had been five minutes late? Three? Would he have…

Would he have died in your arms?

You spend the rest of the shower wondering, and as you dry yourself off and slip into sweats and a hoodie from the gift shop, your tears splatter the floor. Rubbing your nose, you sniffle; reaching to grab the ring and pull the chain out above the fabric. Your fingers caress the item for a minute or two, and your eyes flutter shut. 

He’s okay, You tell yourself, He’s just a door away. He’s alive.

You open the door and let the steam waft, itching at your neck before you take a steadying breath. John lays still on the hospital bed, body hooked to machines that display screens and vital signs with glitching green lights that pierce your eyes as if a mocking little beast was behind the glass. 

Your husband’s wounds are all stitched and glued back together; wrapped tightly and tucked in by your gentle hands with an extra blanket. He usually complained about how cold it was back at your shared flat in London and around the multiple bases the Force traveled to…you would hate for him to shiver here. 

It was the least you could do.

Drawing your eyebrows in, the red ring around your eyes doesn’t help the sting, but still, you gaze at your husband with all the tender concern in the world. 

If was determined, then, that you wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was awake; until you saw his eyes soften on your figure. Until he was tracing the very makeup of your genetics like no other being could even have a glimpse of you in their features – like the aspects of your form were holy and utterly unique, never seen besides out of legend and fable. You longed to bathe his flesh in the feeling of your touch. If you believed it hard enough, you could convince yourself that you could make him forget this ordeal, forget the wounds. 

But you were no fool. A cunning nuisance, perhaps, but not a fool. 

All you could do was wait for him to wake up, and so your socked feet carry over the tile and bring you to the chairs beside the bed, grabbing one and pulling it out. Your fingers intertwined with his, weaving the calloused pads and scared flesh that mirrored your own like an echo of history together. 

Bringing his limb to your face, you rest your forehead on it, feeling the pump of his blood like a hymn and letting it calm you. A presence in the room makes your once closed eye crack open, slipping to the side. You had only just noticed him.

I really must be tired.

“Doctors say he’s stable,” Gaz mutters lowly, leaning against the wall in the far corner. It was like he had known you wanted someone to watch John while you couldn’t – even if only for a few minutes, “They came in while you were showering” 

Your lungs inflate, “...Thank you, Kyle.” 

You feel his eyes on you, but as you lay a gentle kiss on your husband's knuckles he speaks once more.

“You sure you don’t want to get some rest, Love? It’s late, y’know – sun’s gonna come up in a few hours around here.” It was a nice concern, and you knew that after Ghost’s call with Laswell that he’d get some sleep as well; Johnny was already snoring away, the sound nearly heard through the walls. 

Gaz, well…

“And am I to expect my Sergeant to get some rest if I do that?” Your voice is hoarse and weighed down, but the message is clear. The man lets out a chuckle, pushing off the wall and coming over to you. He rests a hand on your shoulder and you lean into it.

“I have no problem watching over him for you – he’s my Captain too, Lion. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you have to carry the burden more than the rest of us.”

If you could have rolled your eyes, you would have. A teasing tone sneaks into your words as you snort.

“Gaz, and I mean this in the best possible way,” Your lips utter out, still gazing at John’s face as it scrunches and twitches in his sleep, “Respectfully, fuck off, yeah?”

A moment of silence passes before a thick laugh echoes out over the room.

“You act a lot like Cap. when he’s out of commission, Ma’am.”

“Of course I do,” Your grip travels up John’s arm, tracing old blemishes and kissing across bruises, “If he brings all the hard-headedness away with him, none of you lot would get anything done.”

An easy air keeps the both of you in a tight embrace and Garrick’s hand squeezes for a moment; a piece of you breaks open as your gaze slips to the floor.

“I’ll take the night shift. Please, I…,” Your voice borders on unheard, “I can’t sleep until he’s awake.”

He sighs but nods his head.

“Say no more. If you need anything, and I mean anything, you just come get me, yeah? Don’t worry if you have to be loud – been trying to get used to waking up abruptly anyways.” His hand disappears, and you huff.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. You better.” Gaz’s feet carry him away and through the side door, slipping into the office. A rustling of thin cotton is heard a moment later before the door completely closes on its own. 

You stay in that chair for another hour and a half before John moves an inch. When you feel his finger twitch you jerk up, drool falling from your chin to the sheets before you wipe it off.

“John?” Breathing out a gasp, you shake your head to focus better, and pause when his hold on your hand suddenly gains strength. Your heart soars.

“...Love,” He grunts out, face scrunched, and tense. 

At that moment you swear your body loses all weight, and you pull the chair closer as you wetly speak.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here. D-don’t move too much, just let the painkillers work.”

“Bloody things make my damn head lose,” He groans, head falling to the side on the pillow as his eyes flutter open. 

You place his knuckles to your lips to hide the shuttered breath you take when you see his eyes – even if one was still red. It was still your John. 

He looks at you for a moment, eyes glazed, with his jaw clenching and unclenching to gain bearing. The covers hide his chest, but you hear the way he breathes as his messed-up bedhead leaves you chuckling. But the longer you were chuckling, the more you wanted to cry, and soon nothing could stop the swell of vile sobs falling from your mouth. 

“Oh,” John whispers out, voice weak as his digits twitch under your shaking lips, “C’mere, Love. None of that, now.” 

Your body falls forward, and the man hides the grunt in his chest when you unintentionally hit his ribs as you burrow closer into his side. He doesn’t mind. John’s hand goes to the back of your head, weaving through the strands as the covers catch your tears – he’s looking down at you with such blatant worry it hurts. 

He shouldn’t be worried about me, look what happened. He’s in the fucking hospital.

“Y-You,” You’re gasping for breath, chest tight and vibrating. ‘Take a breath’ it tries to tell you, but getting the words out was more important. John’s hand gets tighter, and he longs to kiss your forehead, “I didn’t know if you were dead, a-and then when they had you on stage I was trying so hard to keep it together, John. But…but then you were bleeding all over the car and I was screaming at you too–”

“Breathe,” Your husband pleads, authority leaking into the comment, “Please, Dear, take a breath for me, Yeah? I’m right here.” 

You weep but do as he says, feeling the muscles under your grip move as he shifts his weight. Taking a deep breath, your nose is shoved into the fabric of the blankets, inhaling John’s scent and letting it encompass you entirely. 

He was there. He was right there. 

Letting out one last whine, your Captain prompts you to lift your head with a muted brush of his finger over your scalp. Pulling yourself up, you scrunch the bedding in your hands around John’s waist, practically leaning all the way over him. It was a good thing the bed wasn’t too high. 

He smiles softly down at you, his grip moving to slip past your eyebrow and swipe away the salty water that itches your chin, “There she is. My beautiful wife”

Your watery chuckle wraps him in more warmth than any blanket ever could. 

“Do you need anything?” You mutter after a minute of staring into each other’s eyes, head tilting to the side as your heart rate finally slows to a pace that copies John’s. 

One of your hands goes to smooth his hair, carefully flattening down the patches and being mindful of the bandages and band aids over his visage. You swear he purrs at you, body rumbling under your chest.

He doesn’t answer right away, instead focusing on mapping out your face – as if for the first time. But when he does speak he brushes off the question entirely.

“I had a dream.”

“A good one?” You ask immediately, voice equally as low and vulnerable as his. In his orbs, you see stars blinking with every movement, deep hues of blue in every shade.

“Hm,” He affirms, a slow smile blossoming on his lips, “You were there.”

“That, my love, could mean many things.”

“No. Only one, Mrs. Price,” Your eyebrows raise, eyes watering as rogue drops tracks fall down your cheeks once more. 

It was all so much. Getting him back; seeing him like this, having him talk to you like that again – with all the love in the world. He was beaten, but alive, and already awake beside the gargantuan odds.

But you didn’t marry him just because you thought he was buff and could give you a good time. You married him because he was John, and no one else could be.

John’s gaze washes over you, narrowed in that expression he always had on his face when he’s thinking. When he’s studying you with more care than anyone has in your entire life. Like he could figure out everything and anything about you in the way your lips curved, or how you looked at him so delicately as if he was made of glass and not stone or metal. 

He could never understand how you loved him so much, how every bit of stardust was reflected into your body and leaked out of you whenever you moved. 

How he managed to get you by his side…well, he’d never know. But the feeling was mutual.

“Oh,” Your thumb caresses his cheek, running over the bristles and skimming over the skin, “And what’s that, Mr. Price?”

“..Means I’ve been blessed to see you not only when I open my eyes…but when I close ‘em too.”

In Poland, two people are finally able to press their lips together for the first time in a long while; they themselves would say it felt like ages. That was expected, naturally, because a match such as the one made between you and Jonathan Price was forged with steel and tempered in rough waters. Nothing could break it.

Their wedding bands clink together as they pull back, glinting gold more vibrant than the sun…but not quite as warm or adoring as the looks in their eyes.

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​

[pandorafairy]

Fire of Souls

Part 2: An Expedition

Enemies to Lovers

Tsu'tey x Reader (younger sister of Jake Sully, dreamwalker)

Anything written in italics is spoken in Na'vi

My direhorse drinks calmly from the pond as I watch Jake attempt to mount his steed. Neytiri stands beside him, her hands on her hips and amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Steady, Jake!’ 

“Argh!” He yells like a banshee and jumps on top of the direhorse. The creature shifts uncomfortably as Jake settles on his back. I raise an eyebrow and pat the animal beneath me. On Earth, I rode horses all the time but direhorse are something entirely different. The first time I sat on top of one; I felt immediately at home, it came so naturally to me. Jake on the other hand… 

“Make tsaheylu,” Neytiri calls to him. Jake whips his hair around and connects to the direhorse. The animal freezes before stepping back nervously and shooting off into the forest. Jake holds on for a moment, then loses his grip. He flies into a pile of mud with a groan. Neytiri and I  laugh instantly. 

“Thanks for the support guys,” Jake mumbles as he crawls to his feet.

Suddenly, the forest begins to rumble, the sound of hooves pierce through the air. Three direhorses break through the treeline, each one with a rider. Tsu’tey is in front of the pack, his head held high. My lips immediately turn downwards at the sight of his face. 

For the past two weeks, I’ve been training with Neytiri and my brother. Tsu’tey keeps his distance but sometimes he’ll stop by and say something belittling. He usually targets Jake and avoids eye contact with me. Sometimes I stare at him with all my might, challenging him to look me in my eyes, but he never does. The way he ignores me is infuriating. Tsu’tey and his companions stop before us, their direhorses breathing heavily. They look incredibly self righteous, especially Tsu’tey with his permanently etched scowl. 

Neytiri crosses her arms, clearly expecting trouble. Tsu’tey and his friends burst into laughter as they stare at Jake, covered in mud. Tsu’tey looks at Neytiri and cocks his head to the side. “What did I tell you? They’ll never learn.”

His words grind against my brain as anger pools in my stomach. Jake glares up at Tsu’tey, “Got a problem? Say it in English.”

I tell my direhorse to move towards Jake. Tsu’tey flinches slightly as I come closer but his eyes remain trained on Neytiri. He never speaks to me, not since my first night here. But everytime we're close to each other, the space between us grows hotter, filling with distaste and loathing. The tension circulates around me as I stop my direhorse right in front of him. I’m tired of him ignoring me. Actually, I’m tired of him in general. I set my mouth in a straight line as my direhorse blows out an irritated puff of air.

Tsu’tey’s head snaps towards me at the sound. His friends look at each other in surprise but Tsu’tey just deepens his frown. His eyes trace my legs, clearly noticing my natural posture on my direhorse. A smug look covers my face. That’s right asshole, two can ride a horse.

Tsu’tey shakes his head bitterly before staring at Jake. “You should go.”

“You’d miss me too much,” Jake replies. I choke back a laugh. 

Tsu’tey’s rolls his wide shoulders as his companions shout rude remarks at my brother in Na’vi. Tsu’tey’s nostrils are flared and his strong chest is blown out. I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face. Something about seeing Tsu’tey worked up…

“What’s wrong?” I mock. Tsu’tey turns his head slowly towards me like he can’t believe I've spoken. “Scared he might be a better warrior than you?”

Neytiri pauses, her eyes whisking between Tsu’tey and I. His friends hesitate, unsure of how to react to this. Tsu’tey lowers his head and glares at me through hooded eyes. “No, alien, he can’t even ride.”

Jake stiffens as Tsu’tey’s friends snicker. I lock eyes with Tsu’tey and a jolt runs through my body, igniting me with fury. “I can ride,” I smirk at him,“maybe even better than you.” 

Tsu’tey scoffs, his beaded hair glistening in the light. “Impossible.” I narrow my eyes at him and he lifts his head smugly. God, he’s so arrogant. 

“She is surprisingly good,” Neytiri mummers, “a natural.” 

One of Tsu’tey’s friends pats his direhorse before looking up, a wicked grin on his face. “You know what this means?” 

“No,” Tsu’tey barks, “do not say it.” He glares at his friend. My body is cold without his hot gaze on me.  

Neytiri’s lips break into a smile, her eyes glittering mischievously. “Soloteu, tonight. Then we will see.” 

I freeze. My stomach bubbles with nerves. What is that? Tsu’tey’s lips flatten into a straight line as his long fingers tighten on his direhorse. 

“Are you going to refuse, Tsu’tey?” Neytiri coos. 

Tsu’tey says nothing, his jaw clenching. I smirk, enjoying his discomfort.  I don’t know what Soloteu is but if it makes Tsu’tey shut up: I’m in. “Worried you’ll lose to some dreamwalkers?” I jab at him. 

Tsu’tey spits angrily. “We begin at the eclipse.” His direhorse takes off into the forest, his friends following closely after. Tsu’tey’s hair flies behind him like a flag of victory. I force my eyes away to find Neytiri watching me. 

She looks between Jake and I. “We have much work before tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” Jake asks, wiping the last bit of mud from his confused face. 

~~~

Darkness covers the forest, making all the plants come to life, they glow and burst beneath my feet as Neytiri leads Jake and I deeper into the forest. My hands are trembling with anticipation. Neytiri explained Soloteu, it’s a game. There are two teams with the same amount of players. That means Jake, Neytiri, and me against Tsu’tey and his companions. The objective is to find the thanator cub hidden in the forest with a red ribbon tied around their neck. Whoever retrieves the ribbon without hurting any animals, wins. The only rule: you have to ride a direhorse. 

“Do you seriously think I should play?” Jake asks for the hundredth time as we push through various trees. Neytiri shakes her head. “You must,” she hisses back to him. He mutters something under his breath that I can’t quite make out. 

We break through the tree line into a clearing where Tsu’tey sits, already mounted on his steed. His friends chat happily behind him as he sits tall, his shoulders straight and stares off into the distance. What is he looking at? I trace the treetops but see nothing. 

His head twists in our direction as he hears Neytiri walking up. “Ready?” She asks playfully before calling for direhorses. This must be their resting spot because instantly three horses appear through the trees. Neytiri makes tsaheylu as she mounts. 

I force my hands to stop their shaking and mount a horse beside her, making tsaheylu. I slip easily into the seat and clap her side lovingly. A tingle runs down my spine. I look up to find Tsu’tey watching me, his face serious as always, as his eyes drop down to where my hand caresses the creature. I raise an eyebrow at him and he looks quickly away. 

That’s weird. I open my mouth to say something when a horn blares through the clearing. Tsu’tey takes off immediately, faster than I ever knew a direhorse could run. His friends holler battle cries behind him as they follow, making excitement spread through my veins. Neytiri laughs, enjoying the game already. 

“Go left, that is where the thanator den usually is,” Neytiri says, “and if you need help or find it, use this call.” She whistles a high note before dropping low and chittering twice. I don’t have a chance to nod before she bolts off into the night. 

I sprint after her, feeling the wind whip my face as Jake’s voice follows me. “Wait!” 

I shake my head as I go deeper into the forest. Riding through here will be difficult, there are thick roots covering the forest floor, large rocks with sharp edges, and various animals hooting in the branches above me. I tighten my grip on my steed, speaking calmly to her through our tsaheylu. 

I’ve lost Neytiri but my direhorse knows her bearings. She leads me around each tree and stump as we navigate the forest naturally. She knows my goal and keeps her eye out as well. I scan my surroundings, searching for any sign of the red ribbon or Thanators. We have to win, Tsu’tey and his idiot friends cannot have another thing to hold over us. Speaking of, his friends hoot from a distance away. I tense, praying they didn't find the ribbon. 

The wind is practically burning my face as we race through the trees until my eyes spot something. I jerk back in my seat. A large paw print is marked in the ground. My direhorse makes an uneasy sound as she slows down. I pat her and eye the strange marking. That couldn’t be a thanator… could it?

A high pitched whistle rings through the air followed by two deep tones. I pause, it sounded different than when Neytiri first did it. Wait… that’s not Neytiri. The signal rings through the air again, sending chills through me. Jake. 

“Go girl,” I say roughly as my direhorse bolts in the direction of Jake’s calls. 

I crash through the trees and onto a cliff where a large waterfall splays down. All my hopes of Jake having found the ribbon, vanish. He’s dangling over the edge of the cliff, his blue fingers grasping desperately at a few rocks on the edge. I jump off my direhorse and race over to him. His eyes widen as he sees me bolting towards him. “Wait, don’t—”

A giant figure jumps out from my peripheral vision. I duck to the ground instinctively, feeling my heart fly into my throat. A beast lands right in front of me, blowing hot steam out of its nostrils. I exhale sharply. What the hell is that thing? 

I’ve studied Pandora for years and I’ve never seen a creature like this. Four massive horns curl on the outside of its head, six strong legs stilt from its bulky but flexible body. 

“Just go!” Jake yells over the roar of the waterfall, his voice straining as his blue fingers begin to slip. 

The beast blows an angry breath at me. I close my eyes for a moment before charging, letting all my army training and instincts take over. The beast runs at me, seeing my act as a threat. Once we’re right in front of each other, its nasty breath radiating from its mouth, I drop to my knees and slide beneath its body. Its skin is a strange mix between scales and fur. The beast continues running as I grab Jake’s struggling hands and pull with all my might. 

But he’s heavy. His feet have no ledge, his entire body weight is resting in my hands. I wrap my arm around the rock, trying to give myself more strength but it’s slippery from the waterfall. I groan in pain as I try to lift him. 

“Go,” Jake says through clenched teeth, “or we’ll both fall.” 

“I’m not losing you too,” I mutter as Tom’s face flashes through my mind. I dig my fingers deeper into my brother's skin and heave. I whistle to Neytiri, practically screaming into it, praying she’s nearby. 

The beast stops its running, making the forest seem way too quiet. Jake’s eyes grow as shakes his head. I won’t give up. I’m not losing another brother. I yank and yank, refusing to look behind me, even as the pounding begins again, heading right towards me. 

“Y/N, GO!” Jake yells, the veins on the side of his neck protruding out. 

The pounding grows louder and louder as the beast nears us, the entire ground shaking like a thunderstorm. I’m biting down on my lip so hard that I taste blood. My fingers are going numb around Jake’s hand. The beast exhales like a volcano exploding, his breath hitting my back in a hot wave. My eyes become frantic as I search for anything to help me. My chest is growing tighter and tighter. I’m going to die. 

The beast is charging towards my back. This is it. At least I’m with Jake. I squeeze my eyes shut when a holler bursts through the trees. 

“AHHHH!” A man’s voice yells. Someone lands behind me, sending a burst of air up my back. The beast’s paws stop their charging as it rears back and roars. Jake’s eyebrows shoot up. The sizzle of an arrow pierces the air before making a squishing sound as it enters the beast. The beast roars again, slamming into a tree, sending leaves all over the ground. 

“Be gone!” The  voice yells furiously. I freeze, my hand slipping on Jake’s. I know that voice…

The beast growls. Another arrow flies through the air before thudding against the beast. The creature grunts angrily before stomping off between the trees. I don’t have a moment to be relieved because Jake’s hands are sweaty and he's falling through my grasp. 

“Help me!” I call but I didn’t even need to. Tsu’tey is beside me, his large hands covering mine as we tow Jake over the cliff and on to safe ground. I throw my arms around Jake’s neck. He smells like sweat and blood. I hold my brother tightly. “You scared me,” I whispered.

“Don’t worry,” Jake mumbles, “can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

We pull slowly apart. I almost lost another brother. I couldn’t bear that. Fear is still coursing through my veins when I remember that Tsu’tey is here. 

He sits beside me, the warmth of his body seeps into my side. His fingers red from pulling and there’s a cut on his bicep. His eyes are drawn together, his mouth pulled down into his usual scowl. He doesn’t meet my eyes but I say it away, “Thank you, Tsu’tey.” 

His golden eyes find mine, full of turmoil and emotions I can’t decipher. “I didn’t do it for you.” 

I furrow my eyebrows. Jake starts to cough. Tsu’tey stands and walks a few feet away, blood slowly dripping from his cut. I exhale, slightly annoyed. “Well still, thanks.” 

He stands like a statue with his shoulders rigid. He rubs his chin, his full lips moving each time his long fingers pass. Worry begins to pool in my stomach. “What was that thing?” I ask. 

Tsu’tey growls at my words as his face becomes livid. Why is he so angry? Neytiri breaks through the treeline on foot. Her yellow eyes are big with worry and confusion. “What happened?”

Tsu’tey lethal expression turns grave. Jake fights his way to his feet. “Some beast attacked me,” he says. 

Neytiri’s mouth falls open. “An animal attacked you?” Jake and I nod. 

Tsu’tey crosses his arms over his chest, clearly pissed off. “Another thing the sky people have brought,” he snaps, a vein protruding on his sculpted face. 

“We had nothing to do with,” I motion to where the beast once stood, “whatever that was!”

“Our animals do not attack us,” Tsu’tey hisses at me as he takes a step closer, “that animal did not even recognize us. It is not even a Pandorian animal.”

“You want to blame us for everything!” I scream and take a step towards him. 

“Sky people are always to blame!” Tsu’tey screams back, his throat straining and his accent thick. 

“Well, we didn't create that monster!” 

“No, you are the monsters,” Tsu’tey breathes out viciously. 

His words sting like I’ve been slapped. Rage pours through me. “Then why did you help us?”

Tsu’tey halts, his jaw loosens slightly. He opens his mouth then closes it again, like he too isn’t sure why he helped. 

Neytiri places her hands in front of her. “Enough. This is a matter for the Ole’eyktan and Tsahik.”

Tsu’tey grunts before straightening himself. I look away, no longer wanting to see him, but his comment replays in my mind. You are the monsters. 

~~~

“This beast is unlike anything we have seen before,” Eytukan, Neytiri’s father, the Ole’eyktan, yells from where he stands on the main stairs of Hometree. The entire clan has gathered around the base, everyone listening intently to their leader. 

“We can gather a hunting party,” Tsu’tey says loudly, throwing his fist in the air, “and this beast will be dead by morning.” 

The clan erupts into cheers and applause. Jake and I stand beside Neytiri who eyes her father worriedly. Jake studies the crowd and occasionally rubs his blistered hands. My heart pounds in my chest, I can’t shake the feeling that something is about to happen. 

Eytukan lifts his hands and the clan falls silent. “We have war brewing with the sky people. We cannot send that many hunters away from Hometree.” 

Whispers spread through the crowd as Tsu’tey tenses. “I will go alone then.” His voice is deep and full of pride. 

Eytukan studies Tsu’tey, considering this proposal. Mo’at stands behind her husband with her eyes closed. My hands grow clammy. Neytiri balances from one toe to the other before stepping forward. “Father,” she begins, “Y/n is a good rider, a natural. Send her with Tsu’tey and she will prove herself.” 

A few clan members gasp, including myself. What did Neytiri just say? Eytukan tilts his head to the side as Tsu’tey shakes his head. “No,” he says aggressively, “I do not need a dreamwalker slowing me down.” 

Small laughter flickers the crowd as my shocked face turns into a grimace. Tsu’tey is such a self righteous little… 

Eytukan doesn’t even bother to look at me. “I agree. The dreamwalker will not—”

“She must go.” Mo’at’s eyes fly open, her shoulders trembling and her beaded hair shining. “The dreamwalker will accompany Tsu’tey.”

Now the clan is frozen with silence so thick I could cut it. Time feels like it’s slowing down. This can’t be happening. Tsu’tey’s eyes widen but he tries to cover it. He says nothing as Eytukan turns to Mo’at. “Why do you say this, wife?”

Mo’at takes a step forward, her eyes boring into Tsu’tey. He swallows, the bulge falls down his throat. She makes a grunting sound before turning to me. Her gaze shoots through me like electricity. She tilts her head as her eyes trace my body. My heart might beat right out of my chest. Mo’at pauses before turning to the clan. “Eywa has spoken. Tsu’tey and Y/n will hunt the beast and return safely to us.” 

For a moment, no one speaks or moves. Then, the entire clan explodes into cheers, battle cries, and applause. The sound sends shivers of excitement through me. They’re cheering for me. A small smile fights its way onto my lips as various clan members reach over and smack my arm encouragingly. Jake rubs my arm. He definitely doesn’t understand all that’s happening but he knows it’s about me.

“They leave at first light!” Eytukan hollers, causing the entire clan to erupt into cheers again. Neytiri nods at me in support. A small bit of pride sparks in me. If I can do this, maybe the clan will view me as one of them. I’m beginning to feel hopeful until I spot Tsu’tey.

His jaw is locked. His body is rigid and his lips are curled into a forced smile. Tsu'tey’s eyes drill into mine, darkening by the second. My breathing slows as I stare back. He looks at me a moment longer, his eyes flashing, before turning and walking through the crowd. 

“You will work well together,” Mo’at breathes into my ear. I jump. I didn’t see her coming. She places her soft hands on my arms. Her kindness radiates into me. “Give yourself and him time. You will see,” she whispers and disappears into the crowd before I’ve even thought of a response. 

I swallow and find Tsu’tey’s retreating back. His strong blue body glows beneath the firelight. Maybe Mo’at is right… Or maybe Tsu’tey and I won’t last a single day.

Thanks for reading! I'm sorry this took awhile to write. I still don't like this chapter but the next part is when things will start to get ~juicy~

Please let me know what you think! And tell me what you would like to see happen in the next parts <3

taglist:

@qu33n0fth3n3rds @katsukisworld @kyuriin-chan @leilaniers @ddioriez @hangezoes-wife @simpingfor-wakasa @pinkpantheris @rey26 @howlerwolfmax @thebestrouge @graniairish @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @dragon430 @cheari @cupidlot

[joydemorra]

Do you ever start something as a joke and lose complete control over your life?

In a world of dwindling hope, love has never mattered more... [read the full blurb here]

What is Hunger Pangs?

Hunger Pangs, often shortened to “Phangs” by the self-proclaimed phangdom, is my debut romance novel, published in Nov 2020, featuring a deaf, disabled werewolf, a neurodivergent, mad scientist vampire, and an all-powerful enchantress who is the last of her kind.

It is the first book in a slow-burn, polyamorous gaslamp fantasy romance series focusing on the relationship(s) and antics of the three main characters, Nathan Northland, Vlad Blutstein, and Lady Ursula, as they work to save the world they love from imminent magical and ecological disaster.

The first book primarily focuses on the relationship between Nathan and Vlad, with Ursula heavily alluded to in the next book (Pride and Folly) via some shameless flirting and stolen, impulsive kisses.

No love triangles here. Just three highly competent, world-saving bisexuals sharing the same brain cell the closer they get to each other.

There are two editions of the novel. The Flirting with Fangs edition depicts on-page sexual acts, and the Fluff and Fangs edition which uses alternative scenes/fade-to-black scenes for those who prefer not to read depictions of sex. You can read more about why I decided to do this here.

How Did Phangs come to be?

Like most things on my blog, the original concept began as a joke. My friend and enabler, @jeneelestrange, and I were talking about our least favorite tropes in romance/erotica, including but not limited to toxic “alpha” werewolves, brooding stalker vampire boyfriends, and the absolute profound bullshit that is the Conflicted Love Triangle and Bury Your Gays.

Eventually, it culminated in this post:

(source)

It was meant to be a joke. I really cannot emphasize this enough. It was meant to be a shitpost between friends.

A throwaway ADHD impulse.

Tumblr, however, wanted more of these posts, and like a swarming mass of drift-compatible rats in a trench coat, grabbed hold of my lack of impulse control and Ratatouille'd me into becoming an international bestselling author, and, well, here we are.

I also started writing the series while dying, which I highly do not recommend as a functional creative process.

Absolutely do not start a 500k five-part novel series about love and hope while dying from an undiagnosed genetic disorder. Or if you do, make sure you actually die so you don't have to edit the damn thing. (I am mostly kidding.)

What are the themes/tropes/character dynamics of the book?

In the simplest of terms, Phangs is a queer-polyamorous-paranormal-satirical-romance series featuring vampires, werewolves, and all other manner of creatures that go bump in the night.

It is set in a pseudo-regency meets fake-Victorian Gaslamp Fantasy world, complete with gothic castles, enchanted forests, and just a smidge of industrial coal dust.

Style-wise, Phangs has been described by readers as "like reading the queer, goth love child of Terry Pratchett meets Jane Austen," and I've never been more proud of anything in my life.

If Game of Thrones ascribes to the idea that the night is dark and full of terrors, Phangs is the monster-fucker politely sidling up to them at the bar and asking if they can buy them a drink.

It is also primarily a love letter to fandom, which has led some people to believe it’s fanfiction with the serial labels filed off. But as the person who spent five years agonizing over the world-building, I can assure you this is all very much the product of my weird little ADHD brain picking up tropes, shaking them upside down, and running off with whatever fun and interesting things shake loose.

As already stated, the first book, True Love Bites, focuses primarily on the relationship between Captain Nathaniel J. Northland and Viscount Vlad Blutstein.

The first part of the book primarily focuses on Nathan coming home injured from war and trying to find his place in the world as newly deaf and disabled -- something which alienates him from his werewolf family, who don't know what to do with an injury that can't be mended by a full moon.

While working on the island of Eyrie, he encounters Viscount Blutstein -- Vlad-- a neurodivergent, mad scientist dandy vampire with an enthusiasm for demonic botany and a streak of unfailing kindness as broad and expansive as the sky.

It's not so much love at first sight for the pair as instantaneous lust hampered by the restrictions of polite 1880 society and old ingrained prejudices that make them think the other couldn't possibly be interested in them that way. They're just misreading all those heartfelt stares and sexually charged chess games.

(The love is requited, your honor, they're just idiots.)

Both characters are explicitly queer/mspec, as is Ursula, who drops into their world like a magical atom bomb going off, but not before she spends her own parts of the book desperately trying to figure out what manner of dark entity is killing the magical shrines around the world that keep the world alive.

Thematically, the series touches on many things, but the book’s overriding theme is love. Romantically, of course, and love between families, both found or otherwise. But also love as an act of courage. As a choice. An act of defiance in dark and troubling times, and what it means to be loved and belong even though you’re different.

Especially when you’re different.

And I really fucking hope you enjoy it.

To read the full synopsis and check out the heat ratings, buy links and content tags, go to www.joydemorra.com

[riality-check]

Steddie with "Is this okay?" or "I saved you a seat." for the i love you without saying it thingy, please...if you're still doing it. :)

I'm super late on this, but here we go, anon! Is this okay? was done here, so I'm doing I saved you a seat.

"In the back, Henderson," Steve calls.

Dustin kind of hates that Steve isn't a loser anymore. He's back to his cool self, which means he's wearing sunglasses and doesn't look away from the road as he talks to Dustin.

He sputters. "Why? I get shotgun!"

"You get shotgun unless we're picking up Max."

"Are we picking up Max?"

"No," Steve says, finally turning to look at Dustin over the frames of his sunglasses.

Dustin wants to break them, but if he does that, Steve will probably stop driving him around.

He kind of needs Steve to keep driving him around. His mom is busy, and God knows Mr. Wheeler won't do it anymore.

"Get in the back or don't get in at all," Steve says.

Dustin rolls his eyes and gets in the back of the Beemer. Steve doesn't even ask if he's good to go before he pulls away from his house and down the street.

He doesn't usually, but a little warning would have been nice.

"I thought we were going to the arcade," he says.

"We are."

"No, we're going in the wrong direction."

In the rearview mirror, Dustin can see Steve sigh so heavily his shoulders move.

And he says Dustin is dramatic.

Steve flips his sunglasses onto his head, pushing his hair back, when they get to shadier streets. "I'm doing someone a favor, then I'm dropping you at the arcade to hang out with your friends. That okay?"

Dustin isn't really listening, not as Steve turns the car into Forest Hills. "I thought you said we weren't picking up Max."

"We're not."

"I know you're not very verbose, but could you give me answers that are more than two words?" Dustin snaps.

Steve parks the Beemer in front of Eddie's trailer and turns back to face Dustin. "Is this answer enough?"

He beeps the horn, and thirty seconds later, the front door slams open. Eddie nearly trips right out of it, all black-clothed, gangly limbs, enough metal on his outfit for Dustin to hear him jangling before he even gets in the Beemer.

"Saved you a seat," Steve says as Eddie opens the passenger seat door.

It takes Dustin a full ten seconds to realize that the smile Steve has on his face is the same one he'd use on girls at Scoops.

Wait.

"Thanks, Stevie," Eddie says, words as rushed as he seems to be. "I don't know when my van is going to get out of the shop, and Wayne needs the truck-"

"It's no problem," Steve says.

Stevie?

Dustin, for once, is speechless. The way Steve drives with one hand as Eddie takes his other one and starts toying with it has something to do with it.

When his mouth can finally catch up to his brain, he asks, "How long have you two been dating?"

"What?" they say.

Eddie drops Steve's hand like it's burning him, and Steve nearly brake-checks them in the middle of Main Street.

"We're not-"

"Why did you-"

"He doesn't-"

"I-"

"Arcade, Henderson!" Steve yells, cutting off the conversation completely. "Get out, have fun with whatever quarters your mom gave you, get a ride with someone who isn't me, thanks!"

"You aren't-"

"Get out or I will keep driving this car with you in it," Steve warns.

Eddie stares, dumbfounded, between Dustin and Steve. His eyes move like he's watching a tennis match.

"Okay," Dustin says, throwing his hands up. He gets out of the car, and not five seconds after he shuts the door, Eddie and Steve start talking.

Loudly.

He'd stay, but he's already late.

He goes into the arcade, straight to the Dig Dug machine where the rest of the party is waiting.

"Dustin, where were you?"

"Did you guys also think Steve and Eddie were dating, or was that just me?"

Max looks away from the machine, causing her to die in the game. "They're not?"

"Apparently."

"When did you find that out?" Lucas asks, looking a little distracted.

"About a minute ago."

"I think things might have changed since then," Lucas says, pointing to the window.

All of them rush to it and look outside. The Beemer is still in the parking lot. Eddie and Steve are still in it, and they're-

"Oh, God, no."

"This is like watching my parents kiss."

"Why Steve?" Mike moans, letting his head drop against the windowpane again and again. "Why did he have to pick Steve? I thought Eddie was better than this."

"It's kind of sweet."

They stare in silence. It's like a car wreck. It's impossible to look away.

Max shakes her head. "You guys made me waste a quarter on Dig Dug. I'm going back to playing."

"Hey, wait up!"

The rest of them rush back. Dustin is the last to look away.

And he laments the fact that he's never riding shotgun again.

Prompts here.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Hi! Hope I’m not imposing but I love your linked universe stuff. Especially the yandere side. I’m not sure why but I got a Fierce Deity idea stuck in my brain after reading your stuff. Idea below~

——————

Guide reader is sweet and the perfect friend/person to talk to. Not a door mat and willing to stand their ground. Comforts the various Links through panic attacks, nightmares, break downs when the day has just been too much. Willing to stare Time/Legend/Warrior down when they push the others a little too far. Praises Hyrule/Wild/Wind about their achievements and makes sure they know they are enough (need to raise some confidence in them, especially Wind and Hyrule). Listens to Four/Twilight about the disappearance of the Minish/Midna and comforts them through it. But as all Links know, good doesn’t last in Hyrule.

A major ambush. All of the boys taken down one by one as our guide dashes between them, tossing out potions and fairies until there is nothing left. Everyone is fighting their hardest but the monsters just keep coming . As the boys start to fall in battle our guide finds themselves in the remains of the camp. Everything torn to shreds, broken. All but a lone mask we all know.

We already know that Fierce Deity sees guide as Time’s weak spot, but there’s no other choice! Guide grabs the mask and slams it on, only to find themselves in a totally silent forest. Not a single other being around, aside from the Deity. He scoffs and says that he has a duty but will not work with such a soft thing. And guide, with all their built up anger and worry for the chain lays INTO this man.

This god must be some weakling if it can’t even use them to help their friends. He is such a disgrace and disappointment for being willing to throw time and the others away so easily. Our guide doesn’t care for Fierce’s judgment or petty squabbles with the other gods. He is going to get off his ass, use them as a vessel, and save EVERY. Single. One. Of their friends.

Our humble little guide stepping forward with each word, not a shred of fear in them as they slowly back our lil Deity into a tree. The finally scream that they don’t care if he takes their body for good but he will save everyone they love.

Cut to all of our boys being down, heavily injured and not seeing a way out of this. When the wind suddenly stuffs. The sounds of the forest still. And a heavy presence begins to choke them all, freezing even the monsters in place. Time know this feeling, know it all too well. Frantically looking around he sees the chain accounted for, but that could only mean-

“You’ve grown boy,” Fierce Deity’s voice cuts through the silence as he appears, looming over the group. He was as tall as the trees, practically glowing with power, looking like a god (before he was sealed in that cursed mask). “Your little friend has more power than I thought.” And with that a blood bath begins. Deity tears into every monster in the most brutal way. None of them escape as they try to flee from the over whelming bloodlust. The chain manages to take care of the most important wounds as they regroup. Before they know it all the monsters were slain and Deity stood before them in all his glory, arrogant smirk painting his face.

Time shakily reminds him that he’s done his job, give them back their guide, their friend. Deity just gives a cold chuckle and tells the group how guide was willing to give up their body/their life, to save the group. Fierce will not admit out loud that he enjoyed seeing the group break down a little before he continued. The guide’s words were that they be safe and survive, but with all those wounds and no potions/magic they’d all be dead by the morning. He’s not really a deity of healing but for such a headstrong guide he could lend the chain a little power. Before the chain can question what he means he fills them with just enough magic to heal their deadly wounds (those babies can take care of the rest) and in a blinding light he’s gone. Leaving our poor guide crumpled on the forest floor. But we all know using that mask comes with a price. 😈

lol sorry, that was a lot. Hope you’re doing well!

YOURE NOT IMPOSING ANYTIME-

omgomgomg

I

love

this

from FD flat out being unwilling, guide not giving a single shit, the deal being made, the pure impact of both the deity showing up and how you can tell the chain truly cares for guide via their reactions

KAKEJDHDHSHSJAJSHA

this is amazing

thank you for the food

[beiasluv]

Hello! Do you take request for platonic relationships? May I request for a fic where the reader is Neteyam’s twin and they died instead of Neteyam? Thank you!

neteyam x sister!reader

°:. *₊ ° . ° .•

a/n: yesss, i love platonic relationships, hope u like it :)

warnings: curse words, death :( and ye bad grammar bc i am potato 💀

masterlist

enjoy!

the tale of jake sully and neytiri began a long, long time ago. until now, they had a been blessed with a baby or should i say babies

the future child of the toruk makto bear great responsibility since a youngling. even the childbirth was not private, the clan gathered around the suffering neytiri to celebrate their heirs.

neytiri screamed as her voice cracked; she squeezed jake’s hand tightly, as if she wanted him to bore the pain. jake, who was helpless to his wife held her tightly and made an attempt to calm his own beating heart.

“a boy!” the first cry echoed the forest floors and a blue baby wailed.

“neteyam!” jake held his baby high up the ground, as an offering back to eywa. and like she had noticed, the wind blew heavily among the trees.

“neteyam!” the people of omaticaya chanted as they celebrated.

jake held neteyam against his mother, “he is so precious- ma ja-!”

“neytiri!” she held his hand tightly for the second time. “what is wrong? are you injured?” he looked for mo’at and she came hurriedly.

“this can’t be!” mo’at raised her hand high towards eywa. “ewya had blessed them with a twin!” “Tsleng kä! (eywa gives)”

“Tsleng kä!! (eywa gives!)”

…

“y/n!” jake held you up in his embrace.

“y/n!” the people chanted. as if eywa acknowledged her blessing again, the woodsprites surround your body and flew off into the wind.

a twin can only be so different yet so similar at the same time. you both inherited loyalty and obedience from your parents.

however, the eldest daughter can never deny that they are a daddy’s girl. and neteyam is a mommy’s boy. a fair trade

jake will always have a soft spot for you in his heart. the firstborn daughter of a toruk makto carries a great burden all the time. he had to prepare you since young to learn how to hunt, speak intellectually, and the importance of your people.

he will call you his ‘babygirl’ when you are going through tough times and it helps calm you down 👀

you would say you guys are both calm and collected. but if compared with each other, neteyam is still leaning towards his brain, but you leans towards your heart.

you are more emotional than neteyam and for good reasons.

whenever he gets too harsh on lo’ak, you were there to support and push him up. (sorry neteyam, but we know who is lo’ak’s favorite twin here)

however, twins are twins. you guys can fight each other and screw up one another, but you are always there to back him up.

“no, neteyam, can not have my food, but here is my liver if you are going to die.”

neteyam, being the eldest he is, is very protective of his twin sister. your human hand gained a lot of unwanted attention from the other na’vis. he made each and everyone of them to learned their lesson if they decided to judge your precious pinkie.

he is very picky of what you wear and where you go

“no, you can not wear that, cover up,” he whined.

“please, as if you are not showing your whole upper body,” you slapped his abs.

“no, this is different!” he raised his arms. “there are boys drooling over you wherever you go! do not think i didn’t notice.”

“it is normal of our culture! na’vis wear this!” you complained.

“i’ll tell mom you’ve been seeing a boy out,” he raised his eyebrows.

“nete! we are just friends!”

“then cover up.”

“fine!”

whenever the boys are in trouble, you have to go bring them back. dragging them by their ears are your favorite method.

now, they’ve learned when does your footsteps mean trouble from mom and dad.

“shit! she’s coming! run!” lo’ak tapped his brother.

“neteyam! lo’ak! i am not covering for you this time!”

“then, catch us!”

“don’t make me count!”

buttt, you still covered for them because they are your beloved brothers.

patching them up most of the time. kiri is also there to help you patch them up.

kiri and tuk are your angels for lifeee. teas? spilled. you guys have girls night all thetime.

the girls like to roam the forest floor and sometimes the lab. you knew kiri and grace have a special connection, and you were there to support here through the hard times.

kiri is your spiritual sister, Period. she loves to nap in the forest with you and swim in the waterfalls.

tuk is your baby, she is so supportive and lovely to be around. your baby sister who backs you up all the time.

when mom and dad goes too harsh on you, neteyam and tuk is always there to hold you up.

spider tho. no particular comment. you had always smelled stinky feelings towards him since the beginning, but seeing your siblings grow fond of him you didn’t say anything.

he is very friendly, to the point of being weird to you. you remember to keep a distance from him

bantering with neteyam all. of. the. time. who’s older or younger, classic. who’s taller, well, you kinda gave up after puberty hit him like a BUS

you are also protective of him. girls are always surrounding him with gifts and flowers. some even took an extra step to spy him through you.

nope, not happening.

-spoilers!!-

the metkayina welcomed you guys with hospitality and same hostile behavior. which you didn’t mind, considering your dad brought much trouble to them.

you tried to be invisible to most of the people, staying away on the beach, swimming alone, or watching the sunset.

ao’nung took advantage of your solitude to make friendship. easy to say that your brothers are not happy with his attempts.

you agreed to talk with him as long as he stop bothering kiri, which he agreed swiftly. he didn’t agree swiftly to stop bothering neteyam and lo’ak, tho. but he gave in in the end.

“you have to breath in from here,” ao’nung grabbed his abs, sort of what flexing, you noticed.

“okay,” you breathed in deeper than you normally do, earning a chuckle from him seeing your puffed cheeks.

“not your cheeks, here,” his hand claps your area of shown stomach. unknowingly, his hand was burning on your skin.

“are you sick, ao’nung? your hands and face are burning,” you touched his forehead.

“oh! no! definitely not! i am fine!” he flinched his hands back. “so- sorry.”

“hey! great! you are learning to apologize!” you giggled at his words.

“only to you,” he mumbled under his breath.

“what?”

“oh, nothing,” he replied.

“y/n! let’s go! dad’s calling!” neteyam ran over to you. “look who’s here, trying to get my sister?” (giving the eyes)

“you shut up!” ao’nung retorted back.

“hey! he’s not and don’t call my brother that, you guys apologize to each other…nete”

“s..sorry” “sorry”

for someone with ego as big as his, you taught him to become more selfless. the way your father taught you since a youngling. his parents were amazed by your successful attempts and welcomed you heartwarmingly.

his sister, tsireya, welcomed you with love and affection. she is quite the opposite of her brother, which you appreciated it quite a lot.

whenever your mom needs a second hand you will always be there for her. hugging her daily and giving her comfort. neytiri sings you daily to sleep just as it was in the jungle.

…and the war came, that demon you always loathed.

“y/n! y/n! no!” neteyam tried to keep your head above the water as he is fighting against the wave himself. “bro! take her!”

“shit!” lo’ak took your body on his ilu and cradled you in his arms.

“fuck! she took the shot for me, lo’ak! what am i going to do!”

“should’ve left her dead, bro,” spider said emotional-less.

“SHUT UP! TAKE HER TO DAD NOW!” neteyam commanded lo’ak who hurriedly tightened his grip on you.

“couz, do you know what the fuck did you just said!” lo’ak called his ilu to take off while neteyam is holding on to its harness.

“she said she will sacrifice herself for her family, and this is what exactly what it is!” spider shouted back. “she wants to be with eywa! back when we were younger!”

“we’ll get back with you, spider!” neteyam shouted as he fought back the waves. “you are fucking mad! she’s our sister! I’ll never lose her to a fucking bullet! pray for yourself that I’ll not pluck your eyeballs out!”

…

“DAD!” lo’ak called out jake on the rock. “bro watch her head!” lo’ak, neteyam, and tsireya lowered your body softly on the rough surface. everyone can hear their heartbeat as well as the liquid in their teary eyes.

“fuck, pressure! apply pressure on her!” jake took neteyam’s hand and place it on her blood soaked chest. neteyam placed his shaky hands as heavy as he could on your chest to stop your blood.

“it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay,” your dad muttered to your fading sight.

“d- dad, i want to go home,” you sobbed, as each word hurts to mutter out.

“i know, i know, we’re going home,” he smiled softly at you, trying to keep himself together.

“no, no, no, no, no,” neytiri held your body tightly. she cradled your face in her soft hands. you remember these soft hands, they are the one who brought you to bed every night, the ones who took care of you when you are sick, and the one who held you when you first broke your heart. now you felt as if you are breaking their hearts.

“i- i- mom- dad-“ you can’t help but your body is shaking hardly.

“yes, sweetheart?” “yes, babygirl?” your mom and dad replied softly and everything blacks out.

…

“no! nooo! y/n!” neytiri screamed her heart out, her hands traveled around your head and held it close to her chest. as if she is trying to retrieve her last memory like the first time she was breast-feeding you. “my child! my daughter!”

your brothers held your body close to them as well. neteyam taking your hand and knitting his ring with your pinkie finger, “you promise! you promised!”

“neytiri, neytiri,” jake held her closely. “they have our daughters, i need you to be strong.”

“let’s take our daughters back.” from that moment on, her eyes became as emotional less as a robot, grabbing her bow she took off.

“stay with your sister!” jake commanded.

…

“what are you doing, mad animal! i don’t even care for that child!”

“A CHILD FOR A CHILD”

part 2

today’s a great day to take care of yourself, 🤍